The first day, Lexi found a rusted iron lock no bigger than her palm. The second day, a child’s marble, still swirling with color. By the third day, her shovel struck wood—a hatch, hidden under a mat of ivy.
When she handed him the letters, his trembling fingers traced the faded ink. “She didn’t forget me,” he whispered. “She just never knew.”
That evening, she dug carefully around the tree’s roots. Sure enough, a corroded tin box. Inside: not cash, but a stack of handwritten letters between Clara and a farmhand named Ezra. They had planned to run away together, but Papa had hidden the letters. Clara never knew Ezra waited for her at the train station three nights running.
The first day, Lexi found a rusted iron lock no bigger than her palm. The second day, a child’s marble, still swirling with color. By the third day, her shovel struck wood—a hatch, hidden under a mat of ivy.
When she handed him the letters, his trembling fingers traced the faded ink. “She didn’t forget me,” he whispered. “She just never knew.”
That evening, she dug carefully around the tree’s roots. Sure enough, a corroded tin box. Inside: not cash, but a stack of handwritten letters between Clara and a farmhand named Ezra. They had planned to run away together, but Papa had hidden the letters. Clara never knew Ezra waited for her at the train station three nights running.