Grace threatened to rake leaves onto his porch.
Somehow, they were becoming friends.
Neither would have admitted it.
Then one Saturday, Mrs. Alvarez found a locked wooden box in the back of the greenhouse.
“Mr. Whitmore,” she called, “this has Eleanor’s name on it.”
Arthur froze.
The box was small, cedar-colored, with a brass latch.
He took it carefully.
“I haven’t seen this in years.”
“Do you have the key?” I asked.
Arthur thought for a moment.
Then he looked at the recovered ring on his hand.
Not wearing it.
He had threaded it onto a leather cord.
Attached beside it was a tiny brass key.
Annie gasped.
“You’ve had it the whole time!”
Arthur stared at the key as though he had never noticed it before.
“Eleanor put that key with the ring years before she lost it.”
He opened the box.
Inside were letters, photographs, receipts, and several small notebooks.
