I wiped it away quickly, afraid the ink might run.
At the bottom of the final sheet was one last instruction.
Go to the old lakeside cabin at sunrise. Open the wooden chest beneath the floorboards. Mr. Bennett has the key. What you find there belongs to you—and it will answer the one question I could never explain in this letter.
I looked up.
Without speaking, Mr. Bennett reached into his coat and placed a small antique key on the desk.
Its brass surface had darkened with age. A faded blue thread was tied through the round opening at its top.
I recognized that thread.
My mother had owned a blue scarf with the same unusual silver stitching. In the only photograph I had of her, she wore it around her hair.
I snatched up the key.
“Where is the cabin?”
Mr. Bennett slid an envelope toward me.
Inside was a hand-drawn map.
