“She’s been saying that since seventy.”
Evelyn glared.
“Who asked you?”
Everyone laughed.
Richard was different now.
Not transformed into a saint.
That would have been too easy.
He still cared too much what people thought.
Still bought expensive watches.
Still became defensive when embarrassed.
But he recognized it.
Sometimes he even stopped himself.
Once, at a restaurant, a waiter spilled wine across Richard’s sleeve.
The old Richard would have snapped.
This Richard inhaled.
Looked at the frightened young man.
Then said, “It’s fabric. I’ll survive.”
Later Evelyn said nothing.
Richard glanced at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re smirking.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“Eat your dinner.”
He smiled.
He had learned to hear her approval even when she refused to give it easily.
That evening at the birthday party, Richard approached carrying a small box.
Evelyn frowned.
“I said no presents.”
“You say many things.”
“Careful.”
He handed it over.
She opened it.
Inside was the old brass key.
Cleaned.
Polished.
Still tied to the original blue ribbon.
Evelyn looked up.
“I gave this to you?”
“No.”
“Then how did you get it?”
“Emily borrowed it from the trust box.”
Evelyn looked toward Emily.
Her granddaughter suddenly found the potato salad fascinating.
Richard smiled.
“There’s something else.”
He turned toward the barn.
Evelyn followed his gaze.
A wooden chest sat beneath the old maple tree.
The same style as Samuel’s military footlocker.
Richard walked over and opened it.
Inside were seventy-two small handwritten envelopes.
Evelyn stared.
“What are those?”
“Letters.”
“To whom?”
Richard looked toward the young walnut trees visible along the western ridge.
“To whoever takes care of them after us.”
Evelyn’s throat tightened.
Richard continued.
“One letter for each tree.”
She looked at him.
“What do they say?”
“Different things.”
“Such as?”
Richard lifted one.
“This one explains who planted the original tree.”
Another.
“This one tells the story of Grandpa Samuel.”
Another.
“This one explains what happened at the baptism.”
Evelyn narrowed her eyes.
“You wrote about that?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly?”
Richard smiled.
“That I was an idiot.”
“Accurate.”
Emily laughed.
Richard held up another envelope.
“And this one says something Dad wrote.”
Evelyn’s face changed.
“What?”
Richard read.
