8. Junie #3
"But they left a record anyway," Dahlia said. "The zinc plate was a registry for the people who lived here. Maybe if they had to leave their real lives behind, they still wanted their presence recorded. They wanted to know they existed."
“Well at least we have a few answers now,” Beckett said, before he and Dahlia moved back to the section of overgrowth they had been clearing to resume their work.
"That name Sam Hollis was asking about," Micah said, his tone direct as he watched Junie. "The witness who signed forty years ago. Now we know she was one of the residents."
Junie clenched her jaw, her chest tightening with the realization of how deep the secrets ran.
Her late mother had built a clandestine network, risking the security of the entire farm for strangers.
A place where nobody could trace them, but that still didn’t answer why.
Junie still had a lot of questions, but if her mother had stood guard over this place, Junie would make sure the history was protected, regardless of the legal consequences.
Leaning her rake against a nearby hemlock trunk, Junie moved toward the corner of the foundation where the chimney stack had once stood.
The stones here were split-granite blocks that had been dry-laid with precise care.
She rested her weight on her knees in the damp leaf mold, her fingers brushing the rough surfaces of the masonry.
She was searching for something, a physical connection to the memory of those morning deliveries.
"What are you looking for?" Micah asked, kneeling beside her in the cleared dirt.
"There was a small wooden cupboard in the pantry where the key was kept," Junie explained, her fingers searching the gaps between the granite blocks.
"A rusted iron key with a brass handle. It was moved at some point, but I remember seeing it tucked behind the seed packets.
If this place was a registered residence, there'd be a secure storage space. A way to protect the records."
She pressed her palm against the corner stones, feeling for any movement in the ancient masonry.
Near the base of the foundation, her fingers brushed against a granite block that felt slightly looser than the others.
She tensed her muscles, gripping the rough edges of the stone, and pulled.
The heavy granite block slid forward with a grinding scrape, revealing a small hollow cavity in the dry dirt behind the wall.
Nestled inside the recess was a rectangular metal cash box, its green paint heavily chipped and smudged with orange rust.
"We found it," Micah said, his hand resting near her arm as she reached into the dark opening to slide the box out.
The metal felt cold and heavy in her hands as she rested the box on her lap. The lock was simple, a brass mechanism that had resisted the damp soil of the pasture. She wiped the dirt from the lid, her fingers tracing the faded silver lettering stamped into the handle.
"It's locked," Junie whispered, her throat dry as she tried to budge the latch.
"The brass key from the pantry," Micah noted, his gaze holding hers. "The one you mentioned."
"There’s a locked cabinet in the cider barn that Dahlia found last autumn," Junie replied, her heart drumming against her ribs. "We haven't been able to open it. We need to find what’s inside this box."
She shook the metal box, hearing a dull clink of paper and metal sliding against the interior walls.
Using the flat edge of her hand trowel, she carefully pried at the rusted hinge of the lid.
The old metal groaned and yielded with a sharp snap, the rusted latch popping open to reveal the contents within.
Inside the box lay a badly tarnished brass key, its shape matching the delicate clover pattern of the locked cabinet in the cider barn.
Beneath the key was a yellowed paper fragment, a torn section of a heavy parchment envelope addressed to a recipient named Ruth.
The ink was faded to a pale brown, but the cursive handwriting was unmistakable.
"It's a return address," Junie whispered, her fingers trembling slightly as she lifted the torn paper from the bottom of the box. "From the neighboring county. It's a post office box registered in the town of Greenfield."
Micah leaned closer, his spectacles reflecting the bright gold light of the morning sun as he read the faded inscription.
"That is the first viable lead we’ve found," he confirmed, his voice carrying an encouraging warmth.
"If the box is still active, we can locate the woman who signed the nineteen eighty-two transfer deed. We can find the truth."
Junie looked down at the brass key and the torn paper in her palm, feeling the cold weight of all that she was carrying lifting.
She was no longer trying to solve the mystery and protect the farm alone.
The honest man beside her was sharing the burden, his steady presence a secure shelter against the storm of secrets.
"I’ll send a letter to this address in Greenfield," Junie said, her voice quiet but firm as she looked at him.
"We find the answers together," Micah agreed. It was a promise that settled the flutter of anxiety in her chest.