Hazel pressed her palm against the pantry trim and pushed. A narrow panel clicked loose, and behind it sat a rusted tin box wrapped in yellowed oilcloth. My heart pounded as she lifted it with trembling hands. “Albert hid this the winter we lost the farm,” she whispered. “I told Walter it was gone forever.” I stared at her, unable to find a single word.

Before I could ask anything, tires crunched on the gravel outside. A truck door slammed, and heavy boots hit the porch. Eli froze in the doorway behind me, a tool bag still in his hand. Then Walt stepped into the kitchen, his face as gray as ash. His eyes dropped to the tin box, and he whispered, “Mama, you promised you would never open that.”