Lexi closed the box. She didn’t call Silas—not yet. Instead, she found Ezra’s last known address. He was 92 now, living in a nursing home two towns over.
That evening, she dug carefully around the tree’s roots. Sure enough, a corroded tin box. Inside: not cash, but a stack of handwritten letters between Clara and a farmhand named Ezra. They had planned to run away together, but Papa had hidden the letters. Clara never knew Ezra waited for her at the train station three nights running. lexi luna landscaper
She pried it open. Inside: a small cellar lined with dusty jars of preserves and a leather-bound journal. The journal belonged to a girl named Clara, dated 1957. “They think I ran away,” one entry read, “but I hid what Papa stole from the bank. Under the wishing tree, in a tin box.” Lexi closed the box