Then whispered.
“Perhaps we haven't been looking in the right place.”
The toolbox had belonged to Samuel Whitmore for almost forty years.
It was made of dark oak, reinforced with iron at the corners, and fitted with a wide leather handle that had been repaired so many times the original stitching was barely visible.
Clara remembered seeing it beneath her father's workbench when she was a child.
She remembered the smell of wood shavings.
The sound of his hammer.
And the way he'd sometimes close the lid before she entered, as though he'd been examining something he didn't want her to see.
For years, she assumed it was money.
Or old personal letters.
Now, looking at the narrow walnut strip beneath the bottom tray, she wondered whether it was something else.
Nathaniel stood beside her.
Frey watched from the table.
Clara carefully removed the upper tray.
Then examined the narrow joint.
She ran her fingers along the edge.
For a moment, she smiled sadly.
“My father always made difficult joints look simple.”
Nathaniel leaned closer.
“Can you open it?”
She nodded.
“Perhaps.”
She selected a small wooden tool from her collection and worked carefully along the concealed fitting.
The strip shifted.
Then came free.
Beneath it was a narrow compartment.
Inside lay a folded piece of parchment.
And a small brass key.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Clara stared.
Her heart was pounding.
Then she reached into the compartment.
The parchment was brittle.
She unfolded it slowly.
It contained a sketch of the old mill foundation.
Several measurements.
A small cross beside a stone wall.
And a handwritten note.
She recognized the writing immediately.
Her father's.
The original must remain beyond Hawthorne's reach until the rights can be properly established. Joseph knows the place. If I cannot return, let the next honest hand finish what we began.
Clara closed her eyes.
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Nathaniel gently touched her shoulder.
“Clara?”
She opened her eyes.
Her voice trembled.
“My father knew.”
Frey leaned forward.
“Knew what?”
She turned the parchment toward him.
The attorney examined the drawing.
Then studied the brass key.
For several seconds, his expression became increasingly serious.
Finally, he looked toward Nathaniel.
“Your father may have helped conceal the original document.”
Nathaniel stared.
“Why would he do that?”
Frey considered.
“Perhaps because someone was trying to take it.”