Page 92 of Orphan Girl's Mountain Men

"See.. I knew you were useful for something." This of course from Reed.

"Thank you, thank you, darling," I cry out, giving him a hug and a kiss.

"Don't—mention—it." His words come in between great gulps of air as he leans back to recover.

"A box—a box." Grace is pointing. She is perfectly right. Below where the rock had stood sits a box. A western red cedar box, I note without surprise. It's roughly a cube in shape, itssides perhaps two feet in length. Reed and Dean reach down and between them they lift it out from its hiding place.

Back on the veranda, Reed hands me the box, and Dean gives me a chisel the boys have brought along in case we found something that needed opening. But it's not needed, I try the lid and it opens easily to the touch. Inside is a layer of loose cotton wadding for protection, and inside that is a waxed canvas bag. Protected from bumps and from moisture too, I think to myself. My parents had done a good job. I take the bag and open it, and finally, there inside the canvas bag lies my mom and dad's wedding vase. After twenty years of burial in the darkness, here it is in my hands. Indeed, here it is back at the little cabin where it was always intended to be.

But there's something inside. Another envelope. I draw it out and open it.

Hello again, munchkin,

I am so pleased that you are reading this, because it means that Daddy's and my wedding vase is now safe in your hands—where it belongs. We couldn't leave it at the lodge because we were scared it might get stolen, so that's why we buried it here, in this special, sacred spot. We knew you'd be clever enough to work it all out and find it again when the moment was right.

Perhaps you'll put it back at True Heart Lodge, where it belongs, and keep it as a memory of us—and a token of our love for you.

As you'll have seen, we also left something else inside the vase. We invested in some shares, your daddy and me. Not much. Just ten thousand dollars. It was all we had, and we knew that burying cashfor you to find in the future wouldbe pointless—the way money reduces in value every year. But shares… well, shares might be worth a lot more in the future. Not a lot less, like cash.

Neither Daddy nor I know anything about shares, I'm afraid, so it really is luck. We hope the company we chose does well. We picked it because… well, because I went to Brazil for my anthropology doctorate and I totally fell in love with the area and the people there. That's kind of why I've been invited to Peru this time.

Anyway, the company is called Amazon. It sells books and CDs online. We think it might do well in the future. Well, you'll have to see.

And now, my darling, I really do have to go. It's time to bury the vase, and this message with it. I'm so sorry we have to go, but we can't not go because of a dream. If the dream says go, then we go.

We are both happy, darling. Don't think twice about us. Just remember us in your thoughts, and please always know for sure that we love you very much indeed, both of us. We want to come back. We intend to come back. But if we don't—well, please remember that we did all we could to give you a start in life without us. And you will always be with us in our thoughts.

With much love forever. One day we will see you again in heaven, perhaps.

Mom x

Nestled inside the vase is a receipt for Amazon shares.

Dean's already online, finding a website that lets you check the current value of shares purchased in the past. He types in the information: ten thousand dollars of AMZN, in 2005. He presses the "Go" button. A timer appears. We wait, none of us sure what to expect. I mean, obviously it's going to be more than ten thousand dollars… but how much more? I haven't a clue.

The timer stops whirring. A number appears on the screen.

"One thousand and eighty-three dollars, and some change... Oh, is that all?" I say. "Do it again. You must've done it wrong."

With now-trembling fingers, Dean types the information in again: AMZN, ten thousand dollars, 2005. Go.

Once more, the timer spins. Once more we wait, holding our breath.

Then the same number pops up:

$1,083,075.93

Then Grace's voice pipes up. "That doesn't say a thousand—that's a comma, not a decimal point. Look… the decimal point's over there. We learned that in pre-school."

We look again.

"Does that say… a million?"Reed's voice is incredulous.

"Err… yes."

We all stare at each other in disbelief.

Epilogue

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