Ellis aged.
His hands grew stiff.
He stopped climbing ladders.
Then stopped driving tractors alone.
Eventually Eli handled most of the Mercer farm's mechanical work.
One autumn afternoon, decades after the auction, a teenage boy waited in Eli's workshop while his grandfather's tractor was being repaired.
The boy wandered around.
Looked at old tools.
Studied photographs.
Then found the safe.
By then its rust had darkened under protective treatment.
The torch scar remained.
So did the framed receipt.
“Forty dollars?”
Eli looked up from the tractor.
“What?”
The boy pointed.
“You paid forty dollars for that?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Bad judgment.”
The boy laughed.
Then realized Eli was smiling.
“What was inside?”
“Paper.”
Disappointment appeared immediately.
“No money?”
“No.”
“Gold?”
“No.”
“Guns?”
“No.”
“Jewelry?”