The man introduced himself as Daniel Cho, Mrs. Vale's attorney. Owen looked at me before answering. He said the gate lifted if you pulled it toward the third tree. Daniel nodded as if that were a password. He asked us to meet him after the service. Mrs. Vale's niece, Cynthia, had arrived in a rental car with two real estate folders under her arm and had spent the receiving line asking neighbors whether the roof leaked.

In the church courtyard, Daniel handed Owen a sealed envelope. Cynthia stepped between them before he could open it. She said all estate matters belonged with the family. Daniel replied that the envelope was not an inheritance and did not concern the house. Cynthia asked what else her aunt possessed that could possibly matter. Owen stared down at his shoes. I wanted to take him home, but he squared the envelope against his palm and said the orchard had mattered every Thursday.

Inside was a one-page letter in Mrs. Vale's blocky handwriting and a brass gate key tied with blue yarn. She thanked Owen for mowing the path, then asked him to attend a meeting before deciding whether to accept her final favor. The letter named a land trust I had never heard of. It also said the favor could not be sold, traded, or completed alone. Owen read that sentence twice. Cynthia laughed and said her aunt had always enjoyed puzzles that made other people feel important.

Daniel gave us the meeting address, an office above the laundromat, and told us to bring no money. As we crossed the parking lot, Cynthia caught my sleeve. She said buyers were already interested in the property and warned me not to let a teenager delay a sale. I said I did not know what the letter meant. She answered that uncertainty was how people reached for things that were not theirs. Owen heard her. In the car, he set the key in the cup holder and asked whether mowing grass could accidentally make you greedy.