“The ledger is closed.”
“And around here…”
I stood up from the chair, holding Willa, Aunt Eleanor, and Uncle David’s hands toward the limitless blue sky as the distant chimes of the harbor chapel began to strike twelve times across the peaceful water:
“…nobody ever, ever… audits an auditor again.”
Barnaby let out a soft, contented sigh on the porch rug, his tail thumping once against the cedar boards: *thump.*
Willa laughed into the warm sunlight.
The eagles climbed into the limitless blue sky.
The sound ran deep and clear.
The ledger was closed forever.
And the woman who had cleaned the same house for eight years without knowing she owned the bedrock… was finally, beautifully, eternally free.
