My boots crunched into the frosty snow as I remembered the many wintry adventures Nick and I enjoyed, growing up here on these heavenly acres. All those years together, we were each other's closest friend. And I admit to having wondered why my father, or whoever found the money tin buried down in the ravine, hasn't mentioned the letter I wrote . . . the one that revealed my feelings for our former bishop's son. Even if Dat wasn't the one who removed it from Mamm's old market box, not a soul in the community has fessed up to it. How awkward would it be if someone did?