Caleb put his around me as the ferry let them off at the dock in Edgartown, a small village in the southeast corner of Martha’s Vineyard. As we walked down the ramp, I noticed that both Caleb and Rose seemed relieved to be on dry land. Rose peeked her head out, and kept it out, sniffing the air, and taking in the view with great curiosity.

I held the flyer up once again and stared. I couldn’t believe our luck. It was an advertisement to explore “Historic Martha’s Vineyard,” and there, towards the end of the list of sites, it read: “The Vincent House. Built 1672.”

After seeing it, we had decided to change plans, and to go to the Vincent House first, before the Aquinnah Cliffs. After all, that’s what was engraved on the key, and that was a more concrete lead than the cliffs. Maybe we wouldn’t even need to see the cliffs now. At least now we had a specific place to go. And of course, I still held the key in my pocket, holding it close. I slipped one hand into my pocket, feeling the worn
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