Seven Yellow Folders Exposed What My Parents Had Done to Ethan

“What’s that?” he asked quietly.

“Go on, open it,” I said.

He untied the black cord and tipped the pouch into his palm.

A brass pocket compass, scuffed along the edges and missing its side latch, rolled out onto his fingers.

“It was Grandfather’s,” Ethan whispered.

“He carried it when he walked the surveying lines down in Kentucky,” I said.

“He told me once that as long as you keep your eye on the needle, you never have to worry about getting lost in the woods.”

Ethan lifted the compass and held it to his chest, his fingers wrapping tight around the brass case.