And in the upper margin of the page, in Jacqueline’s delicate, unmistakable cursive, was a note: “Miller’s Grain Mill, Saturday nine in the morning.

Remember to bring thank you card.” A specific location.

A specific meeting time.

And a reminder to bring a card, which my feverish brain read not as basic courtesy but as some coded gesture, some etiquette of a world I did not understand.

A mill.

A time.

A card.

A map of secret marks stretching across the state.