PART 2 : A loyal dog at its owner's funeral.
Part 2
The fabric of the priest's black robe tore with a loud ripping sound.
For a split second, nobody moved.
Then a small metallic object slipped from inside the sleeve, hit the edge of the coffin, and landed on the wet ground with a sharp clink.
Buddy released the robe immediately and began barking at the object instead of the priest.
Henry's niece bent down first.
"It looks like... a key," she whispered.
It wasn't an ordinary key.
Attached to it was a worn brass tag engraved with just three words:
WALLACE LAKE CABIN.
The color drained from Henry's sister's face.
"That's impossible," she murmured.
"Henry always kept that key around his neck. He never trusted anyone with it."
The entire family stared at the priest.
He quickly stepped forward, trying to retrieve the key.
"It must have gotten caught somehow," he said with an uneasy smile. "Please... give it to me."
But Buddy exploded into another fit of furious barking, planting himself directly over the key and refusing to let the priest come any closer.
The dog's reaction was so intense that even the men who had tried restraining him moments earlier stepped back.
Something wasn't right.
Henry's nephew slowly picked up the key before the priest could reach it.
"Why would my uncle's cabin key be hidden inside your sleeve?"
The priest hesitated.
"It... it isn't what you think."
"Then explain it."
A long silence followed.
The priest swallowed hard.
"I visited Henry a few weeks ago."
"You've never been to his cabin," Henry's sister interrupted immediately.
"I know every person who ever visited him after my brother's wife died. He barely let anyone onto that property."
Several people exchanged uneasy glances.
The priest's confident expression had completely disappeared.
Buddy never stopped growling.
Instead of looking at the priest now, the dog suddenly ran toward the hearse parked a short distance from the gravesite.
He scratched frantically at one of the rear doors.
Again.
And again.
The driver frowned.
"What's gotten into him?"
Buddy barked louder than ever.
Finally, one of Henry's old hunting partners opened the hearse door.
Inside sat a plain black leather bag.
"I don't remember seeing that before," the driver muttered.
"It isn't mine."
The bag was locked.
Henry's nephew looked down at the brass key still clutched in his hand.
"It probably won't fit..."
But when he inserted the key into the lock, it turned effortlessly.
A heavy silence fell over the cemetery.
He slowly opened the bag.
Inside were several thick bundles of documents tied with faded string.
There was also a sealed envelope.
Across the front, written unmistakably in Henry Wallace's handwriting, were the words:
If anything happens to me before I can deliver this myself... do not trust the man calling himself Father Michael. Read this before burying me.
A wave of shock swept through the mourners.
Every pair of eyes turned toward the priest.
He took one nervous step backward.
Then another.
"No," he said quietly.
"You don't understand."
Henry's nephew broke the wax seal with trembling fingers and unfolded the letter.
As he began reading, his face lost all color.
The first sentence alone was enough to make his hands shake.
"If you're reading this, then the man standing near my coffin is not the priest you believe he is..."
Before anyone could ask another question, the priest suddenly spun around and bolted through the cemetery gate.
May you like
But Buddy had been waiting.
With a powerful leap, the golden retriever raced after him, barking so loudly that the echoes rolled across the old cemetery, while dozens of stunned mourners realized Henry had planned for this moment long before his death.
