Evan laughs. “Sorry. These aren’t cow’s feet, they just look like them. According to Dr. Samuels, they were part of the bag of sneaky tricks that bootleggers used during Prohibition. He says bootleggers used all sorts of ingenious methods to evade Prohibition agents, from hollowing out Bibles to camouflaging trucks with a faux brick facade, so they could transport liquor.”

“So, what are these things?” I ask.

“Dr. Samuels believes they are what was called a ‘cow shoe.’”

“A what?”

“A cow shoe,” Evan says, picking one up off the table. “He says it’s a wooden block carved to resemble the hoof a cow, which was attached to a strip of metal that could then be strapped to the shoe of a bootlegger or moonshiner.” Evan stops and studies it before handing it to me. I take the cow shoe reluctantly, but begin to admire the craftsmanship and ingenuity of it the more Evan explains.

“So Dr. Samuels says these were used specifically by bootleggers to cover their footprints, especially in the snowy or muddy woods,” Evan continues. “The hoofprints deterred agents who were tracking them. Essentially, bootleggers could crisscross remote fields or even wander behind restaurants, and agents would just think cattle was roaming. And get this—Dr. Samuels thinks the inventor behind this got the idea from a Sherlock Holmes story in which the villain made his horse’s prints resemble a cow’s.”

“So does he think Capone and his gang used these?”

Evan nods excitedly, his bangs bouncing. “He does. He thinks they probably ran a small operation from this cottage and supplied many west Michigan restaurants and speakeasies. Resort areas wanted their booze, it seems. Dr. Samuels says they likely ran the liquor in the winter, and these threw the Prohibition agents off.” He stops and looks at me. “Just think of the history under this roof.”

It’s like he can read my mind, I think.

I watch Evan’s face grow serious. He scans the cottage as if he sees it for the first time. “Capone, Sadie’s letter, your grandparents, my grandparents...you.” He stops again. “This is more than just a cottage. It’s alive.”

The emotion in my son’s voice touches me, and I reach out and pat his leg. “It is.”

Evan grabs his phone again. “Mom, you should see all the comments we’ve already received about finding this stuff in the cottage.”

“Really?” I ask.

Evan nods. “Yeah. We had a few hundred people watching on Facebook Live.”

“Is that good?”