Miss Sylvia's Stolen Bible

by Harper Harris

  Just as I was about to plop to the ground and throw my hands up in defeat, I saw what appeared to be the roof of a house poking up above the tree line. My entire being perked up at this change of events and I walked a little farther to see if I was seeing what I was thinking I was seeing.

  A few steps in the right direction revealed a roof that looked very much like the one on Red Rivers. Another plantation house! Maybe it was Virginia’s. Even if it wasn’t, whoever lived there could probably point me in the right direction, and maybe get me a glass of water because I was parched. I could only imagine how thirsty the panting dogs must be.

  Speaking of the dogs, they must have picked up on my mood change because they got excited. I pulled them in the direction I wanted to go and the two of them started to run with me. Fingers crossed that this was my way out.

  Chapter Eight

  The dogs and I didn’t have to run for long. We reached another driveway and I could see the house in its entirety. It was grand like the one at Red Rivers, but it still distinguished itself. I could see a sign in the distance, but my eyes weren’t good enough to actually read it. I tugged the dogs along so I could get a closer look.

  It didn’t take too long for me to be able to read the sign that said: “White Oaks Plantation and Museum.”

  Hmm… I didn’t know that White Oaks was a museum. But to be fair, in all honesty, I didn’t really know anything at all about the surrounding area. I walked until I was standing right in front of the sign and saw that it looked pretty new. I ran a finger over it and the finish still felt rather smooth. I looked over at the porch and the front door was wide open. I could see multiple people walking in and out and heard the sounds of building.

  They all looked like construction workers which meant, using my powers of deduction, that White Oaks was currently being renovated, but the sign outside indicated that no one lived there anymore. So, what was really going on? If no one lived at White Oaks, where did Virginia live? Did she run back here? I needed to take a look inside in order to clarify a few things. But how in the world was I going to do that?

  I looked around, hoping to find a pole or anything to tie the dogs to, but nothing stuck out as being stable enough to keep Macaroon and Snickerdoodle in one place. They were pretty relaxed right now, but I didn’t want to risk them getting worked up over some woodland creature across the way.

  It didn’t take me long to give up on trying to find a place to leave the Great Danes and I decided to take them inside with me. The building was under construction, so I figured bringing the two dogs inside for a small amount of time wouldn’t be a big deal. I’d just keep them close to me and make sure they didn’t make a mess.

  As I tugged on the leashes, the dogs followed me up the stairs and on to the porch. I peeked my head inside, looking one way and then the other. No one seemed to be coming or paying me much attention, so I slowly strolled inside like I was supposed to be here.

  I did my best to guide the two Great Danes, but Macaroon seemed to have not gotten the memo because she bumped into a side table. I saw the events happen in a kind of slow motion way and I knew there was nothing I could do about it. The table hit the ground with a loud crash and I flinched as the tools that had been sitting on top of it bounced along the ground.

  A few shouts came from varying directions and soon there were four or five workers asking me a bunch of questions.

  “Are you okay?”

  “What happened?”

  “Why are there dogs in here?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Are the dogs hurt?”

  I wasn’t able to answer any of their questions because there was no lull in their barrage.

  A voice came up above the rest, telling everyone, “Move out of the way, please.”

  He sounded stern and in charge. The people around me parted, so that this new man could come up to me. He quickly surveyed the scene–– the fallen table, scattered tools, two dogs, and myself–– before pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose.

  He had a pretty clean-cut appearance and maybe if he didn’t look so annoyed, I may have even said he was attractive. After digesting the scene, he turned to the workers who had gathered and told them, “Get back to work everyone.”

  He shooed them away with his hands and then I was back to being the center of his attention.

  He narrowed his eyes at me before asking, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  I wasn’t going to tell him the real purpose of my trip here. He seemed like someone who wouldn’t appreciate my observant nature, so I gave him the censored explanation.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for the table to get knocked over. I just came here looking for the owner of the house. I wanted to speak with them about an important matter.”

  Everything I said was the truth, just a watered-down version of it.

  The bespectacled man wrinkled his nose and stood up a little taller, adjusting the jacket he was wearing.

  “I am the owner of the house.”

  I tiled my head in confusion, not sure what was going on. I was sure no one had mentioned a young man running things over at White Oaks.

  I shook my head softly and said, “I thought Virginia Olsen was the owner.”

  He made a face like he just had a realization.

  “I’m her son, Greg. Greg Olsen. I took over the running of this place from my mother about five years ago,” he explained.

  That made sense. Delilah had mentioned some kind of accident, so maybe Virginia had needed her son’s help after all of that. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Sylvia had simply forgotten. Her facts definitely seemed to be all mixed up.

  “Hi, Greg. I’m Kari,” I told him, deciding to start over by properly introducing myself.

  I offered the hand that wasn’t holding on to two dogs and Greg hesitantly took it to shake. I wanted to let him know I wasn’t here to cause any trouble, even if my grand entrance was a little louder than I would have liked.

  I put on my warm and inviting face–– the one I use when talking to prospective clients–– and told Greg, “I wanted to ask a few questions. Like about that sign outside?”

  He seemed to relax a little, but a part of him was still on edge. I could tell.

  He motioned towards the door, “Why don’t we take this outside. We wouldn’t want…” he looked down at the dogs and I realized what had him a little uneasy.

  “We wouldn’t want them destroying any more property?” I said, finishing his sentence.

  He looked like he appreciated my joke, cracking a smile, and then I followed him out on to the porch. We sat down on the steps and Macaroon and Snickerdoodle took this as a chance to lie down on the grass by the front of the house.

  Once I was sure they were okay, I turned to Greg and said, “I wanted to ask about the sign because I didn’t know that White Oaks was a museum.”

  “It wasn’t always. It’s a long story…”

  “I’ve got time.” I settled in to further emphasize my point, which I probably couldn’t do enough. After all, pretty much all I had these days was time.

  Greg shrugged and began to explain, “Well, as you can imagine, taking care of so much land is insanely expensive, especially if it isn’t yielding any profit. Most plantation owners are forced to sell, but I didn’t want to see the land leave my family like that. A lot of our neighbors have been selling off pieces and keeping just the main house in the family, but even then, it’s a bit of a gamble. A house this old require a lot of upkeep. My hope was to turn White Oaks into a museum and use whatever money we make from tourists as a way to keep the house. It felt like the only way to keep everything or as much as we could, at least, in the family.”

  I was nodding while he explained his position. Everything he said sounded perfectly sensible to me and I liked the idea of turning an old plantation into a museum. It was a bunch of unused land that otherwise was just going to sit there. This way, other people might get some enjoyment
and education out of it.

  “That’s cool, Greg.”

  The conversation dropped off a little bit because I wasn’t sure how to transition. I really wanted to ask him about the Winters’ Family Bible. He would potentially know nothing about it. No one had connected him to the theft at all. But he was Virginia’s son, so maybe he would have some insight.

  The problem was that there wasn’t a smooth way to just bring it up. I was lucky he was even talking to me, given how I kind of crashed into his house. I had to assume he was just lonely.

  Greg could easily ask me to leave and I didn’t want that, so instead I went the safer route and asked, “Is your mother helping out with the renovations at all?”

  I thought it was an innocent enough question, but Greg immediately frowned.

  Shaking his head, he answered, “No.”

  I could tell from his tone that there was more to the story, but I hadn’t gotten to a point where I could easily pry into him. I’d need to get him more comfortable first.

  “Oh, I don’t know why I assumed she was.”

  He just shrugged and we sat there quietly for a few moments, before I remembered that I should probably tell him, “I forgot to mention that I saw your mother walking earlier. She was out in the woods right by the road.”

  Once again, I thought my comment was innocuous, but Greg thought otherwise because his face paled as if he had seen a ghost.

  “You saw my mother? When?”

  I shrugged and said, “About thirty minutes ago or so.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “We talked and then she ran away.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “I don’t. She was…faster than me.”

  He stood up and still looked pale, with noticeably quicker breathing. I was worried he was about to have a panic attack. I got up too and tried to see if there was anything I could do to calm him, but I knew very little about Greg, so I was concerned that any of my attempts would be futile or even make things worse.

  “I have to go,” he said. “I need to go check on something.”

  He started walking back into the house and, not sure what to do, I followed him.

  Chapter Nine

  Greg stormed inside the plantation house and started screaming, “Virginia! Virginia!”

  I was startled because he was in a clear panic and I could hear the distress in his voice. Something must have been very wrong if his mother was by the road, but I didn’t know what. I knew then wasn’t the time to start asking questions. I’d just have to wait for him to tell me.

  He walked through some of the downstairs, still yelling his mother’s name, but no one answered. The workers mostly ignored him, which told me that this had happened before. I got slightly less worried, given that the construction workers hadn’t entered the same panic mode that Greg was in, but I still had a bit of an edge.

  When exploring the downstairs didn’t really pan out, Greg walked over to the stairs and went up them. I continued to follow him, wanting to make sure that Virginia was really okay. I felt kind of bad that I had seen her and didn’t tell her son right away. There was no way I could have known, but still, the guilt was there.

  We got to a small door and Greg took a set of keys out of his pocket.

  As he unlocked the door, he explained, “My mother is… unwell. I try to keep her in the house while I’m working, so she’ll stay safe, but she likes to wander sometimes. I’ve even moved her into my house in Appleton, but sometimes maybe I need to watch her more carefully.” He said the last part to himself, but I fully understood the sentiment.

  If Virginia was ‘unwell,’ the confusion I saw in the woods made total sense and it completely explained Greg’s freak out. A few things were beginning to add up, but I needed just a little more information. Such as, was Greg talking about the drug addiction Delilah had mentioned earlier? I couldn’t be totally sure because he kept things vague.

  Greg got the door unlocked, but when we stepped into the small sitting room, it was empty. I saw a cup of tea and some untouched biscuits on a little table. Greg had left a few things for his mother to do, but they also looked untouched, neatly arranged on a bigger table.

  Greg looked into the room for a few seconds. I was pretty sure he was just wrapping his head around it being empty, and then he walked out, with the dogs and me following close behind, and he closed the door. He seemed to be getting more and more frustrated.

  “I don’t think she’s in here,” he mumbled and then he stormed right back outside. We were back on the porch and Greg was looking over the grounds of White Oaks.

  No one remotely Virginia-looking was coming over the land. No one at all was coming. He took a deep breath and then his shoulders dropped.

  Not looking at me, he said, “My mother’s been getting out and running around the neighborhood a lot lately. I’m not sure what to do about it.”

  He looked thoroughly embarrassed and a little sad. I put a hand on his shoulder and he turned to me.

  “I can help look for her,” I told him. “I feel kind of bad that I didn’t tell you about our run-in earlier.”

  Greg shook his head. “Don’t. How could you have known she wasn’t supposed to be out alone? I’m just happy that you did tell me.”

  I took my hand off him and gripped on to the leashes a little tighter. A few conversations from before popped up in my head and I offered Greg some information.

  “I’ve been staying at Red Rivers and the people over there told me that your mother sometimes makes her way over to their place. Maybe we could see if they’ve seen her. Or she might even be there?”

  Greg nodded, “That makes sense. Virginia and Sylvia have known each other all their lives. Let’s walk over there.”

  We walked down the steps of the porch and Greg led the way towards Red Rivers. I thought about Greg’s comment–– about Virginia and Sylvia having known each other for so long. He didn’t mention anything about a rivalry. Maybe it wasn’t as big of a deal as Sylvia made it out to be. She did seem to be one for the dramatics, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing was a little one-sided and overblown.

  As we walked, we passed through the back pasture and I caught a glimpse of the tree with Delilah’s initials. I assumed they were Delilah’s initials. I didn’t know her maiden name, but hers started with a D and then there was a J.W. beside it, which I guessed was for Jim Winters. I wanted to get a closer look, but Greg needed to find his mom and I didn’t want to sidetrack him. Maybe I’d get a chance to inspect it more later.

  While we passed through the back, Greg told me, “This back pasture was briefly for sale and I almost bought it, but when I went in to talk to the real estate agent, she said that Sylvia had changed her mind.”

  The back pasture had been for sale? That was something I didn’t know before. I wondered why Sylvia would have put it up for sale and then taken it down. I was about to ask Greg a few more questions, but the two of us saw a streak of Virginia’s gray hair in the woods.

  Greg took off running after her, yelling, “Virginia!”

  I followed suit, but we lost sight of her almost as soon as we had spotted her. She was just as fast and as tricky as before. I couldn’t believe she was running so quickly, especially given what Delilah told me about a car accident. Now that I was thinking about, that didn’t really add up. If she had hurt herself pretty badly, she shouldn’t have been able to run away from us with such ease.

  Catching my breath, I asked, “I’m surprised your mother can run so fast. I thought she was in a car accident a few years back?”

  “How did you know that?” he asked me.

  “Someone at Red Rivers told me.”

  Greg nodded. He looked more embarrassed than suspicious. He stopped walking and fully turned to me, saying, “My mother got into an accident because she has Alzheimer’s. She was driving, got confused about where she was supposed to be on the road, and got into a wreck with a truck.”

  Oh de
ar. No wonder Greg was taking care of everything and why he was so concerned about her being out by herself. Virginia could easily get hurt if he wasn’t careful.

  “We should go find her then,” I said.

  We started walking again, back up towards the house. We still had a little bit of ways to go, so I slipped in a few more questions.

  “Was your mother hurt in the wreck?” Greg shook his head.

  “Nothing too serious. Just a few cuts. The driver of the truck was also okay. We got lucky that the car was the only thing to really suffer any damage.”

  That didn’t align with what Delilah told me. If Virginia hadn’t gotten hurt, the doctor wouldn’t have prescribed pain pills, which meant that there wouldn’t be an addiction.

  I didn’t want to outright ask, so I tried to artfully squeeze in my suspicions about the pain medication, just to make sure whether Delilah told me was the truth or not.

  “My friend was in an accident and it was a mess. He hurt his leg and for months he had to do physical therapy and take these insane pain pills,” I told him— which was the truth. “It sounds like your mother really avoided the worst of it.”

  “She did. She left the doctor’s with only a few bandages. That was when we found out about her diagnosis, but, thankfully, there wasn’t anything more we had to sort out.”

  Greg’s answer sounded like Virginia wasn’t on any kind of pain pills or had ever been on any recently.

  Why would Delilah lie about something like that? I thought about it on our way to Red Rivers, but couldn’t come up with a reason. We made it to the front and then we found Virginia sitting on the porch, doing nothing in particular.

  He walked over to her while I stood off to the side. Virginia looked up at him, but there appeared to be no recognition in her face.

  Greg kindly asked, “Could you come back to White Oaks with me?”

  But she flat out refused. “No. I’d rather stay with my friends.”

  “Please, Ma. We can walk around the fields, if you want. I know you like to do that.”