Maybelle's Secret

by Terri Reid

  She glanced up. “Brain food?”

  “Rosie brought over oatmeal cookies,” he said. “I thought we could add a little vanilla ice cream…”

  She smiled at him. “Have I ever mentioned how much I adore you?” she asked.

  “Sure, I bet you say that to all your sexy, brilliant, understanding husbands,” he teased.

  “And humble,” she said, turning back to the data on the screen. “Don’t forget humble.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Henry Carmichael slogged through the mud and manure as he made his way from the milking barn to the machine shed. With the rise in temperatures this week, the thaw had created a small pond between the two buildings. His rubber boots were wearing thin, so he could feel the cold temperatures of the thick liquid all the way to his bones.

  He stepped inside the machine shed and flipped on the light; the dim bulb illuminated the building's interior. The floor was dirt, and the walls were steel. He could see a couple of wet spots in the soil where the roof had leaked and knew that come spring he'd have to get on the top of the building and repair them. He walked over to a table made of cast-off wood and two-by-fours and searched through a layer of junk. He was sure he had placed a small bag of gaskets for the milking machine there last fall. He had one worn gasket and was losing suction in the whole system because of it.

  He moved aside an old feed bag and a mouse scurried across the table. He jumped back in surprise and shook his head when the rodent disappeared into a hole in the table. Then he found the plastic bag of gaskets, but it had been chewed open, and the gaskets were in shreds.

  He tossed the bag onto the table with a little more force than necessary. “Dammit,” he growled. “Just dammit.”

  “You naming the mouse?”

  He turned and smiled at his wife, Maisy, who was standing next to the door dressed in one of his chore jackets and wearing a pair of his old boots.

  “It’s an appropriate name,” he said, “considering it, or one of its kin, nibbled on the package of gaskets I needed.”

  She reached into the pocket of the coat and pulled out an identical package, but this one was fresh and new. “I picked this up at Farm and Fleet while I was there today,” she said. “Just in case we needed it.”

  “So, not only do you work full-time,” he said, shaking his head. “But you read minds too?”

  He walked over to her and put his arms around her, laying his head on hers. “Is this too much?” he asked her softly. “Am I asking too much?”

  She sighed and bit her tongue. She was so tempted to say yes. So tempted to tell him that sinking all of their savings into this ramshackle dairy farm had been too much. Too much for him, because he was always tired. Too much for her, because she was tired of making do and never having enough. But she shook her head. “No, you’re not,” she said. “Sometimes dreams take a little longer to accomplish than you first think, but that’s only because they’re worth the effort.”

  "You are such a liar," he whispered, kissing her on the forehead.

  “And you smell like a cow,” she whispered back, slipping the gaskets into his hand. “Now go and fix that milking machine and then come in for supper.”

  He stepped back and smiled at her. “What’s on the menu?” he asked.

  “Lobster, steak and New York cheesecake,” she replied.

  “Sounds good,” he replied, then he sighed. “But I really had my heart set on tuna casserole.”

  She grinned at him. “Well, now you’re in luck,” she replied. “Because I changed the menu. I was getting pretty tired of lobster day in and day out.”

  “Yeah, and that caviar was getting old too,” he said. “Besides, who wants to eat fish eggs?”

  Laughing, she reached up and patted his cheek. “You’ve got twenty minutes to fix that machine of yours and kiss all those cows good-night,” she said. “Then I want you inside for dinner. You got that?”

  He nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Twenty minutes.”

  He watched her, the smile never leaving his face, as she walked back across the sloppy mire and climbed up the rickety wooden steps to the back door. She paused and turned at the screen door and looked back at him. “Twenty minutes, you hear?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he called back. “Not a moment more.”

  His heart lightened, he flipped the switch off and made his way back to the milking barn. The cows had already been milked and fed. The milk was safely stored away in the stainless-steel cooler, and all he had to do was replace a few gaskets, and he was done for the day.

  He entered the barn and heard a sound that made his heart drop. The mechanical grinding noise was coming from the cooling tank. The motor for the agitator paddle was acting up again. He had jerry-rigged the engine a couple of times, using pieces and parts on hand, but this time he was afraid he was going to have to replace the entire motor.

  He walked over to the tank and placed his hand on the stainless-steel wall and looked at the internal temperature reading, a combination of old school and new technology. Both his personal indicator and the gauge told him that the milk was cold enough that they could do without the agitator through the night. But he'd have to get it fixed first thing in the morning or the next day's milking would be ruined.

  Another expense they didn't need. Henry felt like this farm, the farm his great-grandfather had owned nearly a hundred years earlier, had been nothing but a losing proposition. He laid his head against the cooler and stood there for a moment, just breathing and trying to find a shred of hope. Finally, he pushed himself away from the tank and headed into the milking parlor. He had some gaskets to change.

  Chapter Twelve

  With Mikey in tow, Mary stopped by the Stephenson County Courthouse to see her friend, Linda, the county clerk.

  “Oh, you brought the baby,” Linda exclaimed, as she quickly got up from her chair when she saw Mary enter the room. She hurried over and peered over the counter that separated the clerks’ workspace from the general public. “He’s gotten so big!”

  “He’s already gained three pounds,” Mary said.

  Linda grinned down at the sleeping baby. “What a little porker,” she said with a tender smile. “Can I hold him?”

  Mary reached down and unhooked him from his car seat. “Of course,” she said. “He’s an excellent snuggler.” She picked Mikey up and handed him to Linda who immediately cuddled him and leaned down to breath in his baby scent.

  “There’s just something amazing about the smell of babies,” she said.

  “Sometimes,” Mary said. “And sometimes that smell is not so nice.”

  Linda laughed and nodded. “And just wait until he starts eating real food,” she said. “The smell from that end only gets worse.”

  “He’s just going to have to be potty trained by the time he’s one,” Mary laughed.

  “Good luck with that,” Linda replied. “So, what do you need?”

  "I'm looking for birth certificates and death certificates for Mabel and Elmer Johnson," Mary said. "They were both born either in the late 1800s or early 1900s. I know they were here in Freeport during the 1940 Census.”

  Linda walked over to a small gate next to the counter, pressed the access button and then swung the door open. "You can type while I cuddle," she said. "We should have those records in the computer system."

  Mary walked around the counter and followed Linda to the computer console at the end of the counter.

  “Start with entering one of their names,” Linda said. “And then their approximate year of birth.”

  Mary entered Elmer's name, and several links to records appeared on the screen.

  “Okay,” Linda said, standing behind Mary and slowly rocking with the baby. “You’ve got two birth records with his name on it. And, with luck, that will also give you Mabel’s maiden name.”

  "Oh, I hadn't thought of that," Mary said. She clicked on one of the records, and it revealed the birth certificate of a baby boy born in 19
24. “Well, Elmer Stephen Johnson Junior was born in February of 1924,” Mary said. “Let’s see who else we have here.”

  She clicked on the second link, and a birth certificate for another son appeared. "They had two boys," she told Linda. "This one was Michael Henry Johnson, and he was two years younger than his brother, born in April of 1926. We found their kids."

  "Okay, now search for their names and birthdates," Linda directed.

  Mary followed Linda’s suggestion first for Elmer Junior and found a birth certificate for a daughter, Eloise Johnson. “So, Elmer had a daughter,” Mary said. “Why doesn’t she have a middle name. Only Eloise.”

  “It was common during that time for women to use their maiden names as their middle names once they got married,” Linda explained. “That’s probably why she is just Eloise Johnson.”

  “Oh, okay, that makes sense,” Mary said. “I’ll have to track down her marriage information.”

  She entered the information about Michael and then gasped softly. “Oh, there’s a birth certificate and a death certificate in the same year,” she said.

  “When is it?” Linda asked.

  “1943,” Mary responded.

  Linda nodded. “That was in the middle of World War II,” she explained. “We lost quite a few young men from Stephenson County during the war.”

  Mary clicked on the birth certificate and saw that Michael Henry Johnson Junior was born in June of 1943. Then she clicked on the death certificate and discovered that his father had died the following month.

  “Well, at least he knew he had a son,” Mary said.

  But Linda shook her head. “There’s a chance he knew,” she said. “But generally, the mail took about a month to arrive.”

  “That’s so sad,” Mary said. “Little Michael never knew his dad.”

  “Hopefully, his mother told him about his father,” Linda said. “Go back and get his mom’s name. Then we can see if she ever remarried.”

  Mary clicked back to the birth certificate and found his mother’s name. “Angela Harris.”

  “Search on Angela,” Linda said.

  Mary looked at her friend. “You know, it’s amazing to see how much information is at your fingertips,” she said. “I’m working on a new case…”

  Linda’s eyebrows raised, and she clutched Mikey more protectively. “Wait, you’re not thinking about going back to work yet?”

  Mary smiled and shook her head. “No, this is a new project that is more research than anything else,” Mary said. “And Mikey can be my assistant. But, I might be spending quite a bit of time in here.”

  Linda placed her cheek against Mikey’s head and grinned. “Oh, well, that’s going to be a sacrifice for all of us. But, I think somehow we’ll be able to handle it.”

  Chuckling, Mary entered in the information about Angela and did find a marriage certificate in the system. “She only waited eight months before she remarried,” Mary said, a little censure in her voice.

  “She was a young widow with a baby to take care of,” Linda said. “I don’t think she had a lot of choices.”

  “You’re right,” Mary agreed, acknowledging Linda’s point. “I guess I was putting myself in her shoes. I don’t think I could ever remarry if something happened to Bradley.”

  “But if Mikey were hungry and you couldn’t support him?” Linda asked.

  Mary thought for a moment and then nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “I would do whatever I had to in order to make sure Mikey was taken care of.”

  “We don’t know for sure,” Linda said. “But that’s what many young widows had to do.”

  Mary looked back to the screen. “Well, she married Luther Carmichael,” she said. “So, Michael Henry Johnson was probably raised as a Carmichael.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Sure, I remember Eloise Johnson,” Stanley said. “She was ahead of me in school. Prettiest girl in the neighborhood.”

  He turned to Rosie. “Of course, that was afore you moved into town.”

  She smiled at him. "Why, thank you, Stanley," she replied with an embarrassed giggle. "That was a lovely thing to say."

  “Do you remember when she died?” Mary asked.

  “She ain’t dead,” Stanley said. “She up and married one of the Gustafson boys.” He shook his head. “Never could understand why such a sweet girl could tie herself to such a nasty family.”

  “Well, his bank account balance didn’t hurt,” Rosie inserted.

  Mary looked at her two friends seated across the table from her. “Okay, wait,” she said. “There’s a story here you’re not telling me.”

  Stanley shrugged. “Gus Gustafson,” he began.

  “They named him Gus?” Mary asked incredulously.

  "No," Stanley said, shaking his head. "We just all called him Gus. Anywho, his family came down from Wisconsin, had a lot of money."

  “Everyone thought their people were bootleggers,” Rosie added.

  “Or cheesemakers,” Stanley added. “One or the other coming from Wisconsin.”

  Mary looked at Stanley and shook her head. “Really?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “Okay, maybe not,” he said. “But folks were pretty suspicious of them because they were strangers and they had lots of money.”

  “But no one knows for sure how they got it,” Mary clarified.

  “Yeah, well, that’s true,” he agreed. “But in a small town that ain’t very interesting.”

  Mary laughed. “Okay, I’m sorry I sidetracked you,” she said. “So, what happened.”

  “These Gustafson boys, they are big German fellows, end up being first string on the football team,” he explained. “Football stars and all the girls kind of go crazy about them.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he shrugged. “And I guess it didn’t hurt that they also had their own cars,” he said. “And plenty of money to spend at the ice cream shop.”

  “Wow, money and athletic ability,” Mary said. “No wonder everyone disliked them.”

  Stanley shook his head. “No, it weren’t like that, at all,” he said. “I mean, sure, we was jealous, but we weren’t stupid. They were a real benefit to our team when we took on other schools. But they just weren’t nice folk. They thought their money and position made them better than everyone else.”

  Rosie nodded. “From what I heard when I owned my shops,” she said. “If you dealt with the Gustafsons, you needed to get their money up front, or you never saw it."

  “But they had money,” Mary said. “Why would they cheat people?”

  “Because they could,” Stanley replied. “They had enough power and influence that no one wanted to stand up to them. A single criticism from one of them could near ruin your business.”

  “They sound like bullies,” Mary said.

  “Exactly,” Rosie replied. “They bullied everyone around them.” She sighed. “And they still do.”

  “You’re not saying that this little old lady, Eloise, is a bully?” Mary asked.

  “Well, she ain’t the nicest woman in the world,” Stanley said. “But it ain’t her so much as her boy, Friedrich. And let me ask you, who names their American kid, Friedrich? It should have been Fred, plain and simple.”

  “Maybe she just liked the name Friedrich,” Mary suggested. Then she paused. “Wait. This isn’t Fritz Gustafson, is it?”

  Rosie and Stanley glanced at each other and smiled. “Yes, it is,” Rosie said.

  Mary closed her eyes and sat back in her chair. Fritz Gustafson was well-known for many shady, backroom deals, as well as for opening the only Gentlemen’s Club in the area. A club that had been shut down several times for hiring underaged dancers. But, somehow, Fritz was never charged for anything.

  “Really?” she finally said. “I’m supposed to give him more money?”

  Rosie shook her head. “Maybe Maybelle will let you give their share to a charity,” she suggested.

  Mary sighed. “Yeah, well Maybelle and I are going to have to have a
chat about this one.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Bradley asked Mary, then he paused and shook his head. “Do you find it annoying when I constantly ask that question?”

  Slipping on her coat, Mary turned to him and laughed. "No, it's not annoying," she said. "I know it's your way of saying that you don't want me to do this, but you're going to let me make the decision."

  “I’m pretty much an open book to you, aren’t I?” he asked, coming across the room to her and putting his arms around her.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Why yes. Yes, you are,” she replied with a grin. “But I totally love that about you.”

  He leaned down and kissed her. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered against her lips.

  She giggled and kissed him back. “Predictable, but adorable,” she said. Then she sighed softly. “And no, I really don’t want to do this. But, I think I have to talk to her, especially after what we found out about Fritz.”

  She stepped back and shrugged. “Besides, maybe she won’t open the door for me,” she said.

  This time Bradley sighed as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. “A present from Alex,” he said. “He dropped it off at my office today. He worked something out with the bank, so they pulled it off the market for a while.”

  She held out her hand, and he dropped the key into it. "Thanks," she said remorsefully.

  “I know,” he replied. “I really wanted to hold onto it.”

  She nodded. “I know you did,” she said. “Thanks for trusting me.”

  “You have your cell phone?” he asked. “And a flashlight?”

  “I’m totally taking back the whole trusting me thing,” she teased. “But, yes, I do. And I have my keys positioned between my fingers in case I have to poke out anyone’s eyes.”

  “I don’t think that will work with a ghost,” Bradley said.

  “But it made you feel better, right?” she asked.

  He chuckled softly. “Go,” he said. “So you can get back sooner.”