by Tricia Goyer
• The train was late. (Peggy’s letter)
• The money disappeared, and the mail did too. (Peggy’s letter)
• Neither the money nor the mail was ever found. (Peggy’s letter)
Charlotte paused. As she considered the fifth point, she thought about writing “was stolen” rather than “disappeared,” but she didn’t know that for a fact. Personally, she believed it was the truth, but all that was known was that the bag—and everything inside—up and vanished. None of the letters inside the bag were ever mailed or found. As far as she knew, the bag itself had never been found either.
What Charlotte didn’t know was where Elijah had gone after he discovered the train wasn’t coming that evening. It was obvious that he didn’t go home and put the money in the safe.
She also echoed questions that Peggy had brought up. Where did he go? What did he do?
Oh, Lord, I know this is a silly thing, but it’s beginning to matter a lot to me. You were there, Lord. You know who else was there. You know who has information, just like Anita had information. And if you point me in the right direction, I will be forever grateful.
“Amen,” she mumbled, rising from the desk. Charlotte knew she needed to make cookies for the kids’ lunches tomorrow, but she couldn’t get her mind to focus on flour and eggs and chocolate chips.
Maybe she would do that after dinner.
She glanced out the window, wondering if the kids would be in soon so they could eat. Her stomach rumbled, and she realized she’d been so busy reading Anita’s letters that she hadn’t eaten since the scone at Anita’s house.
“Nothing like a 130-year-old mystery to help me lose the ten pounds I gained from Christmas,” Charlotte chuckled.
“Good, that will help you not feel so guilty about the chocolate I’m planning on getting you for Valentine’s Day this Friday.” Bob mumbled from his rocker. He opened his eyes and winked.
“You’re prepared for Valentine’s Day and I’m not?” Charlotte asked. “And, besides, I thought you were napping.”
“How can I nap when I hear you banging around in there?” Bob pushed the lever, and his chair popped into the upright position. “Did you find any good clues, Sherlock?”
“Grandma! Grandma!” Christopher burst through the door. “I forgot to tell you the coolest thing about today. I just found out that my interview with those ice fishermen on Heather Creek is going to be the lead story in the school paper.”
“Good for you. Perhaps soon you’ll be having articles published in the Bedford Leader.”
“Don’t really understand ice fishing,” Bob mumbled as he puttered around the kitchen looking for a pre-dinner snack.
“That gives me an idea.” Charlotte moved to the mail pile to find last week’s copy of the paper. It wasn’t there, and she remembered she’d thrown it out yesterday.
“Bob, do you know when the Bedford Leader was first printed? I wonder if they printed any articles about Elijah Coleman. If it was around at the time, I’m sure they did. It was a big story. Do you think the Bedford Leader has archives on microfiche?”
“Hold on, Charlotte. You’re talking too fast. What did you say?”
“You know, Bob. Microfiche. Didn’t the library put a lot of their old materials on it? I wonder if the newspaper did the same thing.”
“Fish at the Bedford Leader?” Christopher shrugged. “Wait, I think there is, Grandma. I know Mr. Barnes has a blue beta on his desk, but I haven’t seen any other kind of fish around there.”
A burst of laughter escaped from Charlotte’s lips. Bob’s deep chuckle joined in.
“No, not fish that swim in water, Christopher. Microfiche. It’s what newspapers and libraries used to copy all their own newspapers and other materials onto. They used it before computers. It was like copying large documents onto film. At least I think it was something like that. I remember looking up documents with Bill when he was your age.”
Christopher scratched his head. “I can ask. What kind of fish are they again?”
“Why don’t you call Mr. Barnes tomorrow, Charlotte? I’m sure he’d love to help. He might even want to write about this story—when you get something figured out, that is.”
“Write about it?” Charlotte remembered the reaction of her friends at church—the way they had treated her differently, as if she’d stolen the money. We’ll just worry about that when the time comes.
Bob cleared his throat. “Are we going to eat soon? I think I’m going to get blown away by a strong west wind if I don’t fill my gut soon.” Bob patted his large stomach.
“Yes, I know, dear. You’ve had a strenuous afternoon napping. How do you manage?”
“It is good to see you doing something fun for yourself, but I sure hope I don’t have to start cooking again.”
Charlotte didn’t know if she appreciated or disliked his words. The way Bob had said them made her feel like this was just a game, or something to entertain her in the midst of all the work.
“It’s partly for me, but mostly for all of us,” she interjected. “After all, Elijah Coleman’s genes are in our kids and grandkids. His story is part of our stories, whether we like it or not.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Bob agreed. “Funny thing, how quickly everything changes though.” He smirked. “Doesn’t seem very long ago that when I needed information about something, I’d look to an old-timer for help. These days, I’m the old-timer!”
“Yes, cool!” Christopher punched a fist in the air. “That’s perfect.”
“What’s perfect? That your grandfather is finally admitting he’s an old-timer?”
“No. Not that.” His eyes widened. “What if, when we talk to Mr. Barnes, I ask if I can write a story about this for the paper?”
“Wow, Christopher. I didn’t know you were that interested.” Charlotte pointed to her notebook. “After dinner I can share what I’ve found out so far, if you’d like.”
Christopher shook his head. “I am interested, but that’s not the best part. Last time I saw Mr. Barnes, he told me he’d been following my work in the school paper. He says I have talent.”
“He’s right.” Bob hooked his thumbs through his suspenders.
“Yeah, well, I asked him if I could write for the Bedford Leader. You know, maybe write an article once a month for him?”
“And what did Mr. Barnes say?” Charlotte could see that Sam and Emily were heading across the yard toward the house. She moved to the stove to stir the meat filling one last time. She also stirred the small pot in which she’d used a veggie burger to make some meatless filling. It sure didn’t smell as appetizing, but if that’s what Emily enjoyed then good for her.
“Mr. Barnes said that it wasn’t a bad idea, but I needed to wait for the right story. I asked him what type of story, and he said I would know when I found it.”
“Do you think this is it?” Charlotte felt both pleased with Christopher’s interest and horrified by the fact that this story would be spread all over town. Would everyone tell her she was on a wild goose chase? Would they laugh at her for trying to dig up a past that was long buried? An ache filled her stomach, and she knew it had nothing to do with being hungry.
Charlotte pursed her lips. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Bob nudged her with his elbow. “You’re usually the first one encourage the kids to try things.”
“Yes, but shouldn’t we wait until we have the mystery figured out?”
“Char, are you trying to say that we should wait until we can determine, with certainty, that Elijah Coleman was indeed innocent?”
“Well, if you’re going to put it that way, I do think it’s a good idea. I mean, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to solve this mystery in the first place. I don’t like the mud that’s been slapped on our family name. If we publicize this and it turns out he’s guilty, it’ll just make things worse.”
It’ll ruin our reputation just like it ruined
his, she wanted to say but didn’t.
“But, Grandma, most of the fun is figuring out the mystery. If you already know the answer, it’s not the same anymore.”
Charlotte tucked her hair behind her ear. “I suppose you’re right, but what if we never solve it? I’m not a professional sleuth, you know.”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Bob squeezed her shoulder. “You’re doing a fine job.”
“Yeah, and leave all the writing to me!” Christopher grinned. “Maybe Mr. Barnes will like something I come up with.”
“I suppose we can stop by the newspaper office after school. I’ll call and make an appointment with Mr. Barnes, and we’ll head over together after I pick you up.”
Christopher bounced on the floor as if he were riding a pogo stick. He still had his muck boots on, and bits of mud and hay scattered all over the floor as he jumped. “Yes, yes, yes!”
The door opened and Emily and Sam entered. Their noses and cheeks were bright red from the cold.
“Emily, Sam, guess what? I’m going to write a mystery on our history. Hey, I like that. A history mystery!”
Chapter Nine
Be with you in a minute, folks.” Finding the file he needed, Rick Barnes slipped it out and then turned and smiled. “Charlotte, Christopher, nice to see you.” He motioned for them to join him behind the counter.
Charlotte spotted the framed copy of the first Bedford Leader that hung on the wall. When she saw the date, 1880, she felt just a bit disappointed. The night before she’d hardly been able to sleep, thinking that the first newspaper had been published before that and that there had been continuing coverage of the case.
Christopher followed Rick behind the counter.
“How’s my little newspaperman?” Rick commented.
“Okay, I suppose, but I’m trying to solve a history mystery, actually,” Charlotte heard Christopher say.
Instead of following the guys to the back, she paused and scanned the paper. As she read, she moved her finger along the columns just above the glass so she wouldn’t smear it.
“When did you say this incident happened?” she heard Rick ask Christopher.
“April 1879,” Christopher commented. After dinner last night he’d drilled Charlotte about everything she knew so he could appear knowledgeable in front of Mr. Barnes.
“Oh, I seem to remember something about that. But I’ve heard a lot about Bedford. It’s hard to remember exactly.”
Charlotte heard the wheels of Mr. Barnes’s desk chair pushing back, and she turned and watched him rise. He hurried to the front entry of the newspaper offices, where Charlotte was still reading the front pages of the first copy of the Leader.
“I found something,” she muttered, pointing to the top right-hand column.
Christopher stretched to look. Then he began reading the page out loud:
“Tuesday, January 20, 1880, by J. T. Bayne.
Town news.
Rev. P. Macmillan, of Omaha, was in town yesterday.
The days have lengthened about 20 minutes since Dec. 21, ’79.
Reynolds’ sugar-cured hams and breakfast bacon, just received and for sale at Windauers General Store on Lincoln Street.
A number of farmers from several miles distance were caught in town by the rain yesterday and were obliged to plod their way home through deepening mud.
The work of leveling the gravel streets with the big scraper was commenced early Monday morning. The operation was greatly to the advantage of all having occasion to pass over the street on wheels.
Services for Bedford Community Church will be held at 10 o’clock this forenoon at Abe Johnson’s barn, to which all are invited.”
Christopher paused, and the muscles in Charlotte’s stomach tightened.
“The church met in a barn?” Rick Barnes scratched his head. “I’ve skimmed this paper a few dozen times, but I suppose I never noticed that before.”
“They would have been in the church instead of the barn if …” Christopher looked toward Charlotte.
“If the church’s money that Granddaddy had been in charge of hadn’t disappeared into thin air.”
“Seriously? This is a story I need to hear.”
“How ’bout a story you need to read?” Christopher removed his backpack and pulled out a blue notebook, ripping out the first page. He handed the page to Rick. “I wrote out the idea for the story last night. My grandma read it over and made sure I got the facts right.”
Rick Barnes leaned back against the front counter and read. “Interesting. Very interesting. But if you don’t mind, I’d like you to do a little more work. Instead of a straight news piece, could you possibly write it in the first person, from your point of view? How does it feel to you to know one of your ancestors did something—whether intentional or not—that changed the history of Bedford forever?”
Christopher rubbed his chin. “I suppose I never thought of it that way before.”
“Well, think about it. Think about what this means to you, here, today,” Rick suggested. “Also be sure to tie in the anniversary of Bedford Community Church. It will have a better chance of making it in if it has a connection that’s timely.”
“We can talk about that later, Christopher.” Charlotte forced a smile. Even though she wasn’t completely comfortable about making the story public yet, she thought maybe she could have a conversation with Christopher about the most important parts. Especially about the local men “sitting” in to help serve Elijah’s jail sentence. It could be a positive ending to a sad story.
“Okay, Mr. Barnes. I’ll work on this. And then will you run my story?”
“If it’s good enough, I might sometime. News space is precious, my boy. It’s not something I promise away. People need to earn it.”
Charlotte cleared her throat, attempting to turn the conversation back to the real reason she’d come: to see if the Bedford Leader had archives she could take a peek at.
“We know the money disappeared. We also know that my Granddaddy was convicted of the theft. But we’d like to figure out what was happening the week of the disappearance. You know, were there visitors in town? Or maybe robberies in other parts of the county?”
“I wish I could help you, but I can’t. You see, by 1880 the town had grown to about a thousand people and was doing well. The business district was going gangbusters, but it all ended on June 24, 1880, when a disastrous fire destroyed most of the buildings on the east side of Lincoln Street. It nearly wiped out most of this small town’s commerce.” Rick pointed up the street. “They figure it was arson because those trying to put out the fire soon discovered two other sections of town engulfed in flames.”
“Did they ever catch the person who did it?” Christopher tapped his temple as if he were deep in thought.
“Not that I know of.”
Charlotte’s heart ached for the community she’d grown to care about. She could almost imagine Peggy’s letters. Then again, perhaps Peggy was living here by that time.
“The worst part was that the first two years of the newspaper’s archives were completely destroyed.” He pointed to the wall. “That copy was saved because the editor at the time had taken it home as a memento.”
“Obviously they rebuilt the town,” Charlotte commented.
“Yes. The rebuilding began as soon as the old sites were cleared. And this time they were made out of brick.” He patted the wall.
“Whoa, this place is old.” Christopher’s eyes widened as he took in the tall ceiling and windows.
Charlotte glanced around the room, trying to picture what it used to look like. “Makes you think of all the businesses that used to be run in these places … all the people, their comings and goings.”
Rick nodded. “As that saying goes, if walls could talk.”
“I wish they could.” Charlotte put her notebook back into her oversized purse. “Goodness knows it would be much easier than tracking down bits and pieces scattered all over the place.”
“It would help my story too,” Christopher mumbled.
“But the investigation is half the fun.” Rick chuckled and placed a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “Especially when you have a sidekick.”
“I suppose that’s so. I’ve enjoyed unraveling the story so far. I only hope there’s a satisfactory answer at the end.” Charlotte couldn’t shake off the discouragement trailing her like a stray dog. Still, she forced a smile on her face for Christopher’s sake. Then they said good-bye to Mr. Barnes and headed out.
“That’s great news about the article. It was nice for Mr. Barnes to point you in the right direction,” she said as she unlocked the car.
“I know, but it sounds hard.”
“Everything worth doing is worth doing well,” Charlotte said, realizing she was repeating something her mother used to tell her.
They got in, and Charlotte started the car. As she drove home, Christopher was already busy jotting down ideas for what he was going to write. She didn’t mind his silence. In fact, it suited her pensive mood.
Charlotte’s mind scurried to figure out where to go for answers, but in every direction she seemed to hit dead ends.
Chapter Ten
On Friday, Charlotte couldn’t wait to get back to the boxes at the church. She possessed a slim hope that somewhere within all that junk more clues were waiting to be unearthed. She headed out after she had done her morning chores and left some lunch for Bob. In her car was the sleeping bag Charlotte had promised to drop by the school for Emily for her sleepover at the Cunninghams’ house.
Last fall Charlotte had heard about Andrea, the school’s one and only exchange student, but she hadn’t yet met the girl. She was pleased that Emily was working with her and with Lily on their presentation. It was time Emily’s spats with Lily be put behind them.
Still, Charlotte had to admit Emily was braver than she was. Charlotte found it hard to forget all the comments Allison Cunningham had made about her parenting. When Charlotte had noticed the look in Emily’s eyes last night as she packed, she knew she didn’t have to remind Emily to be on her best behavior.
