I left, nodding to Mable on my way out.
On my way home, I passed a tiny grocery on the corner of Wade and Milton, and remembered I had used the last of the milk for breakfast. A little bell jingled as I pulled open the screen door and stepped inside. I was back in the past, as the door slammed behind me, or so it seemed. A wooden counter stretched along the back, anchored at one end with a computer. Along the side, three long, narrow windows framed in bright, yellow shutters stood like chaperones beside three round, yellow-skirted tables. Yellow chairs were tucked primly under each table. Little lights between the windows made the area as bright as a spring afternoon. Across from the tables stood a bakery case and a coffee machine.
The tiny woman, behind the counter, greeted me as though I was a long lost friend. She could have stepped out of a Hans Christian Anderson tale. I bought milk and some cookies from the bakery case and turned to leave.
“Thanks for stopping in. I’m Maude Chambers, by the way.” She shook my hand. “I’ve had my store here a long time but, since the new highway went through, I don’t get many customers anymore. It just isn’t like the old days.”
I agreed. “It’s hard to keep up, things change so.”
“I have a grandson, named Mike. He’s a good boy. Always brings me things and makes sure I’m okay. He and his Ma, my girl, live out on the edge of town, out past the old canning factory. Mike works for Mr. Williams. You know, the man who got himself blown up the other day.”
“How’s Mike doing? I’m the one who called the ambulance and the police that day.”
“He was shook up pretty bad, but he’s okay now. They took him to the hospital in Marion and checked him over real good.”
I belatedly told her my name, and left after assuring her I would come back and visit. I liked Maude Chambers.
When I reached home, I settled down with the stack of yearbooks. Although I resented the way Willie asked me to look for Emily Washburn’s possible family, I was curious. I found pictures of the school before it was named Tuxford High School, when it was still Public School No. 4. The Principal was a man named Louis Devereaux. There were only fourteen members of the class of 1914, and they were all dressed in their best. The men in suits with high tight collars and ties, the women in white dresses. The valedictorian of the class was Emily Washburn. She had a pixie-like beauty, with dark hair pulled back away from her face and a row of little curls across her forehead. In another yearbook I found a picture of her brother, Robert. He looked enough like Emily to be a twin. Later, when I saw a photo of Miss Harriet, I saw that all three Washburns showed a strong resemblance. Miss Harriet was a beautiful young woman. I wondered why she never married.
I spread the bulky yearbooks out on the dining room table, and the afternoon disappeared down a time tunnel. All these young people who looked so bright-eyed and hopeful; where were they now? All those hopes and dreams scattered over time, like the dust sifting all over Mavis’ dining room. So many dreams that were blown to bits in the wars, or drowned in the commonalities of everyday life.
Finally, when the daylight disappeared and I could no longer see the pictures, I stretched and went to the kitchen to pull some dinner together. The light, and my dinner, dissipated the gloom of the old pictures. I had a big baked potato with broccoli and cheese and three strips of bacon. A glass of milk, fresh coffee, and a couple of Maude’s cookies completed my meal. I placed everything on a tray and carried it to the living room to eat while I watched the evening news.
I guess I’m just naturally nosy, with more than my share of snoopiness. A lot of the old families were still living around Tuxford. The phone book might be a place to start in locating any descendants of the class of 1914. My curiosity itched but my eyes refused to stay open so, after checking to make sure everything was locked up, I went up to bed. I know Faith Manning rattled on about how everybody is so safe in a small town, but I just don’t trust them. Been away too long, I suppose.
Next morning, I walked out past what was left of the old canning factory. I came upon a small cluster of attractive, well-kept homes. They were gathered in a shelter of tall oaks like children under an umbrella. I studied the mailboxes until I found Chambers. While I stood there trying to decide whether to go knock on the door, a man left the house and carefully stepped down the front walk. I waited until he got close.
“Mike? Mike Chambers?”
He fastened the gate carefully behind him.
“Yeah? Who wants to know?”
I stuck out my hand.
“You might not remember me. I’m Maggie MacKenzie. You collapsed on my front porch.”
“Oh, yeah.” His face lit up like a kid hearing the ice cream truck. “The medics told me you saved my life. Thanks. I’m on my way to work. Care to walk along?”
“Sure.” We walked in silence a few minutes.
“I met your grandmother yesterday.”
“You met Maude.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes. She’s a delightful person. We had quite a chat about how the town has changed. I grew up in Tuxford.” Mike walked carefully, favoring his obviously stiff back. “She seemed lonely. She also thinks a lot of you.”
He grunted.
“Maude’s a special lady. She was so proud of me when I got accepted at the university. She loves her store. She says it’s the only piece of the old town left.”
We walked in silence, under the old maples that arched over the street. Mike grunted again.
“I don’t understand why she’s so attached to this place. It hasn’t treated her very well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maude worked back east and fell in love with a man from Tuxford. He told her he was being transferred back here and he wanted to get married here. Different, huh? But Maude had no family, so she agreed. By the time she arrived in Tuxford, she discovered ‘Mr. Wonderful’ was already married and had moved away. She also discovered she was pregnant. Back then, people didn’t look kindly on unwed mothers. She got a job at the grocery store and the owners, their name was Reynolds, rented her the apartment above the store. She had my Mom, and eventually managed to buy the store when the Reynolds’ retired. But the town never let her, or my mother, forget that it didn’t approve of such goings on.” He shook his head. “Like those pious folks never did anything improper.” Mike’s laugh didn’t cover thinly disguised anger. “But Maude’s a tough, old gal. She’s hung on longer than most of those who looked down their noses at her.”
“I remember a Caroline Chambers from school. Is she your mother?”
“That’s her. She works at the news office.”
By this time, we had reached my corner. Mike grinned.
“Any other day, I could have offered you a ride. Mr. Williams always let me drive the delivery truck home. But, as you know, the truck’s out of commission.”
“Mike, what kind of boss was Mr. Williams?”
His face became quite still. “He was alright.”
“Just all right?”
“I don’t think he liked Tuxford. He kept his distance. Actually, I don’t think he liked people. He was polite enough, but kind of icy. Know what I mean? He ordered people about, like he was better than them. Almost as though he owned them. All the older workers admired his father. I’d like to talk more, but I don’t want to be late for work. I’m glad you met Maude.”
I changed into jeans and my last clean shirt. I’d get a chance to use Mavis’ fancy laundry equipment soon. After breakfast, I slid a few empty folders and a tablet into my briefcase, slung my purse over my shoulder and set off for the Tuxford Times office.
A child with a head full of curls sat at the front desk behind a sign bearing the name ‘Christy.’ She looked about twelve, but she was probably in high school. With difficulty, I choked back the laugh that threatened when I saw the row of small rings pinching her eyebrow.
“I’m here to see the person in charge.”
“You need to talk to Ms. Thatcher.” She po
inted to a tall woman standing in the open doorway behind her. Maggie turned around.
“I’m Maggie MacKenzie, Gerry’s sister.” I held out my hand. “I know he’s away. I need some information and I thought perhaps you can help me.”
She ushered me into her office, cleared a pile of papers from a chair, and we sat.
“I’m Donny Thatcher, Assistant Editor. Gerry told me his sister would be in town. I’m glad to meet you. I’m a fan of yours.” Ms. Thatcher’s well-modulated voice held a built in chuckle.
I liked her instantly, and not just because she liked my books. She was relaxed and confident. Her cobalt blue skirt and shirt matched perfectly. Her only jewelry was a pair of small, gold earrings and a gold neck chain that sparkled against her dark skin. She had square hands with short nails covered with clear polish and wore a plain, gold wedding band.
“You’re Gordon Thatcher?” I asked, pointing to the nameplate on her desk.
She grinned, eyes twinkling.
“Yes, I guess my father thought he would never have any sons, so he named me Gordon. In school, some of my friends decided to call me Donny, ‘Gordon’ being just too weird. But, tell me. How can I help you?”
I explained about Emily Washburn.
“We have files that go back to the beginning of the paper. If there’s anything to find, it should be there. I can arrange for you to have access to those files.” She turned and typed something into her computer. “When do you want this?”
“As soon as possible. I came prepared to research this morning if I can.”
“Of course. I’ll make a note to download all the information available in the computer. There’s more in the archives. They’re stored upstairs and you’ll need to go through them by hand. Take a hint, it’s very dusty up there.”
I thanked her, then hesitated, an idea teasing at the back of my mind.
“Was there something else?”
“You’re a newspaper editor. If you’re anything like my brother Gerry, you have an instinct for a story. There’s something about the explosion of the Williams house that bothers me, but I can’t put my finger on anything specific.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about Max Williams. I don’t have a green thumb, so I don’t buy many plants. I’ve heard he treats his customers fairly, though.” While she waited for the printout of the information, we talked about Tuxford.
“This is a tight, little town. Did you know that I was the first black person to actually buy a house and live here?”
I stared at her. “No, I didn’t. You must have felt like a pioneer. Was it very bad?”
“You’d better believe it. I met Gerry at Ball State. We were both studying journalism. We parted ways after graduation, and I took a job down south. Several jobs later, all of them in editing, Gerry called one day and offered me the assistant editor position. He told me it would be a lot of work, but he knew I could do it. Kevin and I talked it over and I decided to take the job.”
“Kevin?”
“My son. He was ten years old at the time and, if you’ll forgive a mother’s prejudice, as smart as they come. He loves it here and thinks the world of Gerry and Mavis. He calls them Aunt and Uncle. He’s twenty now and studying journalism at the university.” She turned a photograph in a leather frame around for me to see. A young man wearing a cap and gown and an ear-to-ear grin stared back at me.
“His high school graduation. His father would have been so proud of him.” Donny sighed. “Kevin’s father was a helicopter pilot. He died in a training accident when Kevin was three years old.”
Just then, a grey haired woman, about my own age, knocked on the half open door. Donny motioned her in.
“Maggie, this is Caroline Chambers. She has the printouts for you. Caroline, show Maggie to the archives and give her any assistance she needs. Thanks.” Donny smiled at Ms. Chambers.
I shook Donny’s hand. “Thanks for your help. I enjoyed the chat.”
“I met Mike this morning, Ms. Chambers,” I said, as we climbed the narrow steps. “He seems like a really, bright young man.”
Caroline’s smile was as bright as her son’s.
“He is. He’s studying engineering. Right now, he’s on summer break. It’s too bad he got injured, but I guess he’ll still have his job.” She led me to a large room at the top of the stairs. “Well, here we are.” She pointed. “There are the oldest copies. They’re arranged in chronological order from left to right.” She started down the steps.
“I guess you and Mike’s father are very proud of him,” I fished.
“I am, and his grandmother is. I don’t know about his father. He shoved us out of his picture when he found out Mike was on the way. Yell if you need any help with this stuff.”
The tight look on her face told me I’d hit a nerve. Her heels clattered down the stairs.
The archives were only slightly less dusty than the attic at home. I spent the rest of the morning carefully searching through old papers for any information about the Washburn family in general. I figured Emily was only one part. A family this prominent usually had more than a little dust in the closets.
I wished I had driven my car. All these old papers were heavy and, by the time I got home, I knew how Atlas must have felt holding up the world.
I piled the yearbooks up at one end of the table and arranged the printouts and my notes on the other end. I found one of Mavis’ painted trays and placed a glass of milk, a peanut butter sandwich along with a sliced apple on it. Squeezing into a bit of space at the end of the dining table, I read through my notes from the old papers as I ate lunch.
It seems the Washburn family was well-known in the community. They lived in the big house built by Jacob and Lottie Washburn at the edge of the woods. Later, Jacob purchased another parcel of land where he built a canning factory. The land around Tuxford was ideal for growing tomatoes and Jacob Washburn made a fortune canning and selling tomato products. When Jacob died, Lottie managed the business with the help of son Robert.
Robert and Emily took over as co-managers when Lottie died. They served as managers of the prospering business until eventually a George Manning was hired. This must have been Willie’s grandfather.
When the United States entered the Great War, Robert Washburn joined the Army and was sent to France. Shortly after he arrived, according to one article, his sister Emily followed. She had signed up as a nurse. I guess the training for nurses back then was much different than now.
I found an article dated about six months before Emily showed up in France. It announced her engagement to Louis Devereaux of Tuxford, the high school principal. Interesting. The next pertinent information about Emily was dated three years later and was a photo of her getting off the train in Tuxford. There was no mention of her serving as a nurse. Newspaper photos at that time were grainy, at best, but this photo showed a young lady dressed in the latest fashion, but pencil thin, and looking very ill.
There was no further mention of her marrying Louis Devereaux. About a year later, Emily Washburn died following a riding accident in the Washburn woods. I went through the notes looking for further information about Louis, but only one small item showed up. An announcement of his marriage to someone else and gave his occupation as headmaster of a boys school in Ohio.
Robert, on the other hand, returned quite the hometown hero. There was a parade with the town band and a speech by the Mayor. Shortly after his return, he married Anna Howard. They had one child, Harriet.
The rest of my research was interrupted by a phone call from Willie Manning.
“How about lunch tomorrow, if you’re not busy?”
I agreed to meet him at Dutton’s at half-past twelve.
After a supper of pizza and salad, I continued studying the yearbooks. I learned Emily was as talented as she was beautiful. She made the best grades and had perfect attendance. She was the class president, valedictorian, and winner of a scholarship. The 1914 yearbook had autographs and comments from all the stu
dents to each other scattered throughout its pages. Most of the ink was faded and difficult to read, but one entry in particular caught my attention.
“Emily, I’ll never forget you, don’t you forget me. Signed, Louis.”
Emily accepted her scholarship and studied literature at a small, liberal arts college not far from Tuxford. It was after she returned home that the announcement of the engagement to Louis Devereaux appeared in the Times. Then, suddenly, she became a nurse and ended up in France with her brother, Robert. Louis Devereaux is not mentioned again. Was it possible Emily and Louis had an affair and Emily was pregnant? Is this the reason Willie wanted me to find out what happened to Emily? Faith’s name before she married Willie was Devereaux. Is there a connection? Maybe I should ask Faith about her family. I definitely needed to talk to Miss Harriet.
Chapter Four
The next morning, I returned from my usual walk and prepared my breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. I stacked my dishes beside the sink and went to clean up. Mavis had a fancy dishwasher but, being appliance challenged, I didn’t want to take a chance on breaking something. Besides, I can do some serious thinking while I wash dishes.
Willie phoned while I was in the shower. He left a message reminding me to meet him at Dutton’s at noon. This time, I dressed for comfort in my favorite jeans and mint green shirt. I wasn’t concerned about making an impression. I made sure my small notebook was in my purse, put on my sunglasses and started off.
A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the maples and, although a filter of thin clouds skimmed across the blue sky, I could tell this day was going to be another scorcher. On my way downtown, I stopped in at the courthouse. It stretched over the entire block at the corner of Main and Jackson Streets. Is there a small town somewhere that does not have a Main Street? I wondered. I wanted to find the records department. It took several minutes until I located the door with frosted glass and gold lettering stating RECORDS. The old wooden floor, dark from years of oiling, creaked with decades of footprints, and smelled like history itself.
Echoes Page 4
