Echoes

by Naida Kirkpatrick

  “I hope you brought your car.” Donny gestured at the stack of papers on a table beside the door. “These papers are from some of the neighboring counties, going back fifty to seventy plus years. I just glanced through a few and it’s like reading the script for some of the current soaps. I didn’t realize these upstanding citizens were so wild. But this…” She handed me a thick file of clippings. “Is all about Emily Washburn and her family.”

  She helped me carry the stack of papers out to the car.

  “I know where you will be for a few days. With your head in all this stuff.”

  “At least it’s cool there and the coffee is good. If you don’t have anything planned this evening, why not come over for dinner?”

  Donny hesitated.

  “I promise I won’t make you read any of these old papers.”

  Donny laughed. “I would love to come. I finish here around six-thirty. See you about seven.”

  Mavis’ entire dining room seemed to disappear under the stacks of newspapers, file folders and yearbooks. I stacked some of the yearbooks on the floor, in chronological order then spread out the newspapers. Donny had arranged all the papers in order, which made it easy to follow events. There were accounts of teas given by the ladies of the Presbyterian Church. Mrs. Rodgers presented her piano pupils in a recital at the Methodist Church on June 30. There was more of this sort of reporting, but the most interesting was the column of court news from all the neighboring counties as well as Tuxford.

  Cicero County appeared to be the place where the good citizens of Tuxford took their legal problems. Over the span of thirty years, there were a host of charges brought for breaking the peace, fighting at local taverns, and a beating of a poor farmer because, the report stated, he caused his wife and family undue duress and inconvenience, I wondered what they called ‘inconvenience’ back then.

  There was also an announcement of a Miss Adele Rodgers arrival in Tuxford.

  “Adele Rodgers, newly arrived from Paris, France has completed her studies in piano at the Conservatoire. She is making her home in Tuxford and plans to open a school for the study of piano.” There was more about her dress and her comments about Tuxford.

  I took piano lessons from Miss Rodgers, but she was an old lady. At least, I thought so, at the time. The date of the paper was March 1942. I guess she wasn’t as old as I thought.

  Miss Rodgers. She was a wonderful pianist who made playing the piano look so easy. She worked very hard to inspire me but I just wasn’t good piano material in spite of what Mother thought. I labored over Chopin’s waltzes but, even with her help, I just couldn’t make them come alive. Somehow, I think Chopin was thrilled when I decided to become a nurse.

  When Donny arrived at seven, I had lasagna and a salad ready. She brought a bag of hard rolls.

  “I considered a bottle of wine, but I don’t know whether you are a wine person.”

  I shook my head.

  “Just on special occasions. It tends to give me a headache.” I poured glasses of iced tea for us and motioned her to a chair. “We have to eat in the kitchen. I have Mavis’ dining room table covered with the papers and yearbooks. I’ll show you later.”

  As we ate, I told her what I had found so far about Emily Washburn.

  “You may think I’m reaching, but I have a partial theory about her. Emily graduated from high school in 1914. World War I was just beginning in Europe. She got a scholarship to a small college about a hundred miles away. The college doesn’t exist anymore. She studied liberal arts like most young ladies did back then. She was an excellent student from all I can find, getting high marks, taking first place in debating, even playing center on the girls’ basketball team. She graduated in 1917, came home, signed up as a nurse and went to France.” I stopped to drink my tea. Donny didn’t comment, she was busy working through a huge serving of lasagna.

  “The next accounting I found about our Emily was when she came back to Tuxford. There’s a photo of her getting off the train. She looks like leftover death. Only two people are there to meet her. She goes home, then nothing much is heard about her.”

  “Just drops out of sight?” Donny finally put down her fork. “This is the best lasagna I have ever tasted, Maggie. With Kevin away, I haven’t cooked much lately. So, there’s no more mention of her?”

  “Not until the announcement of her death. She was riding in the woods on the Washburn estate and something spooked the horse. She was thrown and suffered a broken neck.” I sighed. “It’s so sad. She was only twenty-five. Meanwhile, brother, Robert comes home from the war and is given the royal welcome complete with the key to the city.”

  By now, Donny’s curiosity had been stirred. I showed her the stacks of papers and books in the dining room. She moved slowly around the table, turning pages and reading snatches of articles.

  “So what is your theory about Emily, Maggie?”

  “Okay. First I want you to read this.” I opened the yearbook and showed her the signed message from Emily. ‘I’ll always remember you. Louis.’

  Donny shrugged. “Okay. Now what?”

  “Emily went away to college. She came home and, right away, signed up as a nurse and was sent overseas. There is nothing to indicate she had any medical training at all.”

  “Nursing back then was not the same as it is now, Maggie. You know that.”

  “I know. But there’s nothing to indicate she could even change a dressing. I think she had an affair with someone who either wouldn’t, or couldn’t, marry her. She got pregnant and ran to big brother in France for help. She didn’t come home until late in 1919 after the war was over, then she looked like one of the war victims herself. My guess is, she had the baby and left it in France.”

  “Wow.” Donny sat down and gave me a sideways look. “Now I know why I like your books.” She grinned as she said it.

  “Donny, I’m serious.” I had another theory, but I decided not to share it just now. I don’t like being laughed at any more than the next gal.

  I made coffee for us. “You said Kevin is away. Is he visiting somewhere?”

  “Kevin’s in a work study program in journalism at the university. This particular class is only offered in the summer. He’s really quite good at writing and photography.” Talking about Kevin brought a sparkle to her eyes.

  “Spoken like a proud mother,” I said. We sat in silence for a moment. “Donny, you told me you don’t trust Willie Manning. Why?”

  “No particular reason. It’s just a feeling I get from him. When I first came here, I rented an apartment in the Addison building across from the library. I met Willie one day when I decided to treat Kevin and myself to a nice lunch at Dutton’s. Kevin and I and the Mannings all reached the door at the same time. Willie opened the door and Kevin started in, but Willie shoved him aside and charged in ahead pulling his wife after him, letting the door close in our faces. It was so rude and I felt bad for Kevin. He was only a little kid. He didn’t understand and thought he had done something wrong. After that, I had the dubious luck to run into Willie at every meeting I covered and every school event Kevin and I attended. He made a point to snub us and seemed to enjoy it.”

  “Willie always did think of himself first,” I said. “Small towns are like exclusive clubs sometimes. New people never really belong.”

  “I know.” She rubbed her eyes. “Gerry and Mavis told me the same thing. But I decided I was not going to be shoved away from the best job I had ever landed. Kevin loved his school and was doing very well. I made plans to buy a house.”

  She made a very unladylike sound.

  “If it hadn’t been for Gerry, I don’t know what we would have done. I spent hours looking for a house. I called realtors and made appointments only to find out that so many of the houses suddenly developed unforeseen problems when I showed up. Finally, Gerry buttonholed a few realtors and discovered it had been suggested by Willie Manning that they discourage me from buying. I was furious. Poor Kevin. He tiptoed around me as tho
ugh he thought I was a volcano about to blow. I finally got a realtor who wasn’t intimidated, and worked really hard to find a house I liked. And we’ve lived there for ten years now. We like it, Kevin is doing great in school, has lots of friends and life is good.” Donny laughed, and I laughed with her.

  “But--?”

  “Yes, but. I still don’t feel a part of the town.”

  “You probably never will,” I told her. “Little towns like Tuxford don’t really accept anyone who wasn’t born in them.”

  “Thanks. I feel so much better.” She laughed again, her throaty laugh smoothing the edge of sarcasm. She gathered up her purse and keys. “I must go. It’s late. I’d like to help with this project of yours if you’ll let me. It’s rather intriguing.”

  I said yes before she could change her mind. This whole project of Emily’s relatives seemed to grow every time I found another article.

  Chapter Six

  After my walk next morning, I went up to the attic. The lonely bulb hanging in the ceiling shed a pool of feeble light that didn’t reach into the gloom of the corners. Naturally, the books and papers I wanted were all stacked against the far wall under the eaves. I crouched over to avoid banging my head on the rafters. I stirred up so much dust that I coughed with every step. The morning had started out cool and sunny but, here in the attic, the air was as stale as a tomb. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The cramped room darkened, the air grew muggier, and I began to feel trapped. I tugged a box of old newspapers out from under the eaves, and scraped my ankle against an old rocker in the process. Gads! Didn’t they ever throw away anything?

  A tremendous clap of thunder boomed overhead, followed by the slam of a door somewhere. Just as I reached the stairs, another blast of thunder shook the house and, with a pop, the poor little light went out. The rolls of thunder were almost drowned out by a downpour of rain. I teetered on the top step with the box of papers pressing against my legs. The door at the bottom of the steps had blown shut and the stairs were as dark as the inside of my pocket. I clutched the railing with one hand as I crept down one step at a time. I tried to hang onto the heavy box with the other hand, terrified of missing a step and falling. I chewed down the surge of panic as the feeling of the stairwell closing in around me grew. Once, I thought I heard a shout but the rain hammered on the roof so violently I couldn’t be sure. By the time I reached the door, panic coated my tongue with a taste like old rubber bands. I grasped the doorknob, only to have the door jerked away. I fell face first into the hall.

  “Ms. MacKenzie!” Hands grabbed me. “Are you all right? Here let me help----” Strong arms lifted me up and I gazed into the startled dark eyes of a total stranger. He looked as frightened as I felt, and was dripping wet.

  He was tall, breathtakingly handsome and if I had been thirty years younger…well.

  “Who are you? And what are you doing in here, dripping all over my floor?” Pushing panic aside, I ducked into the bathroom for a towel and thrust it at him.

  He snatched it out of my hand and dried his face. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you. I’m Kevin Thatcher. Mother sent me over to invite you to dinner and I got caught in the downpour. Sorry about the mess.” He finished drying his head then used the towel to mop up the puddles on the floor. “Sorry about tracking in all that water.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I felt calmer now since I no longer felt threatened, and took another look at him. He had set his shoes on the doormat but his shirt and pants were soaked. “Let me find something for you to wear while we dry your clothes.”

  I found a terry cloth bathrobe in Gerry’s closet, and laughed at the image of my starched-up brother in it. It was white with green and yellow stripes topped off with black lapels and belt. I handed it through the bathroom door to Kevin, and went to put his things into the dryer. Fortunately, the power came back on just in time.

  “If you just had a turban you could pass for one of those story book sultans,” I told him, as I set out pretzels and pop in the kitchen and handed him a glassful of ice. I thought you were away at school.”

  He laughed. “I am. I just came home for the weekend. Mom told me about your project. Looking through all the old papers and books sounds interesting. Having any luck?”

  I showed him my notes and the stacks of yearbooks and newspapers.

  “So far, I haven’t found much that’s really helpful except for background. Any suggestions?”

  “Why don’t you look in the sections from the neighboring counties? Sometimes people put information there.”

  By the time his clothes were dry, and we were ready to leave, the rain had stopped. I love the smell of the air after a storm. It’s one of my summertime favorites.

  Chapter Seven

  I needed more milk and fresh vegetables, so I went to Maude Chambers’ little store and bakery. I’m sure there’s a supermarket somewhere, but I liked the friendly atmosphere of Maude’s. There were no other customers at the time, so I ordered a small pot of coffee and a cinnamon bun and asked her to join me. We sat at one of the little, round tables by the yellow windows.

  “How’s Mike?” I liked the way her eyes lighted up when I asked about her grandson.

  “He’s doing okay. Not so achy anymore. He’ll be able to go back to school when his classes start.” She carried her own cup of coffee, placing in on a folded napkin.

  “What about his job at the flower shop? Who’s in charge there now that Mr. Williams is dead?”

  Maude nodded. “It’s really curious. Mike said they just found out that the Sisters of Charity own the flower shop. One of the nuns was in the other day to look over everything. She told the employees that they intend to keep the shop open and they’ll all keep their jobs. What do you think about that?”

  “The Sisters of Charity?” This was a surprise.

  “Yes. She had a lawyer with her. Someone from Marion, I don’t remember his name. I guess the Sisters have been silent partners for years.”

  “Maude, what kind of an employer was Mr. Williams? Did Mike and the other people like him?”

  She shook her head, tracing the rim of her cup with a finger.

  “Mike never said much, but I don’t think he liked him. He was fair enough, paid good wages and let Mike schedule his work around his classes, but he wasn’t very sympathetic. I mean he didn’t want to give anyone time off, not even if he was sick or had an emergency.” A customer entered and Maude went to wait on her. When the customer left, Maude returned and continued her story. “Did you know that Willie Manning’s wife worked as a bookkeeper for the older Williams?”

  My ears perked up. I shook my head.

  “Well, she took a course in accounting and, when she graduated, she worked for Williams Flowers as bookkeeper. She caught Max’s interest. He hadn’t been here long, and didn’t know much about American girls, I guess. He thought he was so special that a girl was privileged to receive his attention. He expected her to do what he told her.”

  Maude chuckled. “He got educated real quick. At first Faith seemed to like him, but I think she got tired of being ordered about. She finally told him to get lost.” Her face took on a faraway look. “He took a shine to my Caroline, too, but it didn’t last long. Caroline said he considered her unsuitable. Isn’t that a crock?”

  Maude gave me a lot to think about. Mac always said “Find out who benefits from the crime.” Somehow I couldn’t stretch my mind around accusing the Sisters of Charity of blowing Max into little pieces. Still, it might prove useful to go ask questions.

  Chapter Eight

  The drive to Windom is a pretty one, through part of the state that centuries ago was scraped flat by the great glaciers. Crops of corn and soybeans stretched away on either side of the road into distant clumps of trees. Occasionally, a house and barn stuck up like blips on a graph.

  The convent is embraced by a stand of trees, sheltering it from the emptiness. A paved road leads away from the highway, curving gently around through p
ark like areas of shrubs, flowers and vegetable gardens. I saw workers busy in the gardens, their habits resembling a flock of blackbirds wearing straw hats.

  Years ago, this land belonged to Horace Mansion who made tubs of money selling bootleg liquor during Prohibition. After things fell apart, when the Depression overpowered everyone, the Mansions moved away and the great house became a derelict. The Sisters of Charity bought the land and built their church, convent and a school. It’s a beautiful place. Just the whisper of wind swishing through the tall grass, and the occasional cry of a bird broke the silence. The stillness settled down over everything like sunlight, creating a world of calm.

  I called ahead to be sure I’d be welcome and arrived just after the noon meal. A silent novice ushered me into a small, formal lounge. It was a restful and cheerful room with textured walls of soft, creamy beige. In the center of a low table, strands of ivy spilled over the sides of a shallow, glass bowl. Sofas stretched along two of the walls meeting in the corner. There was no other furniture, no magazines, nothing to read, no TV. I sat until silence echoed in my ears then I resorted to pacing, becoming more impatient by the minute. Something important teased at my mind, but I just couldn’t quite grasp it. It was more than half an hour before anyone came.

  Sister Beatrice slipped into the room quietly.

  “I can’t believe you’re still alive!” I blurted out, surprised. I immediately felt my face grow hot. Think, Maggie, before you speak.

  She gave the little giggle I remembered so well. “Yes, my dear. I’m still alive and well and still teaching, at least part of the time.” She sat at one end of the sofa, patting the cushion beside her. “Please. Sit down and tell me all about yourself. It’s been many years since those library days.”

  I was impressed that she even remembered me. “I’m just here on a visit,” I told her, sitting on the opposite sofa. “My brother Gerry and his wife are taking a cruise and I’m looking after the house until they return. But that’s not why I’m here.” I placed my notebook on the table. “I’ve come to ask for any information you can give me about Max Williams.”