Echoes

by Naida Kirkpatrick

  “Was there an investigation?”

  “Some. It was determined to be a stuck exhaust valve or something. Anyway, it’s all in the past.” She shook her head. “But Maggie, I know a lot of folks didn’t like Max but I also don’t know anyone who hated him enough to kill him.”

  “Well someone did.” Someone with a soul so eroded by hatred, oozing drop by drop until it could hold no more, much like a rock that finally splits from the constant dripping of water.

  I changed the subject by asking her about her business, and she was more than happy to tell me all about it. When I left the Fashion Shoppe, I was more confused than before.

  It began to seem as though any number of people might have a reason to want Max Williams dead.

  My day spent wandering along the streets, and through the countryside of my long ago memories, proved to be rewarding. Hometowns can be relaxing in their own peculiar way and Tuxford was no different. When I felt I had covered as much ground as I could on foot, I got the Jeep and drove out through the country around Tuxford. Some of the places I drove through echoed through my memory like the smell of baking bread on a morning breeze. Other scenes were not so pleasant.

  Maybe it was the quiet of the country, or the wind ruffling the leaves of the hydrangea bushes beside the library but, the more time I spent here made me remember the reasons why I left. I loved my family, and the house where Gerry and I grew up, but small town attitudes can be stultifying. The narrow viewpoints and hypocrisy of the good citizens can squeeze the hope out of the best-intentioned, good deeds.

  Mac grew up in a small town, too, so when we both decided to take positions at Midford General, he as pathologist and I as a staff nurse, we were already acclimated to the small town attitudes. Midford is only slightly larger than Tuxford. Between our jobs and the children, we were involved in community affairs as much as we desired but, still, we tried very hard to avoid the petty jousting of the community.

  Whispers of the past teased through my mind like the rustle of the King Maple leaves beside the porch. I remembered many an adult conversation, in low voices, that changed to everyday comments when I entered a room. Comments overheard about ‘his drinking’ or ‘beating his wife.’ Snide remarks about ‘so-and-so’ at church wearing ‘that dress.’ I was only a child, and didn’t understand, but all children are intensely curious. When conversations sound like secrets, they get attention. As someone once said, “The best kept secrets are those that keep themselves.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I read through the court news and real estate transfers in the old newspapers, pored over an endless list of business transactions listed in the county records and discovered that the Washburn family owned more than the big house and woods where Miss Harriet now lived. Originally, the family grew tomatoes and canned them. Their business grew and developed into the major source of tomato products in the Midwest. Although it is managed today as a corporation, Miss Harriet owned more than half of the business and still maintained an active presence on the board. As the last remaining family member, Lily Thomas would eventually inherit the business as well as the house and woods.

  This was the real reason Willie Manning was so determined to find out whether Faith was related to the Washburns. If she was, she would inherit an extremely profitable business and his financial problems would be solved. All his concern for Miss Harriet’s ability to take care of her finances, and maintain her home, was as phony and flimsy as a cardboard smile.

  This would really put a crimp in his big plans. If his own financial situation was as shaky as Mable suspected, his plans were about to dissolve like sugar in hot tea. I chuckled with an unholy glee. I had solved the puzzle of what happened to Emily Washburn and felt quite pleased with the results. It isn’t often that life hands us a happy ending to one of its adventures. It was a little sad though, that Emily couldn’t know the rest of the story. It was time to give my report to Willie, so I chose the next morning to spring my news on him.

  Mable was on the phone when I entered the office. I pointed to Willie’s door. She nodded and motioned me to go on in. Willie looked annoyed when I entered his office. However, I didn’t care. He was going to be a great deal more annoyed when I left, I was sure.

  “Maggie. Come in.” He pointed to the chair, while telling the caller he’d talk to them later.

  I settled into the big leather chair, leaned back and crossed my legs. Willie put down the phone and pasted on his lawyerly smile.

  “It’s always a pleasure to see you Maggie, but I happen to be rather busy just now. How can I help you?”

  I laced my fingers together and rested my chin on them.

  “I came to report that I have solved your problem of Emily Washburn’s descendants.”

  “Great. What have you learned?”

  “Emily Washburn served as a nurse in France during World War One. While there, she met a French, resistance fighter and fell in love. She had a daughter, but since they had not married, she felt she couldn’t bring the child home. She named her baby Roberta, after her brother and gave her up for adoption. She then returned home. Roberta was adopted and raised by a French couple, Jacob and Rosa Yoder. When World War II began, and the Nazis took over the small village where the Yoder’s lived, Rosa and Jacob had to leave. However, by this time, Roberta was working as a cryptologist for the Germans and was in love with a young soldier so she chose to remain. She eventually had a daughter, but died before she could get back to her parents. The daughter was adopted by an American reporter and his French wife and brought to the States where she grew up, married and eventually had a child, a daughter. This child is Lily Thomas who is at present, here in Tuxford, working for Rosa Yoder and is a graduate student at the university. Lily Thomas is not only Rosa Yoder’s great granddaughter she is also Miss Harriet’s great grandniece. Lily Thomas will inherit the Washburn property and business.”

  Having delivered my bombshell, I sat back and watched Willie’s face turn from pink to pale to dark grey to a shade of greenish putty. I almost expected to see sparks scatter from him. This was better than fireworks on the Fourth of July.

  “Where does Louis Devereaux fit into the picture? I was sure---.” He seemed to have trouble getting his breath and his words grated like nails on slate.

  “No, Willie. Louis Devereaux was only a passing fancy, a—a schoolgirl crush. It seems that our Emily was her Papa’s darling and he gave her everything she wanted, almost. However, when she showed an interest in Louis Devereaux, he put his foot down. That’s why she cancelled the newspaper announcement of their engagement almost immediately after she placed it.

  “You see, on the rare occasions when Emily didn’t get her way, she reacted by doing something impulsive and outrageous. Her friends were joining up and she apparently saw this as a glorious adventure; the heroic nurse helping brave soldiers back to health. When she discovered it wasn’t so glamorous after all, she turned to the nearest sympathetic person. That happened to be Eduard.

  “The result of this affair eventually leads us to Lily Thomas as Emily Washburn’s heir, not Faith. Faith is in no way related to the Washburn family.” I got to my feet. “I solved your puzzle for you Willie. Have a nice day.” I gave him a small wave and slipped out the door, enjoying the look of fury and despair on his face. I nodded to Mable and tossed a wink and salute in her direction and left.

  I don’t know exactly what Willie Manning thought about the news that was going to dissolve his hopes of acquiring the Washburn property, but I had a pretty good idea. According to Mable, as soon as I left his office, Willie exploded, stormed around banging things and shouting, making a perfect ass of himself. That is, as much as possible since nobody, not even Willie, is perfect. Then he stormed out banging the door so hard, the knob fell off. At least the Washburn property would stay in the family and not become a part of a factory.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  In my walks along the streets of Tuxford, long-forgotten memories flooded th
rough my mind. It was as though a door creaked open into an unusual room. One path led past the corner where Mother sent me many times to buy a loaf of day old bread or a few slices of lunch meat. I always liked going into that store. The woman behind the meat counter slapped the roll of meat onto the wooden block table and, with a few quick chops, sliced off precise cuts of even size. She wrapped it in heavy, white paper and tied it with a string from a spool hanging from the ceiling.

  Another path wound around the Ambruster place where the huge walnut tree still stood. Every fall, Gerry and his friends gathered up fallen walnuts, then spent most of the winter waiting for the dark stain to finally wear off their hands.

  I felt like the pendulum of a clock, swinging back and forth between past and present, and it was becoming tiresome. It was with considerable relief to realize the solution to my puzzle was almost within reach.

  But just as I was about to snatch the answer from the jaws of uncertainty, Willie Manning stormed up onto the porch one Saturday morning. He ignored the bell and pounded on the door until I rushed to the door and yelled at him to stop.

  “Willie, what are you doing? Do you intend to break down the door? Stop right now or I’ll call Lt. Phillips.”

  He jerked the screen open and strode inside, planting himself between me and the kitchen.

  “Do you realize what you have done to me Maggie? You playing detective has ruined me. My business associates are backing out of our agreement. I’m left with just my legal business. Maggie, I absolutely needed that property.” He turned and practically fell into a chair, covering his face with both hands.

  Good Heavens, I thought. He’s almost in tears.

  “You arrogant bastard. Just who had the great idea for me to find out all I could about Emily Washburn? Willie, you’re a lying sniveling, pathetic excuse for a human being and your conscience obviously doesn’t have any problem trying to cheat an old woman out of her home just for your own benefit.” I took a deep breath. I had wanted to tell him off for a very long time. “You got exactly what you deserved, Willie Manning and the only underhanded work was your own. Now, get out of this house.”

  I held the door open for him. It was the courteous thing to do. I watched him stumble down the steps and on to his car, dragging his pride behind him like a broken sail.

  The phone rang about then. It was Mac.

  “Great timing, Mac.” I really unloaded all my anger at Willie on Mac’s sturdy shoulders. “Willie Manning just blew in here, ranting on and on about how I destroyed his chance for success by ruining his business plans. The man’s way out of line. Mac, he almost cried.”

  “Maggie love, calm down.” Mac’s warm calm voice settled my temper somewhat and I calmed down enough to describe the scene with Willie storming around, shouting and wailing. When I stopped to breathe, Mac asked in his reasonable way,

  “What’s so special about this particular spot for a factory? Wouldn’t someplace closer to the major highway be better? Most towns have zoning laws against building factories in residential areas. It seems to me a better location would be an industrial park or such. You’ve already told me that you don’t trust Manning. Maybe there’s something else going on.”

  “Thanks Mac.” We chatted a little longer, he told me of his plans to go with Peter on an overnight camping trip with some of his friends then we hung up. That encounter with Willie shook me up a little, but Mac’s words, triggered a long forgotten piece of advice that Miss Harriet gave me. I remembered the day I went with grandfather to call on Miss Harriet Washburn. I had made some comment about the painting of her Aunt Emily and she said I was very observant.

  “Always remember to look behind the picture, Maggie.”

  That’s what I needed to do now, look behind the picture. Willie accused me of spoiling his business plans. Was he really concerned about the prosperity that new business would bring to Tuxford? I had to wonder. Willie wasn’t the kind to do good deeds because he’s benevolent. Knowing how devious he had been in the past, I didn’t trust him. The question kept bouncing around in my head like an echo in an empty room. Finally, not able to do nothing, I went to the tiny, county museum squeezed in between the library and Mason’s dry cleaners.

  The museum had been built after I left Tuxford and I had never been here. I was surprised by the wealth of information I found. A charming, young woman met me at the door, with a smile and a handshake.

  “I’m looking for some background on the history of Tuxford and some of the industries that used to be around here,” I told her.

  “Right this way.” I followed her down a short hall. She led me into a room with display cases arranged around the sides. “These are some of items that used to be manufactured here, but not any longer. My grandfather used to tell me all the stories his father told about the factories that were built when the gas boom started. Here.” She waved her hand at the displays.

  I pulled out my notebook. I wanted to write down what I saw because I knew I couldn’t remember all of it. There were light bulbs of all different shapes and colors, and priceless glassware collections that seemed as fragile as the memories they held. Other cases displayed tools used for blowing glass.

  There was a display of gas jets for home lighting. My guide pointed these out.

  “My grandmother told me she used to have one in every room and, at night, it was almost as light as day. I find that hard to believe, but I guess those were different times.” She went on to talk about the many factories that sprang up around Tuxford as a result of the discovery of natural gas wells under the surrounding fields.

  The museum had a wealth of artifacts and documents, and photos of the entire county going back more than a hundred years about the early settlers, the establishing of Tuxford and pictures and accounts of first families.

  The business brought to the area, by the discovery of the gas supplies, brought workers from all over the world. Glass blowers came from Belgium and Sweden, even France. Farmers prospered from the influx of new residents, because even temporary workers had to eat. Small settlements grew into large communities with a mayor and town council in many places and businesses were established. Schools were built and new ways of transportation appeared. Hotels sprang up near the new railroads and interurban lines.

  Many of the residents who had previously heated their homes with wood or coal, could now use gas for fuel. Kerosene lamps gave way to gas lighting and there was so much gas that farmers often erected a pipe in a field to burn off the extra. Towns built flambeaux for street lighting.

  I found much information about the Washburn’s first business and canning factory. There was a lot about how the business started, and how they set up the processing system but one thing stood out. I was surprised by one important fact: The Washburn Cannery was powered by natural gas. A pocket of natural gas was discovered almost directly under Tuxford and was used extensively by the industries even down to the lights in individual homes. The availability of gas encouraged the establishment of many industries and was used so extravagantly that it soon became depleted. As the resource dwindled, so did business until the only thriving industry remaining was the Washburn Cannery. Apparently, toward the end of Robert Washburn’s management, the factory was converted to coal. All this history gave me an idea.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I returned to the Courthouse and the dark green volumes with the maps of the county. Ah-ha! The old, geological surveys showed the location of the areas of natural gas. It seemed to be under most of the older part of Tuxford.

  I began to suspect Willie Manning of trying to interest the people of AlCon Steel in a factory site based on a supply of natural gas, without telling them the gas wells no longer were present.

  I decided to take Mable Prentiss into my confidence. She had told me earlier that Willie needed the commission from the sale of the Washburn property. She also told me, the first time I came to Willie’s office, that she knew where all the skeletons were buried. I wanted to find out just wha
t skeletons she was talking about.

  “Mable, has Willie had you run any studies of the history of Tuxford and the rest of the county? Any surveyor’s reports or geological information?”

  Her eyes brightened as if I was offering chocolate. “This has to do with Miss Washburn’s property, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure just yet,” I waffled. “Just a wild idea I want to chase down.”

  She searched through the file cabinet until she pulled out a thick folder from the back of the bottom drawer.

  “That’s odd. I’d sworn I left this in the top drawer.” She spread the contents across her desk. “Willie is out of town for a couple of days, so we won’t be interrupted.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “I don’t think he’d approve my showing you all this.”

  The file was divided into separate folders, each carefully labeled with its contents. Mable arranged them in order, and I slid each one around to examine it.

  I think I know how the miners felt in 1848 when they discovered the gold in California. The information Willie had amassed, concerning Tuxford and the surrounding county, was complete down to the names and address of many of the early residents. There were financial accounts of many businesses, farm crops, and the raising of funds for the new school.

  The industries in the cities around Tuxford were listed with their expenses and profits and number of employees. Some companies even had a list of the wages paid for different jobs.

  “Mable, where did Willie get all this information? I didn’t find half this much at the museum or in any book at the Courthouse.”

  “I don’t know. He has quite a library in his office; perhaps it’s there.”