by Deborah Heal
Abby straightened in her chair. “You’re right, Kate.” She picked up a brochure and began to read. Might as well improve her mind. When she finished the last of them, having learned more than she ever wanted to know about the trees, rocks, rivers, and minerals of the area, she stacked them on the chair beside her and looked up.
The clock on the wall said ten-fifty. The receptionist was still typing, and Chief Logan was still on the phone, although he had straightened in his chair and was writing something on a yellow legal pad.
Kate nudged her arm. “Hey, Abby, did you know that we have a state mineral?”
“Fluorite. Merri told me.”
“Well, did you know that they get fluorspar from it, which is used to make a ton of stuff. And did you know that 80% of the U.S. production of fluorspar comes from Illinois?”
“I do now.”
The outside door opened and Shireen, the waitress who had served them at the Red Onion, came in carrying a white paper bag. The receptionist stopped typing and came and looked inside it. “You didn’t bring the kind I like.”
“Hey, friends don’t let friends do donuts.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“I hear you’re going to need prisoner lunches today.”
The receptionist glanced over at Abby and Kate and said. “I’ll call you when I know how many.”
“It’s terrible the way they’re stirring up trouble around here. Why do reporters always want to write about nasty things anyway?”
The receptionist lowered her voice and said something that caused Shireen to look their way.
“Oh. Well, I’ve got to get back, Monica. See you.”
The receptionist took what looked like a cherry Danish from the bag, put it on a paper plate, and went to the chief’s office. After a quick rap on the door she went in. The smell of the pastry followed her.
When she came out, Abby said, “Excuse me, Miss?”
“Yes?”
“Does that waitress—Shireen—think we’re reporters?”
“No.”
“Oh, good, because we’re not.”
“She thinks you’re journalism students from SIU. But I set her straight. When will your book come out?”
“Book?” Kate asked.
“We’re not writing a book,” Abby said. “We’re down here to do research.”
“Oh, right,” she said with a wink. “Research.” A phone rang and she hurried back to her desk. After a brief conversation she went back to typing.
The frowny policeman came and picked up the paper bag from the counter and took it with him. Abby’s stomach growled, and she pictured the Red Onion’s menu. If they ever got out of here she’d order a corndog to celebrate—and one for Kate too, no matter what Ryan thought.
The street door opened and Patty Ann Frailey stepped inside the lobby. After a slight hesitation she went up to the counter. The typing stopped and the receptionist stood. “What can I do for you, Miss?”
“I need to see Chief Logan,” she said. “Quick.”
“He’s on a call right now, but you can wait over there.”
Patty Ann turned to where she pointed and saw them. “Oh,” she said, rushing over to them. “I got here as soon as I could. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Miss Granger had called the police. It took me a spell to get her calmed down enough to talk.”
“Miss?” the receptionist called. “You can go in now.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” she said with a concerned look at them. She went into the chief’s office, shutting the door behind herself. Chief Logan smiled at Patty Ann, but then a range of emotions, most of which Abby couldn’t identify, passed over his face. One, however, was clearly annoyance. He looked toward where they sat, and she lowered her eyes. After a second, Abby risked another look and saw that Chief Logan had picked up the phone and was dialing a number as Patty Ann recited it to him. He talked into the phone for about five minutes. Then the door opened and he ushered her out.
“You go on back and finish up at Miss Granger’s, Patty Ann,” he said. “And as for you two ladies, it’s time to have a little chat.” He motioned for them to go into his office. “Mr. Roberts and Mr. Turner will be joining us shortly.”
Abby stuffed the brochures into her purse because there was no sense adding littering to her rap sheet, and then she followed Kate into the lion’s den.
Chapter 16
They wasted no time leaving the municipal building after Chief Logan finished yelling at them.
Kate put her head on Ryan’s shoulder. “Was prison awful, sweetie?”
Ryan smoothed his hair back and let out a huff. “Yes, but I’m all right, Kathryn.”
“Yeah,” John said. “It was pretty awful. Ryan didn’t have a mirror, and all the donuts with sprinkles were gone by the time we got ours.”
“Well, I’m glad you guys were having a fun time, John,” Kate said. “I was worried sick. I kept remembering this movie I saw where a small-town sheriff arrested strangers passing through. He hacked them to death with a machete and then buried them in back of the police station.”
“You saw that, too?” Abby said with a shudder.
John laughed. “Chief Logan was pretty mad. No telling what would have happened if Patty Ann hadn’t talked Miss Granger into dropping the charges.”
“And speaking of our hero.” Abby waved at Patty Ann who was just coming out of the post office across the street.
She smiled and hurried over to them. “I had to mail a letter for Miss Granger.” She nodded at the paper bag she held. “And pick up a few things from Anderson’s.”
“Thanks to you,” Abby said, “the guys are out of the slammer.”
Patty Ann let out a huff. “Yeah. Well, I’m not so sure I did the right thing. Miss Granger was already as nervous as a cat in a room full of rockin’ chairs when I got there this morning on account of the coyotes keeping her awake last night.”
Abby darted a look at John. He looked as guilty as she felt.
“Then you guys really set her off. Of course, I never should have vacuumed upstairs when she was having one of her spells. I thought I’d never get her settled down.”
“I’m sorry we upset her,” Abby said. “We just didn’t realize.”
“Well, if y’all are so all-fired anxious to talk to Miss Granger, I’ll take you.”
“We wouldn’t want to worry her,” Abby said the same time Kate said, “Would you?”
They stood out of sight on the porch while Patty Ann knocked on the door. She put her face to the window and tried to see past the curtains. “I hear her coming,” she said softly. “Remember though, I’m not going to let you in unless she’s feeling all right.”
“Of course not,” Abby said.
“Just try, okay?” Kate said.
The door opened and Patty Ann smiled. “Miss Granger, I brought some of my friends for a visit.”
“You’re not dressed, child.” Miss Granger’s voice sounded serene. “Come on in and I’ll find you something pretty to wear. But we’ll have to hurry. The dancin’ is about to start.”
Patty Ann stepped through the door, extending her hand back so they could see the wagging movement she made to indicate it was iffy whether Miss Granger was up to their visit or not. Then she turned and mouthed the words, “Wait here.”
“Well, at least she’s not shrieking,” Ryan said, checking his watch. “Obviously, we’ll need to keep track of the time, or we’ll be stuck in the armpit of the nation for another night.”
“Obviously,” John said.
Abby took her phone out of her purse and saw there were thirteen missed calls. Merri picked up on the first ring and shouted in her ear. “What’s going on, Abby? Are you guys all right?”
“We’re fine, fine. As I thought, it was no big deal. I’ll tell you all about it when we get home.”
“You said you found Ned Greenfield, but he’s the wrong one?”
Abby chuckled. “Definitely. This Ned Greenfield is black. Bu
t we did find Hickory Hill. We’re standing on the front porch right now. I’ll take a picture to show you when we get back. Speaking of which, it might be late. Hopefully, the old lady who lives here will let us time-surf, and we’ll get our answers sooner rather than later.”
The front door opened, and Patty Ann waved them in. “Come on. I think it’s goin’ to be all right.”
“Sorry. I’ve got to go now, Merri,” Abby said into her phone. “I’ll call you when we’re on the road.” She clicked her phone off and followed the others into the house.
Patty Ann led them down the dim walnut-clad hall, past the dark staircase, and into a living room straight out of Dickens. Miss Granger sat primly on a gold brocade loveseat, smiling pleasantly in a way that said she didn’t remember them. “Welcome to Hickory Hill. I’m delighted you could make it.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” John said. “I hope we’re not disturbing you.”
“Certainly not. Please be seated.”
The room, a cross between a funeral home and a museum, was crowded with a hodgepodge of overly ornamented tables and oversized stuffed chairs. A huge mahogany piano with massive carved legs took up one end of the room. A shiver went down Abby’s spine; it was the same piano they had seen John Granger’s wife Martha playing.
Everyone sat down and looked around the room. Whoever had designed the wallpaper had managed to make pink roses and magnolia blossoms look ugly. But it didn’t matter because most of it was hidden by portraits of Miss Granger’s grim, unblinking ancestors hanging on the four walls around them as if they were supervising their visit.
Straight across from where Abby sat was the man they had seen last night on the porch. She stood and went to look at his portrait. John Granger and his wife made a handsome couple. In fitting with his status as a successful businessman, landowner, and upstanding member of the church, he wore a fine suit with a velvet-trimmed vest. Martha wore a dark dress with lace collar and hair covering. He looked satisfied with life. She looked resigned.
Kate came and studied the portrait and then whispered, “Yep. That’s John Granger.” They went back and sat down.
“We heard that another family also lived in this house,” Kate said. “The Greenfields.”
“They’re related by marriage to General Lawler,” Miss Granger said.
“Really?” Kate said.
“You might have seen his statue in the town square.”
“Yes, we did,” Abby said. “He was quite famous, wasn’t he?”
“Indeed, not to brag, my family is more so. My great, great grandfather owned the salt mine and was quite wealthy. Patty Ann can tell you all about how important salt was, can’t you, dear?”
Patty Ann blushed. “I already told them more than they want to know about salt, ma’am.”
“Do you recall the name of the Greenfield who married into the family, Miss Granger?” John asked.
She frowned and fidgeted with the buttons on the front of her dress. “You’re mistaken. It was the Lawlers that married into the family.” Then she smiled vaguely and rose from the loveseat. “Well, Patty Ann, let’s go make tea.” She turned back in concern. “You are staying for tea, aren’t you?”
“We’d love to,” Abby said, glancing at the others. “If it’s no bother.”
Patty Ann took Miss Granger’s arm and led her to a door at the end of the room. “We’ll have a tea party, won’t we?”
John had already slipped his laptop out by the time the door closed behind them. He pushed aside a leather-bound book on the coffee table to make room for it and launched Beautiful Houses.
The book appeared water-damaged, the cover stained and wavy, preventing it from lying flat. Abby picked it up and opened it. The pages were densely covered with spidery words in faded brown ink. It was a diary, a very old diary. It was surely too old to be Miss Granger’s, but all the same, she felt embarrassed to be handling it. She shut it quickly and set it at the end of the table.
“Okay,” John said. “We’re in.”
“And here we are,” Kate said. “This same room.”
“Yeah, some of the same portraits on the walls,” Ryan said. “Same piano.”
Abby glanced at the kitchen door. “You’d better turn the volume down.”
Chapter 17
Elizabeth sat in the light from the front window embroidering pink roses on a pillowcase for her hope chest. “Mother, make him sit down. He’s driving me ma—” She glanced over where her sister Mary sat writing furiously in her diary. “He’s driving me to distraction.”
Eyes closed, Martha played on with no need to refer to the hymnal in front of her. Oh Come, All Ye Faithful was her favorite Christmas carol. She smiled, thinking of Reverend Farris’ compliment after church. She had a real musician’s touch, he’d said. Her playing would make this year’s Christmas pageant a complete success. Why, she could be a concert pianist if she had a mind to be.
“Mother!” Elizabeth said again.
“Thomas, please quit pacing the room like a race horse,” Martha said without looking up.
“Is it any wonder I do?” He swore viciously. “It’s Sunday! Why does he have to do it on Sunday?”
“Some business has to be handled right away, dear. Even if it is Sunday. The Scriptures allow a man special leave to break the Sabbath if his ox is in the ditch.”
Another muffled cry came down from the third floor. Mary looked up from her diary, her pale blue eyes gone wide. She darted a look to the door that led out into the hall and then bent back to her writing.
Martha transitioned into Hark, the Herald, already considering what she would play when that song came to an end. Maybe Go Tell it on the Mountain. It was a favorite with the Negroes. Although why she should try to cheer them up when they were being so obstinate was a mystery.
The door opened and Lil, eyes downcast, came in carrying a tea tray. The cries from upstairs were clearer. “Shut the door, for mercy’s sake,” Thomas said.
Lil leaned against the door until it shut and then brought the tray and eased it onto the credenza against the wall.
Martha opened her eyes at last. “Oh splendid! Look, children. Lil brought Christmas cookies.”
Mary’s diary lay open in her lap. A tear fell from her tightly closed eyes and blotched the ink. Elizabeth thrust her embroidery frame away and went to sit by her sister. “Hush, Mary dear. It’ll be over soon.”
Martha changed her mind and began playing Joy to the World. It was not her favorite Christmas carol, but it was loud. “Come on, children, sing with me.”
“We’re getting nowhere,” Ryan said, snapping them back to the present. “This is going to take forever, wading through all this to find him. If there ever was a Ned Greenfield here.”
John paused the action and ran a hand through his hair before turning to him. “Okay, I’m going to take it off virtual and browse through the whole century.”
“No need for that,” Kate said. “Concentrate on just one decade. According to the census, Ned Greenfield was living here in 1850, but he’s not mentioned in the 1840 census.”
“Good to know,” John said. “That will save us a lot of time.”
Abby picked up the diary on the table. Inside the front cover in a bold script was written, “To Mary Granger from Mother.” It was the diary they had just seen the young woman nervously writing in. Abby had assumed Miss Granger’s “spells” were because she was getting a little senile. But perhaps “wacky” ran in the family. She closed it and put it back on the table.
“Okay,” John said. “I’ve got it set for 1840.”
“Surf’s up,” Kate said, grinning.
The door swung open and Patty Ann stood there holding a silver tea tray. “After you, Miss Granger.”
“Oops,” Abby said. “Not now.”
Miss Granger became tired, and so they had no choice but to leave after tea. They stood on her porch trying to decide what to do next.
“Let’s go eat,” John said. “I’m starving.
”
“You just had cookies and tea,” Abby said.
“And donuts before that,” Kate said.
“Can’t help it,” John said. “Being incarcerated makes me hungry.”
“Well, I’ll be seeing you around,” Patty Ann said.
“Don’t be silly,” John said, “You’re coming with us.”
The Red Onion was bustling with the lunchtime crowd. Shireen hurried to wipe off a table for them. “I’m glad you didn’t get thrown in the pokey. I’ll be back to take your orders.”
“I’d like to pray, if that’s all right with everyone,” John said.
“That’s something we could all use,” Kate said.
John’s prayer included thanks for the food and their new friend Patty Ann—and a mumbled apology for trespassing.
Abby responded with a heartfelt but silent amen.
When Shireen came to take their orders, Patty Ann said, “I’ll have a small Coke, ma’am.”
“Nonsense,” John said. “You’ve got to be hungry. Order anything on there. My treat.”
“Really? Thanks.” She reopened the menu and then looked up at Shireen. “Could I have a cheeseburger, ma’am?”
“You sure can, darlin’.”
“Bring her some fries, too,” John said.
“And I want a corndog.” Abby looked over at Kate. “Make that two.”
The others ordered and Shireen hurried off toward the kitchen just as a man in paint-splattered clothes rushed up and stood next to their booth, twisting his hat in his hand.
“I have something to say to you’ns.”
The noise in the room went down a few hundred decibels and heads turned toward them.
“You’ns come down here and make a big stink, the tourists will stop a-comin’, and The General Lawler Bed and Breakfast won’t even get off the ground. Nobody’s more in favor of the First Amendment than me, but I’m just sayin’ you’ns shouldn’t stir up things best forgotten. That’s all I got to say.”
