by T. L. Haddix
Sawyer smiled. “Sydney, if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that you’ll do a damned fine job at this. If you can find the resources you need. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Yes, sir.” She gave him a sharp salute as he went back into his office. The first place she’d need to start was with the expert. Grabbing her cell phone, she called Owen while she started working her way through the e-mails that had come into the general mailbox overnight.
“I’ve been expecting your call,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “How’s my girl this morning?”
“Excited. How are you?”
“I’m enjoying watching Noah try to avoid going on a date. I’m not sure he’s going to be successful, thankfully. Did you talk to Mr. Grainger?”
Sydney laughed. “I did. And I have a ton of questions—we’re going to try to help him, but before we do, I need to pick your brain.”
“Ask away, my dear, though the pickings might be slim.”
“I know better, Grandpa. So who’s Noah possibly going on a date with?”
Owen cleared his throat. “The young lady at the front desk here at the library. Apparently, someone gave her his business number and he gave her mother a quote for a new kitchen last week.”
A satisfied grin spread across her face. “I wonder who in the world would do such a thing.”
“I’m sure you don’t know a thing about it.”
“Nope. I’m completely innocent,” she told him with a laugh. “So about these questions I have.”
“Why don’t I head over to Sawyer’s office and answer them?” he proposed. “I’ve wanted to see where the boy works now for a while.”
“That would be wonderful, but what about Noah?”
Owen sighed. “I think I’m going to have to rescue him. He’s looking awfully vexed, and if I don’t step in, he’s liable to do or say something unwise. We’ll see you in a bit.”
A deep peal of laughter rang out as she imagined how harassed Noah must be feeling, and the sound drew Sawyer’s attention. He stopped in the reception area on his way back from the coffee pot.
“What’s funny?”
“Noah,” she told him, snickering. “Grandpa’s trying to play matchmaker and it isn’t going so well.”
Sawyer’s smile was slow, wickedly amused, and made her stomach turn somersaults. “Who’s the girl?”
“A really sweet young woman at the library. I may have given her his phone number the other day. Apparently, she followed through and called him, set up an appointment for her mother to get a kitchen estimate.”
He shook his head as she laughed. “Better watch it. You might find yourself on Owen’s Cupid list.”
That sobered her up. “Oh, no. Forget it. That’s not happening.”
It was Sawyer’s turn to chuckle. “Don’t bet on that.”
“You hush, or else I’ll tell Grandpa to find you someone,” she warned, shaking her finger at him. “As a matter of fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to do that before now.”
“What makes you think he hasn’t?” With a wink, he went back into his office.
Sydney stared after him, her mouth hanging open. “You booger!”
His response was a low laugh that affected her much the way the smile had. The stinker knew her well enough by now to know that curiosity over who Owen had set him up with and how it had turned out would eat her alive.
“I’ll pay you back for that. You’d better watch it,” she called.
“Good luck with that.”
As she went over the genealogy file so she knew what to ask Owen, she realized she was excited about the project for the project’s sake, not just so she could prove herself to Sawyer. While she’d enjoyed the work she’d done for Charles, none of that had been anything she’d taken lead on. She’d had a lot of responsibility in her duties as his assistant, yes, but the nuts and bolts of the work had been his. This one would be all on her, and she was more than ready for the challenge.
Chapter Sixteen
Watching Sydney interact with Owen in a more professional setting gave Sawyer some surprising insights into what made her tick. He knew of Owen’s passion for history, a passion Rachel shared to the point that she’d made a career out of teaching the subject. Many times over the years, Sawyer had been present for discussions where she and Owen had debated this settlement theory or that historical finding, and the depth of their knowledge on the subjects they discussed had amazed him. For some reason, he’d never expected Sydney to share that love of history. Clearly, though, she did.
“So that’s where I think I need to start,” she said as she finished going over the job with Owen. “What do you think?”
“I think that sounds like a solid plan. I know a lot of work has been done on at least a couple of these families,” he said, tapping the file. “I can tell you what books to look at in the library. If he’s just after one or two lines to tie into DAR, you should be able to follow those two easily enough. If he wants a full genealogical profile, that might be a bit harder. Not impossible but harder. Just keep in mind that not every branch of every tree leads to information. You’ll have some dead branches that the information simply doesn’t exist on anymore.”
Sawyer heard regret in the man’s voice. “Why would they be dead branches?”
“A lot of reasons. The families might not have been record keepers or they might have been isolationists—in which case the traditional routes of research such as census records and birth records won’t exist—or the records might have been lost over the years. Back in the day, burning down courthouses to make a mark during wartime was a common practice. Shoot, the courthouse here in Perry County has been burned three or four times since the county was founded in 1821.”
Sawyer was astonished. “Seriously? Three or four times?”
“Yes, not counting expansions. We’re on the fifth or sixth version now. Thankfully, this last round was just a renovation, but it’s not been that long ago that feuding families went in to get rid of land transfer records by whatever measures it took.”
“Even knowing what kind of people I interacted with as a state trooper, that still surprises me,” Sawyer confessed. “I guess there weren’t any duplicates of the records that burned, either.”
“Not often, no. The 1890 census is a great example of records that were lost,” Sydney said. “Also due to a massive fire, this time in the National Archives in 1921. They’re still finding bits and pieces of it here and there, thanks to the government’s typical bureaucratic inefficiency, but most of it’s gone as far as we know. And that’s vital information we’ll never get back.”
Owen nodded. “A lot can happen in twenty years—marriages, divorces, relocations, births, deaths. They do the census every ten years, and so losing that decade’s censuses… it’s a painful blow to historians. If you need access to the online databases, come up to the house and use my subscription,” he told Sydney. “There’s an amazing amount of information to be had right there, and we’ll feed you.”
Sawyer raised his coffee mug. “Can’t beat that offer.”
“You should come, too,” Owen said. “I know this isn’t your particular field of inquiry, but it might behoove you to see how the process unfolds.”
“I don’t want to bother you and Sarah,” Sawyer hedged.
Owen’s look scolded him as effectively as though he’d spoken. “I won’t tell Sarah you said that. I’d hate to see her blister your ears. Will an evening work better for you two?”
Sydney shrugged. “I’m free whenever. The only thing I have planned is dinner with Danny Friday evening. You?”
“Tonight or tomorrow would work,” Sawyer said, giving in. “I’ll be happy to bring food, though.”
“Me, too. Or I can come up and help Grandma cook,” Sydney sa
id.
“You can cook?” He hadn’t meant to ask that, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. Sawyer knew, as did anyone who was close to the Campbells, that Emma wasn’t a great cook.
Sydney scowled at him. “Why wouldn’t I be able to cook?”
“Um, because you’re Emma’s daughter?” he answered tentatively.
Owen laughed. “You’ve stepped in it now.”
Sydney straightened, shooting Sawyer a dirty look. “I may be Emma’s daughter, but I’m also Archer Gibson’s. And I’m Sarah Campbell’s granddaughter. ‘You can cook?’” she mimicked. “Oh, it’s on now, buddy. It’s on.”
Sawyer struggled not to laugh at her outrage, and seeing Owen’s clear amusement didn’t help. “I stand corrected. I’m sorry for doubting your culinary skills.”
“Mm-hmmm. You just go right on and try to make nice. Won’t do a bit of good. That horse is already out of the barn,” she said as she straightened the file. “Grandpa, I’ll call Grandma and coordinate with her about the food. Is this evening, six o’clock okay? I get off at four thirty and I’ll need a little bit of time to get to the farm and get cooking.”
Owen grinned at her proudly. “I look forward to it.” He stood. “I’d better meet up with Noah. He’s a bit miffed at me right this moment. Something to do with interfering in his personal life. The things these kids come up with. Like I’d try to find him a girlfriend. He has me confused with someone else.”
“Uh-huh. Sure he does,” Sydney said, coming to her feet. “If it’s okay with Sawyer, I’ll walk over to the bakery with you. My breakfast bar’s wearing off. Do you want anything?”
“Surprise me,” Sawyer told her. The mischievous look that flitted across her face made him wish he’d chosen better words, but they were out.
Judging by Owen’s expression, he was enjoying watching Sawyer dig himself a deeper hole. His words confirmed it.
“The two of you should take this act on the road. You could charge admission.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sawyer said, somewhat desperately.
Owen squeezed his shoulder. “Sure you don’t. See you this evening.”
The office was quiet after they left. Sawyer took the opportunity to close his eyes for a moment, to sit back in his chair with a groan and ask himself again what he’d gotten into. Hiring Sydney had not been a mistake. He didn’t believe that now. But his quiet, regimented life was being turned upside down bit by bit, and it was unsettling. He wasn’t sure where the pieces would land when they came back down. All he could do was hold on for the ride and hope they settled into something resembling normal.
Chapter Seventeen
By the time dinner was over, Sawyer was so stuffed he didn’t know if he could push his chair away from the table. From the smug, knowing smirk on her face, Sydney was very aware of his predicament.
“Gee, Sawyer, you act like you’ve never had a home-cooked meal or something,” she said as she stood to clear the dishes.
Forcing himself to his feet, he scowled across the table at her. “Okay, smarty pants. You can cook. I was wrong, I was judging you, and I’m sorry.”
She shot him a coquettish glance over her shoulder, then snubbed her nose in the air. “Hmmph.” Her dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, swung with the movement.
Sawyer gave a put-upon sigh. “She’ll never let me live that down,” he told Sarah and Owen as he gathered up empty dishes.
“Probably not. And what do you think you’re doing? You came here to do genealogy, not dishes,” Sarah said, trying to shoo him away from the dining room.
“You are not waiting on me.” He ignored her efforts and followed Sydney into the kitchen. “I’m perfectly capable of helping with the cleanup.”
“Good luck with that,” Sydney said, taking the plates from his hands. “You’re a guest. You’d have to come to more family dinners than you attend now to qualify for dishwasher duty.”
As Sydney went back for a second load, Sarah came in, the plate with the leftover biscuits in hand. “Would you like me to wrap these up for you to take home?”
He barely managed to hold back a whimper. “Yes, please. Unless you and Owen want them.”
The biscuits had been amazing, as had the rest of the meal—crisply fried potatoes and onions, soup beans, homemade apple butter, sautéed mustard greens, and fresh tomatoes and cucumbers from Sarah’s garden.
She smiled as she bagged the food. “I have a direct line to the chef. I can get a dozen of these anytime I want them.”
“I wonder if that line would work for me,” he said in a low voice.
Sarah winked at him. “Can’t hurt to try. I hear she can be bribed with cupcakes.”
“I heard that,” Sydney said, coming back with more dishes. “I can hardly wait to grow a garden next year so I can have fresh veggies right outside the back door. I’ve missed the planting season now for the most part, though I can still do some greens later this summer when it cools down.”
“You know we have more than enough growing here,” Owen said. He brought the rest of the dishes in and set them on the counter. “Noah always plants enough to feed an army. He’s got some of Ben’s talent with plants, I think.”
“I know, and I fully intend to raid his bounty as soon as I can,” Sydney said. “But I’d like to be able to step out the back door and get some fresh lettuce or a tomato. I won’t always have time to run up here and get a quick snack.”
“Do you garden, Sawyer?” Sarah asked as she gently moved Sydney away from the sink, taking the dishes from her.
“No. I’ve never had the time or the inclination to do it, to be honest.”
“I thought you might be an avid gardener, what with you being vegetarian,” Sydney said. “Don’t you like to get your hands dirty?”
He had to bite his tongue to keep from responding with a comeback that would likely get him slapped. “I have no problem getting my hands dirty, thank you very much. We never had a garden growing up, and I figure I can keep the local farmer’s markets going, get what I need there. That’s a fair trade.”
“You kids go on in the living room. Owen has you set up in there,” Sarah said. “I’ll finish up here and be with you in a minute.”
Seeing that she wouldn’t take no for an answer, Sawyer gave in gracefully and followed Owen and Sydney to the living room.
“So where did you grow up that you didn’t have a garden?” Sydney asked.
“In a trailer park in a little town near Pittsburgh.”
“Pennsylvania?”
He laughed. “That’s the one.”
She settled in on the couch and organized a clipboard with paper, a couple of pens, and the Grainger file on the table beside her. “How’d you end up in Hazard?”
“You’re Miss Detective tonight.”
“Familial trait. You may have noticed we’re all insatiably curious.” She pushed her glasses up and tucked her bangs away from her face. “So? How’d you get here?”
Deciding to torment her a little, Sawyer settled in beside her, leaving a few inches between them. “In a car. Well, a truck if you want to get technical.”
She grabbed a throw pillow from behind her, smacking Sawyer with it before putting it in her lap. “Smart ass. You know that isn’t what I meant.”
Owen chuckled from across the room. He adjusted his own glasses as he turned the TV on, then handed Sydney the remote. “Tickets, I’m telling you. I’ll get the keyboard.”
Sawyer shrugged, enjoying her aggravation. “I was a trooper up there, and I was ready for a change. A friend of mine knew the commander at the post here, and I put in an application. I got the job, and I moved. End of story.”
He could tell she knew there was more to the story than that, but he wasn’t willing to g
ive up any of the details. His time in Pennsylvania wasn’t, for the most part, filled with pleasant memories and he didn’t like visiting them.
“Here we go,” Owen said, coming back in with a wireless keyboard and mouse. “We don’t watch much television these days, and I’ve started using this one as a computer monitor. Sydney, you know how to drive from here?”
“I do. Thank you.” With her legs crossed under the pillow, she positioned the keyboard and maneuvered the mouse to open the browser. “Here we go.”
All Sawyer could do over the next two hours was sit back and watch as she deftly sent queries out and gathered information. A large part of what he did now, as well as what he’d done with the state police, was to track down information from various sources. But he’d never realized how similar genealogical research was to investigating. And to have so much of the data in one place, organized in collections that were easily accessible?
“Amazing,” he said. “I wish the databases I use every day were as user-friendly as this one.” He’d asked so many questions and learned so much this evening he felt like he’d been in school.
Owen nodded. “It’s worlds different now than it was just a few years ago. There’s still a need, especially for the kinds of records she’ll be looking for, to do some physical legwork. But so much is available now that was closed off to the public… I can’t overstate how thrilling it is to have all that information at your fingertips.”
“Speaking of fingertips,” Sydney said, groaning as she straightened and flexed her hands. She’d been hunched over the keyboard, searching and make notes and searching again, for most of the time they’d been in the living room. “Why did you let me sit here this long?”
“Sweetie, I recognized that on-the-hunt look on your face,” Sarah told her with a smile. “I knew better than to interrupt you. What do you think?” She held up a crooked pink and white square of knitted yarn.
