Chapter Nine

Later that afternoon, Kate and Paul drove out to Joe’s place. Kate had prepared a large pan of oven-fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and a salad made up of layers of lettuce, frozen peas, celery, onions, grated cheese, mayonnaise, and a sprinkle of sugar. Joe had once told her that it was his favorite dish of all the Faith Briar potluck dishes he’d tasted.

The autumn sun was losing its warmth as it headed on its downward slope, and Kate wished she’d brought a coat as they exited the Honda. She couldn’t get Russ’s frank stare out of her mind. It was as if he knew that she had found out about his background, or perhaps knew she’d been at the cider house at the same time he was. But how could he have known? The pickup was parked behind the building.

Goose bumps prickled up on her arms as they headed to Joe’s front door. Paul noticed. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Just lost in thought, that’s all.”

“About the brooch?”

“Yes. I still think Russ took it, and I have an idea why. But I can’t prove it.”

Paul knocked, but knowing Joe might not be able to come to the door, he opened it and peered in.

Joe was sitting up in the leather and oak chair, a reading light with an attached magnifying glass close by. The journal was open on his lap, and he appeared to be lost in its pages.

Kate cleared her throat, and he looked up, startled to see that someone had entered his home. Recognition hit and he smiled, then carefully closed the journal.

“Just the folks I’ve been waiting to see,” he said. His smile widened as he watched Kate and Paul carry the food into the kitchen. “Y’all are just bein’ too good to me,” he said, obviously loving every minute of it. “I’m thinkin’ I might milk this thing for all it’s worth.” He laughed heartily.

Kate laughed with him and went over to sit near his chair. “I notice you’re reading the journal,” she said.

For a moment he didn’t speak, and when he did, there was a catch in his throat. “Since you brought it yesterday, I haven’t been able to put it down.” He blinked rapidly. “It’s the missing story to my family history. Abigail tells it all, at least most of it, and in wonderful detail.”

Paul carried in the rest of the food from the car and then came over to sit beside Kate as Joe continued.

“I finished the last page just as you drove up. She leaves a significant part of the story hangin’, just as any good storyteller should.” He grinned. “But as for my direct lineage, it’s all there.”

Kate nodded thoughtfully. “I noticed the other night when I came here to look for you that you’ve written quite a bit of your family history.”

“That I have. The story of my family and Copper Mill grabbed hold of my heart and won’t let go. It’s been rattlin’ around in my brain for years, but I thought I would have to make up the details of the missing years.” He shook his head in wonder, then reverently picked up the journal and held it in his hands.

Pausing, he seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then he said, “As I said, it’s all here except for a strange mystery at the end. Oddly, I can’t let that part go, even though I’m not a direct descendant of...” He smiled at Kate. “Well, there I go, gettin’ ahead of myself. You need to discover the mystery for yourself.” He looked down at the journal again and carefully folded back the cover.

“Listen to this entry,” he said. “It’s dated November 6, 1831.” He shot Kate a wink and began to read.

Dearest Mama,

I know you would scold me for peering into Sister’s diary uninvited, but I could not help myself when I found it lying open and spied my name written on the first page. And then it was with great alarm that I went on to read that Abigail believes me to be a flibbertigibbet. How can she think such a thing?

I toil right along with the others on this journey, shoulder to shoulder. I walk miles each day beside our wagon, coaxing our poor ox ever onward, no matter the boiling heat or clouds of mosquitoes, or thunderous storms, or bleeding palms. Who would have the strength to be a flibbertigibbet after such a trek? I help Abigail with supper each night (and often the fare is thin squirrel stew, providing none of us enough sustenance for the next day), and then I fall into my straw bed, pull your dear quilt under my chin, and drift into a dreamless sleep. (I am of the opinion that my brain is too tired to make up night stories.)

I suppose because I laugh easily, even in adversity, because I’m often found singing or dancing if there is a spare minute, my elder sister considers me somewhat foolish.

I sincerely hope you will set her straight once we are all together again. Or perhaps before then, should she read this entry.

As you well know, dear Mama, I smile as I write this. Most certainly, Sister will read these words and then perhaps watch her tongue when it comes to describing me. Flibbertigibbet? Me? Really.

Yours forever and ever with kisses and hugs,

Your favorite daughter,
Sadie Penny                 

Kate laughed as Joe finished reading. “Sibling rivalry in the nineteenth century.”

He grinned. “And listen to this one. Each entry pulls me right into the next. This one is dated two days later.”

Dearest Mama,

I see Sadie Penny has added her words to my own. Should she read this again, I believe I shall put this little book under lock and key. After all, a woman-grown should be secure in the privacy of her thoughts. I write this as to you, dear Mama, not to the world at large, as our Sadie Penny must believe.

We trudge along daily, now moving deeper and deeper into the Smoky Mountains. We are often weary, and broken wheels and axles are a constant difficulty. We are making fewer miles each day now, and the worry among us is that winter may come too soon. Our guide has talked about signs that this may be so.

The group is companionable enough, though some complain about the food and the hard work. (I will not say who, for fear this journal is not as private as I once thought, but I can imagine that you are aware of one person who might raise her voice in protest when things are not perfect.)

I have not felt well for several days now, but still we travel on. If I ever come across a real bed in a real house, I do not believe I will ever leave the place.

You would be surprised to see my hands and feet. You always told Sadie and me to keep them covered with pomades and proper shoes and gloves. My hands are hard-callused now from driving the ox, and my feet are blistered and sometimes bloodied from walking miles each day. My face has sprouted freckles from the sun, despite the poke bonnet I wear to ward off the heat and light. But it is my lack of appetite and turning stomach that bother me most of all. Each morning, I feel more weary than I did the night before.

Now I sound like the complainer in the family, and I know you would not be happy to hear me accuse Sadie Penny of the same offense I am committing tenfold, so I will add some happier thoughts. Truly, being with my dear husband makes the journey lighter. Hearing him laugh at someone’s joke at the campfire, or sing a psalm at sunrise outside camp when he thinks no one is listening, gladdens my heart.

Going west to our promised land is his dream, and because I love him, I embrace it.

Yours as always,        
Abigail Penny Tucker

“I can almost see her walking beside that wagon,” Kate said reverently, “and hear her voice as she speaks. What a treasure you have in her words.”

“I want you to read it,” Joe said. “The whole journal. There’s a mystery at the end that I feel may have to do with Copper Mill today. I can’t prove it. I suppose it’s just a gut feelin’.” He leaned forward earnestly. “But if anyone could figure it out, it would be you.”

Kate studied Joe’s face for a moment. “I would love to read it.” She hesitated. “Can you give me a hint as to what happens at the end?”

He smiled. “I’ll let you read it for yourself.”

Then he turned to Paul and asked about other families in the community who had suffered damage the night of the storm. Paul told him about the morning’s worship service, about his plea for people to help those in need, and some of the ideas people had for fund-raisers.

As they talked, the idea that had been rattling around in Kate’s brain began to take form. She glanced at Paul, then back to Joe.

“Joe, what would you think if we put on your play as a pageant?”

He frowned. “Like a Christmas pageant?”

“No, not exactly. But similar, I suppose. A friend told me she visited a thousand-year-old church in Wales that put on a children’s pageant, telling the history of the town and church. She brought back a video, and it was a joy to see the children playing the parts of knights and princesses and marauders and priests.” She smiled at the memory. “They were able to condense the thousand years into ninety minutes.”

Joe was still frowning. “But my play is written for adults. It’s serious history. I don’t know what I intend to do with it once it’s finished, but it’s not meant to be a children’s pageant.” He shook his head. “You’ll see when you read it.”

Kate tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She had already begun casting the roles in her head and imagined children from town taking part, and selling tickets as donations for the families in need. She nodded. “I understand,” she said.

Joe looked thoughtful, studying Kate’s face. “I think this knock on the head’s made me a bit dense. You were thinkin’ my play could be a fund-raiser.”

She smiled. “It did cross my mind.”

His expression softened. “I wish I could help, honestly I do. I just can’t think how this could work.” He shook his head slowly. “For children, you say...,” he mused.

She stood and patted his hand. “It’s all ri—” Kate began.

“Wait.” Joe grasped the arms of his chair and leaned forward. Paul helped him to his feet. Leaning on his cane, he moved so that he was standing in front of Kate. “I tell you what. If you can figure out a way it might work, I’ll be happy to listen to your ideas.”

Kate grinned, wanting to hug him, but she was afraid she’d knock him down if she tried. She squeezed his shoulder instead.

Beside her, Paul laughed. “You don’t know what you’ve just done, my friend. If there’s a way it can work, Kate will find it.”

They were just about to leave when the sound of a vehicle with a rough engine carried toward them from the driveway.

“That must be Russ Keenan,” Joe said as his eyes brightened. “I’d know that sound anywhere. Spark plugs need changing, and he needs a new muffler, but he just hasn’t had the money to get either one taken care of. I told him he’s traveling on a wing and a prayer, and with that big family of his, that’s not good enough. But he won’t take any money on loan from me. Says he’ll earn it the old-fashioned way. Plus, he’s hinted he might have an unexpected windfall.”

Kate’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced at Paul, whose eyebrows had shot up.

“Windfall?” they said almost in unison.

I bet, Kate thought, then instantly sent a prayer heavenward for forgiveness. Where was her compassion? The verse Paul read from Matthew came back to her: “I was in prison and you came to visit me.”

A few minutes later, Russ tromped across the wooden porch, knocked lightly, then entered. He seemed surprised to see Paul and Kate. Of course, the only vehicle he knew that she drove was Paul’s pickup. He wouldn’t have reason to recognize the Honda Accord.

He gave Paul and Kate a perfunctory nod and went right over to Joe. “How’re you doin’?” he said. “Can I get you anything? Make coffee?”

Joe seemed genuinely glad to see Russ. “I wouldn’t care for any, but go ahead and make some for yourself. You know where everything is.”

“By the way,” Russ said to Joe on his way to the kitchen, “I brought the trunk we found in the vat the night of the storm. With all the cleanup, I hadn’t gotten around to bringing it by, but today, the boys helped me move it into the van. I’ll bring it in, if I can get some help.” He gave Paul a pointed look.

“Sure, I’ll be glad to,” Paul said and started for the door.

But Russ wasn’t through speaking. “Funny thing, though,” he said. “There was originally a smaller chest next to the big one. Now it’s gone.”

Kate couldn’t be sure, but Russ’s piercing gaze seemed to focus on her briefly before looking back to Joe.

Joe, who’d taken his seat again, gestured toward the chest, now resting on the nearby lamp table. “Kate found it, brought it by to me yesterday.” Then he addressed Kate directly. “I forgot to tell you that Russ called me about the vat right after you left. Seems that it is indeed what we’d found the night of the storm.”

Russ shrugged, then jerked his head toward the door, indicating he was ready for Paul’s help.

Paul went out to the van with him, and a few minutes later, they came through the door, struggling with the large trunk.

“Set it over there by the table,” Joe said. “I’ll go through everything once I’m feelin’ better. Sure glad you remembered where it was once I lost my memory.” He sat up straighter. “Speaking of that, do you remember seein’ a piece of jewelry that night? A woman’s brooch.”

“Is that like a necklace?”

“No, it’s a fancy pin women used to wear, usually at the bottom of their neck on a collar. Don’t see them very often anymore.”

“No, I don’t remember seeing anything like that,” Russ said, his back to them as he headed into the kitchen. “Doesn’t sound familiar at all.” He opened a cupboard door and pulled out a mug, then put it on the counter. “Hey, you’ve got some good lookin’ fried chicken in here,” he called back to Joe.

Kate exchanged glances with Paul. It was time to make their exit.

“We’d better be on our way.” Paul shook hands with Joe.

Joe sat up straighter and reached for the small carved chest. He placed the journal inside, along with the prayer book, then handed it to Kate. “You may be able to help me figure out some rather obscure sections,” he said. “Plus, pay close attention to that strange twist at the end. A strange disappearance...and another mystery for you, Kate.”

Kate tilted her head. “A disappearance? Who?”

“You’ll have to see for yourself.”

Kate and Paul turned to leave, but sometime during their conversation with Joe, Russ had moved to the doorway. He blocked what remained of the sunlight. And their way out.

He stared at the small wooden chest Kate clutched in her hands before letting them pass.