After their bags were in the room, Perri flopped into a well-padded rocking chair and Nina was lying across the bed. Both were winded, not so much from hauling the bags upstairs, but from laughing.
Nina’s oversized, wheeled duffle bag had rocked back and forth precariously as they came up the stairway, but because they were both carrying so much stuff, always trying to avoid a second trip, neither of them could reach out to stabilize it. Climbing behind, Perri watched Nina sway from side to side trying to keep her balance under the shifting weight of her overnight bag, her purse, and a small portable cooler she had brought. The suitcase swayed further in each direction, up on one wheel and then the other, with each step Nina took. Perri started to snicker halfway up the stairs and by the time they reached the landing, they were both laughing out loud. The unstable duffle finally performed a slow topple, twisting Nina around until she lost her balance, dropping the other bags, and sliding down the wall. Nina went down to the floor laugh-crying, “Oh, my gosh, I have to pee. Don’t make me laugh!”
Perri sighed and asked, “What on earth do you have in that thing?”
“Stuff I might need. You know how it is.”
“Oh brother…yes, I do. I’m just as bad. Alice probably thinks we are gearing up for a party. Let’s get these in the room before she thinks we’re causing a ruckus and changes her mind about us staying here unsupervised.”
After the laughter had died down and they had both visited the bathroom, they sat down to get their breath. “I better call Tom real quick, let him know we made it.” Nina pulled her phone out and dialed. After a short pause, “Hey you, we made it!”
As Nina talked to Tom, Perri wandered down the hallway, looking at the old photos. She could hear Nina telling Tom about the B&B, but her voice faded away as Perri took in the framed moments of a time long ago. There were photos of young uniformed WWII soldiers proudly standing in front of their parents’ homes, kids riding on horses and carts, formally posed portraits of dour couples, barber shop gatherings, general store interiors, people sitting on porches, and groups of people at picnics. Some were blurred or scarred by rough storage over time. There were studio photos in tones of sepia, gray, black and white that remained surprisingly crisp, capturing an instant of someone’s life long ago, dressed in their finest.
Among these, high up on the wall, was a photo of a tavern called the Rogue’s Harbor, as the hand-painted sign hung by the eave of the porch declared. There were at least fifteen men. There were young and old, handsome and those less so, most of them smiling and obviously enjoying the photo taking; it wasn’t something that happened very often for most people. Leaning forward and standing on tiptoes to see the photo better, Perri murmured to herself, “Boy, don’t you all look like you could get up to some shenanigans?” There were a couple of horses tethered to posts. One man had a shotgun hanging from the saddle and was flanked by a grinning man who was pointing his own shotgun at another man who was standing near the door of the tavern. He was frowning at the pointing man, turned about thirty degrees from camera. Perri almost missed her, but there was a woman in an apron standing in the doorway to the tavern, somewhat in shadow, her hand on the door jamb, peering out with a serious look. The photo was intriguing. What would otherwise be a lighthearted group having their photo taken was made a little haunting by the woman. “I should ask Alice about this place.”
Perri slung her satchel on her shoulder and walked back to the room. Nina was putting her phone into her purse. “Shall we head in to Russellville? I would like to have as much time as I can in case there turns out to be a lot of probate records. I won’t have another day this trip to review them. I’d have to come back.”
“I love your optimism, Perri!”
“Yeah, I know, I know. I’m hoping there will not only be a bunch of records, but this time the records I want weren’t included in one of the two boxes that are missing, were lost in a fire in 1892, or, just two days ago were sent five states away to be scanned.”
“You said you called ahead though, right? They would have told you if the records weren’t here,” Nina said encouragingly.
“And now I love your optimism.”