By the time they had retrieved their stuff from the Shawnee Chief and convinced the desk clerk not to charge them for a second day, it was three o’clock. That meant they had only two hours to find any useful information.
They went to the library first. A woman carrying an oversized tote bag was unlocking the door of the tidy brick building. She turned to smile a welcome as they walked up the sidewalk. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.” She removed a paper sign from the door that said Back at 3:00.
“No,” Abby said. “We just got here.”
“I had to slip out for a minute to drop my dog off at the vet. Lucy’s got a nasty abscessed tooth that needs pulling.”
“That’s too bad,” Kate said. “My mom’s pug had the same thing.”
“You’re not from Shawneetown, are you?”
“No,” Kate said, “We’re not.”
John hurried to get the door, and the woman flipped on the lights as she passed through it and went to set her things on the counter. “Now,” she said. What can I do for you? I’m guessing you’re not here to check out a book.”
Abby pulled her steno pad and pen out of her purse and the librarian’s eyes latched onto them. A smile bloomed on her face. “Oh, I get it! Although I’m surprised the Gazette sent four of you. Then again it’s not every day we get a famous author here in Shawneetown. But I’m sorry, you’ve got the time wrong. The book signing isn’t until seven p.m., and even then, I thought it would only be polite to give her time to catch her breath before she got interviewed. You’re welcome to stay until then, of course. Did they tell you? She was born just over in Eldorado. She didn’t grow up around here, but her dad’s folks lived in the hills near Equality.”
At last the barrage of words came to an end, but before Abby or anyone else could correct her mistaken idea, the librarian had turned her attention to her tote bag on the counter. “I brought refreshments,” she said. “And I found the cutest paper plates with strawberries on them at the Dollar Store.”
Abby suddenly realized she was the only one still standing there and wondered when the others had slunk away. “Over here,” John called softly. They stood looking at a bookshelf against the far wall. She gave the librarian a little wave and hurried over to them.
“Is this the genealogy department?”
“Heck, we found the entire history department,” John said with a grin.
Ryan snorted. “All six shelves.”
Kate sighed in disappointment. “Let’s go check out the courthouse, then.”
“Hey, don’t look so glum, roomie,” Abby said. “It’s small, but who knows what clues we’ll unearth. No doubt the local historians have already done a lot of the sleuthing.”
Abby scanned the shelves. “Ah, good. Here’s an obituary index and several cemetery indices. Here, hold these.” Abby pulled them and started loading Kate’s arms. “And quite a few church histories. Good.”
“There’s one about our famous General Lawler,” Kate said. “On the third shelf.”
“I think I’ve heard about all I can take about him,” Ryan said.
“Yes, but since he’s related to the Grangers…,” Abby said.
“And here’s one about the history of Shawneetown,” John said. “And Gallatin County. And several histories for the surrounding counties.”
“This is going to take hours,” Kate said. “And we still have to get to the courthouse.”
“Don’t be silly, Kathryn,” Ryan said. “Obviously, we won’t read the books in their entirety.”
“Just scan their indices,” John said.
“Oh. Right,” Kate said.
They carried the books to a table, divided them up, and started thumbing through indices and tables of contents. None of them listed any Greenfields.
The librarian rushed up to where they sat, smoothing her hair. “I am so sorry. I got everything set up. I hope our author likes chocolate chip cookies. I see you found something to keep you occupied while you wait. Looks like you have an interest in history. That’s wonderful. Let me find you something a little more interesting. I’ve got a book on the river pirates down at Cave-In-Rock, and Elizabethtown has an interesting history. Did you know it has the oldest hotel in Illinois?”
“Actually,” Kate said. “We’re here to do genealogical research.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you say so?” She went to the shelf and pulled out two books with industrial green covers from the bottom shelf. “We’ve got both 1840 and 1850 for Gallatin County, Illinois.”
“The U.S. census,” Kate explained.
“A transcription of it.”
“Obviously,” Ryan said.
“As I said, Ned Greenfield isn’t in the 1840 census, but Mom and I found him in the 1850.” Kate looked in the index and then turned to the page it indicated. “Here it is. I have to say this transcription is easier to read than the original.”
Abby leaned over her shoulder as Kate pointed to an entry for a household headed by John S. Granger. Beneath his name, Martha A. Granger was listed, then Thomas, Elizabeth, and Mary Granger. Below that were fifteen other individuals with various last names. Kate ran her finger down to Ned Greenfield, born 1834, Hickory Hill, Gallatin, Illinois.
“This is the Ned Greenfield Mom and I traced back to,” Kate said.
“Wow. What a large family,” Abby said. “With so many different last names. Were they cousins, or foster children, or what?”
The librarian chuckled. “I don’t think so. All but the first three children were colored. Including Ned Greenfield. Look.” She pointed to a B in the fourth column. “That stands for black.”
Kate’s mouth dropped open. And then Abby realized hers had too. She closed it and stared at the librarian.
“I’ve heard that that mansion on Hickory Hill was part of the Underground Railroad,” the librarian said. “That would explain the huge number listed at that household. Maybe they were on their way north.”
Abby didn’t want to contradict her, but that theory didn’t make a lot of sense. No one would report runaway slaves to the census taker. People risked huge fines and even imprisonment for aiding and abetting them. Charlotte Miles had been well aware of the dangers she faced in her work in Miles Station.
The librarian smiled kindly at Kate. “Sorry. This is the wrong Ned Greenfield, honey.”
“Obviously, this is Brother Greenfield’s relative,” Ryan said and then barked out a laugh. “You should see your face, Kathryn. You’re as white as a ghost.” He laughed harder. “That was even funnier than I realized. White as a ghost! Don’t worry,” he said, taking her arm. “You’re as white as I am.”
Kate blinked and then turned to frown at her fiancé. “That’s not it at all, Ryan. There would be absolutely nothing in the world wrong with having African blood in the family. I’m just disappointed this is a dead end.”
Chuckling, he put an arm around her shoulders. “Okay, Kathryn. Maybe we’ll find something at the courthouse. And if not we’ll go back to Chicago and start all over again.”
Abby smiled at the librarian. “Thanks for your help.”
“Keep in mind that sometimes slaves took on the surnames of their masters. Your Ned Greenfield may have owned this slave at one time.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Kate muttered when they were out of earshot.
It wouldn’t, Abby thought. But it might be the connection they were looking for.