Chicago, 1998
Rush hour was the worst time of day for Andrea Devon to be driving through the busy streets of Chicago. Because of the heavy traffic, she had gotten home much later than she’d expected. Planning a rummage sale with the women at the church should have been a simple task, but it had turned into a major project that had taken the better part of the day. It was almost five o’clock, and her husband would be coming home in another hour. She had little time to make dinner.
After a day in the church basement, she couldn’t help loving the beautiful sunny weather outside, with temperatures in the mid-seventies. A warm spring breeze swept across the yard, blowing her long, soft brown hair into her face. The end of May was a great time of year. Brightly colored tulips stood tall along the side of the walk leading up to the house. She’d just bent down to pick a few for the table when she heard the phone ringing inside. Maybe one of the women from the church was calling to tell her they’d forgotten something. She hurried to the door.
“I’m coming!” she shouted as she ran into the living room. She picked up the phone from the table next to the sofa. “Hello?”
“Hi, babe.” It was her husband, John. He always called her “babe” when he was in a good mood. “Guess what?” His voice was full of excitement.
Andrea chuckled. “You sound pretty chipper. What’s going on?”
“Good news, babe. I’ve been offered a promotion and a transfer.” He paused for a moment. “We are going to be moving to a wonderful small town called Partersville. It’s in Michigan. It’s a quaint old town, like the ones we’ve always talked about. It’s what we always wanted, Andrea. What do you think?”
She was surprised and hardly knew what to say. “When did you find this out?” She sat on the sofa and pushed her hair from her face.
John began to rattle off the details. “The head man from the main office was in today and told me the great news. We talked for a long time. In fact, he just left about a half-hour ago.” He sounded like a kid on Christmas morning. “We’ll talk more when I get home. This is it, babe. I gotta go.”
Andrea sat there reminiscing about her life with John.
She and John had been sweethearts since childhood. After college, they’d married and settled down in their small two-bedroom house. Andrea taught third grade in public school, while John went into the insurance business with a major company. He was now at the top sales level. They had wanted a child, but Andrea had no success getting pregnant. After many tests that showed everything normal, the doctor suggested she take time off from her job to get away from the stress of dealing with large groups of children every day.
A year had gone by, and still she had not conceived. She’d grown bored with staying home alone all the time with little to keep her busy, so she’d joined a church group and gotten involved in volunteer work at the hospital. She grew less concerned with her problem of conceiving as she went about her daily activities, leaving the fate of her motherhood up to God.
John’s company wanted him in Partersville by the first of July. Andrea wondered how they would get everything done in so short a time. John, on the other hand, was more optimistic as he assured her that things would work out. “Don’t worry. My company will advance us the money to buy a house in Partersville, and we can get settled in by the first week of July. We can put our house on the market right away. There’s plenty of time to pack and get things in order — almost three weeks.”
Andrea still felt skeptical. “I just wish we had more time. This is a big move and there is a lot more to do than you think, John. We have to get this house ready to sell, and packing is not an easy thing. Not to mention how much time it will take to find another house. You think it’s going to be easy to get all of this done in just a few weeks?”
“It will all work out,” John insisted. “Believe me.”
****
The next day, they put the house on the market with a local real estate company. John made arrangements to meet an agent in Partersville the following day to look at houses there. Andrea could barely keep up with the pace, but she was finally convinced things would work out without a problem.
The morning they were to leave for Partersville, John rushed around the house, running his fingers through his wavy blond hair — a habit of his when he was nervous. “I can do some of the driving, at least part of the way,” Andrea offered when she saw his edginess.
“No, I’ll do all of the driving. You can sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Soon they were on their way past the city limits, heading east. It was a cool but sunny day, and they made good time. They couldn’t have asked for better weather. John had an uncanny wit about him, especially while driving. “I hear they have a great number of log cabins in Michigan,” John said. “Think you could settle for something like that? We could rough it.”
She chuckled at his strange sense of humor. “No, thanks. I would like an old house, but I don’t mean a shack. I want something with character, history. Maybe Victorian.” He looked over at her to see her brown eyes light up with her smile. A dimple in her right cheek added beauty to her face.
The drive to Partersville was fun, exciting. The two of them were like children on an adventure. They looked forward to a new town, a new home, and a dream come true.
Three hours later and halfway there, John pulled into a rest area off the highway. “Fifteen minutes, my sweet wife,” he announced as they got out of the car. “Let’s get some coffee and go to the restrooms before continuing on our way again.”
Glad to stretch her legs, Andrea walked around with a cup of vending machine coffee in her hand ─ not the greatest in the world, but it would do. She saw John sitting at one of the small tables with a newspaper, drinking his coffee and looking at the headlines. When it was time to get back on the road, John set the paper down and gave Andrea a wave to call her back.
They arrived in Partersville just before one. John liked everything right on schedule. Being on time was a must in his business, and the habit had followed him into his personal life. He never left a client or anyone else waiting.
Andrea marveled over some of the old buildings as they drove through town. “Did you see those buildings?” she asked. “This is an old town all right, really quaint. I think I’m going to like it here. It looks like the old towns we’ve seen pictured in those magazines we get. You know, the ones we always admired so much.”
“Sure does,” John agreed as he pulled up to the real estate office, a beautifully restored old red brick building.
Their agent, Rosemarie Kelly — a short Irish woman with a bit of a brogue — stood inside the door. “Come in, Mr. and Mrs. Devon. We can sit in the next room. I’ll get you something to drink if you’d like. Coffee, tea, or soda?”
“Coffee would be fine for us,” John answered. “We both take it black.”
“I’ll be right back.” She showed them to a room with a round oak table and four
captain’s chairs. The offices were beautiful, decorated in Victorian style.
Expectations grew as Rosemarie returned with a book filled with listings and pictures of houses in their price range. “Look through these.” She put the book on the table. “When you find something you like, I can make arrangements to show it to you.”
It didn’t take long for Andrea to spot something of interest to her. “Here, this one.” She held a picture up of a stately old three-story house. “I want to see this one, Rosemarie. Can we go right now?” The beauty of the older home appealed to Andrea so much she was not interested in the others.
John took the picture from her. “Yes, this one does look good. Seems like it’s in pretty good shape. How old is it, Rosemarie?”
“That one just came on the market. I won’t have the key until three. It’s over a century old. They’re selling to settle the estate. Are there any others you would like to see before that?” She held up a picture of a bungalow. “How about this one? It’s very nice inside. I think you might like it.”
Andrea’s eyes locked on John’s. They both shook their heads. “We’re not interested in any of the others. Can we see the older one at three when you have the key?” Andrea requested.
Rosemarie nodded. “Of course you can. The key will be dropped off at the office here, so if you come back at three, we should be able to go out to see it. If you’re hungry, there’s a little diner right around the corner from here.”
With an hour and a half to kill, John and Andrea took a tour of the town. The square presented a historical monument of days long past. Its four short streets were lined with old, magnificently restored buildings. In the center, a beautiful park boasted a fancy gazebo. Spring flowers accented its perimeters. The city hall, the library, a fire station, and an old bank with a clock tower reaching high above the trees echoed the past. An old stone church gave character to the square. Several small shops bustled with customers coming and going. The charm of the old town was all they could ever have wanted.
The diner Rosemarie suggested was tucked in a small cubbyhole next to the library. They were seated in a booth by a young lady no older than maybe sixteen. John winked as she handed him a menu. “I bet you’re going to tell me you have some homemade apple pie, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we do, and it’s our special today. We also have blueberry, lemon, cherry, and banana cream.”
Andrea laughed. It was great being there. The town and its people made her feel right at home. After a hearty lunch and some friendly conversation with the waitress, they returned to the real estate office. Rosemarie was waiting for them with a big smile on her face.
****
Chesterfield Drive was about twenty minutes from the center of town and John’s new office. Most of the houses on the street were new, with a few older ones intermingled among them. The sun filtered through the large maple and oak trees spread out along both sides of the street. Sun beams danced across the green lawns and rested on the shrubs and flowers in the front yards. The fresh aroma of blossomed flowers filled the warm spring air. Andrea could hardly wait to see the house.
Rosemarie pulled into the long black-topped driveway. “Here we are, folks,” she announced as she parked the car in front of the attached two-car garage. Wide stone steps led up to the majestic white structure. “I like it already,” Andrea remarked, admiring the front porch with its ornate pillars.
“How big is the lot?” John asked.
“One acre. You’ll love the back yard. But let’s take a look inside first.” Rosemarie motioned for them to follow her up to the front door. Long, narrow stained-glass windows stood on each side, making for an impressive welcome. They walked into a large foyer.
Andrea’s heart quickened the minute she stepped into the house. She loved older houses and had always wanted to live in one. She was delighted with the printed wallpaper, the wood floors, and the wide archway to the left of the foyer. In the rear, a large country kitchen sat beside a formal dining room, which wrapped back around to the living room in the front of the house. It was all there, even an old cellar with wine racks still standing against the stone walls.
Rosemarie cheerfully pointed out the spindled banister alongside the staircase to the second floor. “Did you ever see such beautiful woodwork? You won’t find this in the newer houses.”
John smiled, obviously in love with her Irish brogue. He liked it too, but the back yard excited him more. When they walked out to the patio from the kitchen door, John turned to Andrea. “Hey, babe, I think I’ve found the big yard I wanted. Look at this, it’s great.”
They walked to the rear of the yard, John with his arm around Andrea’s waist. Rosemarie remained on the patio, watching the happy couple take their tour of the yard. They looked at the grapevines, fruit trees, shrubs, and flowers. “Oh, John, this place is so nice. I have pictured a place like this in my mind many times through the years. It’s unbelievable that it’s really here. When we left this morning, I never thought we would find something like this.”
Excited, the couple returned to the patio and smiled at Rosemarie. She smiled back. “Come on now,” she said as she ushered them back to the foyer. “The bedrooms are a nice size, and there is a small sewing room with lots of windows.”
John followed Rosemarie up the stairs while Andrea lingered behind to admire the wood banister. She ran her hand across it. It was smooth and shiny. Then she went up the stairs and stood looking around at the wide hallway and the long windows at each end that almost touched the floor.
Suddenly, a cold draft hit her, taking her by surprise. It was brief, only lasting a moment. She wondered what it was. After a few seconds, she went down the hallway to join her husband and Rosemarie.
Without a doubt, this was the house for them. They made an offer that afternoon, which was quickly accepted by the executrix, a niece of the deceased owner. They made arrangements for the closing on the day they would move in. Trusting Rosemarie to attend to everything, they started back for Chicago to get ready for the move.
Along the way, they talked excitedly about the house, not even making a rest stop. Excitement kept them moving on, as though nothing else mattered but getting moved into that wonderful old house.
****
Packing and sorting through seven years’ worth of accumulated junk turned out to be a major job. John was no help. He had to be at the office most of the time, attending to details of his transfer. In the midst of it all, the house was being shown to prospective buyers. Despite all the confusion of people walking through the house stepping over half-packed boxes, Andrea managed to get everything in order for the move.
The weeks went by fast. Before they knew it, they were waiting for the movers to arrive on the morning of June thirtieth. John made sure the water had been shut off and everything was in order. “Well, babe, it’s almost time to say goodbye to our first home. Remember when we bought this house? We thought it was the greatest thing. Now it seems so small compared to the one in Michigan. We’ll have to buy more furniture. I wanna get yard furniture for the patio first. I can lounge out there between my yard work and after I get home from a long day at my new — oh wow! My own office.”
The movers arrived early, as scheduled. John hurried outside to meet them as they pulled into the drive. They wasted no time getting everything loaded. They were ready to go before noon. John and Andrea stayed behind to make sure the house was clean and secure before leaving. Then they stopped at the real estate office to drop off the keys so salespeople could continue to show it.
John went on and on about his new office while they drove along. “I know I’ll make this office take right off for me. I already have some good contacts for business. It’s gonna be good, Andrea. I just know it.”
It made her happy to know how much he deserved all of this. He had worked hard to get where he was, and now it was paying off. He’d dreamed of having his own office ever since he’d started with the company. What a great accomplishment for John. The century-old house and a charming small town were more than she’d ever hoped for.
When they arrived in Partersville, they met Rosemarie at her office to sign the final papers. She greeted them with a smile. “I have the papers ready, Mr. and Mrs. Devon. If you’ll have a seat in the room over there.” She pointed to the same room they’d sat in last time. “I will be right with you.”
She walked away, leaving John and Andrea seated at a round table. John kept running his hands through his hair. “I hope those movers will be done unloading before dark. They have a deadline, you know. I think it’s nine at night.”
“Don’t worry so much, John. You always do this. You worry about things before you know for sure. They know what they’re doing.”
Rosemarie returned with the papers and set them in front of John. “Here you are.” She handed him a pen.
Once the papers had been signed, Rosemarie gave them the keys to the house. She then reached down behind the table and brought out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “I wish you happiness in your new home. If you need anything, please call me. My phone number is on my card. Thank you again.” She shook their hands and walked them to the door, waving as they got into the car and drove away.
“Wasn’t this nice of her?” Andrea admired the flowers. “I bet everyone in this town is like that. I think we’re going to be happy here.”
“You’re probably right. It’s a big change from Chicago.”
They drove to the house, laughing and talking about the wonderful life they were going to have there. They found the movers busily unloading the van. Rosemarie had opened the door for them earlier. The men were hustling along at a fast pace, anxious to finish for the day.
Andrea got out of the car and started to instruct the movers where she wanted the furniture. “Be careful with that coffee table, it’s very old. I got it from my grandmother.”
“Hey, Andrea, these guys will do just fine without your help. Just tell them where to put things and forget the history of every piece.” John gave the men a wave, and they all laughed.
“Give me a hand, Andrea,” John called out to her. The back seat of the car held boxes of odds and ends from John’s office. “We can put this stuff up in the bedroom for now. I have to sort through it before I take it to the new office.”
When everything had been unloaded, the driver asked John to sign a paper, and the movers left. It was nine o’clock at night and they had to be off the road by ten.
Hungry and tired, John broke open a box of cookies and started to munch on them. “Want some?” he offered, holding the box out to Andrea.
“No, I want to get some of these boxes unpacked so we can shower and go to bed sometime tonight. The towels and bath things are in that big box over there. How about taking it up the stairs for me? I’ll get some of the kitchen things out so we can at least have coffee in the morning.”
For the next few hours, they unpacked boxes and moved furniture around. By eleven, they were both exhausted and ready for a shower and bed.
After they crawled under the covers, John looked into Andrea’s lovely brown eyes and tucked a strand of her long, brown hair behind her ear and away from the deep dimple on her right cheek. He kissed her goodnight and held her close.
John had to report to the office early the next morning, leaving Andrea alone with the chore of unpacking the rest of the boxes and putting seasonal items away in the attic. She struggled to get the boxes up the two flights of stairs to the attic. She couldn’t imagine why there still was so much left after she’d thrown away as much as she had while packing. John was such a pack rat. He had so many prized gems he wouldn’t part with.
Finally she managed to get them all up to the attic. Having set them in the middle of the floor for later distribution to both sides of the attic, she went down to the patio to take a break. She sipped a glass of iced tea, the warmth from the sun embracing her as she looked around at the trees and flowers in the yard. She took in a deep breath of the clean air and let out a contented sigh.
She finished her tea, then went back into the house. It was ten-thirty. There was plenty of time to organize the boxes in the attic before fixing lunch. Andrea always tried to eat three meals a day. She had a tough time keeping weight on her twiggy figure. Returning to the attic, she began to sort the boxes. She would put the winter clothes on one side of the attic and the Christmas things, along with John’s junk, on the other.
The attic floor consisted of wide boards fitted closely together. At the outer edges, six-inch boards spaced a foot apart extended out to the edges of the roof. The only light came from a round window the size of a basketball, situated in the front wall of the house. It was just bright enough to see her way around the musty space.
Nothing like working in a hot attic on her first day in her new home. She’d dressed in a thin summer outfit for the occasion and brought a flashlight in case she needed it. The floor creaked as she walked back and forth, setting boxes over to the sides. The heat of the attic had her feeling sweaty and sticky in no time.
Aiming the flashlight on the parted boards, she looked for insulation under them. John had not checked for it when they’d looked at the house. She saw nothing that looked like insulation, but she noticed something under one of the boards in the far corner, near the steep pitch of the roof. It looked like something had been wedged under the wood—perhaps it had been hidden there. She’d almost missed it for all of the dust. It appeared to be square, like a box. She wondered what it was.
She started toward it on her hands and knees until the roof boards touched her head, then she lay down on her stomach to wiggle her way in. She got closer and closer, until she could almost reach it. Setting the flashlight down beside her, she stretched her arm out as far as she could. At last she felt the object. Once she got hold of it she began to pull, but it was stuck. She twisted and wiggled it back and forth until it finally let loose.
Now that she had it firmly in her hand, she proceeded to crawl backward to get out from under the confined area. Once she was safe on the flat, sturdy floorboards in the center of the attic, she sat up straight. She set the box on the floor in front of her and brushed the heavy dust from the top of it. Heat from the wood floor warmed her sprawled legs as she looked down at the treasure she’d released from its hiding place. The old wooden box’s metal latch had rusted in place. Andrea pried at it until her fingers hurt, but it wouldn’t budge.
Again and again, she tried until finally it let go. Suddenly, the light from flashlight went dim. She knew the batteries were old, but she shook it anyway, trying to bring the light back up. It didn’t work. All she got was a dull orange glow from the silver cylinder.
Inside the box, sitting on top of what appeared to be a book, was an old photograph. It was printed on thick, cardboard-like paper. Although it was dull and yellowish with age, it seemed to be in pretty good condition.
Her eyes strained in the poor light as she tried to see. She stood up and walked over to the round window at the far end of the attic. Holding the photograph up to the daylight, she was able to see it more clearly. Her heart quickened as she got a good look at the figure imprinted there. “Oh!” she cried out in astonishment. The woman in the photograph could have been her twin ─ a remarkable resemblance to say the least.
Andrea thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, so she picked the box up and went downstairs, hurrying to her bedroom for a better look. Sunlight flowed in through the window, accompanied by a soft breeze that lifted the curtains up and down in a rhythmic motion.
With the wooden box next to her, she sat on the bed. Amazement held her as she gazed down at the face in the photograph. She marveled at the woman’s clothing. A high lace collar overlaid her dress, with a jeweled brooch at the neck. On the back of the photograph, she found a date — June 3, 1888. Small print at the bottom looked like the name of a studio.
She couldn’t help wondering who the woman was, and why the box had been hidden up in the attic. How had it even fit under those boards? But most of all, why did she and the woman look so much alike?
Setting the photograph down, she turned her attention to the other items in the box. The book turned out to be an old family Bible. She picked it up and dusted it off with her hand. It smelled musty. Gently, she opened it to the first page. Ink spots stained the page, suggesting it had been written with an old-fashioned fountain pen. Names and dates had been printed with great care, faded still but legible. Joseph Foster Dickens, Anna Marie Dickens, followed by Betsy Ellen and Sarah Helen Dickens. The dates were all in the 1870s and 1880s. A list of grandparents, aunts, and uncles followed. The city names sounded like places in England.
The box also contained a jeweled pillbox, an old locket, and three large hairpins with jeweled ends, very old and tarnished. Andrea looked at each of these antiques with great interest. She wondered why anyone would put these things in a box and hide it up in the attic. Or had it been put up there and forgotten?
By the names in the Bible, she guessed the woman in the photograph was Anna Marie Dickens. It seemed logical. It was possible this Anna had lived in the house a hundred years ago. That they looked so much alike was the remarkable thing. Photograph in hand, Andrea walked over to the mirror on the dresser and stood looking at her reflection. She held the photograph up next to her face to compare the likeness.
As she looked at the image in her hand, she began to have a strange feeling. Even though the photograph’s sepia tones had faded, she could picture the woman’s dress as dark green. She imagined she could feel the heavy taffeta gathered around her own waist. The brooch on the collar was mother-of-pearl surrounded with gold filigree. Her hand tingled, as if she knew how the dress and jewelry felt.
The plain, colorless photograph shook in her trembling hand. Overwhelmed with sorrow
that penetrated her soul, tears swelled in her eyes. The intense emotions full of fear mixed with sadness caused her to begin crying uncontrollably. Andrea had never experienced such heartbreak and sorrow before.
“Oh, oh… what is happening?” she muttered as she hurried over to the bed and threw the photograph down on it. There was no rhyme or reason to why she suddenly had these frightening sorrowful feelings.
With tears streaming down her face, she ran to the bathroom, turned the cold water on, and splashed it on her cheeks. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly until she stopped crying. She looked in the mirror over the sink. Her eyes were swollen and red, her face white, and she didn’t understand why.
Several moments passed before she was able to completely compose herself. Taking a towel from the rack beside the sink, she wiped her face. Still trembling, she returned to the bedroom and sat in the chair by the window. Tears dripped down her cheeks again. Sorrow pierced her heart like the thrust of a knife. She felt as though something awful was about to happen — but what, and why?
The phone rang, startling her. She jumped to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand as she hurried to answer it. “Hell…ooo…?”
“Andrea, is that you?” John asked.
“Yes, it’s me.”
“I wanted to remind you I won’t be home until late. I have calls to make and papers to fill out for tomorrow.”
“I remember, John.” Her voice cracked.
“You sound like something’s wrong. What is it?”
Andrea steadied herself. “I’m fine.”
“I think I’ll be home a little late tonight. I’m swamped with work and won’t get out of here any sooner. Don’t worry about dinner for me, I’ll grab something from the diner.”
She agreed and hung up, glad the conversation had been brief. It was difficult for her to conceal how upset she was. She needed time to think about what had happened and why she’d had those awful feelings. Her mind raced with questions. Strange as it all was, she finally came to the conclusion it had to be her imagination — a foolish reaction when she’d seen the photograph. Besides, she was tired from moving and all the excitement.
After putting the photograph back in the box, she glanced one more time at it before setting the lid in place. The terrible feeling started up again, so she quickly took the box to the closet and set it on the floor inside, then closed the door. She returned to the attic to finish putting the boxes out of the way, hoping if she kept busy she would forget about what had happened. Still, the haunting memory of the photograph lingered without mercy.
A little before one o’clock, she had the kitchen dishes put away and was ready to start on the good china in the dining room. But first, she wanted — and needed — a break. She sat at the kitchen table with a glass of iced tea, thinking about the photograph and the names in the old Bible. It dawned on her that old houses like this often had records in the local library. She had plenty of time to go into town and take a look. John would be late anyway, and she didn’t have to worry about dinner.
She showered and changed, then headed for town. She parked the car in front of the old stone church near the library and walked up to the front entrance. It was now two forty-five. Pausing for a moment, she looked around the square, thinking about Chicago with all of the skyscrapers, the heavy traffic, and noise. How pleasant it was in this quiet little town compared to the big city.
A librarian at the desk directed her to the lower level, where a young woman showed her where to find the records of the town. “The records of century-old houses are over here.” She pointed to a section with shelves. The books were in alphabetical order. “If you need anything, just let me know,” the young woman said as she walked away.
The shelves were filled with large plate books and ledgers. Andrea walked back and forth, trying to find the right one. The assistant librarian across the room saw her and came over. “Let me help you. What is the name of the street you want to look up?”
Andrea stuttered a little. “Ah…um…” She couldn’t think. “Oh, yes, Chesterfield Avenue. I almost forgot the name of my own street. We just moved here.”
“That would be right in here.” She handed Andrea a large book from the second shelf. It was so heavy Andrea hurried to set it down on the table in front of the shelves. She thanked the woman and asked her how late the library was open.
The soft-spoken lady told her, “Our hours are from eight to seven Monday through Friday, and noon till five on Saturday. We are closed on Sundays. You have plenty of time. If you need any further help, I’ll be right over there.”
It took a while, but Andrea finally found Chesterfield Avenue, only to learn it had been changed from Old Oak Road about fifty years ago. She would have to look up Old Oak Road to find what she wanted. The reference list was in alphabetical order, so she was able to find it quickly. She started to look for her house but could not find it. She took down one book after another and looked through them to no avail.
After exhausting all the listings in the books, she called the young girl over to help. “I can’t find the house I ‘m looking for. Maybe you can have better luck.” Andrea gave the girl her address, and the girl was able to find it with no trouble at all.
“Here it is.” She set another book on the table and opened it to the page that read Old Oak Road.
Amazed at the number of people who had occupied the house through the years, Andrea thumbed down the list, looking for the right one. I wonder why none of these people ever found that old wooden box up in the attic? It occurred to her that maybe it had been waiting just for her, but it was only a silly thought.
The house had been built in 1885. At that time, the property had sat on one hundred acres. Over the years, parcels had been sold off. Joseph and Anna Dickens were listed as the first owners. Theirs was a moderately small family with origins in England. Little had been written about Anna Dickens. Andrea once again had to rely on her gut feeling. Anna had to be the one in the photograph. It seemed unlikely it was anyone else.
She made notes on a pad of paper, listing all the owners of the house to date. Many questions entered her mind as she wrote. Was the woman in the photograph really Anna? When had the county acquired the property for back taxes? And why had that old wooden box been hidden under the floorboards in the attic?
Suddenly, a voice startled her. “The library will be closing in five minutes. Have you found what you were looking for?” It was the librarian who showed her to the room earlier.
Andrea stood up. “Oh, my! I can’t believe I was here so long. Is it seven o’clock already?”
“Almost,” the woman told her.
Andrea hurried to the stairs, the librarian right behind her. “I should have been home by now. My husband is probably worried about where I am. I didn’t leave him a note. I wasn’t planning on staying here so long.”
At the entrance door, she thanked the woman and rushed out to her car and drove away. It was all she could do to refrain from speeding down the highway. What would she tell John? The last thing she wanted was to worry him. Her first day in their new home, and she’d gone off on a wild goose chase over something she couldn’t explain. But Andrea knew she had to find out more about the woman in the photograph.