Chapter Ten

On Friday, Charlotte couldn’t wait to get back to the boxes at the church. She possessed a slim hope that somewhere within all that junk more clues were waiting to be unearthed. She headed out after she had done her morning chores and left some lunch for Bob. In her car was the sleeping bag Charlotte had promised to drop by the school for Emily for her sleepover at the Cunninghams’ house.

Last fall Charlotte had heard about Andrea, the school’s one and only exchange student, but she hadn’t yet met the girl. She was pleased that Emily was working with her and with Lily on their presentation. It was time Emily’s spats with Lily be put behind them.

Still, Charlotte had to admit Emily was braver than she was. Charlotte found it hard to forget all the comments Allison Cunningham had made about her parenting. When Charlotte had noticed the look in Emily’s eyes last night as she packed, she knew she didn’t have to remind Emily to be on her best behavior.

Christopher was planning to stay at Dylan’s house so that meant it would only be Sam home tonight, which seemed strange. Charlotte didn’t know if she knew how to cook for only three anymore, or four if Pete wasn’t meeting up with Dana to go over more wedding plans.

In the foyer of the church, Charlotte took off her gloves and stuffed them in her pockets. Then she hung up her coat on a coat hanger. Bedford Community Church was the church she and Bob had attended all their married years. They’d raised their three children in those pews, and now their grandchildren. Charlotte glanced around, taking in the large map with pins showing the locations of the various missions the church members supported. She also saw that the dark brown carpet had seen better days. Even the beige paint on the walls needed an extra coat. But that wasn’t something they needed to worry about now. One project at a time. One is enough.

She hurried to the basement and was pleased to see Maxie already sitting at a table poking through a box. Charlotte sat down next to her and peeked at the photo in her hand, eager to see what held the woman’s interest.

Maxie had an old photo of a church picnic on the edge of Heather Creek.

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” Maxie closed her eyes, as if reliving a memory that still played in her mind.

“What?” Charlotte asked.

“Watering stock.” She opened her eyes and winked at Charlotte.

Charlotte waited, knowing a story was coming.

“You see, when we first had our farm we had only a few cows and one old horse, so we carried buckets of water from Heather Creek to our farm. We had an old trough that my father made. I can’t believe it, but when I was a teen we chopped up that old trough for firewood because it had split into two pieces.” Maxie slapped her leg. “One more genuine antique—gone!” She chuckled, and the lines around her eyes deepened.

Charlotte laughed more at Dana’s grandmother than at her story.

“Anyway, I was thinking about how we dug a well, but it still didn’t furnish enough water for the livestock. That meant we had to take the stock, including the oxen, to the buffalo hole near the creek.”

“Buffalo hole?” Charlotte asked.

“It was just a low spot on our property where water pooled. We called it that because the old homesteaders said that’s where the buffalo used to drink—Indians too, I guess. When I was a kid the teepee rings were still there. They were rock circles. The Indians used the rocks to hold down the teepees, you know.”

Charlotte nodded, remembering she’d heard that before.

“I wonder if the rock circles are still around,” Nancy Evans called from across the room. Charlotte didn’t know she’d been listening.

“Nah.” Maxie shook her head. “All the kids messed them up, looking for arrowheads.” Her eyes sparkled. “Found a few too. Those were some fun times we had, even though we didn’t have much.”

“Sounds like you made the most of things,” Charlotte agreed.

For the next thirty minutes Maxie told more stories—about Bedford Community Church in the 1930s and during World War II. Charlotte hoped she would remember all of Maxie’s great details. She also thought about talking to Pete and Dana, maybe asking them to consider videotaping Maxie. Dana’s grandma seemed to be in good health, but one never knew. And what Maxie said was true—somehow the stories of the past needed to be passed on.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while as they looked through a box of obituaries for local boys who had died in World War II. Some were Sam’s age. Others were only a few years older.

“Can you believe Pete’s wedding is only a month away?” Hannah asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee and joined Charlotte and Maxie.

“I know. I feel a little guilty being here, but when I talked to Dana a few days ago it sounded like she had everything under control.” Charlotte took a sip of coffee and realized that Hannah must have brought her own beans. It didn’t have that thick, sludgy taste that the church coffee usually had.

“Oh, speaking of weddings. I brought you something to see.” Maxie took a large manila envelope off the table and slid out a photo of a young couple.

“Oh, is this your wedding picture?” Charlotte gazed at the gazebo and the lovely couple. Maxie was a tiny slip of a thing, and Charlotte could tell the wedding dress was borrowed from the way it hung on her, a few sizes too large. Her veil was worn like a cap on her head, and the tulle of the veil spilled over her shoulders and all the way down her back to the floor. Small pin curls framed her face, and Maxie’s husband, Wilbert, stood next to her.

“My, my, your husband is dashing.” Charlotte cooed.

“He sort of looks like the professor from Gilligan’s Island—taller and stockier, but just as handsome,” Hannah chimed in.

“Oh, Hannah, you think everyone looks like someone from Gilligan’s Island,” Charlotte ribbed her friend. Turning to Maxie, she saw the saddened look in her older friend’s eye. “Your anniversary was Valentine’s day. It would have been seventy years today.” Charlotte touched Maxie’s arm.

“Seventy years,” Hannah added. “Is that possible?”

“It is. I married when I was eighteen, and I’m eighty-eight. But let’s not get sidetracked. Here’s another photo, of our reception. You know it wasn’t common back then to have a photo of those who attended the wedding, but my husband was a people person. He insisted a photo be taken of all our friends and family.” Maxie placed the photo in front of Charlotte as Hannah hustled around the table to peek over her shoulder for a better look.

“There’s Wilma Wilson, Anita’s grandmother, and her sister, Peggy.” Charlotte felt excitement growing as she looked at the photos, as if she’d just been reconnected with two dear friends. “Or is that Peggy and the other one Wilma? I think as they grew older it became even harder to tell them apart.”

Charlotte stared at them closer, noticing the happiness on their faces. Obviously Nebraska had been good for both of them.

“And where is Peggy’s husband? Is he in the picture?” Hannah asked.

“No.” Maxie shook her head. “I’m sorry to say he died just a few years after their marriage. He was working at the depot here in Bedford, and there was an accident with one of the trains.”

A deep sadness filled Charlotte as if she’d just lost a close friend. She placed a hand to her neck. “You aren’t serious, are you? How did Peggy handle that?”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“Did Peggy remarry?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes, after many years she married a man from Harding and moved up there. Before that she tried to get by on her own. Others tried to help, but Peggy, like others before her, soon realized the best thing to do was find a new husband. Like many women of that time, Peggy married out of necessity. Love came later, and from what I hear, she had three sons.”

Charlotte imagined it all—the joy of marriage, the heartbreak, remarrying out of necessity. Times were hard …

Maxie pointed to an older couple near the edge of the photo. “Look, Charlotte, it’s your great-grandparents.”

Charlotte lifted the photo to her face to get a better look. At home she had photos of her great-grandparents when they were younger … their engagement photo, and one taken when her grandfather Albert was a baby. But she’d never seen them with gray hair and wrinkles.

“I’m amazed how much my dad looked like his grandfather. I can see the family resemblance.” Charlotte tilted her head as she stared into his face. “I wish I could have had a chance to know them.”

“You’re right—they did look alike. Everyone around town knew who was a Coleman. It was the nose, I think. Very Roman and handsome.”

Charlotte looked at the photo again. Her great-grandparents stood on the fringes of the group, but at least they were there. It wasn’t as if they’d been completely shunned forever.

“They look happy. Or at least content. I can see the slightest of smiles on their lips.” Hannah patted Charlotte’s shoulder.

“Yes, they went on to have a good life, I think.” Maxie leaned back in her chair. “I know that the lost money troubled them for many years, but it didn’t mark their entire lives. I credit the community for that. Even though there were some people who always thought Elijah Coleman stole the money, many others believed in him, and I had a special reason why I believed in him too.”

“What’s that?” Charlotte asked.

“I don’t believe there was a dog in all Nebraska that would not wag his tail when he saw your Granddaddy coming. Dogs know good people when they see them. When I saw my dog, Lucky, wag her tail and spin in circles at the sight of your Granddaddy I knew he was a good person.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a good sign.”

“From what I hear, many of the folks in town stood up for him, believed in him,” Maxie repeated.

“Yes, I know. Anita showed me the letters.”

“Letters?” Maxie asked.

“You don’t know?” For the next ten minutes Charlotte told the ladies who’d gathered around about Peggy’s letters to her sister Wilma.

“That’s strange.” Maxie patted her salt-and-pepper hair. “It’s a nice story. I like to hear that they did that—”

“Charlotte, come here. I think I found something!” Nancy Evans’s voice interrupted their conversation.

Charlotte hurried over to Nancy, who was sifting through a large box.

“It’s a collection of old Bibles.” Nancy was holding one and gently brushing it with her other hand. As Charlotte approached, she blew the dust from the cover.

“Like a Bible lost and found?” Hannah peeked in.

“Yes, and look. There’s a name written in the inside cover. And a date.”

Charlotte opened it. “Oh … it’s …” The words caught in her throat. “It’s my great-grandmother’s. It says, ‘Lavina Coleman, 1890.’”

“Ten years after the scandal,” Hannah whispered.

“The scandal?” Melody approached with a plate of fresh-baked oatmeal-raisin cookies. The scent of cinnamon swirled around the woman, more enticing than the finest French perfume.

“I can’t believe you haven’t heard of Charlotte’s Granddaddy’s scandal. There’s been more buzz about it than who shot J.R. in the eighties,” Hannah said. “You must have left before the news clipping was found on Tuesday.”

“I must have; fill me in.”

Charlotte went on to explain yet again. And as she finally finished retelling the whole story, she changed her mind about questioning whether Christopher’s article should indeed be in the Bedford Leader. At least if it was there—in one place—she wouldn’t have to tell the story so many times.

She stayed for a little while longer, until the desire to sneak away with her great-grandmother’s Bible became too much.

She ran her fingers along the spine and felt her throat growing tight and thick.

“Oh, Charlotte, I found something else.” Nancy handed her another book. “It looks like a journal of sorts, and it also has Lavina’s name in it.”

“Your great-grandma sounds like me, always forgetting stuff everywhere I go.” Hannah slapped her leg. “I’d bet anyone twenty bucks there’s at least two Bibles with my name on them in that box.”

“You’re on,” Melody said as they hurried over to the box.

Charlotte remained where she was. She looked inside the front cover, and her heart pounded. 1881. Just a few years after the incident.

What a gift, Lord. Thank you! Charlotte flipped through the pages. On some of them were sermon notes. Scripture verses and the preacher’s main speaking points were written in neat script. Charlotte flipped through more pages and noticed that they looked more like a diary or journal. Then a few pages later it was more sermon notes.

She kept flipping through and saw that nearly every page was filled except for the last twenty pages.

Charlotte pressed it to her chest, not caring that the century-old dust was getting her dirty. Then, with quivering fingers, she turned to the first journal page.

“Dear Lord, another day dawns, and I question whether it will be a good one or hard one,” she read.

Tears lined Charlotte’s eyelids, blurring the words on the page. How many times had she thought the same thing?

“Lavina Coleman must have been very forgetful to leave so many things lying around,” Maxie repeated, brushing the dust from her hands.

“Either that or God helped her to forget,” Charlotte muttered. “He knew I would need this. Not only for the answers, but also for my heart.”

Maxie rose and moved toward the coatrack. “I’ll be heading home now. I think you’d best do the same.” Maxie winked. “It’s not like you’ll get much done anyway with your mind on those journal pages. Why don’t you head home and relax and read? There’s a reason you found it, you know.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, following Maxie to the coatrack. “I have the same feeling too.”