A Long Time Gone

by Karen White

  Carrie gave me an apologetic smile. “The very same. After she retired, she found she couldn’t quite give up bossing other people around and making people lower their voices. She’s president of the Friends of the Indian Mound Library. She does a great job, and she’s real nice once you get to know her.”

  I hesitated to remind her that I’d known Mrs. Shipley for four years in high school, and I was as afraid of her when I graduated as I was on the first day of freshman year.

  She led us into an ancient elevator with a metal mesh screen for a door and pushed the B button after manually sliding the door shut. It shuddered to life like an old man jolted awake from a long nap and started to move downward with slow, arthritic jerks as Cordelia began to play with my hair.

  “I think she likes the color of it,” Carrie said. “Or she’s jealous that you have so much of it when she hardly has any.” She laughed. “Runs in the family, I’m afraid. My hair’s curly, but it’s fine and just frizzes in this heat.” Facing Chloe, she said, “You’ve got pretty hair. Nice and thick. I loved the way you had it in a French braid when I saw you at the restaurant. Maybe you can teach Cordelia how to do that when she’s older. Or when she grows enough hair.”

  As if she knew we were talking about her, Cordelia suddenly lurched sideways toward Chloe. With the quick reflexes of the young, Chloe caught her and hoisted her onto her hip. The two girls stared at each other through the thick fringe of Chloe’s hair. With a pfft sound, Chloe blew air through her lips, pushing her hair into the little girl’s face.

  Cordelia chortled deep in her throat, the sound intoxicating. We all watched as Chloe did it again, creating a new waterfall of childish laughs.

  “You’d make a good big sister, Chloe,” Carrie said.

  The old elevator ground to a stop and I was relieved to be distracted from the wounded look on Chloe’s face, and the memory of me telling her that she wasn’t going to be a big sister after all.

  Carrie led us into a thinly carpeted room that smelled like stale wood smoke and reminded me a lot of the final scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark, when Indiana Jones is shown the government storage room where the Ark of the Covenant is buried. Except this room was filled with shelves and shelves of boxes and containers that went all the way back to the far wall. A line of metal folding tables filled the middle of the room, the tall shelves looming over them.

  “I know it’s a mess,” Carrie apologized. “When the fire broke out in the old library, firefighters and employees grabbed what they could and flung everything out the windows and doors. We were just so grateful that so much was saved, it didn’t occur to us to wonder how on earth we’d be able to put it all back together.”

  Chloe was spinning around in a slow circle, her mouth gaping open, but before I could ask her to stop, I realized I was doing the same thing. We stopped at an old schoolmaster’s wooden desk—looking suspiciously like a remnant from the high school—and I read the small sign posted on the front: UNATTENDED CHILDREN WILL BE GIVEN AN ESPRESSO AND A FREE PUPPY. Next to that was a hand-drawn sign of a frowny face next to a crude depiction of a cell phone with a line going through it.

  “Isn’t this a little ridiculous?” I asked. “Seeing how this isn’t exactly a library down here, but a storage facility for library materials?”

  “I consider this a library.” The disembodied voice came from the other side of the desk. Leaning over, I found Mrs. Shipley picking up a scattered pile of small paper dots, apparently escapees from the upturned three-hole punch that lay on its side on the floor.

  I wanted to point out that a vacuum cleaner would probably do a faster and more efficient job, but one gaze at her eyes behind her glasses transported me back to high school. She pulled herself up using the edge of the desk and I wondered how it could be that she looked exactly the same as I remembered. Even her stiff helmet of white-blond teased and sprayed hair remained the same. I thought the frames of her glasses had probably not changed since, either, but I couldn’t be sure, since I’d spent a lot of time looking at the floor whenever she was in my presence.

  “Vivien! How’s my favorite student?”

  I met Carrie’s eyes over Mrs. Shipley’s shoulder as she hugged me. “I’m fine, thank you. It’s so great to see you again.” The entire exchange was said in loud, exaggerated whispers, even though there was nobody else in the room but us.

  I introduced Carol Lynne and Chloe, also in loud whispers, and then Carrie took Cordelia from Chloe. “I have to get back to the theater now, but you’re in good hands with Mrs. Shipley. And please let Tommy know that I’m doing a Star Wars marathon—all six prequels and sequels—this weekend. Mama’s watching Cordelia and I’m bringing Bo. I know those are Tommy’s favorite movies in the whole world, and I’d love for him to join us. Tell him I’ll save him a seat with us, just in case.”

  “I will.” We said good-bye as Mrs. Shipley, in her school librarian uniform of brown vest, houndstooth skirt, ankle socks, and sneakers faced us with her hands together. Carol Lynne sat down in one of the metal chairs with her purse on her lap, then slowly pulled off her white gloves finger by finger, just like Bootsie used to do.

  “Are we here to eat? I think I might be hungry.”

  Mrs. Shipley frowned, I assumed because we weren’t whispering.

  Chloe leaned toward my mother. “Not yet. We’re here to help Vivien go through some pictures and papers. Then we’ll eat.”

  “Okay.” Carol Lynne smiled at her gratefully.

  I looked more closely at the nearest shelf, where stacks of paper protruded over the open top of an unlabeled moving box. Continuing to speak in a loud whisper, I said, “Um, so, where would you like us to start?”

  Mrs. Shipley patted her helmet of hair as if a strand would defy her by moving. “I heard about the unfortunate soul buried in your yard. Carrie told me that you would be interested in old newspaper articles about missing women. I think that’s a great place to start! Because the newspapers were easy to identify, they all got separated from the rest of the papers and grouped together in the same area.”

  “Lucky me,” I said, my eyes scanning the brimming shelves. “Did Carrie also tell you that I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be in town? I might not be here long enough to put a dent into any of this.”

  Mrs. Shipley glanced back at my mother and her face softened. “I understand. My grandmother got sick like that, too, and it just about killed my mother taking care of her. But your mama has Tommy and Cora Smith, who’s like a saint if you ask me, so you wouldn’t have to worry about her being taken care of.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Mrs. Shipley regarded me, waiting for me to explain the reason I would leave again, and I stared back at her, having no idea what to say. I turned around, pretending to examine one of the shelves. “Just show me where to start and how you’d like them organized and I’ll have Chloe help me. If you could bring my mother a box of photographs Carrie said originally came from the newspaper’s archives, she can get started on those.”

  With pursed lips, she nodded. “Of course. This way.” Chloe and I followed Mrs. Shipley down an aisle and watched as she pulled out a Hammermill paper box, then carried it to the table where Carol Lynne sat. “Just look through these, Miz Moise. They’re probably from all time periods since the camera was invented, but if you’d like, you can put aside any photographs where you recognize a person or building, and any with something written on the back. That would be a start, anyway. I suppose we should get all the old-timers in here to look through the photos and see how many we can identify.”

  “Sounds like fun,” my mother said with confidence, and I could only hope that Mrs. Shipley didn’t have high expectations that the photographs would be sorted in any discernible way. Carol Lynne pulled a photo out of the box, examining it closely, as if she knew what she was looking for.

  Mrs. Shipley had already start
ed walking toward the back of the room. “These shelves are where we put all the newspapers. Before the fire, we had a pretty complete collection starting from about 1870. Carrie and I thought this would be a great opportunity to discover some interesting historical tidbits in these old papers to write about in your newspaper column.”

  “My newspaper column?”

  She stopped walking to face me. “Didn’t Carrie tell you? The editor of the paper has okayed a weekly column for the paper and their Web site, and I remember you from the school paper, Vivien. I know you’ll be able to get people all excited about the library opening and about the history of Indian Mound and the surrounding area. We at the Friends were just thrilled when you accepted the opening.”

  “I actually haven’t accepted . . .”

  Mrs. Shipley had already turned away and was marching toward the back of the room. I heard Chloe snort behind me.

  “Just grab a box and start sorting by date. I thought you could use these four tables to lay them out, starting with the oldest paper in the far left corner and then just adjusting the piles as you go through the boxes.” She slid a box off a shelf and handed it to Chloe. “And both of you can read the headlines and see if anything jumps out at you that might be interesting. I already calculated that we’ll need twelve columns before the library’s grand opening.” She beamed. “I just can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

  I took another box from the shelf and dumped it next to Chloe’s on the nearest table. A moth fluttered out of the box, as if even he wanted to get away. I started to explain that I wasn’t supposed to be here, that I’d been home less than a month and nothing had turned out as I’d expected, least of all being stuck in the basement of City Hall with boxes of old newspapers, a mother with dementia, and a teenager who wanted to be there less than I did.

  But then I imagined Mrs. Shipley asking me what other plans I had that would prevent me from doing this job. The embarrassment of hunting for an answer was enough to keep me quiet. The thought that I might actually find an article about a woman’s disappearance seemed farfetched at best, but at least searching meant I was moving forward instead of treading water. What I’d do next wasn’t something I was ready to consider.

  “Well, then, that should be a place to get you started. When you find an interesting article, bring it up to me and I’ll photocopy it. It’s against our policy to allow any originals out of the library. And remember, no food or drink, and definitely no chewing gum.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” I said, wanting to point out that we were volunteers and couldn’t be fired for breaking the rules. But she quelled any further dialogue with her librarian look before marching brusquely to her desk to finish picking up the tiny paper dots from the floor.

  I grabbed a stack of newspapers from the first box and settled them into a spot in front of me. Looking over at Chloe, I saw she was busy texting on her phone. “Seriously?” she said, her voice loud enough to cause Mrs. Shipley to poke her head above her desk from down the long hall of shelves. She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have any bars down here. How am I supposed to text if I can’t get a signal?”

  “You’re in a basement, Chloe. And you’re not supposed to be texting anyway, because you’re supposed to be helping sort old newspapers. Besides, if Mrs. Shipley sees you using your phone in here or even thinks it might be turned on, she will take it. And you might not get it back.” I didn’t add that I spoke from experience.

  She sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh. “How long do we have to do this?”

  I scanned the stacked shelves with a sinking feeling. “We have until October. But for today, I say let’s work until lunch. If you get hungry, I brought a bag of almonds that Mrs. Fusselbottom shouldn’t be able to sniff out.”

  She barked out a laugh, but quickly stifled it. “My dad says nuts are fattening and I shouldn’t eat them.”

  I took a deep breath. “Nuts are high in fat and calories. But they’re very nutritious and high in fiber, too. That means that a small handful is all you need to get a good energy boost with a reasonable amount of calories.”

  She looked at me as if I’d just suggested we should strip naked and run screaming through the hallowed halls of Mrs. Shipley’s basement library.

  I went to make sure my mother was still happily going through photographs, and then returned to my task. I didn’t look back at Chloe, but after a few minutes I heard her groan and then the sound of newspapers being slid out of her box and slapped on the table.

  Three hours later my eyes were bleary, I had newsprint smears all over my face and hands, my backside was numb from sitting too long, and I’d gone through only two boxes. I glanced over at Chloe, who was on the floor on her stomach, her hunger pangs of an hour ago presumably erased by a strategically passed handful of almonds. She was swinging her legs as she appeared to be absorbed in a newspaper from 1963.

  She’d barely gone through half of her box, because she’d start reading a headline and then get drawn into the rest of the story, and then see another article until she’d read the whole paper—including the advertisements—before she realized it. I couldn’t bring myself to get her to stop, as this was the first thing besides grunge rock, boys, and her phone that I’d seen her give this much intense concentration to.

  We’d accumulated a pile of printed-out articles on a variety of subjects from a good sampling of decades, including the deal with the devil bluesman Robert Johnson made for his world-renowned guitar abilities, the two German POW camps operated in the county during the last two years of World War II, and the yellow fever epidemic of 1888. She didn’t want to, but I made her also include the story about the famous “floating hamburger” found only at the now-defunct Labella’s restaurant near the Indianola train depot. At this rate, I’d have articles for my column well into the next century.

  I stood and stretched, ready to call for a lunch break, when my gaze settled on the newspaper in the front of Chloe’s box. I slid it out and read the headline in bold, black letters.

  MISSISSIPPI RIVER BREACHES LEVEES IN 145 PLACES—16 MILLION ACRES FLOODED IN SEVEN STATES AND NEARLY 500 SOULS LOST!

  I scanned the page, looking for the date at the top, remembering the waterline in the stairway of our house. There it was: April 22, 1927. Thinking this would be a good topic for my first column—not that I’d completely decided I wanted to do it—I quickly thumbed through Chloe’s box and found three more editions from 1927 and 1928. I found another from April 1937, the tenth anniversary of the flood, then plucked them from the box and stacked them on the table to start with them when I returned.

  Calling over my shoulder, I said, “Go ahead and finish up, Chloe. I’ll go round up Carol Lynne and see how productive she’s been.”

  I didn’t have high hopes, since every time I’d gone to check on my mother she was either making patterns on the table with the photographs or wandering around the shelves, and once was discovered sleeping on the floor between two shelves. Mrs. Shipley had taken her to the bathroom a few times, but most of the time she acted as the gatekeeper to keep Carol Lynne from wandering out of the basement.

  I stopped at the table where my mother had placed stacks of photographs in a circular pattern. I surveyed them and tried to determine if they’d been arranged with any method of organization.

  After giving up hope that the stacks were intentional, I asked, “Are you hungry?”

  She looked up from where she was spinning a single photograph with her short-cropped nail, flicking a corner as soon as it came around, seeing how fast it would spin. She stared at me as if needing to translate what I’d just said. She furrowed her brow. “I think so.”

  “Do you want to grab a sandwich and a shake at the lunch counter at the drugstore? I thought Chloe might enjoy that.”

  The name didn’t seem to register, so I quickly corrected myself. “I meant JoEllen. She’s comin
g, too.”

  She smiled the smile I was beginning to recognize as the one she used when she was unsure of a situation and didn’t want anybody else to know. She hadn’t made a move to slide out her chair, so I grabbed it by the sides to help her, then stopped, my gaze settling on the photograph she’d been spinning.

  It was an old black-and-white studio portrait of a baby girl with light eyes that could have been green, sitting on a satin blanket, smiling up at someone or something behind the photographer, her index finger raised in a point. But it wasn’t the baby or her sweet expression that captured my attention. It was the tiny gold ring she wore on her finger, with half of a heart that appeared to have an engraving on the face of it. I squinted my eyes, peering closely at the letters, but they were too small to see.

  “Do you know who this is, Carol Lynne?”

  She looked at me with clear eyes that looked remarkably like the baby’s in the photo and smiled. “Yes.” She tapped her finger on the photo at the spot where the ring was.

  “Who is it?” I prodded.

  She looked down at the photo, and when her eyes met mine again, they wore the familiar cloudiness that I’d begun to grow used to.

  “Who is it?” I asked again, knowing it was too late.

  “A baby,” she said, her smile wide, as if she’d just given the right answer in a spelling bee.

  I picked up the photo, staring at the ring and wishing I could read the engraving. And then, when nobody was looking, I slid it into my shirt. I’d be careful with it, but I knew Mrs. Shipley wouldn’t agree to let me take it, and for some reason I couldn’t explain, I didn’t want a photocopy.

  We said good-bye to Mrs. Shipley and made plans for our return visit, the photograph seeming to burn a hole in my chest while I tried to remember where I’d seen the photograph before, and the identity of the baby who wore the other half of the ring found in the unknown woman’s grave.

  Chapter 27

  Carol Lynne Walker Moise