by Anne George
"Little anemones," Sister said. "Do you think enough people are familiar with anemones? You think verbena would be better?"
I shrugged and turned to the back of the phone book to the business section. ' 'You have reached The Family Tree—" Georgiana's voice.
"Shit!" I looked up Cassie's number again and called. Another answering machine. I left word for her to call me.
"Listen to this," Mary Alice said. She held the notepad up and read, "He looked at her in surprise, the bullet hole a third eye. Then, as he fell, blood spattered like a garden of anemones across her size seven-and-a-half Keds."
"Size seven-and-a-half Keds?"
"The teacher said to sneak the description of the characters in. You don't want them looking at themselves in the mirror and describing what they see."
"Why not?"
"It's been done too much."
"God forbid. I liked that third eye, though."
"Thanks. I like it, too." Sister looked at the page admiringly.
"I've got to go fix supper," I said, sliding down from the stool. Thanks for the Black Cow."
"You want some Brunswick stew? I've still got some in the freezer we bought at the Elks' barbecue. All you'll have to do is make corn bread."
"I'd love it, and Fred will think he's died and gone
to heaven." I didn't point out that she had bought the stew at the barbecue, not the freezer.
Sister walked with me to the car and waved as I started down the driveway. I saw her standing there, waving, and I slammed on my brakes and backed up. "What are you going to do tonight?" She had suddenly looked lonesome to me. That big house and her rattling around in it. No Fred. Just Bubba Cat.
Mary Alice grinned. "Buddy's coming over. The lady from By Request is bringing supper, and we're going to watch a movie in the hot tub."
"Dear God," I said, and floored the accelerator.
The phone was ringing when I came in from walking Woofer. "Philip's got the program figured out," Haley announced. "He's copied it on his little computer and we're going to bring it over after a while. Okay?"
' 'Sure. I'd ask you for supper, but we're just having a bowl of Brunswick stew."
"Oh, that's okay. We've got reservations at The Club. We'll bring it by before we go."
"Did he say anything about what's on it?"
"No. Just that he can get into it."
"Haley's happy," I told Fred, who walked in just as I hung up. "They're coming by in a little while to bring the computer disk. Philip figured out how the genealogy program works."
"Good." He hugged me. "I better go get a shower."
I followed him down the hall. "I went to University Hospital this afternoon. Georgiana Peach was asking to see me. She's in intensive care and looks awful, bless her heart."
"What did she want?"
"She wants me to find a woman named Heidi Williams who used to work for her. But the interesting thing she said was that Judge Haskins killed Meg Bryan."
Fred unbuttoned his shirt and threw it across the bed. "She was doped up, wasn't she?"
"Sure, but—"
"Then I wouldn't pay any attention to it." Fred reached into his back pants pocket and brought out an envelope. "Ta da!"
"What is this?"
"Open it!"
The outside of the envelope said Travel, Inc. I opened it and saw several brochures for Mexican and Caribbean cruises.
"We'll study them tonight," Fred said.
I fanned the brochures out. "I don't understand. Yesterday we were going bankrupt and today we're going on a cruise?"
"Is this not a wonderful country?" He laughed, patted me on the behind, and headed for the shower.
I looked down at the brochures in my hand. I knew I should be thrilled, but I felt like I did when one of the children came in past curfew. I'd been so worried, that I wanted to deck him. Instead, I went into the other bathroom and flushed the toilet. The yell I heard from Fred's shower made me feel better.
We had just finished supper when Philip and Haley came by. I cleared off the kitchen table and Philip put his notebook computer down and plugged it in.
"Let me show you how it works," he said. "It's mainly pedigree charts Meg was working on. She had a neat cross-referencing system, though."
We waited a moment while the computer made its groaning noises. Then a message flashed on the
screen, "Margaret Anne March Bryan. Genius I."
"That's what she called her program," Philip explained. "I copied it and all of the 'gen' files so you can look at them."
"I don't know how," I said.
"Here's how you do it. First you hold down Alt F. Okay? Now what do you want to do? Look at your choices."
There was a list of about twenty things on the screen.
"I don't know what I want to do," I said.
"You can just wander around in it," Haley offered. "Mash the down cursor and when the one you want is highlighted, hit 'Enter.' "
"How do I know what I want?"
"Well, let's look at someone's pedigree chart. How about Efram Bates." Philip struck some keys and there was the Bates family tree. Another key listed them alphabetically. Philip selected a name, highlighted it, and said, "Let's see what Meg found out about John Harvey Bates."
John Harvey Bates was a fanner in Lowndes County, Alabama, and the father of thirteen children by three wives. He died at the age of eighty-two in 1870.
"That's great," Fred said, looking over my shoulder.
"See if there's an Atchison family in there," I said.
Philip obligingly tapped some keys. "Three. There's one listed as Atchison, Camille, one as Atchison, Camille Johnson, cross-referenced as Camille Victoria Johnson."
"Can you look at those charts?"
"Sure. I'll do Atchison, Camille first."
The same pedigree configuration came up on the
screen that had been up for the Bates family. I looked · over it, all the marriages, children, deaths. So much living.
"Can you do the other Camille one?"
"Sure." The Atchison one disappeared and in its place was one with the heading "Camille Johnson Atchison." At first glance, they seemed to be identical.
"I wonder why Meg had three entries for this woman?" Haley said.
"Well, this woman married an Atchison, and that's what her children are. But she was born a Johnson. So Meg had to go back through the Johnson family."
"Oh, of course," Haley said. "So Mama is a Tate and not a Hollowell."
"I hate the way women have to change their names," I grumbled.
"You jumped at the chance," Fred said. We all ignored him.
"Talk me through this one time," I asked Philip. "Show me exactly what to do to get the charts."
"Okay. I'm going to turn it off. You just follow the instructions I've written here."
I held my breath and went right to Atchison, Camille. My audience of three applauded. "Now how do I get out of this thing?''
Philip reached over and showed me.
"Just remember," he said as they were leaving, "you can't hurt a thing. Everything's saved, and if by some remote chance you erase the whole thing, I still have the disk. So just play with it." He started down the steps and turned. "And follow my instructions."
"What a nice man," I told Fred as I closed the door.
"And an ENT, too. Now come on, let's look at those cruises."
I did, and they all sounded wonderful. We narrowed our choices down to three, watched the ten o'clock news, and went to bed. But as soon as Fred was asleep, I was back at the kitchen table with the computer on. And under Camille Victoria Johnson, I found something very interesting. In trying to leave this file, though, and go to one of the Atchison ones, I did something wrong and the words "Fatal Error" came up on the screen. That'll get your attention. I turned the computer off immediately and unplugged it.
"Fred." I whispered as I crawled into bed beside him. "I think I just killed an expensive computer."
"Th
at's okay," he said between snores.
Fourteen
The
The next morning when I went into the kitchen, Fred was sitting at the computer tapping keys, studying the screen like some kind of computer expert. "I thought you said you killed it," he said. "It's fine."
"What are you doing? And how come you remember my saying that? You were snoring."
"I'm just following the instructions Philip wrote down. Look, honey, here's old Darrell Dunaway married Carroll Ferguson. Named their first son Shank. I like Darrell and Carroll, but they could have done better than Shank."
I went over and looked at the screen. "How did you do that? Last night it said 'Fatal Error.' "
"The male's innate affinity with machines."
"Are you saying I messed it up because I'm a woman?"
"Something like that. The coffee's ready."
"Nice to know the affinity also goes for coffee machines. And I'll have you know I did exactly what Philip wrote down." I poured a cup of coffee and came back to the table. Fred was having a high old time.
"Ho," he said jovially. "It gets better. Shank named his daughter Shanklette."
"He did not!"
"Yes, he did. Look at this."
"Shanklette Ferguson," I marveled, looking at the screen.
"This is great," Fred said, moving the cursor down like a pro.
"Do me a favor. Pull up the Camille Johnson At-chison file."
"Okay." He did it as if there were no problem at all. The proud male and his orderly mind! "Now what?"
"Look back in the lineage chart. What I'm looking for would be in the 1860s, maybe 70s."
He scanned down the chart.
"Slowly," I said. Then, "Wait, here it is." I read over his shoulder, "Clovis Reed Johnson married Elizabeth Ann Sherman."
"So?"
"Who was her father?"
"It doesn't say. Just says Clovis and Elizabeth had six children."
I put my coffee down and looked over Fred's shoulder. "Now look up Camille Victoria Johnson and go back to that same spot."
Fred followed Philip's instructions and zoomed right into the other file and scanned down. "Here," he said. "Clovis Reed Johnson married Elizabeth Ann Sherman. Her parents are listed on this one, though. Her father is William T. Sherman."
"Now look him up in that biographical thing."
Fred hit the keys as if he had been doing it all his life. "Okay," he read. "Sherman, William Tecumseh, born Ohio, 1820, famous as a Civil War general for
his 'March to the sea' through Georgia." He looked up and grinned. "How about that!"
I nodded. "Camille Atchison is General Sherman's great great something granddaughter. Apparently, she was not pleased with the news."
"And she was trying to get in that Confederate ladies' thing?"
"The UDC. Bless her heart." But I was grinning, too. Talk about irony!
"Looks like she'd know about an ancestor that famous."
"You mean infamous?" I sat down and picked up my coffee. "You think Clevis's mama bragged to her quilting circle about Clovis marrying General Sherman's daughter? No way. That knowledge got swept under the rug so quick the dust didn't fly."
"Elizabeth's mama probably didn't brag about her marrying Clovis, either."
"Probably not. But you want to see something strange? Pull up the plain Camille Atchison file and look for Elizabeth Sherman's parents."
Fred complied with an agility that was infuriating. "Okay, here's Clovis and Elizabeth and William T. Sherman."
"Look him up in the biographical section of that file."
"Okay. Sherman, William Thomas, born South Carolina, 1820, served in the army of the Confederacy, wounded at Shiloh. Married Rebecca O'Donnell. Six children. Lifelong resident of Greenville. Occupation, tailor. Died 1886." Fred looked up. "What is this? Two different people?"
"I have no idea. But I certainly know which version Meg Bryan gave Camille Atchison. And Camille
said she had the problem worked out, so she obviously got the second one, too."
Fred studied the screen. "I wonder which one's right."
"I think it's interesting that there are two versions." I thought for a moment, sipping my coffee. "What does the biographical part say about Clovis and Elizabeth?"
Fred typed a message to the computer which obliged with the knowledge that Clovis Reed Johnson was a farmer and Baptist minister and had lived in Mount Olive, Jefferson County, Alabama, from 1870 until his death in 1905. There was no biographical entry for Elizabeth.
"A Baptist minister's wife in a tiny Alabama town? There's no way she would have told anyone her father was General Sherman," I said.
"If he was." Fred pushed his chair back. "This is interesting, but I've got to go to work. You want me to leave the computer on? All you have to do is punch the keys Philip wrote down."
"Sure," I said, knowing full well that "Fatal Error" was lurking in wait.
Fred leaned over and kissed me. "Bye, Sweetie."
"Bye, Pop."
He grinned and bounced out of the back door. Amazing what that trip to Atlanta had done for him.
I moved to the seat Fred had vacated and read the biographical information on Clovis Johnson again. Mount Olive was a suburb of Birmingham, so the records should be at the Birmingham Public Library.
I got a bowl of cereal and sat at the table thinking about the two versions of Camille Johnson Atchison's family tree. William T. Sherman wasn't an uncommon name. It could have been a simple mix-up. But
that thought went zipping out of my head. General Sherman appearing on a pedigree chart wouldn't have been an accident. It's only been a hundred and forty years or so since the Civil War—like yesterday in Southern time. A few diehards down here still won't carry fifty dollar bills because Grant's picture is on them, and the fives don't fare much better. Mary Alice, who adores legal tender of every denomination, as do I, says thank God those folks have American Express.
So General William Tecumseh Sherman perched on a branch of Camille Atchison's family tree a mistake? No way. The name would have hit any Southern genealogist between the eyes like the rock that slew Goliath.
I finished my cereal, turned up the bowl to drink the milk, and got up to get more coffee. Cup full, I wandered back to the table and stared down at the computer. Something told me I had found something important. Something also told me I didn't know enough about computers or genealogy to figure out what it was.
The phone rang and I reached over to answer it.
"Patricia Anne?" Trinity said. "I hope I didn't awaken you."
"No. How's Georgiana this morning?"
"Her condition is unchanged. She recognizes me."
"Are you at Mary Alice's?''
"No. I'm at the hospital. Georgiana seemed glad to see me during the five-minute visits. And she's so sick, I hated to leave."
"You stayed all night? You must be exhausted!"
"I am. The lovely young woman who works with her, Cassie Murphy, has come in, though, and says she'll stay a while. She has suggested that I go to
Georgiana's apartment. I've never stayed in her new apartment, but I understand it's close by. I'm sure it would be all right with Georgiana."
"Of course it would. Do you have a key?"
"Cassie does. I'll go sleep a few hours."
"You do that. Call me when you wake up, and I'll bring you something to eat."
"Thank-you, dear."
I started to hang up when I heard Trinity calling, "Patricia Anne?"
"Yes?"
"Georgiana keeps asking me if you found someone named Heidi. Do you know who she's talking about? She seems very agitated about it."
"She's a woman who worked at The Family Tree, and I couldn't find her phone number. I imagine Cassie knows it, though. In fact, I left word for her to call me last night so I could ask her, and she didn't return the call. Why don't you ask her?"
"I will. I'll talk to you later."
I finished my coffee, put on
my sweats, and went out to take Woofer for his walk. It was a perfect spring morning, bright sun, low humidity. Mitzi was already out in her yard examining her climbing Peace rose. Woofer and I stopped to speak.
"Loaded with buds," she explained. "Just don't let us have another hard freeze."
"I'll do my best," I said. I started down the sidewalk and turned around. "Mitzi, what do you think about the Civil War?"
She smiled. "Doesn't keep me awake at night."
"What if you found out General Sherman was your great great great whatever grandfather?"
"Wouldn't bother me a bit. I'd just keep it a secret." She smiled wider. "Or move up north. Why?
You found out he's your ancestor? Am I going to have to move?"
"Not that I know of. I don't think I want to know what's hanging on my family tree."
"Well, don't look at what's coming down the street, then."
I looked up and saw Mary Alice's car.
"She's out early," Mitzi said.
"She sure is. I hope everything's okay."
Mary Alice spotted me and pulled over to the curb, letting down the window on my side. "I am totally distraught," she said. "Get in." She didn't look distraught. She had on a green linen jacket, and her makeup was perfect.
"I can't. I've got the dog. What's the matter?"
"Mitzi doesn't want to hear my problems."
"Sure I do." Mitzi looked very interested.
"Well, for starters, Buddy may be gay."
"Buddy's not gay. He's ninety."
Mitzi's eyebrows went up.
"Besides," I continued, "he was a tiger at the opera. You said you had to fend him off."
"True, but last night in the hot tub, nothing."
"Probably the heat and the water. Hot tubs can do interesting things to the male anatomy."
"Bill was always at his best in the hot tub."
"Maybe Buddy's taking blood pressure medicine. Heart medicine, too."
"He is. And he's on the Pritikin diet and didn't even tell me. Brought his own food, and I'm stuck with all this chicken tetrazzini. Here." Sister handed me a casserole. "Somebody might as well enjoy it."
"Gee, thanks."
"And then he asked me to marry him. And I said, 'Buddy, I know you're the second richest man in Ala-