There was no time for that right now so I retraced my steps back out the front door and the street and continued on to Dutton’s. It gave me an odd feeling that, after all these years, the town hadn’t changed all that much.
Willie was waiting for me at the door when I reached the restaurant. He guided me around to the side where black, wrought iron tables, each flourishing a potted plant in the center, were arranged under a green and white striped canopy. It was quite inviting.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” He pulled out a chair for me.
“I had to come just to find out what’s going on.”
The waitress brought our drinks and a basket of crackers. I selected one and tore it open.
“Will, I want to talk with Miss Washburn. Do you need to arrange it, or can I just call her myself?”
Willie fidgeted in his wrought iron chair.
Why do you want to talk to her?”
His response annoyed me. Even though I hadn’t exactly agreed to help him, he did ask me for help. “Because she might be able to give me some information about Emily that I haven’t found in the yearbooks and newspapers, that’s why,” I said. “Understand I’m not doing this just because you asked, but this situation about Emily Washburn has made me curious. I’d like to find out what happened to her, too. Is there some reason why she wouldn’t want to talk about Emily?”
I continued eating. My tuna salad and fruit was delicious, and the atmosphere delightful in spite of Willie’s peevishness.
Finally, he put down his napkin and nodded.
“I don’t think talking about Emily will upset her. She knows I’m trying to locate any possible family. I need to take some papers to her this afternoon. Why don’t you meet me there? You still know the way don’t you?”
I agreed to meet him at the Washburn place at four o’clock and we went our separate ways.
I don’t suppose anything at the Courthouse had changed in a hundred years including the fragile dried up clerk in the records department. She tipped her right ear in my direction as I described what I wanted. Another long pause, then she motioned me to follow as she tottered ahead of me to a shelf of dark green volumes. I spent the next couple of hours sneezing my way through documents, deeds and certificates until I realized that if I was going to meet Harriet Washburn, I should be on my way. I made a note of the volume and page number and promised myself to come back another day.
As I drove along old Route 30, past the remains of the old canning factory, I slowed down. I didn’t want to miss the turn off. The rutted lane was teeth jarringly rough and lined with tangled shrubs and tall lush stems of goldenrod. I remembered when the lane was all smooth gravel.
Old Matthew Coblet was the gardener and general handyman for the Washburns. Years ago, whenever I walked along this lane, he was raking it smooth. I remembered him as always very old, but he had a magic touch with green things. He didn’t object to students traipsing through the woods to find leaf specimens for that Freshman Biology leaf collection. I know. I found more than leaves here in these woods.
The lane ended at a black, wrought iron gate hung between two brick pillars about eight feet tall. I remembered standing before those gates once before, the summer I was seven, with Grandfather and how, for some unremembered reason, I was afraid. The bricks were whitewashed then and the gate was a shiny black. I never learned why we went there, just that Grandfather wanted to talk to Miss Washburn. Now, most of the white had all chipped away and scabs of rust blotched the wrought iron.
I got out of the car and studied the gate. The rusty hinges obviously hadn’t been opened in a very long time. A thick hedge of overgrown bushes stretched away from each side of the gate. I looked at my watch. It was already ten minutes past four. Damn. The afternoon sun seared through my shirt and I was getting a headache. Where was that no good, Willie? During lunch, he had asked me if I still had my leaf collection.
“What kind of dumb question is that, Will?” This guy really ticked me off. “Of course I don’t have my leaf collection. It crumbled to dust years ago.”
This conversation popped into my mind as I stood there waiting. There was something else, though, that I never told Willie, or anyone else, about. One damp morning, when Willie and I were traipsing around looking for leaves for our biology leaf collection, I found an old earring. It was caked with mud, but something about it caught my fancy. I dropped it into my pocket and continued the leaf hunt. Later, I washed the dirt and moss off the earring, and I discovered it was silver, black with tarnish. It had a yellow stone suspended in a basket-like cage. After I cleaned it with mother’s silver polish the metal shimmered and reflected the golden color of the stone. It was beautiful, but quite old-fashioned. But what good is one earring? I put it away in my jewelry box and pretty much forgot about it.
I paced around my car in the hot sun, anger building up behind my eyes by the minute. My shirt stuck to me like wet wallpaper and the muscles in the back of my neck tightened like a vise. Willie was going to be dead meat if I ended up with a three-day migraine.
“Willie Manning,” I said, aloud. “You just ran out of time.”
I backed my car around and shifted gears just as his small, black truck slammed to a stop in front of me, the dust swirling around it.
Willie jumped out.
“Maggie. You’re still here. I was afraid I’d miss you. I forgot to tell you to come around by the other side, off the new highway.” He didn’t give me a chance to explode at him, but taking my elbow, he steered me past the brick pillar to an opening in the hedge.
“Now that we’re here, we can go this way. Usually I go around to the back, but I just realized you night not know about the bypass.”
We followed what was left of a brick drive to the front of the house that led to a set of wide, stone steps. Willie steered me to the right along a brick walk that circled the house. There were no weeds or grass growing in the cracks between these bricks, indicating that someone cared about appearances. Wooden steps led to a back porch the size of my garage at home. Just as Willie raised his hand to knock, the door opened, causing me to stumble against his back. A surprised young man, holding a bucket and mop, popped out of the door.
I stepped to one side. By now, I was so annoyed at being jerked around by this arrogant Willie that if the young man wanted to dump the bucketful of whatever all over him, I would have helped.
“Oh. Mr. Manning! I come in.” He pushed the door open further and stepped outside. He emptied the bucket of water and set it and the mop against the wall then ushered us inside. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Manning? Ma’am?”
I took a better look at the fellow. Not bad. He was tall, somewhat on the thin side, young, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three. Red hair cut close, blue eyes so pale they were almost clear and dressed in jeans and a denim shirt.
“No, thanks, Eddie. We came to talk to Miss Harriet. Is she here?”
“She had to go out, but she ought to be back any minute. Why don’t you go into the big room and I’ll bring coffee. Okay?”
While we waited in the gloomy parlor, Willie gave me some background for the reason for his visit.
“A steel company is interested in building a factory in this area. It would mean jobs and a lot of income for the town. Since I am Miss Washburn’s legal advisor, the town council wants me to convince her to sell.”
I helped myself to the coffee that Eddie brought on a large tray, in two large mugs, as well as sugar and milk. The coffee was wonderful and my opinion of Eddie improved by the minute.
He hesitated a moment. “Mr. Manning, is there a problem with the sale?”
His question interested me. Why would Eddie care, unless it meant his losing his job?
“Are you one of the Washburns, Eddie?” I stirred my coffee even though I didn’t have anything to stir into it.
“No, I just take care of the yard, and the heavy cleaning, while I finish my degree. I took over after Grandpop Matthew died. I was just curious.�
�� He grinned again and left the room.
“What does this sale have to do with Emily Washburn, Will? I thought we came here to ask about her.”
“I’ve been Harriet Washburn’s attorney for about fifteen years. As I told you, Alcon Steel is interested in buying the property but, before we can even consider selling, I have to contact any and all family members and anybody entitled to any part of the property to get permission.”
“How many people are you talking about?”
“I’m not sure. Harriet is the only one unless Emily had any children. If so, I must find out if there are any living descendants and where they are.”
I got to my feet, surveying the room. At one time, this would have been what was called a drawing room. It was long, with a grand piano at one end and a fireplace at the other. I walked slowly around looking at the collections of pictures, figurines and bric-a-brac scattered about. The room was tastefully decorated, just a hundred years out of date. When we first entered the room, the coolness was refreshing, but now the room seemed damp and clammy. My clothes stuck to me as though they’d been glued on. Against the wall, between two of the tall windows, stood a haughty grandfather clock that ticked inexorably like the approach of doom, chopping time into measured segments. I hate ticking clocks.
“It seems to me you don’t have much to go on.”
Willie didn’t answer. Instead, the sound of footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor in the hall, followed by the entrance of a tall woman in a black suit. I had asked a few questions and learned that Miss Harriet was nearly a hundred years old, but she stood as erect as a queen. Her black suit seemed strangely out of place on such a warm day.
Willie introduced us.
“Sit down, my dear. My goodness, you must be Marissa Randall’s daughter.
I’ve been impressed with your brother, Gerald’s, work with the Times.”
“Thank you.”
“You look just like Marissa. She was one of my best students.”
I bit back a comment. Mother spoke many times about Miss Washburn, about her fairness, stubbornness and adherence to the rules. She said they always argued over some small point. I got the feeling that, although Mother respected Miss Washburn, she didn’t really like her.
She studied me a bit longer, then smiled. I remembered that warm smile of hers.
“You came with your Grandfather once, a long time ago. You had such curiosity.”
I was impressed that she remembered me at all. I sat back and watched as she and Willie talked. He opened a folder and spread the papers out on the coffee table. Miss Washburn, sitting very erect, placed a pair of half-glasses on her nose, and read each paper from top to bottom.
Her iron-grey hair was arranged in a thick braid wrapped around her head, almost like a crown. She wore an ivory, silk blouse with her black suit, hose and black flat-heeled shoes. She looked both elegant and at ease. I couldn’t tell whether she was wearing makeup. My daughter Marissa would always tell that, “if you can tell a person is wearing makeup, she has too much on.” Miss Washburn had long, slender, smooth hands well-kept and devoid of rings.
She read every paper thoroughly while Willie fidgeted, then she turned to Willie, slammed the sheaf of papers down onto the table and gave him a look that should have singed his eyebrows.
“You expect me to agree to an arrangement of this kind?” Her voice sounded like the principal’s voice when she has just caught you smoking behind the gym.
Willie turned all kinds of red.
“Why I…uhh…that is, uh” His words burbled and stuttered, fading into an indistinct grunt.
Miss Washburn stood up, removed her glasses and strode around the room. Her well-modulated, school room voice carried into all corners.
“I have never been so insulted in all my life, Mr. Manning. My family carved this house and all that goes with it from the forest and earth itself. There wouldn’t be a Tuxford if it weren’t for this family. This offer is an intolerable insult. I have no intention of selling this property to the city, or anyone else, to be used for such a travesty. As for any other members of the family, there are none. Why, if Miss Emily were here, she would take her Papa’s shotgun and run you off.”
Miss Washburn made another turn around the room, stopping at the door.
“I’m glad to have met you again, Mrs. MacKenzie,” she said to me. “I apologize that you should witness such a spectacle. I think it best you both leave now.”
Suffice it to say that I made a rapid, if not smooth, exit with Willie right behind me. I steamed past a startled Eddie in the kitchen and did not slow down until I reached my car. I whirled around to face Willie as he panted up behind me.
“Okay, Mr. Attorney Manning. I thought I was going to meet Ms. Washburn to get information about Emily. Remember her? I am hot, tired, my feet hurt and I’m getting a monster of a headache.” I was so angry I could have cheerfully smashed his face in. “I think it’s about time you told me just what the hell is really going on here.”
I jerked my car door open and climbed in, pausing before I turned the ignition key.
“On second thought, Mr. Manning, I’m too upset just now to listen to anything you have to say. I’m going home. I’m going to take a shower, some aspirin and listen to soothing music. I will come to your office in the morning and you can tell me what this is all about.”
I slammed the door and roared off, my tires kicking up a spurt of dust. In the rear view mirror, I saw Willie standing there in the swirling dust, his mouth still hanging open.
“I hope you choke on it!” I yelled at his reflection.
I pulled my old Jeep into the drive and made sure it was locked then let myself in the back door. Cool air surrounded me like a healing balm. I kicked off my shoes and pulled my shirt off as I climbed the stairs. The shower revived my sense of humor and I had to laugh at the scene with Ms. Washburn. She certainly put a touch of elegance to the act of ‘spitting mad.’
By the time I dressed and got something to eat, I considered this problem of Emily Washburn again. Ms. Harriet wasn’t angry with me, I realized. She didn’t even know why I was there. So it must have been what was on the papers Willie wanted her to sign. I sat down to go through my files from the newspaper. I’d find out in the morning what Willie had to say.
I spent the evening sorting through files until my eyes crossed, but nothing significant turned up. I didn’t even want to know what the news of the world was tonight. I locked the doors, closed the blinds and went to bed.
Chapter Five
Donny Thatcher phoned just as I sat down to breakfast. “You really live the life of the indulgent, don’t you?”
“That’s the blessings of retirement Donny. Got something for me?”
“I found more information about some of the older residents of this town. It might be useful.”
“Great. I’ll stop in later. I’m meeting Willie Manning this morning. He took me out to chat with Ms. Washburn yesterday, but the two of them got into an argument and I didn’t have a chance to talk with her. I was so angry with him I wanted to mash him into the ground.” I chuckled. “Instead I told him I’d come to his office today and listen to his explanation.” I gave a snort. “It should be good, don’t you think?”
Donny didn’t say anything for a tiny moment. “Just be careful, Maggie. I don’t trust Willie Manning.”
Her caution worried me. I don’t trust Willie Manning, either. Haven’t for many years, but Donny hasn’t lived in Tuxford very long. What reason does she have to distrust Willie? I gave myself a shake. There was nothing to be gained by debating in the dark. I gathered up my purse and keys. I figured Donny had a stack of files and I didn’t feel like carrying them this time. I arrived at Willie’s office about ten o’clock.
I settled back into Willie’s dark green leather chair, crossed my legs.
“Okay, Willie, I’m listening. What’s really going on around here?”
He gave me that cat smile again, which I was really b
eginning to despise.
“Harriet Washburn is getting along in years and needs to make provision for the distribution of the property. She doesn’t think there are any other family members, but we need to be certain. If there is someone else, she will need to update her will. She has asked me to look into it. Most of her money is tied up in the business and it takes a lot to keep up that big house and grounds. It’s more than Eddie Coblet can handle by himself, but he really tries. He loves the place.”
“Coblet? He mentioned Grandpop Matthew----.”
“Old man Coblet, yes. Eddie’s his grandson.” Willie pulled out a cigar and looked at me. I shook my head and he dropped it back into the box. “Eddie grew up on the Washburn place. It’s almost as much his home as it is Harriet’s.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“AlCon Steel wants to buy the Washburn property and build a factory, as I told you. They make rods and small fittings for a variety of manufacturers. It would require demolishing all the buildings and most of the trees on the land. Ms. Washburn didn’t know the details until yesterday when she read the proposal.”
“No wonder she threw us out. She probably thinks I’m part of all this, too.” I shook my head. “Willie, did you skip the class on people skills? You just don’t waltz into someone’s home and tell her it’s going to be torn down. I’m surprised she didn’t get Aunt Emily’s Papa’s shotgun herself and run you off.” He had the decency to look at the floor.
“Maybe she could do something else with the property.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Turn it into a museum or donate it to the library. Something that would really benefit the community and be self-supporting as well.”
Talking with Willie wasn’t very helpful and I left soon after our short conversation.
When I arrived at the Times the receptionist, who I mentally labeled Christy Curls, was too involved in her phone conversation to do more than wave me on to Donny’s office. I felt I was intruding.
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