by J. L. Salter
Uncle Len was repeating himself. He turned over the Bible, extracted some folded papers slowly, and placed them to one side. Then he pointed out the end paper which had been carefully cut, perhaps with sharp scissors or a penknife, by someone unknown.
Kelly showed polite interest in the hiding place, but what she really wanted to see were the papers.
Len seemed to realize this, so he closed the Bible and moved it to one side. The pages were folded in thirds. As he carefully unfolded them, it was clear they were brittle, with significant discoloration, likely from the dark leather where they’d rested, possibly for generations.
“Mister Norman, what are those pages?”
Len carefully turned the three small pages, straining to flip back into their long-folded position, so Kelly could see the writing on the middle of the back panel: Maw Butler’s Letter.
Len smiled. “Wife number two, Mary Butler… born a Turner.”
Kelly’s jaw dropped. Belva’s mother, Mary. “When was this letter written?”
“The year’s not shown, but she gave a date, May third. Don helped me narrow down the year by a mention that has to be the Dutton Hill fight, and one of Morgan’s Kentucky raids. It’s got to be 1863.”
“Which is today, by the way.” Don pointed to the tiny window on his watch.
Kelly stared at him, not comprehending.
“The letter’s date, May third. It’s today also. Only a hundred forty some years later.”
“One hundred and forty-four years. A dozen dozen.” Kelly closed her eyes momentarily. “Can I see it?”
Len turned the pages over and slowly removed his fingers.
The hand was different from that on the outside of the pages.
.
May 3rd
Dear Ethel,
I know its been a spell an theres been lots here.
Stores still down since Morgan last visits in Christmas.
Finaly get my garden in an freeze come kill’d some.
My Wm. is poorly. Can’t hardly get round an his miseries. I worry so him being so old an how would we manage.
Little Belva’s all growed now an you can’t reckonize her from the girl now she’s a woman. Young yank from Garrison stopp’d bye an to court her. Seems alright for bluecoat. She won’t have him thou.
Edna she’s doing good with quilts. Young Wm. growed strong. Naomi cute as button.
A battles had nearbye on Dutton farm an manys of rebs caught or kill’d.
Wm. warn’d me never too say but reb pvt. come down from fighting an him nearly allready dead himself. We run out our girls an laid him up attic. Did’t have no hope he’s get better an right we know’d it. Poor boy died that night an in such misery. So much blood an we burn’d his gray cloths so the yanks wasnt see them. Burried his fixins an ruin’d the medals which CSA was.
Wm. & Bro. Levi bury’d him befor dawn in the oaks up hill. Not to deep since ground still froze. Quick too for yanks asking ever farm this ways.
His friend too, the cpl., also hurt so bad.
The cpl. shuldn’t ride neither for his woundings. Plus yanks out finding straggles.
Belva help feed cpl. an dress his hurts an talks.
Wm. had terribul row with cpl. an run him off, even him woundeds so bad still.
Hanks he says his name. An he kiss’d my hand. I never seen such. Could hardy git on his horse an Belva help’d some. An sint food with too.
Cried out her eyes, Belva. An whpp’d by her Pa real bad. Terribul whipp’d. He wuldn’t neirther tell me what.
Cpl. give us pvts. horse, not worth much. Pretty well rode out. Had’t been feed too good neither. Horse is horse thou.
Belva acting strange, crying so much. She keep humming an singing that song by Messer’s Sawyar & Tucker whats so poplar with everbody.
Wm. says its shock of young pvt dying in the girls room an bed. But I think she’s pining about some other. Acting strange an missing some of chores. If I tell her Pa she’l get more whipp’d. Hes been real hard on her special since the rebs come an gone.
Couple weeks after an she made him furyous again somehows an got more punish. Put her in bed, so bad. Wm. shuld’t do such. I brung soup to her but won’t eat some. Can’t make her to talk to me. Mayby when she feel better.
Ill finish this on morning an catch the mailboat out but have suppeer to git making an Wm. he likes hes eat in time an his mood so bad now.
.
While Kelly was reading, Uncle Len got up, slowly and painfully it seemed, and rolled his oxygen tank noisily down the hall. Evidently to the bathroom.
“It ends there?” Kelly asked while Len was still away.
Don nodded.
“Maybe other sheets got lost.”
“Don’t think so.” He pointed. “See how much space is left on the third page?”
Kelly had to agree. “But why send a letter with no signature?”
“Well, I can’t be certain, because the Bible was both here and Missouri. But my best guess is the letter was never even mailed.”
“Doesn’t make sense. Why write it, but not mail it?” She touched the brittle pages gently. “Or, if you wrote it, but didn’t mail it… why would you keep it?”
“I don’t have a real answer, but I’ve got a theory.” Don placed the Bible in front of Kelly. “Check out the list of deaths in the back.”
Kelly peered at Don before she examined the Bible. He’s been through this material recently. She returned her attention to the Bible and found those pages. Dozens of names for births and many more for deaths. “Who am I looking for?”
“See Ethel Heath’s name?”
Her finger went down the list and found Ethel near the middle. “She died in mid-April, 1863.” Kelly gasped. “While Mary Butler was writing this letter, she must have learned her sister died… maybe weeks before she even started writing it.”
“That’s how I figure it. News would travel pretty slow from Missouri during the War. It could easily have taken three weeks or so for her to find out the sister was dead. When this sad news arrived, Mary had no need to finish the letter.”
“But why keep it?”
“That’s the part I still can’t figure. There must be a clue in the content which explains why Maw Butler would hold on to a letter she’d never finished and never mailed.”
“Plus, why would she hide it?”
“Exactly. Why?” Don put the Bible back where it had been.
“Could I copy down what she wrote? So I can study the content more completely?”
Don checked his watch. “Uh, you’ll need to hurry. I’ve got a showing in about twenty-five minutes, and Uncle Len has to get ready for his doctor trip.”
Kelly grabbed a tablet and pen from her large carryall purse. “I’ll be done in a jiffy.”
Len came back into the room about the time Kelly finished proofreading her transcription of the letter. Still standing, Len carefully refolded the original letter, reinserted it in the Bible’s hiding place, and retied the black ribbon. As Don held up the case, Len carefully placed the Bible inside it; then Don lowered the battered satchel back to the floor beside his uncle’s chair.
Before Len went through his sitting procedure again, Kelly stood, shook his thin hand gently, and thanked him.
“You’ll let me read your article.” It was not a question.
Kelly nodded. “You’ll see it before the editor does.”
Don hustled her out the door. Running late for his showing, he drove the reverse route as quickly as he’d come.
“Why didn’t you tell me he had a letter? And why didn’t you mention you’d seen the material recently?”
“Don’t really know.” Don shrugged. “There was such a big hoo-doo about a supposed family secret, I guess I had a natural inclination to inspect it before anybody saw it who wasn’t family.” He paused. “I’m sorry if I misled you. It was an omitted fact, rather than an outright lie.” He smiled lamely.
“I think I understand. Maybe I’d h
ave handled it the same way if it was my family. But all the other stuff, about Uncle Len changing his mind and calling you back, that was straight. Right?”
“Absolutely. Like I said, no lies… just an omission.” Don pulled up to the cabin with a jarring stop.
Kelly hopped out. “Thanks, Don, I think this will help.”
“By the way, I finally got hold of my cousin who knows where Nora Lee James is, but I left the info at my office. I’ll call you when I get back after this showing. Get your phone recharged.” He waved and hurriedly backed up. Real estate agents don’t show as well when they’re late.
Watching his tires spit gravel going down the cemetery road, Kelly wondered what other details Don may have omitted.
Chapter Fourteen
When Kelly unlocked the door, Perra burst out of the cabin. The terrier gave Kelly’s hand a rather cursory lick, wagged a bit, then hustled on down to the crest of the hill below the cabin to bark at the Norman’s dog — different Normans, though related — across Macon Circle. As Kelly entered the cabin, she wondered where Gato might be hiding.
Kelly needed another shot of caffeine, having missed at least one cup she would have had by 11 a.m. She poured some, cold since the appliance had automatically shut off, and heated it in the microwave.
An impatient meow from behind Kelly provided the answer to her earlier question as Gato leaped up on the counter and stared at his little glass dish. “You want more hungries?” Kelly gave the big cat several long strokes all the way down to the tip of his bushy raccoon tail. Then she popped the lid of the canister with cat kibble and let a couple of ounces tinkle down into the dish. Gato seemed reassured it was fresh kibble when it made the tinkling noise against the glass.
Kelly rinsed her hands, added sugar to her coffee, went to her living area, and settled down to think about Mary Butler’s letter.
Some aspects of the content rang bells with details Pop had mentioned. One was the tune — Pop said old Aunt Belva always hummed something. Mary’s letter also mentioned a song in connection with Belva. But which one? Those two names mentioned in the letter, Sawyar and Tucker, must be the collaborators. She’d check later with Don’s music friend.
Okay, two main questions. Kelly’s right brain and left brain engaged each other.
First: Why keep a letter Mary didn’t finish? Blackmail? No, too dramatic. Plus, none of the families had any money to speak of. What could be gained by blackmail? Proof? Of what? Why? Too many dead ends there, but leave it open. An explanation? Of what? For whom? When? Why? Also too many tendrils, but it had a greater possibility of being solved by a close study of the content.
Second question: Why hide an unfinished letter Mary kept? If you don’t want anyone to see it, just burn it. Ahh, that’s significant. Mary evidently didn’t destroy this letter because she wanted somebody to see it… someday. But when? Who? Why?
Kelly’s mind drifted for a moment before she refocused. So, you hide something to keep someone else from destroying it. Hide it to preserve it! For whom? When? Why? Maybe some clue in the content or context.
Perra scratched at the door. The cabin needed a pet hatch; whichever side of the door Perra occupied, she always wanted the other area. What a hassle. Kelly let in the anxious dog. Anxious only for water and to check her feed bowl. Nothing new. And eager to be scratched a bit. Perra jumped up on the couch and lay very close. As one hand stroked Perra’s short, sleek fur, Kelly’s other hand held the transcript of Mary Butler’s letter. She re-read it, then closed her eyes, and thought out loud as though she were speaking to Mary Butler.
“You write a newsy letter to your sister in Missouri. But before you finish it, you learn she died a few weeks before. You obviously don’t mail a letter to your dead sister. You don’t hold a letter as a keepsake, unless it was the last one from your sister. No, you keep this letter because something in it is important. Not only do you have a reason to keep it, but you’re worried somebody else might destroy it… if they know about it. Or if they can find it. So you hide it in a safe place. It’s with you for the rest of your life. When you die, the Bible — and all your other possessions — go to the nearest relative, presumably your offspring. At some point later, the Bible travels to Missouri, somehow, for some reason… but not because of the letter. Presumably nobody else knows about the letter. You hid the letter to preserve it. You preserved the letter because…
“Because why?
“Why, Mary? Why did you save this letter? Why’d you hide it? What did you hope it would tell whoever you thought, or hoped, might eventually see it? How can I possibly get into your head, when I’m already sniffing around inside your daughter’s brain?
“What’s the missing link which connects any of this?
“How on earth did I happen to see your letter on May third — the same day you wrote it, but 144 years later? What’s going on? Am I nuts? Or is there some weird psychic energy thing swirling around me?”
Kelly stroked the big floppy ears of the canine nearly asleep next to her thigh. “You don’t know, do you, Perra?”
When the resting terrier did not answer, Kelly got up to make a sandwich.
Later, as she was finishing lunch at her table, Don Norman called with an address and phone number for Nora Lee James at the nursing home.
“Great. So when’s the best time to see her?”
“Well, you’d better call the nurses’ station. I understand Nora Lee’s been sick and they aren’t letting her have any visitors yet.” Don paused. “But maybe they’ll let you talk to her on the phone, at least for a minute.”
She slid a note pad over some crumbs. “Okay, what’s the number?”
After the call ended, Kelly went back over her notes thus far, so she could focus on a few key phone questions she hoped to ask Mrs. James until she had an opportunity to meet her in person. Nora Lee had evidently not been admitted to the hospital, so whatever her health issue, they were treating it at the nursing home.
Kelly ripped open a chocolate bar, solely to help her concentrate, and took a large bite. The sugar rush may have briefly sharpened her brain cells, but some of the chocolate got on her note pad. Sheesh. She entered the nursing home number, obviously got a reception station, and asked for Nora Lee James. The call went to limbo and then rang again.
A young voice answered. “Missus James’s room.”
“This is Kelly Randall. Is Nora Lee James available?”
“She’s here, but she’s taking a breathing treatment. I’m the inhalation therapist.”
“Can I speak with her, please?”
“Honey, she can’t talk with this mask on her face.”
“Could you ask her something for me?”
After a heavy sigh, the therapist replied, “If it’s one question, short and simple, yeah. But you wouldn’t believe some of the yada-yada some folks want the staff to tell back and forth. We’re not secretaries and we don’t run a message service.”
“Okay, I understand. If you could just ask her…” Kelly strained to condense all of her topics into a single, short, concise question. She decided, for now, to focus on just one of the two Confederates — the man she knew the least about. “Um, I want to know what she remembers about the companion of the Rebel soldier who died in the Butler cabin after the Dutton Hill battle in 1863.”
“Well, that’s about the un-simplest and longest question I’ve ever heard.” After a long pause and another heavy sigh, the therapist relented. “Tell you what. I’ll hold this up to her ear, and you run through it one more time. I’m not going to memorize all that.”
“Fine, thanks.” Kelly heard a muffled voice and then some scraping noises on the phone’s mouthpiece.
Then, loudly, the technician’s voice announced the phone was in position.
Kelly introduced herself to Mrs. James and then repeated the original question. All she heard back was a muffled voice — no discernable words. Then more rustling near the mouthpiece.
“Did you get any of that?
” The technician had the phone again.
“Not a syllable. What did she say?”
“She said that feller stayed in Possum Knoll.”
“I think Missus James misunderstood my question. Could you ask her again? About the companion of the soldier who died in the Butler cabin.”
“Listen, honey. I already gave you one question and you got your answer. This lady needs her breathing treatment, and I can’t keep jabbing a phone up in her face. She’s sick. You understand?”
“Yes, I do. I’m sorry. Could you give me just one more chance to ask her? It’s important.”
With obvious agitation, she replied, “I don’t see what could be so important about a Civil War soldier that you can’t wait a couple weeks ‘til she gets better enough for visitors.” After another long pause, she added, “Okay, last time. I’ll put the phone up to her ear and you try once more.”
Kelly reintroduced herself and phrased the question with slight amendment. “Missus James, I know one soldier remained here, since he died that night in the Butler cabin. I want to know about the other man, who also may have been wounded. What do you remember about the companion to the soldier who was buried in Possum Knoll?”
Again, the indistinguishable voice of a frail, sick woman wearing an oxygen mask. The technician reclaimed the phone and announced. “Same answer, she says the other man didn’t leave.” Another heavy sigh before she added, “Well, I’ve got work to do. Bye.” Click.
Kelly’s jaw dropped. The only explanation was the technician mistranslated what Mrs. James had responded. There was no way the second Rebel remained in the area, not with all the Union troops around. All the versions Kelly had gathered, from Pop and others, plus the scant information in Mary Butler’s letter… all indicated the same story. One man died and the other one left on the better horse. There had to be a misunderstanding of her question or a distortion of an elderly woman’s muffled answer. Surely.