Read Online Died in the Wool by Rett MacPherson - Free Book Online

waiting in a plastic storage bin for me to quilt. I’m not sure why, but this made me feel a bit closer to this girl who had lived a hundred years ago. I guess it was because some things are universal, and even nearly a hundred years ago, this girl suffered from the same thing I did. So much to do, so little time.
    Aside from determining which quilts were Glory’s, we also separated them into types: pieced, whole cloth, appliqué, etc. We might never determine who made the other twelve quilts—the ones without Glory’s initials—but we at least needed to determine their approximate age.
    We worked until almost sunset. Finally, Geena stretched and winced at a pain in her lower back. “I need to call it a day,” she said. “Can I come back tomorrow?”
    â€œOf course you can come back tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll be here bright and early. My sister is working tomorrow, too, so somebody will be here when you arrive.”
    She paused at the front door and turned to me. “I don’t know what happened to that girl—or what happened in that house—but at least her quilts will finally be seen.”
    â€œYeah,” I said.
    â€œTorie, have you seen the craftsmanship in those quilts?”
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œShe was amazing.”
    â€œI know,” I said.
    Geena left me alone to ponder the day. I walked back to my office and called Rudy. I asked him to pick up Matthew from my mother’s because I was going to be a little late. I wanted to do some research on the Kendall family suicides. I knew Sylvia probably had a file on the family. Hell, Sylvia probably had known Glory Kendall. In fact, they would have been born right about the same time, within five years or so of each other.
    Right now, though, I wanted to do my own research. One thing I’d learned about Sylvia was that she often tainted her research with her own prejudices. Ironic, considering the woman was all business and no pleasure, most of the time. She rarely let her personal life interfere—in anything. Be that as it may, I had seen her more than once make a mental leap based on her opinion of whatever family she was researching, so I thought it would be better if I dug a little on my own and then later read whatever Sylvia had on the Kendalls. As of right now, I really didn’t know any more about the family than most other people in New Kassel did. Besides, I wanted the documents to tell me the story, not somebody else.
    The first thing I did was head over to Santa Lucia, the Catholic church. By the time I reached the church, it was nearly six in the evening. The sun was getting lower in the sky, but I still had a while before it set. The church is made of stone and has Gothic-arched stained-glass windows along two sides. It really is a very pretty church, and the only Catholic church within twenty miles.
    I’d noticed a rosary among some of the things in Glory’s cedar chest, so, unless it had been someone else’s, she was most likely Catholic. I had checked the cemetery records at the historical society before I left. The members of the historical society and volunteers had spent long hours cataloging every tombstone in every cemetery in Granite County and putting the records in book format for the historical society library. Sure enough, Glory Anne Kendall was buried in the Santa Lucia cemetery. Right next to her parents. However, her two brothers were not. The date on her death was recorded as June 14, 1922. Her father had lived to 1956. Her mother, of course, had preceded all the children in death, having died in 1913.
    So where were her brothers buried?
    I walked quickly through the cemetery until I found Sandy Kendall’s tombstone. It was huge, about five feet tall and made of very stately white marble. His wife’s stone, to his left, was a smaller version of it. Both paled seriously in comparison to Glory’s. When I realized that this was