Read Online In Sheep's Clothing by Rett MacPherson - Free Book Online Page B

every name.
    There it was. Bloomquist, Brigitta, age thirty-nine. Died on the third of June 1859.
    â€œThat can’t be her. She’s too old. That has to be her mother,” I said.
    â€œWhat did she die of?”
    â€œIt says … it says … she died in a fire. Person reporting her death was her son, Sven. And then it gives her place of birth and who her parents were,” I said, amazed. “You go, Sven.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œI mean, for as young as he was, Sven knew enough about his mother to put down her place of birth and her parents’ names. I have an ancestor who didn’t even know his own father’s name.”
    â€œHow could he not know his own father’s name?”
    â€œEvidently his father died when he was really young and his mother never told him his name. So when he got married and they asked him for his parents’ names, he said, ‘Father, unknown.’”
    â€œEither that or his mother didn’t know who his father was either.”
    â€œYeah, I considered that.”
    â€œSo, the girl. Is she in here or is it just her mother?” Aunt Sissy asked.
    â€œI’m looking,” I said. “Oh, my God.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œShe’s here,” I said. Goose bumps broke out along the backs of my arms and down my legs. “Bloomquist, Anna. Age seventeen years, nine months, and ten days. Cause of death is fire. Oh, God.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIt says she lingered for five days. She died on the eighth of June 1859. Parents were Brigitta and Karl. Person reporting the death was her brother, Sven.”
    â€œI don’t know if I’m happy that we found her or not,” Aunt Sissy said.
    â€œYeah,” I said. I stood there for a minute taking it all in. It was true. Aunt Sissy’s rumor was actually true. But as with all rumors, it wasn’t exactly the same. The girl had not died in the fire, the mother had. The girl, Anna Bloomquist, had lingered for five days and died after the fire. I could only assume that if she had indeed fled to the cellar, as the rumor went, she had died of a fatal dose of smoke inhalation.
    The next name on the page caught my eye. The name Bloomquist, once again.
    Bloomquist, Emelie, age two months. Cause of death, fire. Parents were Anna Bloomquist and father unknown. Informant: Sven Bloomquist, uncle. “Oh, no,” I said. I covered my mouth and fought back tears.
    â€œWhat?” Aunt Sissy asked.
    â€œShe had a baby.”
    â€œWhat?” The look of horror spread across my aunt’s face.
    â€œRight here,” I said. “The baby died with her. She had a baby.”
    â€œNo,” Aunt Sissy whispered.
    â€œI can only assume, since its last name was Bloomquist and she was at her father’s house, that she was unwed. That means … that means Anna and her lover never married.”
    â€œNo,” Aunt Sissy said. “Oh, why did I have you look? I wish I didn’t know.”
    We both just stood there, completely numb. And then it hit me. She never finished the novel because it wasn’t fiction. It was a diary. She never finished it because her death was the ending. “Aunt Sissy,” I said. “I need to finish reading what’s written.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œBecause I don’t think it’s fiction at all. I think it was a diary.”
    Aunt Sissy nodded her head. “I’ve always thought so. Ever since I found the crooked tree.”
    I looked at her for a moment and wondered why on earth then she had presented that manuscript to me as a work of fiction. That was what she had called it. She had called it a novel. I couldn’t be angry with her. Maybe she thought that if she told me it was a diary I wouldn’t investigate it. That I would feel weird reading it. Well, she didn’t know me very well, if that’s what she thought. I am the nosiest person in the world and