Read Online Land Sakes by Margaret A. Graham - Free Book Online Page B

interstate onto a county road, and Mrs. Winchester told me we would be going to the gravesite before we went to the museum.
    We turned again, this time on Elm Street. Driving slowly straight into the cemetery, Percival came to an intersection and stopped the car.
    There it was, a big, square-looking tombstone resting on two stone blocks. On the top block, Daniel was spelled out in raised letters.
    Percival opened our door, and we both got out. The Daniel tombstone was different than the others. Along one side of the tombstone face and along the top, the rock was unfinished except for oak leaves. Maybe that rough part was supposed to be a oak tree; I couldn’t make it out. The rest of it was finished stone with Jack Daniel’s name and dates on a plaque.
    â€œI see he was only sixty-one years old when he died,” I said. And, seeing there was no room on the stone for the name of his wife, I asked, “Wasn’t he married?”
    â€œNo. Never was. Left his business to a nephew.”
    After she got done with the gravesite, we got back in the car to drive to the museum. Mrs. Winchester pulledout a little black book and was jotting down notes. Well, I guess if you’re a poet, you get excited about stuff nobody else cares a hoot about.
    At the museum, Percival let us out and started putting on the harnesses to take Lucy and Desi for a walk. Soon as me and Mrs. Winchester got out, tourists started gathering around the car, asking questions. Them Afghans and the Rolls attracted so much attention that we had the museum to ourselves.
    There were all kinds of exhibits in there and a tour guide telling about the history of the still and how they made whiskey. There was this one picture of Jack Daniel, and, land sakes, he looked funny. He appeared to be about five feet tall and was dressed in a swallowtail coat that was too big for him—the sleeves hung down over his hands. He didn’t look like he grew much after he was thirteen and took over the still. I reckon not. With all whiskey can do to a body, it’s likely it stunted his growth.
    Once the tourists started piling in the door, we left and went back to the car. We saw Percival and the dogs on the road coming back from their walk.
    Mrs. Winchester had that little book open and was going over her notes. I admired the little black book with its smooth cover and elastic band. “It’s moleskin,” she told me. “All great writers carry one like this with them everywhere they go. We never know when we will be inspired and need to write something down before the muse leaves us.”
    I had never known a real writer before. I’d ask her for her autograph when I knew her better.
    While she was writing, Percival put the dogs in the car and got back under the wheel. Soon we were on our way again.
    When Mrs. Winchester finished writing, she handed the little book to me. I read the poem to myself.
    When Jack Daniel was born, t’was said he knew,
    That when he grew up he would learn to brew
    Whiskey that he gave his name
    And brought to him both wealth and fame.
    But an infection when he kicked his safe, poor Jack,
    Neither wealth nor fame could bring him back.
    I was so impressed I couldn’t say a word.
    â€œYou like it?” she asked.
    â€œLike it? I think it’s great!” I handed the book back to her. “Would you make me a copy?”
    â€œOf course,” she said, closing the book and securing it with the elastic band. She looked very pleased and leaned back with a smile on her face. “You are one of the few people I know who appreciates good poetry.”

    When we arrived back at the hotel, we had time to freshen up before we headed for the saloon. Once in the suite, the first thing I did was check out the valuables to see if they were still there. Of course, I didn’t know everything she had, but it looked like the jewels were all there just as the maid had left them.
    In the elevator going down,