Read Online Last in a Long Line of Rebels by Lisa Lewis Tyre - Free Book Online Page B

and Anita Goodman— and Daddy had parked us at the entrance taking tickets.
    I could see why she was so proud of it. The foyer was very fancy, with gleaming hardwood floors and a greeter wearing a green top embroidered with ZM on the lapel. I recognized her as Thelma Johnson, Bertie’s ex-neighbor.
    â€œMorning, Alberta,” she said with a sniff.
    Bertie just nodded and herded us through. She and Thelma have been feuding ever since Thelma married Bertie’s ex-husband. The only reason they can be in the same room together is because they each know how much it irritates the other.
    Carrying a paper towel and a bottle of window cleaner, Thelma walked over to the front doors and began wiping the glass. “Suggested donation is three dollars,” she called over her shoulder.
    Bertie snorted. “I’ve got a suggestion for her—find some looser trousers. Hers are so tight, if she so much as toots, her shoes will blow off.”
    I grinned at Benzer and whispered, “Who knew history could be so fun?”
    â€œBertie makes everything fun,” Benzer answered.
    We walked from the foyer into a wide hallway. There were several people scattered around, going in and out of different rooms. “Is it always this busy?”
    â€œYes,” Bertie answered. “Sometimes even more so. The museum’s got people thinking about their own history and connection to the town. We get all kinds of folks coming in to do research on their family tree and that sort of thing.”
    â€œCan we do one for ours?” I asked.
    Bertie opened her eyes wide. “This day is full of surprises. Of course we can.”
    A door to the left was open, and we could see shelves full of Ball jars. “What’s in there?” Franklin asked.
    â€œThat’s the gift shop,” Bertie said. “We sell all kinds of good stuff; honey from the valley, homemade jellies, and local genealogy books.”
    â€œAre the Mayhews in them?” Franklin asked.
    â€œOf course! It wouldn’t be a book about Grey County if they weren’t.”
    I started forward. “Let’s get one now.”
    â€œHold your horses. I’ve got lots of the same books at home on my bedside table.”
    We passed a room full of antique medical equipment and one set up like an old schoolroom. “That’s a replica of the Maynard School,” Bertie said. “I had to fight to get that included.”
    â€œWhat’s the Maynard School?” Franklin asked.
    â€œThe school that used to be on Maynard Street—you know, where the black students had to go before integration.”
    I thought about Isaac and the red flyers we’d seen on our walk. “I guess things haven’t changed as much as you would hope. You know, we’re only two hours away from where the Ku Klux Klan was born.”
    Benzer ran his hand across one of the old wooden desks. “I can’t believe it, but they’re still around today. My dad and I watched a documentary on it. It’s crazy how people are raising their kids to hate people.”
    â€œThat’s one of the reasons I was so gung ho on starting this museum,” Bertie told us. “You’d be amazed how quickly people can forget their own history if you don’t preserve it. And when you forget the past, you’re bound to repeat the same old mistakes.”
    A man was staring at us from across the room, and I recognized him from the Tate Brothers auction.
    â€œBertie,” I whispered, “who is that?”
    She looked at where I was pointing. “You ought to know, he spoke at our Grand Opening. He’s a prominent historian named George Neely.”
    â€œThe opening was weeks ago. What’s he doing still here?”
    â€œOh, he’s doing some research,” Bertie said. “It’s very hush-hush. I suspect he doesn’t want to tell ’cause he’d have everybody in town putting in their two