Read Online The Key in the Attic by DeAnna Julie Dodson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: DeAnna Julie Dodson
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month. Please give me a call as soon as you can.” She gave him her phone number and then repeated her name and number again. “Call me.”
She exhaled loudly as she hung up. “I hope it’s not too late. I mean, he may have already sold it to someone.”
“It’s OK, Mary Beth.” Annie reached over and squeezed her hand. “If he did, he’ll know who it was, and we can call them.”
Mary Beth didn’t seem convinced. “Sure.”
“Do you think he’ll call right back?” Alice looked at Mary Beth and then at Annie. “Maybe we could wait a few minutes and see if he does.”
“Sure,” said Annie. “If you don’t mind, Mary Beth. In the meantime, I can tell you what I found out in my research.”
Mary Beth nodded.
“I did verify that your great-great-grandmother Angeline Morrow was married to James Parish in 1866. It was pretty easy to trace down from them to you. Geoffrey was a little bit harder to find, but I finally did. He was born in Fairfax County, Virginia, in 1839. His family was fairly prominent at the time, very well off and well connected. But everything I found indicates that, by the end of the Civil War, the money was gone and so was the last of the family. His mother, Georgianna Flippin Whyte, was evidently a very strong woman. She ran the family plantation and the other businesses they owned. Her husband died several years before the war, and she put all her hopes into her only son, Geoffrey. He was killed in the first battle of Bull Run in 1861.”
“Oh, how sad!” Mary Beth exclaimed.
“For his mother and for your great-great-grandmother, evidently,” Alice added. “What happened to Georgianna?”
Annie shook her head. “I saw a copy of an obituary from November of 1865. It reported she had passed away ‘after several months of decline.’ Probably starved. Those were hard times in the South.”
“Poor woman, and poor Angeline,” Alice said. “You don’t have anything else of hers that could have been from him, do you, Mary Beth?”
“I don’t think so. There’s a white rose in the back of her Bible pressed inside a folded sheet of paper. All it says is ‘Easter Sunday 1861.’ I’ve always wondered who it was from, and why she always kept it. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for certain.”
“How romantic,” Alice breathed. “It must have been from the last time she ever saw him.”
“ If it was from him,” Annie reminded her. “Maybe it was from another beau or from her father. Or maybe she picked it herself.”
Alice scowled. “You’re no fun.”
“Anyway,” Mary Beth said firmly, “whether the rose was from him or not, she must have gotten over his death. From all accounts, she and my great-great-grandfather were very happy together.”
“You’re no fun either,” Alice grumbled. “How are we going to uncover a tragic romance if you both keep spoiling things?”
Just then Mary Beth’s phone rang.
“Hello?”
Annie could hear the indistinct tones of a man’s voice from where she sat. Mary Beth was nodding excitedly.
“Yes, Bob. Thanks for calling me back. I was wondering if I could come take a look at that writing desk I sold you. Just for a minute.” Mary Beth paused, listening, and then her face fell. “I see. No, of course.”
Annie and Alice exchanged glances. This couldn’t be good.
“No,” Mary Beth said after another pause. “I was just afraid I had left something important in it.”
As the man replied, Mary Beth grabbed the pencil and pad of paper that was next to her phone. She jotted down a name and a phone number, and then smiled again.
“Thank you. I’ll give them a call.”
“Well?” Alice asked once she hung up. “What happened to the desk?”
Mary Beth sighed. “He sold it to another dealer in Portland with a lot of other pieces. They picked it up on Monday.”
Annie frowned. “Can you call them?”
“Not until Monday now.” Mary Beth folded the piece of paper with the phone number on it and slipped it
She exhaled loudly as she hung up. “I hope it’s not too late. I mean, he may have already sold it to someone.”
“It’s OK, Mary Beth.” Annie reached over and squeezed her hand. “If he did, he’ll know who it was, and we can call them.”
Mary Beth didn’t seem convinced. “Sure.”
“Do you think he’ll call right back?” Alice looked at Mary Beth and then at Annie. “Maybe we could wait a few minutes and see if he does.”
“Sure,” said Annie. “If you don’t mind, Mary Beth. In the meantime, I can tell you what I found out in my research.”
Mary Beth nodded.
“I did verify that your great-great-grandmother Angeline Morrow was married to James Parish in 1866. It was pretty easy to trace down from them to you. Geoffrey was a little bit harder to find, but I finally did. He was born in Fairfax County, Virginia, in 1839. His family was fairly prominent at the time, very well off and well connected. But everything I found indicates that, by the end of the Civil War, the money was gone and so was the last of the family. His mother, Georgianna Flippin Whyte, was evidently a very strong woman. She ran the family plantation and the other businesses they owned. Her husband died several years before the war, and she put all her hopes into her only son, Geoffrey. He was killed in the first battle of Bull Run in 1861.”
“Oh, how sad!” Mary Beth exclaimed.
“For his mother and for your great-great-grandmother, evidently,” Alice added. “What happened to Georgianna?”
Annie shook her head. “I saw a copy of an obituary from November of 1865. It reported she had passed away ‘after several months of decline.’ Probably starved. Those were hard times in the South.”
“Poor woman, and poor Angeline,” Alice said. “You don’t have anything else of hers that could have been from him, do you, Mary Beth?”
“I don’t think so. There’s a white rose in the back of her Bible pressed inside a folded sheet of paper. All it says is ‘Easter Sunday 1861.’ I’ve always wondered who it was from, and why she always kept it. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for certain.”
“How romantic,” Alice breathed. “It must have been from the last time she ever saw him.”
“ If it was from him,” Annie reminded her. “Maybe it was from another beau or from her father. Or maybe she picked it herself.”
Alice scowled. “You’re no fun.”
“Anyway,” Mary Beth said firmly, “whether the rose was from him or not, she must have gotten over his death. From all accounts, she and my great-great-grandfather were very happy together.”
“You’re no fun either,” Alice grumbled. “How are we going to uncover a tragic romance if you both keep spoiling things?”
Just then Mary Beth’s phone rang.
“Hello?”
Annie could hear the indistinct tones of a man’s voice from where she sat. Mary Beth was nodding excitedly.
“Yes, Bob. Thanks for calling me back. I was wondering if I could come take a look at that writing desk I sold you. Just for a minute.” Mary Beth paused, listening, and then her face fell. “I see. No, of course.”
Annie and Alice exchanged glances. This couldn’t be good.
“No,” Mary Beth said after another pause. “I was just afraid I had left something important in it.”
As the man replied, Mary Beth grabbed the pencil and pad of paper that was next to her phone. She jotted down a name and a phone number, and then smiled again.
“Thank you. I’ll give them a call.”
“Well?” Alice asked once she hung up. “What happened to the desk?”
Mary Beth sighed. “He sold it to another dealer in Portland with a lot of other pieces. They picked it up on Monday.”
Annie frowned. “Can you call them?”
“Not until Monday now.” Mary Beth folded the piece of paper with the phone number on it and slipped it
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