Читать книгу The Secrets of Rosa Lee - Jodi Thomas - Страница 11

A few minutes past ten, Sidney Dickerson had all the members of her committee sitting around a card table. Light shone through the newly unboarded bay window that stretched as high as the twelve-foot ceiling. The wide, planked floor reflected the sun even beneath years of dust. She wanted to close her eyes and spread her hands wide like she’d seen worshippers do on television. Feel the power! she thought of saying. Feel the history. In her calm, lonely life she’d known only a few times when she’d been so excited.

Judging from the group before her, if she dared do something so foolish, they would turn and run. In fact, none of them looked all that interested in being on the committee.

Billy Hatcher crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair between Lora Whitman and Reverend Parker, who wore a smile that could have been painted on a cigar-store Indian.

Lora Whitman stared out the window looking at nothing.

One of the Rogers sisters had already taken up her crochet, while the other paused with pen and paper, waiting to write down every word spoken.

“Welcome to you all,” Sidney began. “Thank you for agreeing to serve on this committee. We’re here to study the history of a house that represents the very heart of Clifton Creek. We’ve been asked to make a few decisions about the future of this building and the surrounding land…decisions that will affect not only us but generations to come. We alone will decide if the legend of the fine man who founded this town lives or dies.”

Billy yawned.

Beth Ann counted stitches under her breath.

Sidney fought back tears. This house—that was so important to her—mattered to no one else. No one. Maybe they should agree to take the oil company’s money and forget even talking about trying to save an old house.

The preacher checked his watch.

“According to my research—” Sidney knew she had to speed up “—this home was one of the first, if not the first, big ranch house built north of Dallas.” She glanced at her notes and lectured on. “Henry W. Altman must have been little more than a boy when he rode in and claimed this land. We know he paid cash for the wagon train of supplies and workers needed to build this place, but no one seems to know where his money came from. Probably an inheritance, since there’s no record of any Altman family members ever visiting the ranch. He was born in 1878, died in 1950. He fathered one child, Rosa Lee Altman, who never married.”

Beth Ann counted a little louder. Her sister elbowed her gently, signaling her to turn down the volume.

Billy leaned farther back in his chair and looked as if he were staring at Lora Whitman’s legs under the table. Considering the short length of her skirt, Sidney could only guess at the view.

She lifted her briefcase onto the wobbly card table. Sidney had to do something before someone interrupted her and asked for a final vote. They all looked as if they wanted to move on with their lives. She needed to act fast. “Before we talk about what needs to be done, I want to show you all something I’ve found. It may be a factor we need to consider.”

Pulling a worn book from her notes, Sidney’s hand shook. “This book was donated to the library when Rosa Lee died.” She beamed. “Though the book is valuable as a first edition, its true value may lie in the inscription. Which, after reading it, I think you all will agree dictates further research on our part.

“It says simply, ‘To my Rosa Lee, who promises to love no other in this lifetime. Leave with me tonight. Wait for me in the garden. I promise I’ll come before midnight. Fuller, July 4, 1933.’”

Ada May stopped writing. Billy glanced out the window. Beth Ann whispered, “darn,” as she lost a stitch. The preacher leaned forward, his smile melted as his body stiffened as if preparing for a blow.

“If this was given to Rosa Lee, then maybe all the stories about her being an old maid who never had a gentleman caller aren’t true.” Sidney moved around the table, as if circling a classroom. “Maybe there are secrets here to uncover. Secrets the town should know before we sell the land.”

“Who cares?” Billy questioned, slouching in his chair. “Secrets about folks long dead are of no interest to anyone.”

Lora looked as if she agreed.

Micah Parker stretched his hand toward the book. “May I see that, Dr. Dickerson?”

Sidney smiled, knowing she’d hooked one. “If birth records are right, Rosa Lee would have been twenty-three when she was given that book. My guess is Mr. Fuller would have been from around here, but why didn’t he meet her at midnight like he planned?”

“Maybe he did,” Billy answered.

Sidney turned to him. “Then why didn’t she leave with him if she’d promised to love no other in this lifetime?”

“Maybe her father stopped him,” Ada May chimed in. “She was his only child. Fuller might have been a no-good drifter. If she’d left with him, she’d have been poorly married.”

Sidney raised an eyebrow. “A drifter who bought a leather-bound first edition that must have cost a month’s wages during the Depression?”

No one seemed to have an answer.

Micah opened the book and ran his fingers over the words. The others in the room didn’t have to ask. They all knew the reverend thought of his wife.

“Maybe Fuller didn’t show up,” Sidney added. “And we have no idea if Fuller was his last name or first, since it was a relatively popular given name a hundred years ago.”

The minister studied the writing inside the book. “Why would a man who used such an expensive way to send a note, not show up as planned?”

Lora frowned. “She waited seventy years for a love who never returned?”

“What a martyr,” Ada May whispered.

“What a fool,” Lora mumbled. “No man’s worth more than fifteen minutes, tops.”

Reverend Parker stood slowly. He gently pushed the book across the table and took a step toward the door.

Sidney knew the words in the book had touched him. She saw it in his eyes. The preacher wore sorrow on his sleeve. But would words written seventy years ago pull him into the mystery, or push him away?

She followed Micah to the door, having no idea how she might comfort him or if he even wanted solace. It occurred to her that she’d suffered the greater loss, for she’d never, not in forty years of life, experienced such heartache. At least he’d once had someone promise to love him for a lifetime.

Her fingers brushed his sleeve a second before she heard the sound of a car braking.

She glanced outside. Sunbeams reflected off the bay window. Sidney blinked through crystal-white light a moment before the sun shattered.

An explosion of crashing glass echoed off the walls and bounced back on itself. Sunbeams splintered.

Sidney stepped back, bumping into the preacher. Chaos ricocheted into tiny slivers bouncing and sliding across the floor. She screamed.

Billy Hatcher threw his body into Lora’s as the glass blew around them like a rushing tidal wave. They hit the floor hard, sending folding chairs rattling. Ada May lifted her notebook and huddled near her sister. Glass rained across Sidney’s notes, reaching the edge of the crochet square Beth Ann had been working on. Rust-covered metal, the size of a man’s fist, tumbled to a stop at Lora’s broken chair.

Micah rushed forward. His shoes crackled on a carpet of slivers. “Is everyone all right!”

A chorus of groans and cries answered.

“What happened?” Beth Ann said in a shaky teacher’s voice. “Who threw that thing!”

Ada May’s sobs grew from tiny hiccups to full volume.

“I don’t know.” Micah placed a hand on Ada May’s shoulder. “All I got a look at was the back of a pickup.” He turned to the others. “Is anyone hurt?”

Billy lay curled over Lora. Neither answered Micah’s call.

Sydney shook as if someone had hold of every inch of her body and planned to rattle her very bones. “I’m not hurt!” she whispered. “I’m not hurt.” She tried to reach for Billy and Lora, but her legs began to give way.

She looked down at trembling hands and decided they couldn’t be hers. “I’m not hurt,” she whimpered.

The room faded. She fell into a warm, calm darkness.