Talk of the Town (20 page)

Ethel had invited Clothilda to dinner at the carriage house Friday evening. With Maxwell still hospitalized, the sisters sat around the kitchen table to enjoy the steaming lasagna Jane had made yesterday and baked this evening. As they finished their prayer and began to eat, Alice recounted her surprise when Maxwell’s father had appeared, and explained the awkward beginning of the subsequent reconciliation. “He will be arriving here later after visiting hours end, so we’ll need to make up a room for him.”

Jane gave a squeak. “You could have let me know earlier. I have to lay out clean towels and be sure the room is dusted. I suppose we’ll put him in the Symphony Room—”

“Breathe, Jane,” said Louise. “You know as well as I do that the Symphony Room is immaculate, and it only takes a minute to put out towels.”

Jane sat back. “You’re right. Sorry, Alice, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m tired, I suppose. It was a long day, driving around and chasing through cemeteries again.” She brightened. “But we had success at last.”

“Do tell,” said Alice. “You mean you found Clothilda’s ancestors?”

“We did,” Jane said triumphantly. “Some of the earliest exact names from her list are buried in a Merriville church cemetery. One of her ancestors was born in 1753 in Germany and lived to the ripe old age of eighty-two, which was quite ancient back then. He was buried in 1835.”

Louise raised an eyebrow. “That is quite remarkable.”

Jane proceeded to share the whole story, including Clothilda’s real reason for the hunt. “So she is wondering if the condition is genetic, as she suspects, and if anyone has been born with it recently. She is hoping there is a medical intervention that would help the grandchild gain better use of her joints.”

“Oh, I hope someone can help her,” Alice said sympathetically. “What is it called again?”

“Leri-Weill Syndrome.”

Alice shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it, but if it’s a rare orthopedic condition, that’s not surprising.” She rose and went to the window as they heard a car pull into the driveway and continue back to the parking lot. “That must be Maxwell’s father. I’ll go out and greet him.”

“Oh, rats!” said Jane. “I was hoping for a little more time.”

“I can clean up these dishes,” Louise said, “if you would like to dash up to check the room.”

“Dash,” said Jane. “I like that. Yes, I believe if you don’t mind, I’ll just dash up, lay out fresh towels and chase down any stray dust bunnies I see hopping around.”

“I’m allowed to go home!” Maxwell crowed when Alice came through the doorway of his room Saturday morning. His father, who had gone to the hospital immediately after breakfast, greeted her with a smile.

“That’s wonderful,” said Alice. “Did they give you any restrictions?”

“The doctor doesn’t want me to fly for a week or so, and I have to take it pretty easy, but nothing major.” He smiled. “I can still go to the Coffee Shop for my one piece of pie every day.”

Alice laughed. “Only one more week. Tomorrow we celebrate Palm Sunday and next Sunday is Easter. You’re almost there.” Then something occurred to her. “You’re not going home with your father?”

He shook his head. “I am but not until after Easter. I’d like to go back to the inn, if you’ll have me.” He smiled. “I’ve been quite a troublesome fellow, it seems.”

Then his face sobered. “Alice… there is something I need to tell you. I’ve been trying for days but either my courage fails or I get interrupted.” His gaze darted to his father, who stood at the foot of the bed.

“Would you like me to leave you two alone to talk privately?” asked the elder Vandermitton.

“No, no.” Maxwell shook his head. “You might as well hear it too.” He looked so gloomy that Alice could not imagine what he could be about to say. “You both might change your mind about having me come home after you hear this.”

His father slowly sat down. Alice took another chair and pulled it close to the bed. “What’s wrong?”

Maxwell took a deep breath and blew it out. “It’s about Bigfoot.” He looked into her eyes. “There isn’t one.”

Alice said, “What do you mean, ‘there isn’t one?’ How do you know?”

The young man hung his head. “The tracks and the hair… I left those. I also put that article in the library where someone could find it easily.” His shoulders slumped.

Alice took a moment to absorb the information. Surprisingly, she
wasn’t
all that surprised. For days now, some sixth sense had been lightly stirring every time the Bigfoot topic came up in Maxwell’s presence. Finally, she knew why.

“The mud on your shoes that day came from the path around the pond.”

Maxwell nodded, looking miserable.

His father, seated a bit apart from them in a corner, looked concerned and confused.

“You knew it wasn’t real when you walked out there with Florence? And when we went on that ridiculous overnight expedition of Ronald’s?” Memories continued to flood back.

He just nodded.

“Why? Why would you do that?” She was struggling with a strong sense of betrayal. “You were laughing at us the whole time?”

“No!” He looked shocked, then contrite. He squared his shoulders. “Well, perhaps I was amused, at first. You see, it’s part of my research. I am comparing and contrasting small town residents to people who live in large cities. How are they alike? How are they different? When presented with the same information, how do they deal with it?”

“You’ve pulled this stunt before?” his father asked.

Maxwell nodded. “Well, something similar in Philadelphia. Before that, I studied control groups in two other similar small town and city areas.”

“And how did people react in Philadelphia?”

Maxwell shook his head. “Most of them didn’t, after the first rush of sensationalism. There were a few who wanted to believe, just as there have been here, but the hubbub passed quickly. Actually, I’ve been a little surprised at how similar the two communities have been. The primary difference is the speed at which news travels. In Acorn Hill, it moves like lightning and… and you don’t care about that,” he said miserably.

Alice didn’t know what to say or how to feel. She could not believe Maxwell had been using Acorn Hill, all the people who had befriended him, as… as test subjects. “Did you overhear me talking about the giant squid? Were you the anonymous source who talked to Carlene?”

When he only nodded, she said, “Why tell me now?”

“I had to.” He leaned forward, pointing at the cards, flowers and balloons that made the sterile hospital room look so much more warm and inviting. “In the city, people usually don’t befriend you unless you reach out first. They don’t even meet one another’s eyes on the street. Here, everyone says hello, everyone invites you to join in whatever community thing is going on. Here, I have friends.” His gaze dropped. “Or at least, I did have friends. Once they find out what I did, I imagine most of them will wash their hands of me.”

Alice didn’t correct him. She still was trying to understand how he could do such a thing.

There was a silence in the room. Maxwell’s father still looked puzzled.

Finally, Alice said, “You could have just gotten well, finished your visit and left, and no one ever would have been the wiser.”

The young man hesitated. “You took me to church with you. I began to think about dishonesty. And yes, while no one else would have known,
I
would know. If I’m really going to begin to consider what God expects of me, how could I just leave?” He swallowed. “I committed a sin. And I think the only way to absolve myself is to confess and ask forgiveness.”

Alice stared at him. “You’re going to tell everyone in Acorn Hill that the Bigfoot signs were a hoax?”

He set his jaw. Nodded. “Yes. I don’t expect forgiveness from them. But at least I’ll know I tried to make things right.”

Chapter Seventeen

O
n Saturday morning, Jane, Ethel and Clothilda decided to visit the library in the little town of Merriville.

“We need to look for Georg and Jacob’s grandchildren,” Jane said. “If we can get that far, we should be into the mideighteen hundreds, and there might be town census records from sometime close to that.”

They had learned that the library closed at 2:00
PM
, so the women arrived there shortly after it opened at 9:00
AM
. A young, dark-haired librarian welcomed them and directed them to the Civil War Room, where they searched for and found two Muller men, both of whom had fought for the Union. Unfortunately, it appeared that both men had perished, one at the Battle of Antietam in Sharpsburg, Maryland, and the second later in the war at Cold Harbor near Richmond, Virginia.

“Well, rats,” said Jane. “For this to be helpful, they would have to have lived and procreated.”

“They may have left wives and children,” Ethel pointed out.

“Unlikely,” Jane said. “The older boy, who died in 1862, was only eighteen. His brother, who was a year younger, lived two more years and died at the age of nineteen. I know people married young back then, but there is no information about wives left behind, nor is there any record of a marriage for either boy. They probably joined the army as soon as they were of age.”

Clothilda shut the book she had been searching through. “What do we think to do now?”

Jane shook her head. “Let’s go ask the librarian if the town has census records and, if so, where they are located.”

They returned everything to its proper place and trooped back downstairs to the librarian’s desk. The woman was on the telephone and she held up one finger to indicate that they should wait.

Jane looked around while they waited for her conversation to conclude. The library was housed in what apparently had been a grand old mansion on the main street of town. The circulation desk was just to the right inside one of the huge rooms and a large spiral staircase curved upward from the spacious foyer. They had used the staircase to get to the Civil War Room, where the young woman had directed them first.

Finally, the librarian hung up the telephone. “Thank you for your patience,” she said, turning to face them. Her name tag read Mrs. Hall. “Did you have any success locating family members from the Civil War era?

Ethel made a face. “We did,” she told the woman, “but they died young. The eldest brother was killed at the Battle of Antietam.”

“What we are seeking,” Jane said as she gestured toward Clothilda, “is a living descendant of this lady’s ancestors who first came to this area from Germany more than two hundred years ago. Are there census records, or anything else you can think of, that would assist us?”

The young woman looked quizzical. “If you want live folks, how about the phone book?”

There was a silence, and then Jane said, “What a good suggestion. We are from Acorn Hill and while we did check our local telephone book when we first began our search, I forgot that Merriville would have a different book of listings.”

Mrs. Hall smiled. She reached beneath the desk and pulled out a telephone book, which she laid on the desk. “What is the name?” she asked. “I can check for you right now.”

“Muller,” said Ethel. “M-u-l-l-e-r.”

The young woman’s eyes widened. She began to laugh as she closed the telephone book. “Your search has ended. My maiden name was Muller.”

Clothilda babbled out a rapid stream of German that Ethel struggled to translate quickly.

“She wants to know if there are any other Mullers around that aren’t related to you. She would like to visit your parents, if they’re willing to meet with her. We found some Mullers buried in a little cemetery near here. Are they your ancestors?”

“Whoa.” Mrs. Hall held up a hand. “There are a number of Mullers here, but they all are related to me somehow. I’m sure my mother would be delighted to talk with you. Genealogy is one of her passions. And… what was the other thing I wanted to mention—oh yes, the Civil War vets are in our family tree. If you’re sure they are in yours, it’s quite likely that we are related.” She beamed at Clothilda. “This is so exciting! Why don’t I give my mother a call right now and see if she has time to talk with you? She’s retired and I never know what she might be up to,” she warned. “But you may get lucky and catch her at home.”

She placed a call to her mother. Unfortunately, the woman was not available just then but she invited them to visit later in the afternoon, an invitation they accepted with alacrity.

Late on Saturday morning, Maxwell was discharged from the hospital, and his father brought him back to the inn. Alice had directed Mr. Vandermitton to stop near the back porch steps, and as soon as he rolled to a halt, she and Louise went out to greet Maxwell. Alice had not told anyone about Maxwell’s deception. If he wanted people to know, the responsibility for telling them had to be his.

When the car door opened, Maxwell’s gaze immediately flew to Alice.

“Did you tell your sisters?” he asked in an undertone as she helped him from the car.

Alice shook her head. “That’s something you must decide to do.”

“Welcome home.” Louise stepped forward and gathered him into a warm hug that surprised Alice. Louise normally was not one for such displays of affection.

“Are you sure he should be out of the hospital so soon?” she asked Alice.

Alice smiled. “I know he still sounds terrible, but he actually had a fairly mild case of pneumonia. The antibiotics have killed the bacteria by now, so it’s really just a matter of taking it easy until he recovers.” Her face sobered. “But I’m sure you can see why this kind of illness is so lethal to our elderly patients.”

Louise and Alice brought in the flowers and assorted other get-well wishes that Maxwell had accumulated during his hospitalization. His father got his son’s small bag. Then he and Alice helped Maxwell upstairs and into bed, where Alice checked his temperature.

His eyes drooped as she leaned over him. “Trip tired me out,” he said drowsily.

“Just rest now,” Alice advised. “There will be plenty of time to do the things you want to do.”

“Think I’ll be able to go to church tomorrow?”

Privately, Alice doubted it. But she was not about to discourage him. “We’ll see,” she said noncommittally. “It may depend on how you rest tonight.”

And then the visitors began to arrive. Florence and Ronald were the first to come, followed by Rev. Kenneth Thompson, Nia Komonos and Fred and Vera Humbert. Maxwell’s father looked on in surprise at this outpouring of welcome.

“Your son has made quite a few friends in Acorn Hill,” Alice told him at one point.

“So I see.” His father looked pleased. “His mother always made friends easily. I was never as good at socializing.”

Alice only smiled, recalling Maxwell’s stilted manner when they first had met. Goodness, how he had changed.

Patsy and Henry Ley were the next to arrive after lunch. Patsy carried a small basket with two sealed canning jars of soup inside. The lids were decorated with a pretty red-and-white gingham cloth square tied with red ribbons.

Patsy took one out to show Maxwell. “Homemade chicken soup,” she said. “My mother’s recipe. I’m sure it can’t compare with Jane’s cooking, but my mother always made this when one of us was ill. She swore it helped us get better faster. I don’t know about that, but it sure is tasty.”

The three genealogy musketeers had a leisurely lunch in a Merriville tearoom, strolled through town and then headed off for their afternoon visit with the librarian’s mother. Lacy Hall opened the door with a welcoming smile after Jane rang the doorbell.

“Please come in,” she said. “My mother is so eager to meet you.”

They followed Lacy through a charming country-style cottage with overstuffed chairs covered in floral patterns, handwoven baskets and pieces of glazed blue pottery scattered about. She led them out a side door onto a stone patio surrounded by azaleas that were not yet in bloom. Beautiful tulips in pinks and lavenders were scattered among the bushes. In the center of the lovely little area stood a wrought-iron table and chairs beneath a sun umbrella.

A dark-haired woman in a broad straw gardening hat stood on tiptoe beside a bird feeder, adding some sort of small seed mix to it.

“Mom,” said Lacy, “here are the ladies I told you about.”

The woman turned and stripped off gardening gloves, then advanced with a hand outstretched. “Hello, I’m Lucinda Muller.” She shook each of their hands as Lacy introduced them. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some lemonade? It’s a gorgeous day. I thought we could sit out here and chat.”

“I’ll get it,” Lacy volunteered. “You go ahead and sit down with your guests.”

“What a peaceful retreat,” Jane said as all four women took their seats. “You’ve done some lovely landscaping.”

“Thank you,” Lucinda replied. “I am a Penn State Master Gardener. I have some extraordinary rare and choice plants that I’ve acquired from other Master Gardeners over the years. I love playing in the dirt,” she confided with a grin.

“I enjoy it too,” Jane told her. “What exactly is a Master Gardener?”

“Penn State established the program more than thirty years ago to help educate the public about horticulture and good environmental stewardship. Master Gardeners receive training in return for volunteering time to teach good horticultural practices.”

“That sounds fascinating.”

“It is to me, but as I said, I love gardening. My specialty is shade garden plantings.”

“Hostas and astilbe are two of my favorites of the shade plants,” Jane said, “and of course, coral bells. They seem to be coming out with new, improved varieties every year now.”

“Yes, there are some wonderful improvements on some of our old standards,” Lucinda said. “If you’re interested in the Master Gardener program, I’ll be glad to give you some information and a link to the Web site.”

Lacy came out of the house through a set of French doors. She set a tray carefully on the table and placed a glass of lemonade in front of each woman, leaving on the tray a large pitcher filled with more lemonade, as well as a plate of butter cookies.

“Enough about gardening,” said Lucinda. “I know you came here to discuss tracing our family connection.” She looked across the table at Clothilda. “So my husband was your cousin about twenty times removed?”

Clothilda looked a little confused. “
Was ist es
?” she asked Ethel, who promptly replied in German.

“I am so sorry,” exclaimed Lucinda. “I did not realize you don’t speak English.”

“I do some,” Clothilda told her, “but I am not familiar with this ‘removed.’”

“I meant that you and my husband’s family appear to be related through a common ancestor many generations ago.”

“Yes.” Clothilda opened the folder they had brought along. “I came here to find more Moellers, M-o-e-l-l-e-r, but instead we learn that the name changes to Muller with a
u
when they got off the ship.”

Lucinda sat up straighter. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me you have traced your family back to the port they sailed from, and that when they disembarked here, the name was changed?”