Miss Lizzy's Legacy. Peggy MorelandЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Three

      “Here it is!” The court clerk spun the heavy ledger toward Callie and pointed to an entry dated August 1, 1891. Callie’s heart sank as she read the entry the woman indicated. Throughout the trip from the cemetery to the Logan County Courthouse she’d held on to the thread of hope that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer and Mary Elizabeth Bodean were two different women. But the proof was there before her eyes: “Mary Elizabeth Sawyer and Jedidiah Bodean, wed on August 1, 1891.” The words were blurred on the yellowed page, but legible, and they forced her to accept the truth.

      Mary Elizabeth Sawyer hadn’t died in childbirth as her great-grandfather had been led to believe. She’d married Jedidiah Bodean, and—if the information on the tombstone was accurate—had lived to the ripe old age of sixty-seven.

      Then why had Papa, as an infant, been returned to Boston to be raised by his grandparents? she wondered. And why had he been told his mother had died? The answer was obvious and had Callie sinking into a chair, her knees no longer able to support her.

      His mother hadn’t wanted him. And now it was up to Callie to tell Papa that the mother whose death he’d blamed himself for all these long years hadn’t died as a result of his birth. The truth was, she hadn’t cared enough about her son to keep him. Anger burned through Callie for the injustice to her great-grandfather.

      “Ma’am? Are you all right?”

      Callie lifted her head. “Y-y-yes,” she stammered as she slowly rose. “I’m fine.” She raked her fingers through her hair, but her thoughts weren’t as easily gathered as the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. She looked up at the clerk. “I need to find out more about these people. By any chance, have you ever heard of them or a family of that name?”

      The woman offered an apologetic smile. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not originally from Guthrie. My husband and I moved here two years ago.” Her smile brightened. “But I know someone who might be able to help. No one knows more about Guthrie than—”

      Callie feared she knew what was coming, because the description so resembled the one Frank had given the night before. “Judd Barker,” she said, finishing the sentence for the clerk, her shoulders sagging.

      “Him, too,” the woman said, tipping her head in acknowledgement. “But I was going to suggest you talk to Molly Barker, Judd’s mother. She used to teach Oklahoma history over at the high school, but she’s retired now. Spends most of her time doing volunteer work for the historical society.”

      Though she wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to Judd Barker’s mother, or even what she’d ask if she did decide to, Callie dutifully jotted down the location of the historical society headquarters, then gestured toward the ledger. “Would it be possible for me to get a copy of this document?”

      The woman picked up the large volume. “Certainly. It’ll only take a minute.”

      Callie waited, curling her fingers against the chair’s back, wishing like hell she’d never heard of Guthrie, Oklahoma. She’d have been a lot better off staying in Dallas, dealing with Stephen face-to-face and leaving Papa’s memories of his mother intact.

      * * *

      Callie opened the door of the Harvey Olds House Museum where she’d been told she would locate Mrs. Barker, to find a woman dressed in a period costume standing at the end of a short hall.

      “Mrs. Barker?”

      The woman turned, pulling off her glasses. “Yes?”

      Callie extended her hand. “I’m Callie Benson. A clerk at the courthouse thought you might be able to help me. I’m trying to trace some of my family.”

      The woman’s smile was genuine and warm as she took Callie’s hand in greeting. “I’d be happy to assist in any way I can.” She waved Callie into the parlor toward an antique settee while she took the rocker opposite it. “Callie Benson,” she replied thoughtfully, settling her skirt and petticoats around her. She tapped the earpiece of her glasses against her lower lip as she studied Callie. “Your name is awfully familiar. Were you one of my students?”

      Callie smiled patiently. “No, I’m a visitor to Guthrie.”

      The woman blew out a relieved breath, sending wisps of grey hair that had escaped her bun, flying. “Thank goodness. I didn’t think my memory had faded that badly.” She put the toe of a high-topped shoe to the floor, settled her hands on the chair’s curved arms and gently started the chair rocking. “So, how can I be of assistance?”

      “Well, I’m not sure,” Callie replied hesitantly. “I’m trying to locate information about Jedidiah and Mary Elizabeth Bodean. Have you heard of them?”

      “The Bodeans!” she parroted. “Lands, yes! One of Guthrie’s first families. Jedidiah made the run in 1889 and claimed himself some prime real estate in what is now downtown Guthrie. You see, because of the law’s governing townships in the new territory, Guthrie at that time was divided into four sections: Capital Hill, West Guthrie, Guthrie Proper and East Guthrie.” She batted a hand, chuckling, and sent the chair rocking again. “But you didn’t come here for a history lesson, did you, dear?”

      “Oh, no, please. It’s fascinating.”

      “Yes, it is. But, then, I love history. But you wanted to know about the Bodeans. Now, what exactly can I tell you about them?”

      “Everything. I wasn’t even aware Mary Elizabeth had married until I saw the tombstone.”

      “My, yes, she married. Such a romantic tale. As the story goes, Jedidiah courted Miss Sawyer for over a year before she agreed to marry him. Jedidiah was a bit of a rake. Had his hands in all kinds of businesses, a few of which some of the townspeople didn’t approve,” she added, arching a knowing brow at Callie. “There was also another complication. You see, Miss Sawyer believed she was in love with someone else, then along came Jedidiah and swept her off her feet.” She tipped back her head and laughed merrily. “Although I’m quite sure Jedidiah wouldn’t agree with the term ‘swept,’ being as it took him over a year to convince her to marry him.”

      “Did they have children?”

      “No.” She shook her head sadly. “Not together, anyway. Elizabeth had a child before they married, but the child died at birth. Times were hard then. No doctors or hospitals to speak of. Usually women helping women through the births.” She knitted her forehead in concern and leaned toward Callie. “Did I say something to upset you, dear?”

      Callie scraped the heels of her hands across her cheeks to swipe at the hot tears. She tried to smile, but couldn’t. She was too damned mad. “No, it’s nothing you said. It’s just that Mary Elizabeth Sawyer’s son, the one everyone insists died at birth, is my great-grandfather.”

      Mrs. Barker reared back, her eyes wide. “Great-grandfather?” she repeated.

      Callie dug in her purse and pulled out the faded paper on which Papa’s birth was recorded. “This is his birth certificate,” she said as she passed the paper to Molly. “Contrary to popular belief, William Leighton Sawyer is very much alive and lives in a nursing home in Dallas, Texas.”

      Molly placed her reading glasses back on her nose and studied the document. “It looks real enough,” she murmured.

      “I assure you,” Callie replied indignantly, “it is.”

      Molly leaned to pat Callie on the knee. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to infer that you weren’t honest. I just don’t know what to make of all of this.”

      “Nor