by last name—P.”
“No name-calling.” Leah sat at a table, careful to keep her knees together despite the baby’s weight pushing them apart. “Marty, your report is on Woodrow Wilson.”
“I already have it—W.” He thumped into his chair, almost tipping it over. “I’ll find mine before you do, Mikey.”
Unruly brown hair flopped as the boys raced each other, and Leah smiled at their competition.
Did her sisters compete or work together? Were they inseparable or torn asunder like the Paxton brothers? Were they even in the same location?
“Found it!” Mikey jammed a bony finger at the page, then groaned. “It’s so short. How can I write a three-page report?”
“You’ll check out books from the school library,” Leah said. “This will help you know what to look for. Also, watch for asterisks—those mean there’s an entry in the encyclopedia.”
“Like ‘Mexican-American War’?” Mikey’s narrow face contracted over each syllable.
“Yes.”
Mikey darted from his chair and closed the encyclopedia.
Leah stuck a finger in place just in time. “Use a bookmark.”
“Mine already has a bookmark.” Marty slung a color postcard onto the table. “But listen. This here says Woodrow Wilson’s still president.”
“Yes, it’s old but . . .” Leah slid the postcard closer, and her heart stilled.
A glorious library. Tall stained glass windows sent a rainbow of light over tables and bookshelves, and a Gothic ceiling soared above, studded with electric lights like a starry sky.
She could almost smell the leather and lemon oil.
All disappeared around her, all sight, all sound, all but the memory. Somehow Leah’s numb fingers turned over the postcard—University of Chicago, Harper Memorial Library.
Chicago. She came from Chicago. The picture and her memory fused and expanded and came to life, and she laughed for joy.
“What’s so funny, Mrs. P.?”
All this time she’d been looking for the answer in books, and now she’d found the answer inside a book. “I’m from Chicago. Chicago.”
“Mrs. P.?” Two sets of brown eyes stared at her, bewildered.
She gathered her senses. “Read your articles and take good notes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.
Leah stroked the postcard. She could almost feel her parents’ hands in hers, one on each side, as she gazed at the magnificent ceiling. The University of Chicago. Had her parents been students, faculty, staff, or simply visitors?
If only she could hop on a train and visit, but travel was discouraged late in pregnancy and would be extremely difficult with a baby.
Besides, where would she go? The Chicago area had to hold dozens of orphanages, and could they help with so little information?
The only details she had were the year of 1929 and the sisters’ first names—Thalia, Callie, and Polly. She believed Callie and Polly were short for Calliope and Polyhymnia, so that all three girls would have been named after Greek muses of poetry.
Searching dozens of orphanages would take days, and staying in a hotel would be expensive and impractical with a wee one.
Still—she pressed the card over her heart—she knew where she came from. Tonight she’d tell Rita Sue and write a gushing letter to Clay. They would be delighted.
“Mrs. Paxton?” Miss King leaned inside the dining room. “Time for the board meeting.”
“Thank you.” Leah tucked the postcard inside her purse. “Good-bye, boys. Check out books, and we’ll work on the reports over the weekend.”
She pushed herself to standing. If she was this large at eight months, how much larger could she get? She smoothed the cranberry gabardine over her belly, thankful the coat-like cut of the dress gave her a more professional look for when she presented her proposal. She couldn’t wait to surprise Miss King.
Leah followed the orphanage director to a room with a square table. Five ladies stood chatting, including Mrs. Channing, but sweet Mrs. Whipple from church was also present.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Miss King scarcely looked like herself in a smart navy suit, but her hair still defied bobby pins. “Please meet Mrs. Clay Paxton, our newest volunteer.”
“Well, Mrs. Paxton.” Mrs. Channing raised her chin. “You’re certainly trying to insert yourself into Tullahoma society.”
That didn’t sound like a compliment, but Leah smiled. “Tullahoma has been kind to me, and I enjoy returning the favor.”
“You sweet girl.” Mrs. Whipple took both Leah’s hands, and pretty wrinkles fanned around her gray-blue eyes. “We’re so pleased to have you.”
After the ladies fussed over Leah’s belly, they took their seats and started the meeting.
Leah could barely pay attention between her excitement over Chicago and her eagerness for her proposal. What a lovely day.
Baby Helen rolled, as if dancing for her mother’s double joy.
“Any new business?”