offered a $100 reward for information leading to the arrest of Hobbs.”
When she’d finished reading the report, Margaret sat there feeling the memory of that time come alive again. It had happened a lifetime ago and she thought she’d forgotten it, but here it was as painful and ugly as it was during those terrible years. She’d known about her daddy’s mistress and his disappearance; they all did. That’s why they left Barrettsville.
She’d also known about the earlier time when he’d left them in Coal Creek, and they’d struggled along until there was nothing left in the money jar. She was only five when he’d disappeared that time and could barely remember him. But she remembered the years that followed. She remembered being hungry and watching her mama cry.
She hadn’t known about the missing money.
Pushing back the tears and trying not to feel the ache of it, she looked at Tom and asked, “Was this the only thing you found? What about my brothers or my sister, Nellie?”
“Nothing on Nellie.” He opened the folder and read from a page of handwritten notes. “Ben Roland settled in Farstack, Alabama, married a woman named Rebecca Sawyer, and spent twelve years working for the Woodward Iron Company. In October of 1937, he lost his life in the Woodward coal mine explosion. There is no record of them having had children, and there was nothing more on Rebecca Sawyer. You said you already knew about Louella. She never married and died of tuberculosis in 1916. Your brother, Dewey…”
Margaret leaned forward, her heart suddenly racing.
“Dewey joined the army in November 1917, did his basic training in Spartanburg, South Carolina, at Camp Wadsworth and was shipped out to France the following summer. My initial report from the Veterans Bureau stated that he was wounded in France but supposedly treated here in the States. I didn’t follow up, because that’s when your husband, Albert, said to drop the investigation.”
“Dewey. Was he—is he—still alive?”
Tom shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. To find out, I would’ve had to do a much more extensive search of the Veterans Bureau files, which presented a bit of problem since that organization became part of the Veterans Administration about twenty years earlier.”
“Was there anything on any of the others—Virgil, Oliver, John Paul? Edward was the baby. Surely you found something on him.”
He gave a grimace and shook his head. “I only worked on this for a short time, then your husband—”
“I know,” Margaret said sadly. “Told you to drop the investigation.”
Tom gave an apologetic nod. “I wish I could tell you something more, but…” As his words trailed off, he stood. “If you like, I’ll leave this folder with you. Perhaps you can get someone else to take it from here.”
He gathered the sheets of paper, slid them back into the folder, and handed it to Margaret. “Good luck. I hope you do find your family. It’s what your husband wanted for you.”
As Margaret stepped into the hall to show Tom out, she bumped into Josie who was standing there with a plate of cookies.
“Sorry,” she said, “I was coming in to ask if you and your guest would like—”
“Not now,” Margaret replied and continued toward the door.
Again, she thanked Tom for coming. They shook hands, and he left. When Margaret turned back, Josie was still standing there with the cookies.
“You’re just going to let him leave like that? You’re not going to ask him to keep looking for your sister and brothers?”
“He’s retired. He doesn’t do detective work anymore.”
“But you didn’t ask.”
“I had to practically beg him to look for the file. There’s no way he’d—”
“Not if you don’t ask. After all these years of worrying about your family, you’re gonna let the one person who might have a shot at finding them walk away?”
“I couldn’t ask him, not after he’s already said—”
“If it’s no, it’s no. At least you’ll have tried. If Elgin or one of my kids was missing, I’d do way more than ask. I’d get down on my knees and beg him to keep looking.”
Margaret stood there, her eyes flicking back and forth first through the window at Tom as he moved down the walkway then back to Josie’s impassioned expression.
“You’ve got to do it,” Josie pleaded. “You’ll hate yourself if you don’t.”
IF YOU NEVER TRY, YOU WILL NEVER SUCCEED.
A fire sparked in Margaret’s eyes. “You’re right, I should have—”
Before she’d finished the thought, Josie shoved the plate at Margaret, flung open the door, and darted down the walkway.