that anyway.”
Margaret’s heart rose into her throat. “Huntington? Nellie was sent to live with a family in Huntington, did you know that?”
“Course I did. When your mama got sick, she talked to Pastor Dale and he fixed it up. The Hunters are good people what couldn’t have kids a’ their own. That’s why your mama let them take Nellie and Edward. It about broke her heart to see those last two babies go, but she figured it was for the best cause she was sickly and couldn’t protect them no more.”
Tom wrote the name Hunter in his notebook. “Protect them from what?”
Caldonia glanced over her shoulder, then looked back to Tom and whispered, “Finding out about the thing in Barrettsville.”
“What thing in Barrettsville?” Margaret asked.
“The one with your daddy.”
“Daddy ran off and left us. I don’t see how—”
“Margaret Rose, you know I’d give you anything I’ve got, but that story ain’t mine to tell. Your mama had her reasons for not wanting the rest of you kids to know.”
Margaret looked more puzzled than ever. “The rest of us…does that mean one of us does know what happened?”
Caldonia nodded. “Ben Roland, of course, and Oliver, and poor little Virgil.”
It made sense that Oliver and Ben Roland knew what happened because they were the oldest, but Virgil was a year younger than her.
“Are you sure you’ve got that right? Mama didn’t even know where Virgil was. He ran off and changed his name.”
The old woman’s wrinkled face softened into a smile. “Your mama knew exactly where Virgil was. Long as she was alive, she knew where every one of you kids was. You might think your mama sent you away because she didn’t love you, but it was the opposite. She loved you so much, she wasn’t willing to lay her troubles at your feet.”
“What troubles?”
“That’s something you’re gonna have to ask Ben Roland or Oliver.”
“I would if I could. Tom has yet to locate Oliver, and Ben Roland’s been dead for thirty years, killed in a mine explosion in Alabama.”
Caldonia sat there shaking her head for a moment. “What about Virgil, was he working the same mine?”
“Did Eliza send Virgil to Alabama to be with Ben Roland?” Tom asked.
“She sure did,” Caldonia said. “Most folks figured the boy ran off, but Eliza’s the one who changed Virgil’s name and gave him train fare.”
“He was just a kid; why the name change?”
A wistful smile settled on Caldonia’s face. “Virgil hated being a Hobbs. He knew his daddy never wanted him and said he’d be happier if he wasn’t saddled with the name to remind him of it. Eliza was worried the name would be like a stone around his neck, so she told him he could change it if he’d a mind to. In fact, Jeb was the one who picked up his new birth certificate, but down at the city clerk’s office he gave your daddy’s name instead of his own.”
She paused a moment, then shook her head and chuckled. “Virgil was a skinny little kid but independent as they come. He’d decided to go through life on his own terms, and Eliza figured that was a good thing.”
“Why Palmer?” Tom asked.
“It was Eliza’s name before she married Martin, so she told Virgil to take it, ’cause then he’d remember he had a mama who loved him with all her heart.”
Margaret pulled a handkerchief from her bag and dabbed her eyes. “How could I have been so blind? How could I not have known these things about my own family?”
Caldonia reached across and placed a boney hand on Margaret’s arm. “Honey, you wasn’t blind; you was just a little girl growing up. Your mama didn’t want you knowing these awful things. That’s why she sent you to live with your Aunt Rose.”
“Living with Aunt Rose was nothing like living with Mama.”
“Your mama knew that. Being separated from you pained her worse than it did you. There were times when the hurt of you being gone felt like a knife in her heart. She’d cry for a long while, then wipe her eyes and remind herself that you had food in your belly, clothes on your back, and the hope of a better life.”
With sorrow tugging at her face, Caldonia shook her head and looked off as if she was remembering something too private to share. A few seconds later, she heaved a mournful sigh, one that had the sound of something drawn up from the depth of her soul. They sat