the cook.” She laughed then added, “He’s also my husband.”
They lingered over a second and then third cup of coffee as Ada told them how the Biennerhassett family had settled here and built a grand estate on an island in the Ohio River.
“It’s a shame you’re not staying longer,” she said. “There’s a lot to do and see here.”
“Maybe next time,” Margaret said, although she knew there wouldn’t be a next time. The thing about having this kind of fun was that once it was over, a person had to forget it and move on.
After leaving Ada’s, they drove straight through to Wheeling and checked in at the McLure House Hotel. Just as they’d done in Huntington they scanned the telephone directory, and while there was no listing for Oliver Hobbs they did get the number and address of the Superior Glass Manufacturing Company on the outskirts of town.
“We’ll drive out there tomorrow morning,” Tom said. “A phone call would be quicker, but people are more responsive when you’re talking to them in person.”
——————
AT THE SUPERIOR GLASS COMPANY, they found that Oliver had worked there for 47 years and retired as a plant manager in 1957. The young man behind the desk looked up from the file folder and gave Margaret a polite nod.
“I didn’t know Mr. Hobbs personally, but I believe he was very well thought of.”
Margaret smiled. “That’s nice to hear. I’ll be sure to let him know. We couldn’t get a listing for him from the telephone directory. Do you have his address?”
The man blinked and leafed through the file a second time. “We only keep files on retirees who are still eligible for benefits. After Mr. Hobbs passed away, we closed the file.”
Margaret’s face fell. “Oliver’s dead?”
The man removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m terribly sorry. I assumed you knew.”
Tom stepped in. “We understand. Can you tell me what year the file was closed?”
“Nineteen sixty-three,” he said and sat there blinking.
Taking her elbow, Tom steered Margaret toward the door.
“Come on, Maggie, let’s find Oliver’s family,” he said softly. “You’ll want to meet them.”
Their next stop was the public library. Since they knew the year, it took less than a half-hour of scanning the back issues of the Wheeling News Register for Tom to find the obituary. It said, “Oliver Hobbs (1894-1963) passed away peacefully at home and was survived by his wife, Lois Jean Hobbs; his daughter, Jolyn Carter Carroll; son-in-law, Walter Carter Carroll; and two grandsons.” The obituary went on to mention Oliver’s work at the glass manufacturing company and even included a few quotes from coworkers. The man behind the desk had been right; Oliver was well thought of indeed.
Although it was a bittersweet compensation for not being able to see Oliver, Margaret spoke to Jolyn on the telephone that afternoon.
“I don’t know if your daddy ever talked about his family,” she said. “Oliver was my big brother. I’m his sister, Margaret Rose.”
“Of course, Dad talked about all of you. Ben Roland, Dewey, Virgil… He used to tell us about all the wonderful adventures you had living in Coal Creek.”
Margaret wondered if the big family secret wasn’t such a secret after all. Maybe Oliver had spoken of it openly. If that was the case, would Jolyn know what had happened all those years ago?
“I’m only in town for another day or two,” she said. “I’d love to get together. Maybe meet for dinner?”
“Would you mind coming here?” Jolyn asked. “That way Walter and the boys can meet you. After all the tales their granddaddy’s told, I know the boys are going to be very excited at the prospect of meeting their great aunt.”
Margaret explained that she was traveling with a friend who’d been helping her locate members of the family and said they’d love to come.
When she met the Carroll family Margaret could see nothing of Oliver in his daughter, but Benjamin, the older of Jolyn’s two boys, looked exactly as Oliver had at that age. Peter, the younger boy, looked like his mama. Jolyn had a bright smile, and she laughed easily as she spoke about her dad’s stories.
“Why, he had both of my boys asking to go live in Coal Creek so they could fish and hunt and see the corn that grew taller than a man.” She gave a wistful sigh. “I never knew how many of Dad’s stories were true, but he sure did make it sound like he’d had a wonderful childhood. Well, until