The Secrets of Rosa Lee. Jodi Thomas

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СКАЧАТЬ in the back of her mind, she remembered hearing he was a widower with a small kid to raise.

      Micah Parker offered his hand, reminding her they’d met before at the Labor Day pancake breakfast. Then, to her surprise, he greeted Billy Hatcher warmly before Ada May finished the introductions.

      Billy smiled and slapped the preacher’s shoulder as Parker complimented the kid on some work he’d done at the church.

      Lora tried not to appear to be listening to the men as Ada May chatted with the professor. Glancing at the ceiling, Lora searched for cracks. It would be just her luck that the first day in years someone walked into the house the roof would collapse. The whole town would probably turn out to dig through the rubble for bodies. First, they’d uncover her hand (the one without a wedding band on it) or maybe one leg, all dusty and bloody. One of the Rogers sisters might survive. Of course she would die soon after of loneliness. The town might erect a statue on this very spot to honor the civic-minded heroes willing to serve and die on a committee.

      “Are you all right, dear?” Ada May pulled Lora back to reality.

      “Yes,” she mumbled. “I was just thinking how my clothes are going to get dirty in this old place.”

      “That’s my fault,” Dr. Dickerson confessed from the doorway of the room she’d entered. “I only wanted the door unlocked, the boards removed from the windows and little else disturbed.” She motioned with her notebook. “Please, would everyone step into the dining room. I did have folding chairs and a table brought in and set up near the bay window so we’d have plenty of light. If we’re going to decide the fate of this house today, it’s only fitting we do it on the property.”

      Everyone followed Sidney Dickerson’s lead. As Billy Hatcher passed Lora, he whispered, “Take off your clothes and leave them at the door if you’re so worried about the dirt.”

      Lora flashed him her best “drop dead” look and rushed ahead. This was going to be a fine committee, she thought. Two old maids, a preacher, a sex-starved thug and a professor. And me, she thought, the total failure.

      There were definitely levels in hell, even in Clifton Creek.

      Four

      A few minutes past ten, Sidney Dickerson had all the members of her committee sitting around a card table. Light shone through the newly unboarded bay window that stretched as high as the twelve-foot ceiling. The wide, planked floor reflected the sun even beneath years of dust. She wanted to close her eyes and spread her hands wide like she’d seen worshippers do on television. Feel the power! she thought of saying. Feel the history. In her calm, lonely life she’d known only a few times when she’d been so excited.

      Judging from the group before her, if she dared do something so foolish, they would turn and run. In fact, none of them looked all that interested in being on the committee.

      Billy Hatcher crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair between Lora Whitman and Reverend Parker, who wore a smile that could have been painted on a cigar-store Indian.

      Lora Whitman stared out the window looking at nothing.

      One of the Rogers sisters had already taken up her crochet, while the other paused with pen and paper, waiting to write down every word spoken.

      “Welcome to you all,” Sidney began. “Thank you for agreeing to serve on this committee. We’re here to study the history of a house that represents the very heart of Clifton Creek. We’ve been asked to make a few decisions about the future of this building and the surrounding land…decisions that will affect not only us but generations to come. We alone will decide if the legend of the fine man who founded this town lives or dies.”

      Billy yawned.

      Beth Ann counted stitches under her breath.

      Sidney fought back tears. This house—that was so important to her—mattered to no one else. No one. Maybe they should agree to take the oil company’s money and forget even talking about trying to save an old house.

      The preacher checked his watch.

      “According to my research—” Sidney knew she had to speed up “—this home was one of the first, if not the first, big ranch house built north of Dallas.” She glanced at her notes and lectured on. “Henry W. Altman must have been little more than a boy when he rode in and claimed this land. We know he paid cash for the wagon train of supplies and workers needed to build this place, but no one seems to know where his money came from. Probably an inheritance, since there’s no record of any Altman family members ever visiting the ranch. He was born in 1878, died in 1950. He fathered one child, Rosa Lee Altman, who never married.”

      Beth Ann counted a little louder. Her sister elbowed her gently, signaling her to turn down the volume.

      Billy leaned farther back in his chair and looked as if he were staring at Lora Whitman’s legs under the table. Considering the short length of her skirt, Sidney could only guess at the view.

      She lifted her briefcase onto the wobbly card table. Sidney had to do something before someone interrupted her and asked for a final vote. They all looked as if they wanted to move on with their lives. She needed to act fast. “Before we talk about what needs to be done, I want to show you all something I’ve found. It may be a factor we need to consider.”

      Pulling a worn book from her notes, Sidney’s hand shook. “This book was donated to the library when Rosa Lee died.” She beamed. “Though the book is valuable as a first edition, its true value may lie in the inscription. Which, after reading it, I think you all will agree dictates further research on our part.

      “It says simply, ‘To my Rosa Lee, who promises to love no other in this lifetime. Leave with me tonight. Wait for me in the garden. I promise I’ll come before midnight. Fuller, July 4, 1933.’”

      Ada May stopped writing. Billy glanced out the window. Beth Ann whispered, “darn,” as she lost a stitch. The preacher leaned forward, his smile melted as his body stiffened as if preparing for a blow.

      “If this was given to Rosa Lee, then maybe all the stories about her being an old maid who never had a gentleman caller aren’t true.” Sidney moved around the table, as if circling a classroom. “Maybe there are secrets here to uncover. Secrets the town should know before we sell the land.”

      “Who cares?” Billy questioned, slouching in his chair. “Secrets about folks long dead are of no interest to anyone.”

      Lora looked as if she agreed.

      Micah Parker stretched his hand toward the book. “May I see that, Dr. Dickerson?”

      Sidney smiled, knowing she’d hooked one. “If birth records are right, Rosa Lee would have been twenty-three when she was given that book. My guess is Mr. Fuller would have been from around here, but why didn’t he meet her at midnight like he planned?”

      “Maybe he did,” Billy answered.

      Sidney turned to him. “Then why didn’t she leave with him if she’d promised to love no other in this lifetime?”

      “Maybe her father stopped him,” Ada May chimed in. “She was his only child. Fuller might have been a no-good drifter. If she’d left with him, she’d have been poorly married.”

      Sidney СКАЧАТЬ