Birdie frowned. “Not all that strange, if you think about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, that was a difficult time for this town. A lot of suspicion, a lot of accusations thrown around. Tragedy will do that, I guess.” She got to her feet, a little clumsily. “Should probably get on the road.”
I watched her carefully as she dried her hands on the towel hanging from the oven. The drive to Charlotte was only a couple of hours, and she’d already missed the traffic. Somehow, I’d hit a nerve.
“You taking off already?” I asked.
“Might as well. Can you stop in at the shop on your way to the farm and check on Melody? She’s got a big order today.”
“Sure.” The answer sounded like a question. I was still trying to read that look on her face. I had the distinct feeling the question had upset her, though I couldn’t think why.
When she finally turned to face me, she looked a little like herself again. She crossed the kitchen in three steps, planting a firm kiss on my cheek. “See you tomorrow.”
I forced a smile, propping myself up against the wall as she disappeared up the hallway. When I heard the keys jingle in her hand, I called over my shoulder, “Drive safe!”
“Yes, Mother!” The door closed, and a few seconds later, Birdie’s car was backing down the driveway.
It wasn’t like her to dance around things. She’d always been the one who got to the point and didn’t sugarcoat the truth. She was the first to be honest with me about my mother, about the Farrow curse and the hungry sickness that was coming for me. She’d never tried to shield me from any of it, like Gran had. But bringing up Nathaniel Rutherford had rattled her. Why?
My eyes fell to the newspaper on the table, my mind still turning with the question, until my curiosity got the better of me. I rounded the corner to the sitting room, taking the laptop from the desk that sat in front of the picture window. The room hadn’t changed a single bit in my lifetime, down to the knickknacks on the fireplace mantel and the blue velvet tufted sofa that looked older than Birdie.
I sank down into it and pulled open the laptop, hitting a key. It whirred to life, illuminating the inbox of the farm’s email account. I opened another tab in the browser, fingers hovering tentatively over the keys before I finally started typing in the search field.
Nathaniel Rutherford Jasper, North Carolina
Dozens of search results pulled up, and I scrolled, my eyes skipping over them until I saw one from the State Archives of North Carolina. The link took me to another search results page, where a number of headlines from old newspapers were listed with Nathaniel’s name highlighted in the description.
The earliest ones looked to be no more than small-town news coverage, but in 1950, the headlines took a turn.
BODY FOUND IN ADELINE RIVER
MINISTER SLAIN
SHERIFF ASKS FOR WITNESSES TO COME FORWARD
JASPER REMEMBERS NATHANIEL RUTHERFORD
ONE YEAR LATER: STILL NO ANSWERS
I clicked on the first one, and a high-resolution scan of the Jasper Chronicle filled the screen. The front of the paper was different from the one that sat on the kitchen table. The font had changed over time, and so had the layout of the columns.
Thursday morning, the Merrill County Sheriff’s Department responded to the call of Edgar Owens, who was fishing on the north fork of the Adeline River, just upstream from Longview Falls, when he discovered a body washed up on the bank. The man was identified as sixty-three-year-old Nathaniel Rutherford, longtime minister at the First Presbyterian Church in Jasper.
Longview Falls was the region’s tallest waterfall, where the Adeline River branched. It was a hiker’s destination and the site of numerous accidents over the years. There’d even been a few people who’d jumped to their deaths.
The next article was longer.
The sheriff’s department has confirmed that the death of Nathaniel Rutherford is being treated as suspicious. Upon examination, the body was found to have a fatal head wound and multiple lacerations on the arms and neck consistent with a struggle. This would mark the first known murder in the quiet town of Jasper, and the sheriff has vowed to find the perpetrator.
The last known location of the minister was at the Midsummer Faire. Rutherford was expected at Frank Crawley’s barn afterward for a weekly card game with a group of men from the church. According to Crawley, Nathaniel never arrived. Those who were present at the game are undergoing questioning, but the sheriff has been clear they are not currently suspects.
To his estimation, Dr. Francis Pullman puts Rutherford’s time of death at approximately 8 P.M., an hour after he was last seen.
I clicked on the next link.
The sheriff’s department is asking for anyone with information about Nathaniel Rutherford’s whereabouts on the night of June 20 to come forward. No detail is too small. Anyone who saw anything unusual can call the sheriff’s department at 431-2200.
The headline of the last article was printed above a photograph of a man.
ONE YEAR LATER: STILL NO ANSWERS
Nathaniel was standing on the front steps of the church with a hat in his hands. I had to look at him closely to find the similarities between him and the man in the photo Gran sent. The edition date was 1951, exactly forty years after the date written on the back of the photograph.
But there was no mention of his wife’s actual name in the articles, and the only pictures were of Nathaniel alone.
I leaned to one side and slid the photo from the back pocket of my jeans, that itch of curiosity growing more insistent. My leg was anxiously bouncing now, making the laptop shake as my eyes lifted to the kitchen. When I was looking into my mother’s disappearance, Ida had helped me request copies of old editions of the Jasper Chronicle. She’d also been the one to pull the records at the courthouse for me.
I let the laptop slide onto the sofa and stood, my feet taking me back to the kitchen, where the soft sound of wind chimes drifted through the open window. The cord that hung from the phone on the wall was so stretched out that it nearly touched the floor. Ida’s cellphone number was still scratched on the long list pinned to the side of the fridge, but I had it memorized. The chipper voice on the other end answered on the third ring.
“June? Everything okay?”
“Hey, Ida. Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Well, good. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to see if you’d be able to find something for me in the county records.”
“Okay. What is it?”
I stared at the numbers on the phone’s dial pad, where Gran’s fingers had pushed the buttons so many times that they were shiny and smooth. “It’s a marriage license, actually.”
“For whom?” I could hear her plucking a pencil from the old decorated soup can on her desk.
I clenched my teeth, changing my mind twice before I forced myself to say it.
“Last name Rutherford. First name . . . Nathaniel.”
She fell quiet.
“Would have been sometime around 1911,” I added, filling the awkward silence.
“Why on earth would you need that?” She laughed, but it was taut.
I smiled, even though she couldn’t see it, hoping it would somehow bleed into my voice. “Just doing some historical research.”