Spangled to Death, page 21
“All right, dear.” She cleared her throat and began.
Dearest Mother,
Sorry for not writing sooner, but I’ve been kept busy. The idea is fabulous, but you’re confusing. Please don’t worry so about me. I will write when I can. I have much to do and much to accomplish.
Your loving son
John
“That’s really rude.” Grandma handed it back to me.
“Mr. Madison paid a lot of his debts and never told his wife. Dolley was totally unaware of her son’s misfortunes. John rarely saw his mother.” I said, “Grandpa.” I nodded at him.
Dearest Jemmy,
I’ve received one candle from Mrs. Adams. Do tell me how Martha is and don’t forget to bring me a candle which belongs to her. Maybe one which lights her way?
Your loving wife,
Dolley
“The candle. Is it a clue?” I took the letter from him and set it with the other. “Aaron?”
Dearest Sister,
What a brilliant idea. The soldiers adore it.
Your loving sister,
Anna.
Silence overtook us as we each became lost in our thoughts. Aaron was the first to speak. “So now we have a reference to Abigail Adams and also Martha Washington.”
“What’s the significance of the candle?”
“Whatever it is, the soldiers adore it.”
“Brilliant idea.” Aaron puffed the cigar. “Confused her son so he wouldn’t try to gamble it or sell it. It has to be very important to the era or the country. This has to add up to something, for sure.”
“She made all that ice cream, you know.” Grandma giggled. “She was the first to serve strawberry ice cream in the White House. Who couldn’t resist ice cream?”
“And the recipe is treasured? Why embroider samplers about ice cream?” I shook my head and stared up at the ceiling. “Grandma, it doesn’t make sense. Ice cream?” I shook my head, and sighed. “It’s probably just a secret about the ice cream.”
Chapter twenty-three
After my grandparents went to bed, I cuddled into Aaron’s shoulder.
“How’re ya doin’?” He gently placed his arm over my shoulder. “I bet you’re sore? You’re still a little pink where he hit you.”
“I’m doin’ all right, I guess.” I looked up at him. “I would still like to know how they knew they’d find me alone?”
“We’re soon to the end. The detectives will get to the bottom of it.”
“I wonder how the letters and candle fit into the clues?”
“Well, we’ll have to think about that,” Aaron said.
“And piece them together,” I said. “I hope the detectives find out something soon that will help us out.”
“Me too.” He kissed the top of my head. “I’m going back home and hitting the sack. You’re tired and need to do the same thing.”
“You’re right.”
When Aaron left, I headed upstairs to bed. I fell asleep thinking about the letters and wondered if there might be copies of her handwriting at the History Center in St. Paul. I vowed to drive out there early the following morning to have a look for myself. Mikal had taught me a thing or two of what to look for when he analyzed my handwriting. Starts and stops. Wiggles in the lines. Dotting the letters or curly-cues.
Once morning came, I found a note Grandma left on the counter.
A. Do you want to try out DM’s ice cream?
B. Me buy the ingredients?
C. You buy it?
I circled A. The second note read:
Grandpa promised no more cigars in house.
Can he smoke at Aaron’s? Yes. No. Maybe.
I circled, maybe.
The woman drove me crazy sometimes, I thought, giggling. I wrote a similar note only on a new page.
I’m going to the History Center to look up DM’s handwriting. Can you go to the store?
A. Yes B. No C. Call me?
I headed out the door. I figured they were at breakfast with a bunch of friends. They were always busy.
The drive thru of my favorite coffee shop was open, so I purchased a roll and coffee to eat and drink while driving. I jumped onto the 94 Interstate, which brought me near the History Center. It didn’t take long before I parked. I knew the way around and also several of the librarians and support staff since I’d spent many hours researching for my doctorate degree.
After taking the elevator to the correct floor, I stood in front of the help counter until my friend, Sandy, came over to me. “Hey, you! Long time no see. Whatcha been up to?”
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” I grinned. “I’m kind of in a hurry. I only have about an hour until my store should open.”
“What can I help you with?”
“Do you...” I held up my finger because my cell phone chirruped. I read the text. “Grandma’s going to watch it for me. That’s a relief.”
“You’re lucky to have her. I remember how much you talked about her.” Sandy glanced over my shoulder. “I have to get busy.”
“Oh.” I noticed that a couple got in line behind me. “Do you have samples of Dolley Madison's handwriting? I sure hope so.”
“That’s right. You’re a descendant, aren’t you?” She thought a moment. “We do. I know exactly where too. Let me take care of this couple, then I’ll get you set up.”
“Thanks.” I went to the nearest empty table to wait. I watched as she helped the couple before going into the back room.
“Right here.” She brought over a book, opening it to the given pages. “It’s not exactly easy reading because of ink and water stains. At least you’ll have a pretty good idea of what it looked like."
“Thank you.” When she’d left, I took the book and headed for a more secluded area. I looked around to make sure I was alone before removing the letters from my bag. I had brought two. One had the ice cream recipe while the other spoke of the candle.
What is the equation? How does it fit together?
Carefully I opened and closely studied them. The loops were identical as far as I could tell. The letter lines of her “I’s” flowed. Her signature seemed the same also. Further on, I compared her hand from later years, following the dates, and noted the difference was a shaky appearance that fit the timeline. I was satisfied. Declaring it authentic was up to the authorities. At least now I could be positive, in my mind, that they were, which meant I was on the right track.
But right track for what? I was still clueless.
I brought the book back to Sandy and said, “Thanks,” and left.
I pondered stopping at the university library and decided to since I had the time. I hadn’t been to campus for a long time. It took forever to find a parking space and just as long to walk over to the building. I knew where to find the books, so headed up the stairs—straight to the American History section. Two books about the War of 1812 and the Madison era stood on the shelf, which I brought over to a study carrel.
Before opening the first book, I sent messages to Aaron and Grandma, telling them what I was up to so they wouldn’t worry. Within seconds, they’d both answered back. Grandma was at the store with Grandpa while Aaron had gone to work.
My search started with the war and I skimmed through the pages, learning little. I continued skimming and covered the Federalist papers, which she’d saved. Little else was written except about how she’d used her spyglass and the soldiers plus her slave to escape. There weren’t any handwriting samples. I did learn a little about the siege of Fort McHenry and how the British blocked our seaports—commandeering our ships.
I went on to read about Dolley’s life. She’d married at a young age to John Todd and they had two children—John Payne and William Temple. Yellow fever took both her husband’s life and William’s in 1793. Dolley married James Madison one year later. John Payne never married. I searched for Dolley’s sister, Anna Cutts. Anna married Richard Cutts, and they purchased Dolley’s house in Washington, D.C. on Lafayette Square, which was now a National Historic Landmark. James Madison purchased the house in 1828. When he died, Dolley held the mortgage. She had to sell Montpelier because John gambled and didn’t hold down a job. Dolley was destitute upon her death and very lonesome. John rarely corresponded or visited his mother.
What did this new information mean?
I closed it all out then headed back to my car after returning the books.
As I drove to the store, I thought over what I’d just read. From basic history classes, I knew that Frances Scott Key wrote the "Star Spangled Banner" when he saw the flag waving at day break. There was no indication Dolley knew him. From what I’d found out during my college course work, the president and Mr. Key weren’t friends. They didn’t even like each other. Pushing the idea aside, I settled on the thought that she’d buried Polly.
But that was a stupid idea. Did she bury a candle that came from the former First Ladies, or had she melted a candle from each, only to later bury it? She must’ve had something so incredibly important, unbelievably necessary, that future generations may look upon with awe and wonder. If I stretched my imagination and interwove with what I knew of Dolley, burying something for the purpose of safekeeping would only make sense. The White House was burned. She didn’t know all the occupants well. She was getting elderly. I did like that idea of burying it. However, why not just set it out in Montpelier and enjoy it? If she had, where was it? What was it? I found myself growing more confused. Soon, I parked behind the store right next to Grandpa’s car.
Once I’d opened the back door, I called, “Grandma! I’m here!” I found Grandpa snoozing on a chair in the workroom. There was a note from Max stating that he’d be in touch, but he had errands to run. I dropped my purse and hustled out to the showroom.
“Busy?” I stood by the counter. “Any phone calls?”
“I’ve contacted our attorney, Mr. Nye. He’ll be in touch with Montpelier,” Grandma said.
“Oh, good. That was going to be my next question.” I smiled. “He’ll be here during the ceremony and make sure we’re covered legally, right?”
“Yes, after he’s read what Mr. Strowbridge shows him.”
“All the legal papers, you mean?” I questioned. “How’s Grandpa taking it?”
“He’s all right with it, really. Now we won’t have to worry anymore. They’ll be in the right place where everyone can see them,” Grandma said.
“Good.” I glanced around the room. “Any customers?”
“Not yet. Dorrie called. She’ll be here later.”
“Good.” I looked up at my First Lady pictures. “They look crooked. Traffic must cause the shifting,” I concluded.
“Did you find out anything worthwhile? Anything we don’t already know, I mean?”
“The writing samples match the letters. I should give them to you to take home,” I said.
“I’m not surprised. What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”
“Last minute things. Most people have been contacted, but there are a few left. We’ll send out the five invitations. That’ll make the guest list complete. I know we should’ve done it sooner, but there hasn’t been time.”
“Everyone’s been called. This is more of a reminder.” Grandma smiled at me. “We’ll stop by the caterer to make sure Ingrid is doing okay with the menu.”
“Pastor Dahl hasn’t been in contact. I’ll give him a buzz.” I slipped out my phone to dial-up the church. After a few formalities, I said, “Okay, we’ll see you at two. The wedding’s at three.” We disconnected. “What a mess. Planning a wedding around a murder and assaults.”
“At least when you marry, you’ll have Aaron to protect you.”
“He already does.”
“I hear Grandpa moving around back there. It’s time for me to go.” Grandma got up. “I’ll let you know after I’ve seen Ingrid.”
“Here, let me give you those letters.” I followed her into the workroom where we found Grandpa rubbing his eyes.
“Time to go?”
“I believe so.” Grandma took the letters from me. “We’ll be in touch. Take care now and be careful.”
“I will. I promise.”
After they’d left, I headed out to the computer to check my email and found several to answer. After taking care of them, I logged onto the website and found two from prospective customers inquiring about prices, plus the individual houses. I answered the best that I could.
I decided to send a message to the Boston Historical Society to inquire if they knew of any correspondence between Dolley Madison and Frances Scott Key. I hoped for a quick answer. When finished, I got up and began to dust around the houses as well as to make sure all the furnishings were in place. Every so often, I found a chair, doll, or lamp that had toppled over. I always blamed the shift on the amount of traffic or because of the floor creaking. I looked up just as a young woman opened the door. She stood with the door wide open behind her.
“Hello. How may I help you?”
“I’m so interested in Michelle Obama and her thing and how she’s so hip on things and everything. Oh! Just want to see the house they’re in now. You know? The White House? This is the right place, isn’t it? The home of the White Houses?” She glanced across the room and covered her mouth. “Oh, yes.”
“Come in and have a look around.” I hoped she’d close the door as it was cold outside. “The houses over here are like what it’s like today. The White House, I mean.” The woman already had me mixed up. “The house the Obamas live in.”
“This place is wonderful. I must bring my grandma here, plus my aunt,” she counted her fingers, “then there’s my cousin. I do have two sisters or is it three? Oh dear me, my mom just got remarried. My dad is going to also, but I don’t know if he has any children.”
I wondered if this woman had rocks for brains. “You take your time. Just look around at your own pace. I’ll be right here if you have any questions.” I walked away to let the young lady look on her own. My head was spinning from listening to her. It wasn’t long before she asked me a question.
“Would you please come here?”
I walked over and looked at what she pointed at. “That’s the Oval Office.”
“Oh. Well. I think I better go, but I’m sure that I’ll be back,” she said.
“Thank you.” Before going back to sit and catch my breath, I made sure all was well and right inside the Obama White House.
I heard Dorrie and Max’s voices as they entered through the back door. I got up and walked out to them. “Pshew! You wouldn’t believe the fast-talking young woman who just left. She took my breath away!”
“Glad it was you and not me.” Dorrie chuckled.
“Tell me about last night,” Max said. “Heard something about it on the radio.”
“Wanda and Stone are in custody, and I believe they’re being charged with murder.” It still didn’t seem right in my mind. “I’m not so sure about them.”
“Why?” Max asked.
“Did they try and kill you too?” Dorrie’s eyes opened wide. “I bet they’re after the cufflinks.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I looked at Max. “Something just doesn’t seem right, but I’m not sure what it is, in answer to your question.”
“I’m keeping an eye on you,” Max replied.
“I’m going to push all this out of my mind for now. Tomorrow we’ll send out the few invitations even though it’s late. You both know you’re invited, and you can each bring a date.”
“Yep! Figured as much.”
“Brad wondered about that, since I hadn’t received an invitation yet.” Dorrie grinned. “At least now we can plan.”
“Plan for what?” That struck me as odd, but I ignored it. “By the way, I’m closing the store tomorrow. There are too many things I need looking into and taking care of.”
“No problem,” Dorrie answered.
“Thanks for telling us. I’ll take care of a few matters I’ve put aside.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Dorrie, would you mind seeing to customers while I finish making sure all my inventory is in shape? I could use time to sew up a dress also.”
“Sure. How about if I put out more decorations?”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m going to look through these heads that I ordered and get them lined up for carving. I also need to sharpen the knives.”
I began my chores by opening the cabinet doors and taking out the inventory notebook. I’d had little time to make sure my inventory was in place. The next hour flew past and suddenly Dorrie pounded on the doorframe to get my attention.
“Yes?”
“A woman here wants to inquire about purchasing the Obama White House.”
“Oh.” I slid my chair back and followed her out to the showroom. The young woman from earlier stood, beaming like a Christmas tree and beside her was a small, older woman who reminded me of someone from Grimms’ Fairy Tales.
“Hello, again. How may I help you?”
“My granddaughter talked me into buying her a dollhouse for Christmas. This one here, I’ll take it. How much?”
I gave her the price, and she cocked her head as if counting all the pennies held in her bag.
“Can I talk you down about fifty bucks?”
“Sure.” She seemed like such a nice little old lady and it was Christmas. She was probably on a fixed income. I would’ve loved one of these dollhouses as a present.
“It’s a deal then.”
“Go get Max,” I told Dorrie. I turned back to the customer. “Let’s get this written up while we wait for my employee to come and load it for you. Where’s your car?”
“Right outside.”
I glanced out, and my mouth dropped open. “The BMW?”
“Yep. Paid cash just last month. That’s why I’m a little strapped.”
“Okay. No problem. Tell your friends about this place for me, will you?” I rung up the bill, and she paid the charges by counting out the cash from her bag.
“The Obama house,” I told Max when he entered.
“I’ll get right on it.” He turned and headed back to the work room where I presumed he was going to box up a house. Dorrie followed.
