Hope Between the Pages Pepper Basham (thriller book recommendations TXT) 📖

Chapter 6

Clara, I know it sounds odd, but I’m only going off what the birth and death records say.”

Clara looked down at the phone in her hand as if she could see Mrs. Pinkerton’s teacher-like glare piercing through the receiver to hammer her point home. “There’s no husband or marriage mentioned at all?”

“I checked all my sources, as usual.” The librarian’s voice flattened on the last two words and Clara bit back an apologetic groan. Clearly, Mrs. Pinkerton hadn’t recovered from the previous half a dozen or so calls Clara had made about Sadie Blackwell. “All of my information confirms that Sadie Blackwell was born Sadie Blackwell on May 7, 1895 and died November 12, 1994. She was the daughter of Amos and Evelyn Blackwell. She had one sister, younger, named Lark, who married a Mr. Ralph Wolfe.”

Evelyn Blackwell? So the Bible had belonged to Sadie’s mother.

“She gave birth to one child, a son—”

“Grandfather John Oliver,” Clara supplied, knowing the trajectory from there. Grandfather John married Eliza Arlington just before setting off to fight in World War II, leaving Eliza expecting her firstborn, Christopher John Blackwell. Her father.

When Grandfather John died in 1945 in combat, never having seen his son, Eliza left her child with Granny Sadie and disappeared back to her family in Georgia, returning seven years later with her new husband and one-year old son, Julian. Granny Sadie had adopted Clara’s father as her own, which, as her father recalled, likely helped her heal from the loss of her only child to the war.

The few photos Clara had seen of Sadie held no mystery. A frail woman with wiry black-and-white hair, kind eyes, and a broad smile. All the stories her father had told her of Granny Sadie warmed Clara’s heart enough to make her believe she knew the woman, or at least made her feel some strange connection she couldn’t really explain.

Perhaps, if Clara knew more about her, she’d have a better idea of where to look for the deed. The attic had only revealed two more Book Goblin notes—one about Ivanhoe and the other related to a discussion about Sherlock Holmes—and a birthday card from a woman named Helen. At least this Book Goblin and Library Fairy had excellent tastes in books.

Not only would searching help with finding the deed, but if there was something else to uncover, something more, Clara’s father would have wanted her to discover it—to know Granny Sadie’s story. A desperate curiosity about this woman who’d started a bookshop, raised her son and grandson on her own, lived a long life without ever marrying, and held such favor in Clara’s father’s eyes burned to life. They’d lived with a building full of books, but had anyone ever learned Granny Sadie’s story? It all hinted of a tale much more intricate than she, or even her father, seemed to know.

Sadie’s mystery—her life—knotted an uncomfortable awareness in Clara’s chest and unearthed a question which had lurked in the back of Clara’s mind for years. How long will you breathe in the life of other people’s stories, but not step out into your own? Her mother had asked that once. Clara had written it into her journal.

“It seems Sadie Blackwell was a woman who got into a bit of trouble.” Mrs. Pinkerton’s voice on the other end of the phone pulled Clara back to the conversation. “And, she decided to do the hard work of keeping the baby herself. From all I can tell, she rose above her circumstances like few women of her station could have done in that time, despite being an unwed mother. There is no mention in any of my records of a father to her child. I suppose it’s one of those stories that has disappeared with time.”

“And no reference to other properties she owned or lived in?”

“Nothing that is still standing. Her aunt rented a home near Biltmore Village, but it was torn down decades ago.”

Clara stifled her sigh. “Thank you for all your hard work on this, Mrs. Pinkerton. If anything else comes up, would you let me know?”

“Of course.”

Clara ended the call and slumped back on the stool behind the counter. If they weren’t able to discover the deed in one of the boxes they’d uncovered in the attic, where else could Sadie have placed it? She’d worked at Biltmore and lived in the apartment attached to this bookshop. That’s all the information Clara had to go on.

“Ms. Blackwell?”

Clara looked up from the notes she’d taken during Mrs. Pinkerton’s call to find a tall man in a black suit peering down at her from an astronomical height. His lean frame made him appear even taller.

She stood just to decrease the intimidation factor, if nothing else. “Yes, may I help you?”

His gaze roamed over her face and then trailed to the books on the shelf behind her before returning to her eyes. “My name is Douglas Kemper. I believe you had a phone conversation with my associate, Lars Duncan, last month.”

Clara steadied her palms against the counter, a sudden tension twisting like a rubber band in her stomach. Duncan’s Books. “I remember.” She offered a smile. She hoped. Maybe. “I don’t suppose you’re here to admire our Christmas display?”

His angled jaw tensed and he cleared his throat. “I thought perhaps you’d reconsidered Mr. Duncan’s offer about purchasing your inventory and buildings. It’s a substantial offer, Ms. Blackwell, as you well know.”

Insanely substantial. “Please let Mr. Duncan know how much we appreciate his generous offer, but my mother and I are still resolute in providing the people of Asheville an independent and historic option for acquiring their books.”

“Ms. Blackwell, I’ve been in this business for five years and I can assure you in more cases than not, independent shops are not equipped to compete with our business long term. I’m trying to help you get the best opportunity while the shop is still seen as competitive and vibrant. In two or three