Jubilee's Journey (The Wyattsville Series) (17 page)

Watching Miss Olivia spend money like she had a bucket of it got me thinking about what Paul said. He’s right, city people is a whole lot different. Not bad different, but sure enough different.

Miss Olivia is doing her best to make me feel better, and I was having a nice enough time ‘til I saw my note gone from the bench. That’s when I got scared; real scared. What if Paul came back when I wasn’t there? What if he got mad on account of I didn’t wait like he said? All this while, I been thinking he’s coming back. But what if he’s done been here and gone?

I don’t care if I have to give back all the dresses and everything. Stuff like going to the circus or having a dollhouse is real nice, but I’d a lot rather have Paul carrying me home on his back. I’m bigger now and maybe I’m too big for carrying; maybe that’s why Paul ain’t coming back. It could be he’s tired of having a kid sister bothering him all the time. I pray that ain’t it.  

While Miss Olivia and me was sitting on the bench, I got to studying the store Paul’s  supposed to be working in, and I got a real bad memory in my head. A long time ago, when Daddy was alive, he showed me a place with that same yellow tape. “Keep out” it said. When I asked Daddy why we had to keep out, he said it was because the roof caved in and killed a whole bunch of people. “Don’t you ever go in a place closed off like that,” he said. And I didn’t.

Miss Olivia said I shouldn’t worry about Paul. She said we’ll get to finding him, soon as we find Aunt Anita. 

I’m thinking we ought to be looking for Paul and just forget about Aunt Anita.

The Bad Place

W
hen Olivia and Jubilee arrived home, Ethan Allen was lying on the living room floor with his head resting on Dog and his nose buried in a Captain Marvel comic book. “Is your homework done?” Olivia asked.

“Sort of.”

Knowing this was Ethan’s way of circumventing a no, Olivia told him he could play with Jubilee for a little while but to plan on doing homework after dinner.  She crossed to her bedroom, hung Jubilee’s dresses in the closet, then closed the door and dialed Clara’s number.

“Did you find out anything?” she asked.

“No. I called all the Walkers, even the ones you’d already called. Not one of them knows an Anita. That Hiram, he’s a nasty old buzzard. Claims if we keep bothering him about Anita, he’s gonna call the police.”

“I think Hiram’s the one who hung up on me last night,” Olivia said. Then she asked about Seth Porter. “Did he tell you anything more than what he told me?”

“Nope. But he did say if somebody reports the girl kidnapped, you’re gonna be in for a lot of trouble and he wants no part of it.”

“Oh, dear,” Olivia said. “Why would he think—”

 “You know how Seth is,” Clara snorted. “But he’s right, you do have to find this kid’s aunt and give her back. Once you do that, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Are you sure the aunt’s name is Walker?”

Olivia started to say yes, but then she stopped and thought. Jubilee was only seven. What if she mistook her mama’s sister-in-law for sister? If such was the case, Anita would then be related to Jubilee’s dad.

“The name might be Jones,” Olivia said.

After nearly twenty minutes of discussion she and Clara agreed they had to check out all the Joneses in Wyattsville. It was a list four times as long as that of the Walkers, so they were going to need some help.

“Maybe we could ask Barbara Conklin,” Olivia suggested. “I brought over a lovely chocolate cake when her daughter came to visit, so she should be willing to help.”

“Of course she will,” Clara said. “Fred will too.”

Caught up in the moment, Olivia said, “If we ask all the neighbors to help out, I’ll bet we could find this Aunt Anita in no time.”

“I wouldn’t go asking everybody,” Clara warned. “Jim Turner’s on the Rules Committee, and he’s still complaining about Ethan Allen running through the hallways. If Jim finds out you’ve got another kid in here…” She didn’t have to finish the sentence.

“I see what you mean. We’d best keep it quiet.”

Once it was decided who would be asked to help, Olivia said she would take Jones A through F and Clara agreed to divvy up the remainder.

Olivia looked at the clock. Six-fifteen already. The A through F Joneses were longer than a page, so it would have to be a quick dinner. Then she’d start calling.

 As she hurried through the living room, she heard Ethan Allen and Jubilee talking.

“Three tens beats your kings and queens ‘cause they ain’t matching,” Ethan said.

“You sure?” Jubilee then asked how much she owed him.

Before he could answer, Olivia interrupted the game. “Ethan Allen, are you and Jubilee playing poker?”

He shrugged and gave a sly grin.

Jubilee looked up with smile. “Ethan’s learning me how.”

“I bet he is!” Olivia began gathering the cards from the table. “Ethan, get that set of checkers. Poker is no game for little girls!” Olivia could already imagine Aunt Anita tsk-tsking the thought of her niece learning to gamble. She made a mental note to pick up something more appropriate. If they wanted to play cards, it would have to be Old Maid.

“Jeez, Grandma,” Ethan complained, “it ain’t like we was playing for real money.”

Once supper was over, Ethan settled down with his homework and a tired little Jubilee slipped her new nightie over her head and climbed into the spot where Charlie once slept. That’s when Olivia started telephoning Joneses. She was only halfway through B when the clock struck ten and she shooed Ethan off to bed.

By eleven-thirty two people hung up the receiver before she could ask about Anita and the F.L. Jones on Oak Street said there ought to be a law against ringing the telephone late at night and scaring people to death.

“I thought for sure somebody died,” F.L. said, and then he slammed the receiver down like an exclamation point.

It was eleven-thirty-five when Olivia dialed the number for F. M Jones; by then she’d already decided this was to be her last call of the evening. The rest of F could wait until tomorrow morning. A woman answered with a hello somewhat like the croaking of a frog.

“Is this F. M. Jones?” Olivia asked.

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“My name is Olivia Westerly Doyle, and I’m trying to find—”  

“Olivia Westerly? You used to work for Southern Atlantic Telephone?”

“Why, yes, I did, but that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Well, I’ll be,” F.M. said. “Frances Margaret here. Accounting, remember?”

“Yes, I remember,” Olivia replied, even though she really didn’t. She simply thought it would help to move the conversation along. “What I’m actually looking for—”

“You still live in Richmond?” Frances Margaret asked.

“No, when I married Charlie, I moved here to Wyattsville—”

“So you got married, huh? I never would’ve thought it. I figured for sure—”

 “I’m calling because I’m trying to locate a woman named Anita Jones,” Olivia interrupted. “Do you know anyone by that name?”

“Is this for a company reunion?”

“No, it’s not,” Olivia replied impatiently. “I’m trying to help a little girl who’s looking for her aunt, a woman named Anita Jones or maybe Anita Walker.”

“I can’t recall anybody named Anita working for Southern Atlantic.”

“Not just at the company,” Olivia said, “anywhere. Do you know an Anita Jones?”

 “Can’t say as I do. I used to know a Bartholomew, but he didn’t work at Southern Atlantic. Him and his wife rented the upstairs flat in my sister’s house.”

Growing desperate for even the smallest clue, Olivia asked, “Did Bartholomew or his wife have a sister named Anita?”

“I don’t think he did, but his missus might’ve. There was a bossy sort who visited every so often. That one was nothing like Bartholomew’s missus. She was a sweet little thing.”

“What was Bartholomew’s wife’s name?”

“Can’t say that I recall,” Frances Margaret said. “Shoot, that was nearly twenty years ago, when I lived in Norfolk.”

“Did Bartholomew and his wife come from Norfolk?”

“Hmm, not to my recollection. He was a Navy man, but I think she came from someplace a ways off. I recall her talking about how, as a kid, she loved swimming in the bay.”

Olivia’s heart jumped. “Do you know what bay?”

“Surely you’re kidding me!” Frances Margaret cackled. “What makes you think I’d know a thing like that?’

“Well, I just thought maybe…” Olivia’s hope fell as rapidly as it had soared.

“You sure there ain’t no Southern Atlantic reunion?” Frances Margaret asked again.

Olivia assured her there wasn’t. “If you think of anything else, can you give me a call back?” She rattled off her telephone number.

“Yeah, okay,” Frances Margaret said and hung up, obviously disappointed about the fact that there was no reunion.

Once it was too late to continue calling, Olivia sat in the silk chair and began thinking back through the conversations of the evening. Of all the calls she’d made, only Frances Margaret Jones offered even the slightest bit of information, and even that was pitiful little. Anita was not going to be as easy to find as she’d originally thought. Wyattsville was not a sprawling metropolis and given enough time a person could find something as small as a lost earring, but now there was not only the chance that Anita’s last name was neither Jones or Walker there was also a chance that she didn’t come from or live in Wyattsville.