Chapter Fourteen #2
“That you, Burt?” The woman was wearing a neat floral housedress covered by a full apron and held a broom in one hand.
“Oh!” She gave a little laugh. “Thought you were the mailman.” Laughing again, she rested the broom against the wall.
“How can I help you? Are you here to see the reverend?” she inquired in a pleasant, warm voice, her blue eyes very bright.
“Why don’t you come in?” She opened the door wider.
“Are you Mrs. Seitgart?”
“Why, yes I am, deary.” She seemed surprised. “How can I help?”
“I . . . I know this might sound very . . .” Kate searched for the right word. “Irregular, but I’m looking for some friends of mine, and the ladies at the shop”—she nodded toward Kirshbaum’s—“they thought you might be able to help.”
“Did they, now?” Mrs. Seitgart put her hands on her hips. “Those two,” she said with a little sigh. “Well, I suppose they were right, but it’ll be all over town in less than an hour.”
“What will be?”
“Oh, never mind!” she said cheerily. “Here, come in, child. It’s cold, and you’ll catch your death.”
Mrs. Seitgart’s comment reminded Kate of something her mother would say.
She felt a rush of guilt—Mrs. Kerwyn was probably worried sick.
She pushed the feeling away, however, convincing herself that the Kerwyns didn’t really care.
Well, her sisters might care, but only because her absence meant more work for them.
Kate tentatively set her carpetbag down and dutifully wiped her feet on the mat, curious to see what the inside of a Lutheran pastor’s house looked like.
She half expected it to be filled with crosses and religious iconography, and so was a bit disappointed when it was not.
The front room looked like a normal parlor.
Likewise, she had expected the house to smell of candle wax, or perhaps mothballs, but instead the aroma of chicken soup wafted through the air.
Kate’s stomach grumbled. The last thing she had eaten was a bowl of oatmeal at the crack of dawn.
“Do sit down, deary.” Mrs. Seitgart gestured at the sofa. “What can I get you? Some coffee maybe? Something to eat?” She glanced at the big grandfather clock in the corner. “Reverend Rushworth won’t be home for another hour. Out on calls, you see. But I could make you a sandwich?”
“Oh, no!” Kate exclaimed. “Just . . . just coffee would be nice. If you have some made, that is.”
“Won’t be a moment!” the older woman called and disappeared into what Kate assumed was the kitchen.
Kate used the time to look around. The furniture was smooth and polished, not dinged and nicked like at home, and atop each gleaming piece sat a perfectly ironed doily.
Even the sofa back and arms had beautifully crocheted doilies.
The room did not exude luxury, but it did possess a quiet respectability and a tidiness that the Kerwyn home most certainly lacked.
Under the far window sat a low bookcase double-stacked with books.
Kate was tempted to inspect the titles, but before she could decide whether she should, Mrs. Seitgart returned with a china cup of coffee and two small cookies balanced on the edge of the saucer.
“Just in case you’re a little hungry.”
Kate took the cup and saucer and forced herself not to immediately scarf down the cookies.
“Now,” Mrs. Seitgart said, sitting down opposite her. She had divested herself of her apron. “About these friends of yours.”
Kate wasn’t sure where to begin. From what Norma and Roberta had said, Kate had half expected this Mrs. Seitgart to dig out some dusty ledger filled with recordings of baptisms and weddings and funerals, but the woman just sat there, waiting.
Kate gulped down the coffee and set the cup on the little table. “Have you ever heard of the Espos?” she asked, trying to restrain her heart from hoping too hard.
“Espo?” Mrs. Seitgart murmured. “Espo. Can’t say that I have.”
Kate’s heart sank. She should have known this was a wild goose chase.
“Wait a minute now,” Mrs. Seitgart said then, almost to herself, “there was a Tim Esposito, I believe.” She looked at Kate eagerly. “That ring a bell? Had a farm just outside Shullsburg. Closer to New Diggings, really. That was years ago, though.”
Kate bit her lip. “He’s not still there?”
“Took his own life, I seem to remember. Bless his soul.”
Kate felt her gut wrench. To have been so close to possibly finding a relative, only to lose him within seconds. “Did he . . . did he leave behind any family?”
Mrs. Seitgart stood. “That’s just what I was trying to remember.
Here, let me have a look.” She went to the bookcase and pulled out a very thick black leather book, the corners of which were tattered.
Mrs. Seitgart set it on top of the bookcase and opened it gingerly, careful not to let any loose papers fall, and flipped through several pages.
She read for several minutes, during which Kate secretly devoured the cookies.
“Don’t see anything under Tim,” Mrs. Seitgart muttered to herself and then flipped to a different page.
“Ah! I thought so. There is an Ann Esposito listed here.” She had her finger on a line.
“Might have been a sister to Tim. She’s married now, though, so that’s why I didn’t think of her right off. She’s Ann Price now.”
Ann. Ann. Ann. Kate said it over and over in her mind, hoping it would jog some memory, but it didn’t. Neither had the name Tim, if she were honest. Perhaps this was all just a big mistake!
“That’s all I can see here.” Mrs. Seitgart closed the book.
“You might pay a visit to Ann. They live above Gordon’s Tap, just down Third Street, on the second floor.
You can’t miss it. If she’s not the one you’re looking for, she might know where to find the rest of them. If there are any, that is.”
Kate stood up uneasily. Suddenly the prospect of meeting someone from her original family was terrifying.
“You sure you don’t want a sandwich? Or maybe some soup?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Seitgart. I’m very grateful for your help.” She would, in fact, rather stay and have soup, but that was simply delaying the inevitable. She was so close now!
“Don’t mention it!” Mrs. Seitgart said cheerfully, opening the door. “Now, if it doesn’t work out, you come on back here and have dinner with the reverend. Or you can have dinner with me in the kitchen. What’s your name, deary?”
“Kate. Kate Kerwyn. I’m from Merriweather.”
“Oh! I have a cousin in Merriweather! Irene Ehlers. Know her?”
“I . . . Ehlers rings a bell. My mom probably knows her.”
Mrs. Seitgart looked her over kindly. “Well, Kate Kerwyn from Merriweather, if you don’t find what you’re looking for, you come back, you understand?”
Kate nodded and stepped back out into the cold, wet air.