Chapter Sixteen #2
“What do you think happened to her?”
She shrugged. “Nobody knows, and we’re not really supposed to guess. But I know she married Whaley in 1869 and that’s the last mention of her in the Whaley family bible. No mentions of babies and no death notation.”
“They usually kept track of those things, right?”
“Absolutely. They kept meticulous records and family bibles are a treasure trove of genealogical information. But after Elizabeth’s marriage in 1869, she doesn’t show up in the family bibles—neither the Cooks’ nor the Whaleys’—or census or church records.”
“And that’s unusual. So I can see why she’d be considered a missing person.”
Hannah nodded. “And in 1873, Elmer married Elizabeth’s sister, Rebecca, and they had a son who was, according to midwifery and church records, quite premature. And that premature would be in air quotes if you weren’t holding my hand.”
“No!” Rob stopped walking, his eyes wide.
“Yes. The marriage and birth are in the family bible.”
“But nowhere does anything say what happened to Elizabeth?” When she shook her head, he started walking again.
“So she didn’t give him a child right away, so he killed her and married her sister.
Or he fell in love with her sister and since they didn’t have any children yet, he killed her and started over before it got more complicated. ”
“Those are two theories, yes.”
“What else could it be? That bastard totally killed her.”
Hannah laughed, appreciating his enthusiasm, despite the fact he was jumping to conclusions.
“She might have run away,” she said. “Or she could have been kidnapped or fallen in an abandoned well. Maybe Elmer Whaley loved his wife and couldn’t bring himself to write her out of the family bible without knowing what happened to her.
But a man needed a wife and wanted children, so he married her sister. ”
“According to the midwife, they were getting busy before the vows were said.”
“Or she actually gave birth to a premature infant,” she cautioned. “But let’s say they were getting busy. It could have been two grieving souls finding comfort in each other’s arms.”
He was frowning again. “So your job is talking about stories that literally have no ending?”
“Some of them do, but a lot of them don’t. Maybe that’s why I get frustrated when I’m reading fiction and the ending is ambiguous.”
“What do you really think happened to Elizabeth?”
“It’s a question I’ve been asking for years, but the answers can only be found in and substantiated by historical records, and she disappeared.”
“Okay, but you must have a favorite theory.” He nudged her with his elbow. “Just between us.”
“Just between us, I think he got angry about the lack of children, killed her and then married her younger sister.” Stones in a line that were maybe a stone wall but might be a foundation caught her attention. “Look.”
There wasn’t much of it left, but when Hannah pushed through the last of the brush in the way, the stones were clearly the remains of a very old foundation. She stood there for a long time, simply breathing and blinking away the tears that kept welling in her eyes.
She was standing in a place Elizabeth Whaley had stood over a century and a half before her, and she soaked it in. There would be no answers here, of course, but it was important to her that a woman who had simply disappeared wasn’t forgotten.
That was why her show had mattered so much to her. No, she couldn’t change history. And maybe a crime that happened so long ago wasn’t relevant. But she liked to share the stories of those whose stories might otherwise go untold.
When she finally moved, she turned to see Rob leaning against a tree, watching her. His camera still dangled from the neck strap, and the lens cap was still on.
“I thought you’d be taking pictures,” she said after clearing the emotion from her throat.
He pushed himself away from the tree and popped the lens cap off. “Oh, I will. It just seemed like you were having a moment and I didn’t want to intrude.”
Smiling, she gestured toward the foundation, indicating that it was all his.
She tried to stay out of his way while she explored the area, looking at the stones that made up the crumbling remains of Elizabeth Whaley’s home.
Cautiously, of course, because there had been a brook running close by according to maps roughly sketched in her time, but there probably would still have been a well and a root cellar of some kind nearby.
Then Rob caught her eye. He stretched out on his stomach, the camera almost on the ground as he framed a shot that had some sinister-looking dead trees behind the most intact part of the foundation.
Setting the camera down and using the display screen to line up his shot probably would have been adequate, but she liked the way he wanted to see it with his eye before he tried to capture what he was seeing with the lens.
“Another book cover for your uncle?” she asked when he was on his feet again, brushing debris from the ground off his clothes.
He grinned. “Or for your book, if you ever write one about Elizabeth.”
“I’ve thought about it,” she admitted, feeling the heat in her cheeks. “But there really isn’t enough information available for an entire book. And, as we’ve agreed, stories with no ending are a letdown.”
After ensuring it was solid and bug-free, Hannah sat on a fallen log, and she wasn’t surprised when he sat next to her. His camera was still in his hand, and he snapped a few more pictures.
Then he put the lens cap on and turned to her. “How does finding this foundation help you make whatever decision you’re trying to make?”
“Maybe it doesn’t. I don’t know.” She sighed.
“I told you our podcast does historical true crime. The fans started asking for a modern true crime episode, and Erika got really excited about the idea because it would appeal to a broader audience. A broader audience means more listeners, which means more money.”
“Money’s nice.”
“Yeah, it is.”
He leaned close, so their shoulders bumped. “You sound really unenthusiastic about the money.”
“I like money.” She chuckled. “I like money a lot. But the crimes we cover...yes, the people involved have descendants, but generally the folks who knew them personally have all passed on. But we did a murder from the 1970s and I thought the people who were closest to her were gone. I was wrong. The episode went viral and her best friend and her uncle got dragged through the emotional wringer all over again. But it got so much attention and we have the potential to make a lot more money. Like significant enough to change not only our lives, but our families’, too. ”
“I don’t really listen to podcasts, other than a few sports ones when I remember, but between people talking about podcasts and the documentaries on all the streaming networks, I think true crime is a pretty popular thing.
I think having to relive the trauma is just a part of life for the family and friends of the victims these days. ”
“But does that make it right?” She sighed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “I can’t answer that question for anybody else, but I have to answer it for myself. And, unfortunately, I have to answer it for Erika, too.”
Rob rubbed gentle circles on her back. “Do you think having to drive over three thousand miles and then spending three months with Dave and Sheila so you can walk out in the woods and find some old rocks in order to think about it is a strong hint?”
Hannah laughed softly, shaking her head. “To be fair, I didn’t know about Dave and Sheila when I made the reservation.”
“Can Erika be on two podcasts? Maybe you can continue Improbable Causes and she can also do another one with current events.”
“Maybe. I know she’s had offers, but she said it would stretch her thin and dilute her name, whatever that means.
I think I either have to go along or part ways with her.
And without Erika’s writing and conversational timing, I’m just a history nerd giving a lecture about an obscure crime or mystery that happened so long ago, only I and, like, ten other people care about it. ”
“I think you’re selling yourself short. But something drove you to come here, and that’s important.”
“Elizabeth was my first episode,” she said.
“Ah. I started with the most recent episode and have been working my way back. Your passion for the story really does come through. I mean, your partner’s entertaining, but you’re interesting.”
“You’ve listened to it?” She hadn’t really expected him to, but it pleased her that he had.
“Of course I have.” The tips of his ears turned a charming shade of pink. “It started as just a way to hear your voice, but you also have a gift for making your listener care about the victim, even though it was so long ago.”
Tears blurred her vision, and she blinked them away before he could notice them. “I told Elizabeth’s story because she’d been forgotten. Most of our episodes have been tales that would otherwise not get talked about.”
“I can see why current true crime wouldn’t interest you. It’s hard to forget a crime that’s been a Dateline episode and the subject of multiple podcasts and half a dozen documentaries.”
“I wouldn’t say it doesn’t interest me. But my podcast is where true crime and history intersect, and it was Elizabeth who really brought that together for me—wanting to share her story. And it doesn’t hurt anybody, which I recently found out can really suck when it does.”
“I know it’s a decision only you can make, but can I offer an observation?”
She sat up straight, and the hand that had been rubbing her back settled at her waist. “Of course, and not just because you trekked all the way out here with me.”
“When you talk about historical true crime, you’re very animated. Your face lights up and I can feel your enthusiasm. When you talk about adding more recent crimes to your show, your shoulders drop. Your face pinches a little. You turn your face away.” He gave a little shrug. “For what it’s worth.”
It was worth more than she could say, and since she didn’t have words, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his. It was a soft, sweet kiss and he didn’t push for more.
Then she ran her hand over his slightly scruffy jaw. “Thank you for bringing me out here today.”
“Thank you for letting me tag along,” he said. “It was a good day for a walk.”
“Of course, now we have to walk all the way back,” she said with a groan.
Rob laughed and stood before taking her hands and pulling her to her feet. “I’d offer to give you a piggyback ride, but I split a lot of wood yesterday and I can’t guarantee I won’t die and leave you to explain to my brothers that you leaving my body in the woods was totally an accident.”