Chapter 16 #2
We lock eyes for a beat, share a smile, and then I quickly look back to the road ahead.
It’s moments like this that make me want to be around Brady all the time.
Sean and I generally got along; we never really argued.
But my deep interest in food—where it comes from, how it’s grown and prepared, how it’s evolved over time, and most importantly, how dangerously far we’ve moved away from it as a society—was not something we shared.
I never felt like Sean truly understood this guiding principle of my life.
And to be honest, I’d forgotten it myself as of late.
I think back to those weeks before we came here—the fast food and packaged snacks and soulless calories that had become my new normal.
I had forgotten that food is everything to me.
I live and breathe it. It’s who I am at my core, what I’ve rediscovered since I’ve been here.
And I don’t have to explain that to Brady. He just gets it.
It’s like he was born with the foodie gene too.
Brady and I grab a quick bite at a deli in town, then return to Alice’s farm with the riches of our travels. After we stock the commercial kitchen’s refrigerator and pantry, we walk back to the farmhouse. I see Alice is crouched down in the garden.
Just then, a light-blue sedan comes up the driveaway. It’s Lenny from the museum. He waves, and I wave back as Brady and I meet him at his car door.
Once parked, Lenny exits the car and immediately pops open his truck, from which he lifts a brimming brown basket.
“Care package,” he announces, handing me the bounty. “I heard about the fire, that you and Alice are housing some of the camp students. Thought I could help.”
I look down to see an assortment of goodies: cinnamon raisin bread from the bakery in town, a pound of coffee from a local roaster, toiletries, a fluffy throw blanket, a few books and magazines.
His gesture makes my eyes well. “Lenny, this is so sweet. Thank you.”
He just shrugs.
Brady runs the heavy basket inside while Lenny reaches into his car for a large envelope. “I also wanted to give you something I found in the museum archives.” He holds the envelope protectively, like it’s the Declaration of Independence. “For your research about this farmhouse.”
“Follow me,” I say, taking the envelope from him.
He follows me to the garden, where Alice is harvesting vibrant bunches of arugula and spinach and strawberries.
I introduce them, though I know Alice is no stranger to Lenny.
“I heard you bought some of my jam at the market recently,” Alice says.
“Best I’ve ever had,” Lenny replies.
I tell her about Lenny’s gift basket; Alice seems equally touched by the gesture.
“Lenny also brought us something from the museum archives,” I say, opening the envelope in front of her. I pull out a black-and-white photo of twelve young women—all in overalls and work clothes—lined up on both sides of a wooden sign that reads “Rosehill Boardinghouse.”
Alice points to the woman on the end, wearing an apron. “That’s my grandmother, Rose.”
“Who’s the little girl?” I ask, noting the fair-haired toddler Rose is holding on her hip.
Alice shakes her head. “I don’t know.”
“Where did you find this?” I ask Lenny.
“Well, after you left the museum, I went looking deeper in the archives. As you know, Maggie, the items in an exhibit are often just a small percentage of the artifacts in a collection. I wanted to see if there was something else related to the Women’s Land Army.
It took a while, but when I found this, I knew it would be valuable and made a copy for you. ”
I study the picture again. “Isn’t that the same sign that’s out front? To the left of the door?”
Alice nods. “They must have cut it down to size after the war and moved it to the porch.”
“Was it here?” I ask. “When you visited as a child?”
She looks off as if trying to remember. “I don’t recall. But it was here when I inherited the house.”
“Do you think there’s anything on the back side?” I suggest. “Like a date or inscription?”
“Want to take a look?” Lenny asks.
The three of us head to the porch, where Lenny inspects the wooden sign. “It seems strong and intact,” he says. “How would you feel, Alice, if I were to unscrew it so we could check the back side?”
Alice nods. “If you think it’s safe.”
Lenny unearths a travel tool kit, which contains a Phillips-head screwdriver.
The two of us watch him gingerly unscrew the plaque from the siding.
The screws are weathered and a tad rusty.
Lenny says he will likely need to replace them.
Once removed, he flips the plaque over and just as we suspected—engravings.
A collection of names carved into the wood.
Linda, Donna, Nancy, Brenda, Judith, and Shirley.
“Are these the girls from the boardinghouse?” Lenny asks.
Alice and I exchange glances and shake our heads. We’ve looked at the list enough to know these names aren’t in Rose’s ledger.
“Then who are they?” he presses.
“Yet another mystery to solve,” I say.