Winter's Child

War,” he elucidated.

“And yes, it’s big. Weighs over two pounds. The original presentation case seems to have been lost, but the gun itself is a beauty. Silver plate over brass and quite elaborately engraved. Have you seen it yet?”

I shook my head. “A forty-four?”

“Actually, I believe Nathan Benton—he’s the chair of our board of trustees and very knowledgeable about guns—he says it’s a thirty-six caliber.”

“Tell me again why this Peter Morrow was presented with the gun?”

“For all that he did for Shaysville after the war. He was a judge, too, you know.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. A true politician in the best sense of the word. Even though he didn’t own any slaves and thought it was an abomination on the South, he was a Reb through and through. Nevertheless, he had Yankee relatives and he was very careful not to burn all his bridges to the North. He had been a representative in Congress and this part of the state had a lot in common with what became West Virginia, so he had good friends in high places in Washington. That’s how he got appointed to a seat on the western court here. That position enabled him to use his Philadelphia connections to lighten Shaysville’s bur-dens of Reconstruction. As Shelby Foote was fond of saying, there was no Marshall Plan for the South, but Judge Morrow used the law to keep the worst of the carpetbag-gers out, then he used his influence to get the railroads up and running again. He helped Thomas Shay secure contracts to ship furniture-grade oak and maple all over the Northeast. That’s where the Shays first made their fortune. In the lumberyards here. A little later, they went into the furniture business themselves and made even 20 more. That created so many jobs that Shaysville was quite a prosperous place for the time and its citizens were grateful to the man who had made it possible.”

He lifted the case and slid it under the table, where it was hidden by the green felt cloth that hung down almost to the floor.

“Such a shame that all three guns were taken. Our guest speaker was looking forward to examining them. I don’t suppose there’s a chance that Chief Radcliff will let us have the presentation piece back today?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I said, chilled by such insensitivity. I found it hard to believe he would actually want to display so quickly a gun that had killed his colleague, I don’t care how historical the damn thing is. Was he that cold-bloodedly obsessed with this house?

“It’s just that today was supposed to be so special.”

“Oh?”

“The Shaysville Historical and Genealogical Society usually meets here on the fourth Sunday of each month at five o’clock. But the January meeting is always at four with an opening reception for the public at three. As chairman of the board, Mr. Benton thought perhaps we ought to cancel in consideration of Jonna, but as Mrs.

Ramos pointed out, we’ve already announced it in the paper and on the radio that someone is coming over from the Smithsonian to talk about family treasures, so we’re expecting quite a large crowd. Thirty-five people, maybe even fifty if it stays sunny.”

“How many members in your local group?” I asked.

“Technically, we have forty-five on the rolls, but many are too elderly to participate any longer and some live out of the state. Our core group of actives is around twent.

yJonna was so looking forward to today. She was to take office as president of SHGS and I’m sure she would have wanted us to go ahead as planned. We will have a tribute to her, then the presentations.”

“Presentations?”

“That’s what makes today so special. Mrs. Ramos is donating a set of drapes and a counterpane for Elizabeth Morrow’s bedroom that she had made up in High Point, and Mr. Benton is giving us a perfectly exquisite perfume bottle of cameo glass such as Elizabeth might have used.

He found it in a yard sale down in Winston-Salem, if you can believe it. The man has the most amazing eye! He’s picked up at least a dozen bibelots for us these last few years since he moved to Shaysville. But Mrs. Santos is closing in on him. Not that it’s a contest, but every item helps. Except for two of the bedrooms, the upstairs is rather bare. We’ve acquired enough major pieces from the mid- to late eighteen-hundreds to furnish them sparsely, but very few of the grace notes that finish a house.” He gestured to the period mirror over the man-telpiece and to the ornate matched vases that sat on the mantel. “So much was sold before the house came to us.”

He looked around as Dwight stuck his head in and said, “Sorry to interrupt, but where is Judge Morrow’s office?”

“Through that door. Is there something I can help you with?”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Mayhew automatically looked at his watch and muttered, “It’s much too early for them,” as he went to answer the door.

“Found something?” I asked, noting the papers in Dwight’s hand.

“Yeah,” he said grimly. “I was skimming through these old inventory sheets and—” He broke off as Agents Lewes and Clark followed Mayhew into the library.

Here in daylight, I was struck anew by what a similar type so many lawmen can be. Like Dwight, these two agents were muscular six-footers, and, like him, they were casually dressed in jeans and leather jackets. Dwight had more hair than both of them put together, though.

Clark’s hair was thinning rapidly across the crown and Lewes’s had retreated well behind the crest of his forehead.

“Major Bryant,” said Clark. He nodded to me.

“Judge. I had a feeling we’d find you here.”

“Any news of my son?” Dwight asked.