Benton, on the other hand, cared little about architec-ture. His goal was to successfully outfit the mannequin that stood on the upper landing in the clothes that Peter Morrow’s son George would have worn as a first lieu- tenant in a company drawn from this part of western Virginia. Not replicas, I was given to understand, but the actual period pieces. He had already given a sword and the outer uniform, but had not yet located a proper pair of boots. “Most of the things are out there in antiques stores for a price,” he said, “but for me, it’s the thrill of the hunt. Can you guess what’s the hardest to locate?”
“A Virginia canteen?” I had seen the rarity of such an object discussed on
“Very good,” he said. “But I meant in the line of clothing.”
I shook my head.
“Period underpants. I fear young George’s nether regions are presently covered only by his breeches.”
Betty Ramos had begun to transcribe the extensive collection of letters archived here, a task made more difficult by Peter Morrow’s almost unreadable handwriting and by the way letters had to be written to conserve both paper and ink when both were difficult to come by near the war’s end. She pulled from her capacious purse a pho- tocopy of the letter she was currently trying to decipher.
Even enlarged I could barely follow it. First it was written in the usual manner. Then the paper had been given a half-turn so that the original lines were now vertical and new horizontal lines crossed them. Finally, a third set of 25 lines ran diagonally across the page. Despite the fine nib of the pen, when newly dipped it had often formed fatter letters that obscured the letters beneath.
“And I thought briefs were hard to read,” I said as I handed the copy back to her.
Amusingly, although Mayhew and Benton were both keenly interested in reading the letters as she transcribed them, both disapproved of her reasons for doing it, because she was hoping to prove that Peter Morrow had been a secret Union sympathizer.
“A traitor,” said Mayhew.
“A turncoat,” said Benton.
“A pragmatist,” Ramos said cheerfully. “Anyone with half a brain could see that the South was bound to lose in the end. You said yourself, Frederick, that he never burned his bridges to the North.”
“ ‘Pragmatist,’ I’ll give you,” Mayhew conceded, “but I prefer ‘politician.’ ”
“Too bad the North’s ‘copperhead’ doesn’t have a Southern equivalent,” said Ramos.
Evidently this was an old jibe, because he merely frowned at her over the top of his rimless glasses, but Benton took her words literally and said, “That’s because there were too few here as to need such an equivalent.”
“We’ll see,” Ramos said with a serene smile as she tugged at the hem of her red skirt that tried to ride up over her knees.
“What did Jonna think?” I asked.
“I’m afraid Jonna wasn’t a scholar,” said Mayhew.
“No, but he was her ancestor. Surely family stories must have come down?”
Betty Ramos tilted her blond head toward me. “Inter- esting that you should say that. She said she thought I might find something in the letters that would prove my point, and that if I did, she would show me something that might substantiate it.”
“Really? What?” asked Mayhew. As he frowned, his glasses slid almost down to the tip of his nose and balanced there precariously.
“Something in the inventory that we’ve overlooked?”
asked Benton.
“She wouldn’t elaborate other than to say it was something only a Morrow would know. Jonna always kept her own counsel, but I wonder if it was something she was saving for when she became president of SHGS.”
“You all knew her well, right?” I asked.
There were nods and affirmative murmurs.
“Whoever killed her had to have had access to this house and the gun.” I was abruptly aware that Jonna’s killer might even be one of them, yet they all looked back at me with bland expressions of interest.
“Well, of course,” said Mayhew, pushing his glasses up.
“The house is open to the public. Anybody could have taken the guns.”
“Would just anybody have access to the keys to the case, though?”
“True,” Mayhew agreed. “But who’s to say Jonna didn’t take them herself as she took the bullets and the jewelry?”
This appeared to be news to the others, and Frederick Mayhew quickly described how Dwight had found a listing of the gun’s bullets in the inventory and how, when the safe where they were stored had been opened, the jewelry that was supposed to be there was missing as well.
“And Peter Morrow’s signet ring was found in her purse.”
The three trustees were shocked. As might be expected, Benton wanted to know about the bullets while the two women questioned the jewelry. Betty Ramos said, “But surely Jonna wouldn’t—? I mean, that parure was a gift from her own mother.”
“I know I’m showing my ignorance,” Suzanne Angelo said, “but what’s a parure?”
Once again, I heard Frederick Mayhew explain about a matched set, only this time Betty Ramos
