Finally, all the jars were filled, sealed, and put through the water bath. Pamela recalled watching her grandmother jar her homemade jam and sealing the jar with paraffin wax. Another method to the same end.
All in all, the morning and afternoon had been a wonderful time.
Abigail, who was staying at the Big House, headed upstairs to shower, and Pamela joined the women who remained in the great room. Maria had arrived, bearing homemade cookies, and Bernice had been on her heels, more or less.
The sound of men entering through the kitchen, who gave a wave as they headed upstairs to wash the day’s hard labor off them, told Pamela that the ranching work that had occupied them all—and likely kept Bernice and Maria hopping to provide lunch and tea for—was done for the day.
“I’m almost certain Abigail is going to be joining the boys when they head back to Houston,” Kate said. The look she had on her face was one of satisfaction. Her sons, Carson and Michael, were, Kate confided, completely enamored of Abigail. Benedict men, apparently, had a habit of falling in love once, and at first sight. Reminds me of Jessop men. Pamela liked Abigail and had her fingers crossed that she’d find love and happiness with the two Benedicts—one a businessman, the other a professor.
“I have complete faith in Carson’s ability to sweet talk her into doing just that,” Mattie said. “I also have complete faith that those two boys will have a care of her. Especially since I know their grandfathers and fathers have spoken with them.”
Chelsea nodded her agreement then looked around the room. She cocked her head in such a way as to suggest she was listening.
“Good. All the bedroom doors are closed. Now, Mattie?”
They’d gathered in the great room for more than just to relax. Maria had told her Mattie had news about the ongoing search for the men who’d swindled Pamela’s father.
“We finally know where those charlatans are. And it almost couldn’t be better for us.”
“How so, Mother?” Kate asked.
“Mr. Watson reports that Fred Thomas and Gary Morris have begun setting up shop in Durant, Oklahoma.”
“Oh my,” Madison said. “Is it not in Durant that your fathers-in-law had a great many friends, Chelsea?”
“It is, indeed,” Chelsea said.
Since Pamela had read Amanda Jessop-Kendall’s journal, as well as Sarah Carmichael Benedict’s, she recalled the stories of the connections between that generation and several members of the Smith family who’d settled in the area in the 1800s.
“That connection was reinforced when Gerald and Patrick were stationed at Goodfellow as flight instructors during the war,” Kate said. “Two of Peter Smith’s grandsons had enlisted in the air force. At the time, they’d signed on to be pilots but were better suited to be mechanics—and became heroes when they noticed something wrong with the ‘avgas’ being used, alerting the authorities to a very dangerous fraud.”
“Oh, I remember that incident,” Grandmother Mattie said. “That awful man who owned that refinery Dalton later purchased had tampered with the fuel, all in the name of higher profits. One of the pilots was killed!”
“Exactly. Gerald later said he’d never been so happy to have washed a couple of men out of flight training.”
“So…you have contacts in Durant who will help do…what?” Pamela loved every one of these women without reservation. They were her family, period. But they’d been surprisingly closed-mouthed about what they had in mind beyond locating the two con men. She thought the next step would be to alert the authorities to their location.
Looking at the expressions on Mattie and Chelsea now, she began to understand that the police didn’t figure into their plans—at least, not immediately.
“Well, to set a trap, of course. And I know just the woman I want to contact, too.” Chelsea looked around the room. “We’ve all read the previous reports that Mr. Watson sent. He was able to get a lot of background information on both Fred Thomas and Gary Morris.” Chelsea looked over at Mattie. Pamela imagined the two women, who’d considered themselves sisters since they met, were capable of almost reading each other’s minds.
“Yes, Mother, we do recall that,” Miranda said.
Was it only Pamela’s imagination that Aunt Miranda was providing some sort of cover for the two octogenarians? A quick look around the room told her no one else seemed to be alerted to something…other than what appeared on the surface.
“Good,” Chelsea said. “Mr. Watson says that he doubts very much either man has a high probability of being violent.”
“And in one case, they returned some money—anonymously, of course—to one of their victims when that woman’s husband was killed in a car accident.” Mattie folded her hands and sat back.
Grandmother Chelsea seemed to notice the look on Pamela’s face. She didn’t doubt that she looked as horrified as she felt. Were they feeling sympathetic toward those two thieves?
“Now, sweet girl, you have to understand. If we simply alert the authorities as to where these two men are, they may or may not be arrested and sent back to Maryland, or any of the other places where they’re probably wanted for questioning. It’s far better if we can catch them red-handed, don’t you think? What with budget cutbacks and police being more concerned with violent crime and drugs and the like, we’re just giving them a hand, is all.”
“Quite right, sister. So we set a trap and let those two step into it.”
“How do we do that, Grandmother?” Pamela really wanted to know.
“Dinna fash yerself,” Madison Jessop said. She reached over and patted Pamela’s hand. “The grandmothers know what they’re about. Have a little faith, lass.”
Pamela met her cousin’s gaze. “All right, I will.” Then she looked around the room. “Y’all always wave off my thanks,
