Searching for Silverheels by Jeannie Mobley

Author:Jeannie Mobley
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books

CHAPTER 17

When we had cleaned up the lunch mess, Mother announced that she was going to the butcher shop. I was surprised. The Schmidts usually delivered our meat.

“Don’t we already have pork chops and chicken?”

“I just feel like doing something different. And I want to have a word with Mrs. Schmidt about the picnic,” Mother said, taking off her apron and tidying her hair.

I didn’t like the sound of that, and I certainly didn’t want any part of it. I wanted to do things that would please George, not upset him. Fortunately, Mother was still pleased with me for being neighborly with Josie that morning, so she didn’t insist. Instead, she asked me to go to the post office to pick up our mail.

This was a task I was happy to do. The post office was in the back corner of Crawford’s Mercantile, so I might run into George while I was there. Plus, this was my chance to continue my search for someone who knew Buck Wilson. If anyone named Wilson had ever lived in or around Como, the postmistress, Mrs. Abernathy would know and would be happy to tell me about them. Knowing everyone’s name and address was her job; knowing their business, and sharing it, was her favorite pastime.

The store was a long narrow building, with a counter and shelves lining one wall and the post office in a small booth in the opposite back corner. The floor in between was filled with various shelves, barrels, crates, and racks of goods. Mr. Crawford was behind the counter, stacking cans of beans on the shelf. Mrs. Crawford was near the door, talking to Mrs. Johnson. She gave me a suspicious look and stopped talking when I entered. I gave her a polite smile and walked to the back corner. Once I was past them, Mrs. Crawford resumed her conversation in a whisper, so I knew they were gossiping.

“Good afternoon, Pearl,” said Mrs. Abernathy cheerfully, handing me our mail—a single bill and a copy of the Fairplay Flume, the weekly paper that carried all the local news.

I thanked her, then posed my question. “Mrs. Abernathy, I was up at Buckskin Joe a few days back—”

“With that handsome city fella. I know.” She winked and smiled at me. Mrs. Abernathy was an older lady whose children were all grown up, and when she winked, the wrinkles of her face bunched up until it looked like she had no eyes at all.

“Yes, with Frank,” I said, relieved that George wasn’t within hearing. “And when we went over to the cemetery, we saw that the grave of a Buck Wilson had been tended recently.”

“So now you’re wondering if Silverheels receives her mail here?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you know any Wilsons around here. Any friends or relatives who might go up there and tend the grave.”

She shook her head. “No Wilsons get their mail here. There’s a Wilson family over in Leadville, or used to be. Then again, Wilson is a pretty common name.

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