The Secret Letters by Haddix Margaret Peterson

Author:Haddix, Margaret Peterson [Haddix, Margaret Peterson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical, Childrens
ISBN: 9780062838520
Amazon: 0062838520
Goodreads: 59949712
Publisher: Katherine Tegen Books
Published: 2022-09-20T07:00:00+00:00

27

Information

Old people remembered a lot.

The man at 895 Elm Street remembered that Toby’s father had driven a black Ford the whole time the Carters had lived at 895 Willow.

The woman at 109 Haven remembered that Rosemary’s mother had had beautiful dresses, always the latest style, and never stepped foot out of her house without perfectly curled hair.

The couple at 210 Haven remembered that Rosemary’s dad had had some big important job at “the bank”—though they couldn’t remember which bank it was, or what he’d actually done there.

And to get to that information, Colin and Nevaeh had also heard about random other kids, parents, grandkids, cars, dresses, dogs, cats, parakeets (and one ferret, one hedgehog, and one lost stuffed zebra), houses, garages, meals eaten, meals not eaten, good times, bad times, recessions, jobs lost, jobs found, graduation ceremonies, babies born, people of every age dying, ne’er-do-wells, hard workers, doughnut shops, health food crazes, bursitis, arthritis, diabetes, heart attacks, surgeries . . .

“Oh my gosh, that was like cleaning out an attic or a basement,” Nevaeh giggled, once they were out of earshot of the man who lived at 742 Willow. “Except instead of having to shove aside fifty years’ worth of mouse droppings to see if there’s anything good underneath, we had to listen to stories about every ‘bowel movement’ he’s had in the past fifty years!”

“At least he remembered that Toby’s dad worked at ‘the factory,’” Colin said.

Nevaeh giggled again.

“Did you see how he looked at me like I was crazy when I said, ‘What factory?’” she asked. “How was I supposed to know there was only one factory in town fifty years ago?”

“And it shut down in 1977,” Colin said, raising an eyebrow at Nevaeh. He knew she’d understand.

The two of them said, practically in unison, “The same year both Toby and Rosemary moved.”

Colin had started the day knowing absolutely nothing about the Groveview Glass factory. But now he looked to the west, down Willow Street, and he could almost picture the factory gates the man had described. The man had said, “When I was a boy, I thought the factory looked like a castle,” and that made Colin want to search for pictures of the old building. And the man—whose name was Mr. Robinson—had kind of tricked Colin and Nevaeh, because he’d said, “Of course, there are golden arches there now.”

Colin was still trying to figure which building in Groveview was grand enough to have golden arches when Mr. Robinson had shouted, “Because they built the McDonald’s there after the factory closed!”

Mr. Robinson had laughed much harder than the joke required.

“People just don’t remember the right details,” Nevaeh complained. “It’s like Rosemary and Toby weren’t even important to them.”

“They were important to each other,” Colin said. “They’re important to us.”

It kind of felt important to him now, to know that Groveview had once had a glass factory. He could squint and imagine men and women—er, no, almost all men, because it was fifty years ago—stepping out of their houses on Willow Street, carrying lunch buckets and thermoses of coffee all at the same time.

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