Page 6 of Buried Roots

Her face is emotionless. “Then you’re gonna have to learn in a mighty hurry. I can’t help you right now—my daughter’s getting married this weekend.”

“Congratulations.” Can I really do all this with my work responsibilities? I could hire more farmhands, except I’d need the funds to pay them, which are nonexistent. So, I have no choice—I have to do the work here until the place is sold. “Right. Back to the list, then.” I nod. “You were saying something about a fowl.”

“Fowl?” Frankie’s face puzzles. “There are no chickens on this farm.”

“But you said a fowl was on the way.”

“Oh, a foal. You’ve got afoal, which is a young horse. In your case, one that hasn’t been born yet. Fowl is chicken.”

With my stylus, I’m scribing furiously into my tablet. “Got it.”

When I look back up, Frankie is rubbing her eyes. “You really have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I don’t,” I say, desperate. “Do you think you have any time to show me? I know you have a wedding. I’m sorry.”

“I gotta git all the decorations picked out and delivered to the venue now, but I’ll help you first thing tomorrow.” She heads back toward the castle house.

“I really appreciate that.” I lick my lips, realizing they’ve gone bone dry. As I follow behind her, walking on the balls of my feet, I say, “So, you were close with Bo?”

She nods curtly, folding her arms. “Friends since he moved here twenty-plus years ago. I was close with his wife, too, before she passed. She had a laundry list of health problems.” Frankie hesitates, then asks, “How did you know Bo?”

“I was gifted this beautiful estate, but I never met Bo or Lily.” A corner of my mouth quirks up as I shrug. “I was actually hoping you could explain the connection.”

“I wish I could help you. I’m sorry.”

“Did Bo or Lily ever say anything to you about me?”

She stops and stares at the ground. “I really can’t recall anything. I’m very sorry.”

When she starts walking again, I kick up my pace to stay beside her. “Did you ever hear him mention my parents, Ed and Sharon Dawson?”

“Those names don’t ring a bell either.” She rubs her forehead.

I continue talking, telling her how I’m adopted, and my Pops taught me everything I know about restoring homes. “I was wondering if Bo and my adoptive father might’ve done some construction job together.”

“Look, I get the questions. I’d want to know too, but I just don’t have any information. Frankly, I was wondering why they left it to you, too.”

“Right.” I sidestep a mud puddle. Just to make sure, I ask, “So, Bo and his wife didn’t have children?”

“No, they didn’t.”

Then I ask her about the memorial, and although she’s seen the tree, she has no idea about the cross. When we get back to the front of the house, Frankie stops walking and holds out the notebook. “Study this. The only thing that has to be done tonight is the goat feeding. It’s in the notes.”

That sounds easy enough. “On it.”

“Then we’ll start tomorrow, five-thirty a.m. sharp.”

I take the notebook from her. “Thank you, and no problem,” I say, as I’m always up by five.

“You’ll meet the horses.”

Horses. “I’m looking forward to it.” I feign a smile, but it falters. “I just have so much to figure out.”

“It’s a lot, I’ll give you that.” Frankie’s face stays stern.

The bright red Ford reappears and pulls into the driveway. Mary Louise is waving her hand out the window again.

“Christ on a cracker,” Frankie mutters.

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