Page 89 of My Heart Will Find You

“Kecklin,” Etta whispered, then louder, “John Kecklin!” She looked at Zack. “Go. Hurry.” She was frantically searching in her bag for her phone.

Zack drove back onto the road.

“It’s here.” Etta was looking at her phone. “There’s a website for it. It’s a tiny, unincorporated town. No mayor, no courthouse, no—” She halted. “It has a local museum.” She could barely speak. “It’s in a house built in 1876. The owner is Miss Bella Kecklin and her great-grand uncle, John Kecklin, built the house. She’s spent her life collecting local history artifacts. She never married, never...” Etta trailed off. “I love this woman. Deeply and trulyloveher. Oh no!”

“What is it?”

“The museum is closed due to the lockdown.” Etta’s eyes widened. “Maybe we can find a window and get in through there. Or the roof might have—”

“Call Henry,” Zack said loudly. “Right now, call him. He knows everyone in Kansas who’s involved in anything historical.”

She pulled up Henry’s number and called.

“Just so you know,” Zack said, “I donotbreak into houses no matter what’s inside.”

“Okay, but sometimes there are things that you must do. They’re necessary. They—” Henry answered his phone. She didn’t bother with formalities. “John Kecklin. Remember him?”

“Cornelia’s father. Wants to own Kansas, right?” he answered.

“Yes. There’s a Kecklin, Kansas, and they have a museum in an old house. But it’s closed for this lockdown!”

Henry didn’t hesitate. “I’ll see what I can do. I know people.” He clicked off.

Etta looked at Zack.Go!her eyes said.

Kecklin was very cute, with a main street lined with old houses under huge shade trees. There were a few stores, all tastefully inserted into old buildings. Unlike many historic towns, the old places hadn’t been flattened in the sixties and rebuilt in ugliness. It was a charming little Kansas town.

Only the filling station with a convenience store was open, and Zack pulled up to a pump. “I’d better fill up while I can.”

“I’ll pay for the gas,” she said. His look told her no. For the first time, he pulled a mask out of a box and put it on. As she watched him enter the little store, she thought how much she liked Kansas and its residents. Sane, sensible people with their feet on the ground. She hadn’t thought of it before Zack mentioned it, but she could imagine living there.

He returned with a bag full of cold drinks and hot sandwiches. While he gassed the car, she spread the food out. He got in, drove to the shade, and they ate.

“How much aren’t you telling me?” he asked.

There was too much for her to say and besides, it was all unbelievable. A man Henry’s age and with his imagination was one thing, but Zack would be full of disbelief. “It’s just the story Henry is writing. It’s quite complex.”

“And you’re so involved in it that when you see where some town used to be, it makes you look like your dog died?”

Etta filled her mouth with food. “More or less.” She could see that Zack knew she wasn’t telling him everything, but she couldn’t risk blabbing.

He’d bought chocolate oatmeal bars for dessert, and as they were opening them, Etta’s phone rang. It was Henry. “Yes... Yes,” she said. “Thank you... Yes, he’ll take photos... Yes, certainly.” She put the phone down. “The door has been unlocked, and we can stay as long as we want.”

“Great,” Zack said. “Now we just need to find it.”

The house was at the far end of the town. It was big and gaudily Victorian, with a huge tower in the middle. There was a large round, stained-glass window at the top, the only thing of beauty in the outlandish house. It was a house made to impress, not for beauty. Zack parked in front of it.

“Cornelia didn’t design this,” Etta said. “She has more taste.”

“And who is Cornelia?”

“John Kecklin’s daughter. I hope she and Bert moved to Kansas City.” Etta quickly got out and shut the door. She practically ran away from Zack’s coming questions of who and how. No wonder he and Henry got along so well as they were both insatiably curious. Of course it didn’t help that Etta kept saying odd things.

Inside the house was the usual heavy, dark Victorian furniture. As with nearly all museums, it had no feeling of being lived in. Alice sometimes left her shoes in the living room. Max would toss his hat wherever he went. There was no Kansas mud, and the rug had no worn spots. And there were no smells anywhere.

Etta picked up a foldout history from a table next to a donation box. She put a twenty in the box. The brochure glorified John Kecklin. It said he was a saint of a man, a philanthropist, an all-round good and pure man who bettered the entire world.

Zack was reading a brochure. “Wow! No wonder Henry’s writing about him. He sounds like a great guy.”

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