Page 60 of Within These County Lines

We lived through the same senior year of high school, but somehow, we feel completely different about what happened during it.

That’s why the financial aid rejection stings so badly. It was supposed to be based on metrics, a formula, a system that made logical sense. But something else must’ve been tossed into the mix, something unpredictable or subjective like feelings or human error.

And that’s exactly what this summer has been. An unsolvable equation. A problem I never saw coming.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Xander asks, stretching onto his tiptoes to grab a box from the shelf.

“Something suspicious looking,” I half answer, flipping through a document about event permits for the preserve. At this rate, I won’t even get through one file before this place closes.

Xander pulls out a photo. “Here’s a picture of a horse farm,” he says, holding it up. He squints at one of the horses. “This brown one is definitely giving some serious side-eye. It’s up to no good . . . Could be our guy.”

I snort. “Yeah, we found our culprit. Mystery solved.” Then I sigh, glancing at the long row of shelves. “Honestly, just take pictures of everything. There’s no way we can read through all of this here. We’ll go through them later.”

“Ohhh,” Xander hums. “Here’s a picture of Thaddy Daddy.”

I frown. “Thaddy what?”

“Thaddy Daddy,” he repeats with a smirk. “Thaddeus Gregor. Keeper of the preserve.”

I shake my head. “Let’s not call him daddy when he could be responsible for our demise.” I scoot to Xander’s side and take the picture from his hands. It’s a detailed sketch of a colonial man with long hair, a black top hat, and sharp stare. “Okay, your side of the shelf is way more interesting than mine. They must be hiding the good stuff over here.”

“Then dig faster,” he instructs.

We tear through his box, quickly forming a system. He pulls out documents, I snap pictures with my phone. Words and images blur together in my mind like a cash-grab machine at a carnival, except instead of snatching dollar bills, I’m trying to grab onto clues.

It’s the handwritten captions beneath the illustrations that stand out the most:

Thaddeus Gregor, born in 1631, was a soldier in the parliamentary army during England’s Civil Wars.

Thaddeus Gregor, a “First Purchaser” of Pennsylvania after receiving one of William Penn’s Fall 1681 plots.

Thaddeus Gregor and his four children, leaders of the Quaker migration to Pennsylvania.

“Hold up,” I say, sitting up straighter. A caption stops me in my tracks. Something’s different.

A number.

“What?” Xander slides closer on his reddened knees. “Did you find the Ardor Tree?”

“No. But look at this picture.”

Xander sighs. “It’s just Thaddy Daddy and his kids again.”

“Yeah, but look—it says his three kids. Henry, Albert, and Agnes. Every other picture says four.”

His brows knit together. “Whoa. Who’s missing?”

I scroll back through my photos. “There were always two men and two women before. This time, one of the girls is gone. It looks like her name was Louise.” A dozen more pictures from the box show her missing.

Xander’s mouth tightens. “Maybe she died?”

“Or maybe she went invisible?”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “Or she just wasn’t in the mood for a family portrait.”

I shake my head. “These are drawings, not photos. She didn’t get caught in traffic. Someone intentionally left her out.”

Suddenly, my phone alarm blares through the silent archive.