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Her thin brow wrinkles. “Who is your grandmother?”
“Well, she was Kimberly Allen.”
The old lady’s eyebrows shoot up, and she leans back. “Oh.”
Ms. Irene scoots closer. “
Kim was your grandmother?”
I’m not sure what to make of this response. “Did you know her? This letter is addressed to Winona… something.” I hold out the missive. “The rest is worn away.”
Miss Jessica takes the envelopes, sliding her fingers over them as if they’re precious relics. “I didn’t know Kim very well. She was friends with my sister Winnie. She died… oh, about twenty years ago.”
“Winnie?” I had been leaning forward, resting my forearms on my knees, but that name draws me up straight. Winona… Winnie… Was my aunt named for this lady?
“It was just a nickname. Winona Fieldstone was her married name.”
I slowly lean forward once more, nodding at the letter. “We found that, and I thought you might want it.”
She turns it over in her hands. “I don’t know why I’d want an old letter. If it’s important to you, you can have it.” She gives it to me, and I pause, thinking.
“Miss Jessica, did something happen to my grandmother? Something I might not know about?”
Her weathered hand flutters to the neck of her smock. “I have no idea what you know. Anyway, I didn’t know her very well. Like I said.”
Mindy sits on the arm of my chair. “Sounds like you’re sitting on a good story. Spill it, Miss J.”
“Melinda Ray! I am not sitting on anything. Mind your business.”
Reaching out, I put my hand over hers gently. “It’s okay. After my father died, it seems like a lot of my family’s history was lost.”
“Swept under the rug is more like it.” Ms. Irene nods her head.
That gets my attention. It’s the exact thing I’m thinking. “Do you know about her?”
Her clouded eyes drift to the ceiling. “Your grandmother was a beautiful woman. Probably the prettiest girl in these parts until Penelope Harris.”
“That was Noel’s mom.” Mindy whispers into my shoulder. “She won every beauty pageant in the tri-county area.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was in love with two men, from what I remember. Isn’t that right, Jessica?” Ms. Irene looks in the direction of her friend, who’s still clutching her collar and looking worried. “Weren’t they best friends?”
“Good night, Irene, I was a child. I didn’t understand half of what everyone was talking about.”
That sounds familiar.
“Well, I did.” Ms. Irene nods at me. “Your grandmother married the rich one—who was your grandfather, I guess, since you have all the money.”
“Oh, yeah, Deacon’s loaded.” Mindy gives my shoulder a playful shove.
“But from what I understand, she never got over the other guy. What was his name?”
“Pablo.” Miss Jessica holds up a finger. “No… That wasn’t it. Marco… No… Juan.”
“Oh, sweet lord. I’d say she was getting dementia, but she’s always been that way with names.” Ms. Irene shakes her head. She leans forward and lowers her voice. “I never knew what his name was, but he was of the Mexican persuasion.”
Her lips press together and she nods.
