The Legend of Peg Powler
(A Sewing Box Mystery)
Chapter 1: Friday, November 1, 1991, 1:51 am
Chapter 2: Saturday October 29, 2011, 11:37 am
Chapter 3: Sunday October 30, 2011, 10:30 am
Chapter 4, Monday, October 31, 2012, 8:01 am, Halloween
Chapter 13: Monday, October 31, 2011, 11:02 am
Chapter 17 - Monday, October 31, 2011, 12:43 pm
Chapter 19 - Monday, October 31, 2011, 1:40 pm
As she swept into the room, placing the pile of files on the center of the table, Missy gave her mother the stink eye. “That seems rather sexist of you. Saying that about not being able to trust women.”
Nonchalantly walking around the table, Dorie shrugged. “Just sharing my truth, hon. It’s my world view, based on my experience. Everybody’s experience is as valid as it is different.”
“But it’s so… wrong. Misogynistic, even.”
“Look,” sighed Dorie, a touch of exasperation creeping into her voice, “It’s what I know. My truth. I can’t explain it any more than that. For me? Men are easier. And let’s just leave it at that.” She plopped herself down in the seat across from her daughter and promptly changed the subject.“Looks like we have a ton of stuff to get through, huh? Better get crackin’!” She reached for the file on top of the pile and began to peruse its contents.
Missy looked to Jeanette, who was standing to her left, at the end of the table, busy admiring the room. It was very similar to the one they’d used at the library; the same tall ceiling from which lovely amber-globed ceiling fixtures hung, minus the card catalogue, microfiche machines, and file cabinets. Instead, on three of the walls hung dry, old etchings of three-sail ships and a series of tinted botanical drawings, while the one opposite the door was nothing but a row of small, narrow windows, each about a foot and half high. Jeanette moved behind Dorie and began to peer through each of them. “Huh.” she mused. “They look out on a wall covered in portraits. All women.” She turned and looked at Missy, “Like a Victorian peep show.”
“Are they naked?” squeaked Dorie.
“No, Dorie. I said ‘a Victorian peep show’. The only skin showing is on their face and hands.” Jeanette turned back to look out another of the windows. “That’s a lot of portraits.”
“Guess they had to hide them somewhere,” surmised Missy. “Though it hardly makes up for all the men hanging downstairs in the entry way.” Both ladies sat down and grabbed a file. Missy’s had nothing but a last name on it; Power.
It was a daunting task, but not one Missy was unfamiliar with. Finding pertinent information seemed to be in her genes. Her eyes always seemed to automatically identify the data needed. No doubt, this skill was honed from years of working as an administrative assistant. Missy had lost count of the number of times an engineer had dumped a pile of papers in front of her telling her what it was he needed her to divine from them. She wondered if her mother and aunt were struggling, for it was, indeed, a lot to get through. The three women worked in silence, the sound of shuffling papers and the occasional ‘hmm’ being their only accompaniment.
Missy worked as quickly as she could. She managed to find a number of things that might well prove pertinent to their case, things she would share later with the others.
It seems Margaret Powers’ parents had submitted a petition to have their daughter declared legally dead in 1941, ten years after her disappearance, but that it had been subsequently withdrawn. And based on city planning information, Missy learned that the family had, at one time, owned a grocery downtown on Main Street for a number of generations, but lost it during the depression.
Weirdly, in among all those papers dealing with the Power’s family, Missy found a birth certificate for a Theresa Oswig. She cracked a smile. Arthur must not be very good at his job, though, keeping in mind the number of incompetent engineers she’d endured through the years at work, Missy knew all too well that longevity in a position hardly guaranteed proficiency. But it being misfiled was not the only thing odd about the document; in the spaces reserved for the parent’s names all that was typed was ‘unknown’. And yet, the child had been given the last name of Oswig. Puzzled, Missy put the certificate aside. She’d be sure to hand it to Arthur when they returned the rest of the documents, promising not to make too big of a deal about it. After all, everybody makes mistakes.
Her fingers then came upon what appeared to be an extremely old paper. The document showed that, once they’d settled in Minnesota in 1858, the family had requested a name change and that by dropping a single letter, the family ‘Powler’ became the family ‘Power’. Triggering something in her mind, Missy then paged through the file until she found a birth certificate she’d passed over earlier - for Margaret Power, the woman who’d gone missing in 1931. Realizing what she’d uncovered, Missy couldn’t help but share, “I think I found Peggy Powler.”
She continued, “Peggy is nickname for Margaret, right?” Jeanette and Dorie nodded affirmatively. “The Power family came to this country as Powler. They changed their name when they settled here. The missing woman, Margaret? She’s our Peggy Powler.” Missy then shared the other tidbits she’d found, omitting the misfiled birth certificate, not wishing to draw attention to Arthur’s mistake.
Jeanette then shared what she’d learned. Her files contained documents about the De Hartburn and Washington families. “These people are a little sick… in the head. It appears that the De Hartburn women only married Washington men, and that the Washington girls only married De Hartburn boys - generation after generation. I guess they wanted to keep the gene pool small. Given that, it’s probably a good thing the line died out with Mitzy,” her aunt said with a smirk. “Oh, and get this; if you were born a Washington, you remained a Washington, even after marriage - male or female. And that goes for being born a De Hartburn, too. But the madness doesn’t end there.” She pulled a thick stack of papers out of one of the files. “This represents years and years of court filings between the De Hartburn/Washingtons and the Oswig family. I’m not quite sure what it’s all about, but there appears to be a lot of objections regarding land allotments, acquirements, and the design and construction of buildings, including the one we are sitting in. Not unusual. But it’s the sheer volume that gets me; these two affluent families were basically caught up in a legal version of the Hatfields and McCoys.”
As Missy allowed that information to filter its way into her own filing system, something irked her. “Why did Arthur think we’d want those files? About the De Hartburn and Washington families? We just learned about them at the library an hour ago.”
“Well, those are not the only files we were given that make no sense. Look what I have…” Dorie placed a folder of papers on top of the other files. “This is a file with the date ‘October 31, 1951’. It has nothing to do with Peggy Powler. It’s all about a young woman, Deira Harbottle, who went missing on that day, vanishing without a trace.”
Jeanette reasoned, “Arthur would have only grabbed the files he was told to. He must have been finishing up when we arrived. Darlene did say she was going to give him a head’s up.”
“But we never told her what we were looking for, just the one date.” Perplexed, Missy reached for the ‘October 31, 1951’ file and began rifling through its contents. “Plus, we didn’t know anything about the De Hartburns and Washingtons until we visited the library, which points to Madeline, the librarian as the one who called Arthur and told him to pull these files so we couldn’t find them.”
Dorie made a face. “What’s it to her? And how did she know what we were looking for?”
Jeanette gasped. “The wooden tray where we placed the microfiche! Remember what a big deal she made about us not refiling things? She must have gone through the microfiche to determine what we were looking for.”
“Then why this file?” asked Missy. “It’s a pretty standard missing person’s case. This Deira was last seen on Halloween in 1951. The only evidence: a piece of cloth from the dress she’d last been seen wearing, which was found down by the river bank. Her name doesn’t connect her to any of the others.”
“It’s very sad,” uttered Dorie. “She was so young.” She relaxed into her chair. “I think of myself at that age and… well, things can go very wrong very quickly in the wrong company. And a pity, too. If you look further, there’s an application for a marriage license. She was going to be a December bride.”
Jeanette interjected, “So, true, her name doesn’t connect with any of the others, but - October 31, 1951? That date does.”
Missy decided to play along. “Okay. That’s big picture thinking. Let’s look at the big picture. Let’s examine all that Madeline, we presume, didn’t want us to know. First, we have the De Hartburns/Washingtons versus the Oswigs, a possible family feud going on.”
“Along with all that inbreeding,” muttered Jeanette. “Let’s not forget the inbreeding. That family must have had a whole bunch of little monsters living up in that attic.”
Missy continued, “Margaret Power, who the town reinvents as Peggy Powler after she and those three children - all of whom, if you remember, had last names that could very well link them directly to the De Hartburns/Washingtons - they all disappear on October of 1931.” Upon saying this, Missy’s mind was flooded by the image of a very sad woman. “Hey. Did you guys happen to look at the portrait of that one woman? On the stairs at the library? Melva Washington. I think it was her three children that went missing in 1931. And that would link the De Hartburns/Washingtons to Peggy Powler.” Not waiting for an answer she continued, “Then we have his Deira…”
“Harbottle,” offered Dorie.
“Who we didn’t even know about, she goes missing on Halloween 1951.”
At that point, Jeanette leaned forward, placing a file on top of the others, “And there’s this one. The commitment of that man who was trying to throw those children in the river in 1991. On Halloween. His name is John Turnbull and he’s still very much alive and with us. And, I might add, still in the nuthouse, where he has petitioned for early-release a number of times - all, so far, denied.”
“Turnbull.” Missy allowed the name to roll over her tongue as if trying to identify a familiar taste. “Why do I know that name?.”
“And don’t forget Hedda,” added Dorie. “Her boy went missing on Halloween, 1971.”
A light bulb lit in Missy’s skull, “Every twenty years!” Still reasoning it through, she continued, “Every twenty years. Something bad happens. In this town. Children go missing. Young women go missing.”
“And they blame it all on Peggy Powler.” Dorie added, quite pleased with herself, that she’d kept up with the conversation.
“You guys do realize what tonight is?”
Missy looked to Jeanette for the answer. “Every. Twenty. Years. It’s 2011. Halloween, 2011.” Her aunt stood and moved to look out one of the tiny windows which lined the wall opposite her.
“Something bad is going to happen in this town. Tonight.” Jeanette turned to look Missy directly in the eye before continuing. “Something bad. And I, for one, do not intend to be here for it.”
--- ---
-screenshot.jpg)
1 comment:
Oh shit.
Tonight???
XOXO
Post a Comment