Andi Unexpected (5 page)

We walked down an adjoining hallway
lined with checkerboard tiles and dark wood walls. “We put the archives in Number Three’s old office. When we started renovating the plant, we found his office to be in remarkable condition. The renovations will continue for quite a while—most of the plant is closed off for the moment, even to me. There are a lot of places that are too dangerous to set foot in.” He pulled a key ring from his pocket. The door opened into a room that looked like it once belonged to Number Three’s secretary. A photograph of the secretary talking into a black rotary telephone hung on the wall. She wore a crisp suit with a rolled collar and dark movie star lipstick. Her dark hair was arranged in fluffy curls around her small face.

The room was ringed by glass cases filled with artifacts
of Killdeer history, from pre-Christopher Columbus arrowheads to Mike Pike T-shirts from the 1990s. I wanted to spend some time mulling over those cases, but the search for Andora came first.

“The newspaper archives are in here,” Mr. Finnigan said, as he unlocked a second room that was twice the size of the secretary’s office. We entered the room, and Mr. Finnigan flipped the light switch. I gaped.

The archive housed row after row of filing cabinets, which seemed out of place among the faded but still lush Oriental rug and cherry wood paneled walls.

“This is only temporary until we can move the archives into our temperature-controlled room in another part of the factory,” Mr. Finnigan explained. “Eventually, we want to restore the office to the way it looked when Number Three ran the plant. The historical society intends to host guided tours of the entire plant after the renovation.”

Three alien-looking machines sat in one corner of the room.

“Have you ever used microfilm?” he asked.

Colin and I just stared at him. “Micro
what
?” I asked.

The curator laughed. “Before digital storage, newspapers and other periodicals were copied onto film reels to store and preserve them. You need special machines to read them, and they’re called microfilm readers. Those three machines you’re staring at are microfilm readers.” He sat Colin and me down at two different microfilm readers, and he shuffled over to one of the filing cabinets. “One day we hope
to convert the newspapers to computer files. But a huge project like that takes money and a lot more staff than my one-man show.”

He opened a long narrow desk drawer, removed four small cardboard boxes, and set them on the table. From the first box, he pulled out a spool of film similar to the kind I’d seen in old movies but much smaller. He held the film carefully and showed us how to wind it through the machine.

“Let’s start with 1925 and work our way forward. If you find anything of interest, just hit this button to print it. I wish I could stay and help, but I need to watch the reception desk. Come and find me if you need anything. And I’ll come back in a little while to see how you’re doing.”

More than an hour later, I was still sitting at the microfilm machine, whirling the years back and forth in front my eyes. At first, looking at all of the old newspapers entertained me. I especially liked the ads for Pepsin chewing gum that promised to cure insomnia caused by indigestion. The man in the ad slept soundly under a blanket with an old-fashioned nightcap on his head. No stomachache for him. The Lux laundry soap ad promised to be the perfect soft detergent for washing your most delicate clothing, from sweaters to silk gloves.

After an hour I found my eyes skipping over the advertisements for better dish soap, fresh eggs, and the local grocer’s. There was even an ad for Pike Ginger Ale with the proud Killdeer engraved in the middle of the bottle label. It was the same engraving we’d seen
on the seal hanging above the factory floor. Every few minutes, Colin called out something about an article he’d found.

Another half hour passed, and Colin was silent. I pivoted in my seat toward him. His eyes were half-closed. “Find anything?” I asked.

He jumped. Then, between yawns, he said, “Not yet.”

I glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty. “Let’s give it another half hour.”

“Sure,” he replied, eyelids drooping.

I blinked and leaned closer to the foggy screen, turning the knob to the right to move an advertisement down and out of sight. The Special Reports page drifted into focus. Obituaries, wedding declarations, engagements, and baby announcements covered the page. My tired eyes scanned the words without much thought. Then, something grabbed my attention.

I reread the short article again, moving even closer to the machine so my nose almost touched the screen. My eyes fell on the tiny picture. “Yes!” I hit the Print button.

Colin started at my cry. He had fallen asleep. “What?” His glasses sat crookedly on his nose.

The machine spit out the page on glossy paper. I blew on it, impatient for the ink to dry.

“Listen to this: December 16, 1929. Mr. and Mrs. Patterson Boggs are pleased to announce the birth of a healthy baby girl, Andora Felicity Boggs, early yesterday morning. Andora was born at five a.m. weighing eight pounds, and she was sixteen inches
long, possessing all ten fingers and toes. Mother and child now rest comfortably at Carroll Parish Hospital. Andora is the Boggs’ first child.”

“Wow. She’s real.” Colin was up out of his seat, reading over my shoulder.

“I know.”

“And she’s your relative.”

“I know.”

Colin asked the question that was already plaguing my mind, “What happened to her?”

I squinted at the article, hoping it would reveal Andora’s secrets. “I don’t know.”

We rushed back to the museum entrance to show our find to the curator. I skidded to a stop on the tiles, and Colin ran straight into my back. His poor nose.

Mr. Finnigan wasn’t alone. Another man stood over his desk. The second man appeared younger than the curator but older than Amelie by at least a decade. He looked over-tanned and his poofy black hair gave him a couple extra inches of height. I couldn’t see the color of his eyes because he wore dark sunglasses even though he was inside.

Mr. Finnigan nodded at the man, agreeing with whatever he’d just said. Then he saw Colin and me approaching. “Did you find something?”

“Yeah,” Colin said, waving the paper.

Poofy-Haired Man peered down at us with a slight scowl. He removed his sunglasses, revealing narrowed brown eyes. “Who are you? What are you doing in this place? Why aren’t you outside tipping cows, or starting fires, or something equally destructive?” He shuddered.

Was he kidding?
I wondered.
No
.

He was a kid hater. Great.

Colin rolled his eyes at me as if to say,
Can you believe this guy?

I wanted to shoot back,
Who are you? Are you a middle school teacher or something? Shouldn’t you go give someone a detention?
But I didn’t say anything. I just gave him my best Bethany scowl.

Mr. Finnigan catapulted out of his desk chair and stumbled around the desk. “Dr. Anthony Girard, I’d like you to meet Colin and Andi. They’re doing research in the archives.” He laughed nervously.

“Really?” Dr. Girard demanded, his tone skeptical.

Mr. Finnigan blundered on as if the speed of his speech would make up for the other man’s rudeness. “Dr. Girard is a history professor at Mike Pike. I’m sure he knows your aunt, Andi.”

Dr. Girard’s voice was sour. “And who might that be?”

“Dr. Amelie Boggs,” I answered. I emphasized the “Dr.”

“Ah,” he said, as if that explained everything. “You’re one of the orphans.”

Mr. Finnigan shifted uncomfortably. “Dr. Girard, really. I don’t …”

Dr. Girard held up a hand, cutting off Mr. Finnigan mid-sentence. “I’m pleased to meet you both.” He didn’t sound at all pleased. After he straightened, his eyes took on an unpleasant, hard glint. “So what’s your wonderful find?”

Like I would tell you now
, I thought.

Colin opened his mouth. I elbowed him in the ribs, hard. Too bad I couldn’t do the same to Mr. Finnigan.

“They’re researching their family histories. Andi discovered that she knows very little about a relative in her genealogy.”

Dr. Girard raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s fascinating.”

“Dr. Girard has a special interest in local history,” Mr. Finnigan explained. “He’s written several books on the subject and is one of the best patrons of the archives. The book he’s working on right now is about the history of this factory. Maybe he can help you with your own research, Andi.”

I squinted at Dr. Girard and said, “No thanks.” Then I told Mr. Finnigan that we had to go home.

Colin and I mounted our bikes and pedaled for home. The whole way I thought about Andora and tried to shake off the weird vibe I’d picked up from Dr. Girard.

Andora really existed.
I couldn’t get that thought out of my mind. But what happened to her? Why doesn’t anyone know about her?

When Colin and I arrived back at my house, I told Amelie the good news. Accepting an Oreo she offered me, I asked, “Who is Dr. Girard? Colin and I just met him at the Killdeer Historical Society and Bottling Museum.”

She rolled her eyes. “Dr. Girard is one of the most pompous men I’ve ever met. Unfortunately, the university loves him because he’s published several books.”

Bethany walked into the living room carrying the box of silk flowers I’d dusted off in the attic.

My mouth fell open. “What are you doing?”

Amelie smiled. “While you and Colin were at the
Bottling Museum, Bethany has been working in the attic.”

Bethany flushed. “I’m just moving the stuff that you marked for the sale into the garage.”

“I pulled my Jeep out of the garage,” Amelie said, “so you kids will have more space for storing the sale items in there. I don’t mind leaving it in the driveway until after the garage sale.”

“Oh,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I never expected Bethany to help me with this project. “Thank you.” I felt Colin watching me.

“Bethany,” Amelie said, “why don’t you show Andi and Colin what you’ve been doing while I try to figure out what to make for dinner.” She laughed. “I think we’re all a little tired of macaroni and cheese from a box.”

I followed my sister into the attic. Like she said, Bethany had removed the dozen or so boxes of sale items that we’d stack by the hatch. Even though there was much more to go through and all of the furniture was still there, the attic space already looked larger.

“Right now I’m just stacking the boxes in the garage, but there is plenty of room in there to price stuff and organize it too. I left that blue trunk up here even though I’m assuming you want to sell it.”

“I don’t,” I said quickly. “It belonged to our great aunt. Her name was Andora Felicity Boggs. Colin and I found her birth announcement in the town archives today.”

Interest flickered across my sister’s face, but when Colin’s head popped up through the opening, her interest quickly disappeared.

“Wow!” Colin said in a wheezy breath. “This place is huge! Andi, you’re going to have a great room when it’s finished.”

I had to agree. I slid my eyes to my sister who was now smiling at Colin’s praise. “Thanks again for helping.”

Her smile disappeared. “Yeah, well, I only did it to get my unlimited texting plan back. And the sooner you move up here, the sooner I get my own room.”

I knew that was probably her motivation. But it was a start—a start I was happy to take.

I woke up early again the next morning. All night long, pieces of dreams had disturbed me, leaving a strange prickly feeling—the kind you get when a movie soundtrack turns creepy. I dressed quickly, grabbed a banana and a juice box from the kitchen, and climbed the ladder into the attic. It was six thirty, and Amelie and Bethany wouldn’t wake for hours.

The early morning light was fighting its way through the north-facing window. To me, the light of a summer morning always seemed like the best kind of sunray. Its yellow-white glistening nearly blinded me as it lit up the attic. But I liked how friendly and playful that light felt across my arms and face.

Late yesterday afternoon, Colin, Bethany, and I had cleared out the entire northwest corner of the attic—the same corner where I’d uncovered my father’s old bed. Mr. Rochester was snoozing on it now. I sat next to him, and the box spring creaked in protest. The cat opened one eye and glared.

Despite the tidy northwest corner and the continuous work of the three of us carrying junk down to the garage, the attic was still a disaster. The worst part was the corner where Colin and I had discovered Andora. Pieces of sailboat wallpaper littered the floor.

I grabbed a garbage bag and began tossing the torn pieces into it. The flutter of paper caught Mr. Rochester’s attention, and he jumped off the bed and crouched a foot away from me, concentrating on the colorful pieces with his wide amber eyes and white whiskers. His orange stripes stood upright on his back like soldiers.

The angle of the sunlight allowed me a clear view through the tiny doorway. I squatted in front of it, being careful not to block the light.
Maybe I should clean it out
, I thought. It might make an excellent place to hide things from Bethany. I grabbed the broom that was leaning against a metal rack full of old party dresses, put its business end through the opening, and pulled back hard.

A thick cloud of black dust enveloped Mr. Rochester and me. He yowled before running under the bed. I coughed and stumbled backward, knocking a plastic bin full of wire hangers off an end table. They crashed to the floor.

I froze, waiting for Bethany’s outburst from downstairs. When no sound came, I sighed in relief. I knew I didn’t want to mess with Bethany before ten in the morning. Not if I valued my life.

One Sunday morning after we’d moved in with the Cragmeyers, I’d made the mistake of waking up Bethany
just because I was excited to see my name mentioned in the Akron newspaper.

I’d jumped up and down on her bed. “Bethany, wake up! Look!”

“Leave me alone,” she’d growled from underneath her pillow.

It was already after nine, and I’d waited as long as I could to tell her the good news. “Bethany, I won first prize in the Summit County Science Fair! They wrote about it in this morning’s paper. My project on photosynthesis beat all the other kids from all the other schools!”

Suddenly Bethany sat straight up in bed, and she would have knocked me in the chin if I hadn’t jumped out of the way first. “Andi … Mom and Dad are dead. So no one
cares
what science experiments you do anymore. They aren’t here for you to impress.” Then tears appeared in my sister’s eyes, and she said, “Now go away.”

Clutching my newspaper clipping, I’d silently backed out of her room.

As I recalled that moment, I felt tears threaten at the corners of my eyes. But I shook them away. Andora had to be my top priority now. Not the science fair and certainly not Bethany.

I picked up a flashlight and shone its beam through the small hidden doorway. The ceiling in the crawlspace tapered back into a slant until it finally met the plywood floor. The walls were bare beams without plaster or drywall covering them.

While thinking of all the things I could hide in
that space, I almost didn’t see it because it was the same nondescript beige as the plywood it was resting against. I reached into the cubby and pulled out a large manila envelope. Dust balls the size of small kittens flew into the air as I pulled it out of the cubby. And then I sneezed so hard I almost fell over.

I rubbed my eyes and peered at the envelope. It felt dry and brittle like old construction paper. It was blank on the outside, but I could tell something was inside it. It felt heavy in my hand and contained a slight bulge. I slipped my thumbnail under the envelope’s sealed flap. The dried glue peeled away easily.

Reaching my hand inside, I pulled out a short stack of old photographs printed on small rectangles of thin cardboard. I counted four in all. The first one depicted a woman whose face reminded me so much of Bethany that I almost dropped it. She stood outside the bottling plant holding a bicycle and smiling cheerfully into the camera. She had Bethany’s nose, eyes, and even her chin.

The picture was black and white, so I couldn’t make out her hair color. I bet it looked just like Bethany’s long blond waves that I envied so much and often prayed would materialize overnight to replace my own pink mop.

I flipped over the photograph; written in precise block letters it read, E
MILY
, J
une
1928.

Emily. My great-grandmother.

The next two photographs showed Emily and my Great-Grandfather Patterson standing with that same bicycle in front of the bottling plant. Each photo was
taken in June 1928. Patterson, a tall man with laughing eyes and dark hair, had his arm around Emily, and the two smiled at the camera in delight.

The fourth one took my breath away. It was a professional studio photograph of a baby girl in front of a white background. She wore a frilly dress and beamed at the camera with a toothless grin. My eyes darted to Andora’s trunk. I’d seen that dress before.

The baby girl looked to be only a few months old, I guessed. Although, I didn’t know enough about babies to be sure. Excitedly, I turned over the photograph and read, A
NDORA
F
ELICITY
, F
EBRUARY
1930. My breath caught.

Later that morning, I mulled over Andora’s photograph while polishing off the last of my cold strawberry Pop-Tarts. Colin walked into the kitchen with the casebook tucked under his arm. He was wearing the craziest outfit I’d ever seen.

“Ready to get to work?” His voice was muffled.

I took a big gulp of milk. “What are you wearing?”

Colin wore jeans and a striped T-shirt under a hooded sweatshirt, which was all quite normal. But on his head he wore a red bandana underneath a Michael Pike University ball cap. Over his glasses, he wore a pair of chemistry lab goggles. A surgical facemask covered the lower portion of his face, and it was so big that it hid his cheeks, nose, mouth, and chin.

Despite seeing only a small sliver of Colin’s face, I
could tell he’d blushed at my comment. Hastily, he removed the mask.

He cleared his throat. “I thought we could work in the attic today.”

I blinked. “We will. But what’s with the hazmat suit?”

“Bergita wanted me to wear it.” He looked down. “I have pretty bad asthma.”

“Oh,” I said. “But you seemed okay the last couple of days.”

He looked up, his eyes chagrin. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I was all right at the time. But I had to use my inhaler and drink two gulps of Benadryl after I got home. Bergita found out and had a fit.”

“She didn’t say anything to me about it.”

“Aw, she wouldn’t. ‘It’s my responsibility to take care of myself.’” He repeated the last part as though he’d heard it a hundred times.

I shrugged. “I hope you don’t get too hot up there. We’d better find some more fans to use or else you’re going to fry.” Earlier that morning, the attic had felt stuffy. So I’d changed into a tank top and a pair of shorts. “We can try to pry open the window, too, if we can reach it.”

“Thanks,” Colin muttered.

Bethany walked into the room wearing boxer shorts and an oversized T-shirt that she uses for pajamas. She jumped when she saw Colin. “Andi! It would be nice if you’d tell me when your boyfriend’s coming over.” She tossed her glossy blond hair over her shoulder and
took a seat beside me, her eyes roving over the breakfast table.

Colin froze, and I glared at my sister.

Bethany rubbed her eyes and noticed Colin’s outfit for the first time. “Are you dumpster diving or something?”

Colin shook his head. “I’m working in the attic.”

“We could use your help again,” I said to Bethany.

She sighed. “We’d better make a bunch of money at the garage sale. I need some kind of reward after being stuck in the attic with the two of you.” She grabbed a Pop-Tart and waltzed out of the kitchen.