Jones of Old Lincoln

We chatted briefly and I flirted boldly and she matched my efforts. I diluted the truth, telling her I was taking a break from my research and just wanted to take in some of the atmosphere, the feel of Mr. Wyatt's wonderful 19th century treasures. I explained that it would help me to visualize the times I was writing about.

"Why, darling, you just go right ahead. Make yourself at home. I'll be right here if your need me," she said, seated regally in a marvelous, dark maroon upholstered, Queen Anne, wing-back chair. She returned to reading that week's Elk Valley Times. I paused, looking at the back of the newspaper section she was reading, and noted that the Falcons had won the Friday, high-school football game. I chuckled to myself , remembering when Helen and I had cheered for the Tigers: I was sitting on the bleacher behind her and her best bud, Anne. I thanked Miss Emma with as much charm as I could muster and went on my clandestine mission with genuine joy, tinged with a bite of doubt. Was my phantom a product of my deluded mind and uneasy soul? Was I headed for Murfreesboro?

I found the secret place Mr. Jones' note had described and without trouble secured the contents. Mr. Jones' note had not been an illusion. I was dealing with a reality, of sorts! I felt like a participant in an old Twilight Zone episode. My feelings were a mixture of shock, smugness, and bewilderment. I had quickly accomplished my task but spent a few more impatient minutes filling time, 'taking in the atmosphere.' The bulky bundle of yellowed envelopes was over an inch thick, crisscross tied with a faded black ribbon there appeared to be two sets of envelopes. I placed the bundle in the inside, of my jacket over my left chest. I swear it felt as if the mystery package was radiating energy. I joked with myself: "Sure hope this didn't screw up my defibrillator-pacemaker! All I need is a strong burst of electric encouragement for my heart's proper functioning. I'm sure a long way from Laurel, Mississippi, and Doctors Proli and Leader."

The day was warm and truly pleasant. The damp, foggy, blustery fall weather had given way to a grand, mid-autumn day of wonderful, high, fluffy, pale gray clouds against a medium-blue sky. The world literally sparkled in the clear light. I resolved to unpack my treasure trove at the shelter at the old Borden Milk Plant, over near the Town Spring. It seemed fitting, since it was within fifty yards of Mr. Jones' old residence.

Settled at the picnic table, with my satchel full of folders by my side and a mysterious treasure over my heart, I surveyed the area round about me. I realized my attitude was that of a pirate checking to see if the coast was clear before letting down the small boats to go ashore and dig up the hidden treasure chest.