True believer - Nicholas Sparks [30]
“You can start with this,” she said. “I’m going to spend a few minutes looking around to see if I can find some more material for you.”
“That was fast,” he said.
“It wasn’t that hard. I remembered the date of the article.”
“Impressive.”
“Not really. It appeared on my birthday.”
“Twenty-six?”
“Somewhere around there. Now, let me see what else I can find.”
She turned and headed through the swinging doors again.
“Twenty-five?” he called out.
“Nice try, Mr. Marsh. But I’m not playing.”
He laughed. This was definitely going to be an interesting week.
Jeremy turned his attention to the article and began to read. It was written just the way he’d expected—heavy on hype and sensationalism, with enough haughtiness to suggest that everyone who lived in Boone Creek always knew the place was extra special.
He learned very little that was new. The article covered the original legend, describing it in much the same way that Doris had, albeit with some minor variation. In the article, Hettie visited the county commissioners, not the mayor, and she was from Louisiana, not the Caribbean. What was interesting was that she supposedly passed the curse outside the doors of the town hall, which caused a riot, and she was brought to the jail. When the guards went to release her the following morning, they discovered that she’d vanished, as if into thin air. After that, the sheriff refused to try to arrest her again, because he feared that she would put a curse on his family as well. But all legends were like that: stories got passed around and altered slightly to make them more compelling. And he had to admit, the part about vanishing was interesting. He’d have to find out if she’d actually been arrested and if she’d really escaped.
Jeremy glanced over his shoulder. No sign of Lexie yet.
Looking back at the screen, he figured he might as well add to what Doris had told him about Boone Creek, and he moved the glass plate housing of the microfiche, watching as other articles popped into view. There was a week’s worth of news in a total of four pages—the paper came out every Tuesday—and he quickly learned what the town had to offer. It was scintillating to read, unless you wanted coverage of anything happening anywhere else in the world or anything that might even keep your eyes open. He read about a young man who landscaped the front of the VFW building to earn the right to be an Eagle Scout, a new dry cleaner opening on Main Street, and a recap of a town meeting where the top of the agenda was to decide whether or not to put a stop sign on Leary Point Road. Two days of front-page coverage were devoted to an automobile wreck, in which two local men had sustained minor injuries.
He leaned back in his chair.
So the town was just what he expected. Sleepy and quiet and special in the way that all small communities claimed to be, but nothing more than that. It was the kind of town that continued to exist more as a result of habit than any unique quality and would fade from existence in coming decades as the population aged. There was no future here, not long-term, anyway . . .
“Reading about our exciting town?” she asked.
He jumped, surprised he hadn’t heard her come up behind him and feeling strangely sad about the plight of things here. “I am. And it is exciting, I must admit. That Eagle Scout was something. Whew.”
“Jimmie Telson,” she said. “He’s actually a great kid. Straight As and a pretty good basketball player. His dad died last year, but he’s still volunteering around town, even though he has a part-time job at Pete’s Pizza now. We’re proud of him.”
“I’m sold on the kid.”
She smiled, thinking, Sure you are. “Here,” she said, setting a stack of books beside him, “these should be enough to get you started.”
He scanned the dozen or so titles. “I thought you said that I’d be better off using the diaries. All of these are general history.”
“I know. But don’t you want to understand the period they were set in first?”
He