I called Rosella the next morning.
I had written the courthouse number on the paper she gave me, and I dialed it carefully.
When she answered, I told her who I was.
She recognized my voice.
"I'm glad you called, Elnora."
I felt relieved that she didn't sound impatient.
I explained that I had been thinking about the record and wanted to understand it more fully.
"Of course," she said. "We can go through it again."
I asked whether I should come in.
She said that would be best if I wanted to review the entry together.
So I arranged to return.
I spent the rest of the morning getting ready.
I wore the same sensible shoes I had worn on my first visit.
I checked that I had my identification and the notes she had given me.
Then I placed the list of questions in my purse.
I looked at myself in the hallway mirror before leaving.
I looked like the same woman I had been the week before.
My hair was set.
My clothes were neat.
My hands showed the years of work I had done.
There was nothing about me that suggested I was on my way to discuss an official record connected to the Lockridge property.
I had to remind myself that I didn't need to look like somebody else to ask a question.
I had every right to understand what concerned me.
The drive to the courthouse seemed shorter this time.
I knew where to park.
I knew which entrance to use.
I knew where Rosella would be waiting.
When I arrived, she greeted me warmly.
She led me back to the table where the deed book had been opened during my first visit.
The room looked exactly as I remembered it.
The table.
The chairs.
The book with its heavy cover.
I placed my purse beside my chair and took out the questions.
Rosella glanced at the paper.
"You came prepared."
"I didn't want to forget anything."
She smiled.
"That's a good idea."
We sat down.
She opened the book to the marked page.
I followed her movements, trying to keep my attention on the details instead of allowing my thoughts to run ahead.
I asked her to explain the entry again.
She did.
I asked when it had been recorded.
She showed me the relevant information.
I asked why my full name had been used.
She explained that the identification of the person involved needed to be clear.
That made sense to me.
I had been thinking about the napkin all week.
Now I could see why Henrietta might have wanted my middle name written correctly.
A first and last name could belong to more than one person.
The full name made the identification more precise.
I thought about how casually I had answered her question that Friday.
I had not understood why she cared about the spelling.
Now I could appreciate the care she had taken.
I looked at Rosella.
"Did Henrietta tell you to wait until after she died to contact me?"
Rosella considered her words.
"She asked me to contact you after her passing. She wanted you to hear about the record from me."
I nodded.
That was the clearest answer she could give.
I asked whether I needed to sign anything.
Rosella said that reviewing the record did not mean I had to sign a document that day.
I was grateful.
I had worried that coming back might somehow commit me to something I didn't understand.
I had been careful all my life about signing papers.
My mother used to tell me that if I didn't understand a document, I should ask questions before putting my name on it.
I had never forgotten that advice.
Rosella seemed to appreciate my caution.
She didn't pressure me.
She didn't tell me to hurry.
She let me read the information and ask for clarification.
I was beginning to feel less like a frightened old woman who had been summoned to the courthouse and more like somebody who had come there to learn something important.
The difference was in my own mind.
Nobody had changed my age.
Nobody had changed my circumstances.
But I was no longer allowing my fear to decide what I could ask.
I took the folded paper from my purse and checked off the questions I had answered.
There were still things I did not fully understand.
I told Rosella so.
She explained what she could and made clear when a point required more careful review.
I respected that.
I would rather hear that something needed to be checked than be given an answer that sounded comforting but might be wrong.
When we paused, I looked down at the record.
I had spent twenty-six years cleaning Henrietta's home.
I had known the farmhouse since childhood.
I had shared coffee with her and listened to her talk about the years gone by.
But I had never imagined that my name would be part of the official history of that property.
Now I knew it was.
I still needed to understand exactly what that meant.
I still didn't know what Carlton would say if he learned I had returned.
I had not spoken with him since he dismissed me at the back door.
I did not intend to call him merely to ask what he knew.
I wanted to understand the record before discussing it with anybody else.
That seemed the sensible way forward.
Rosella closed the book for a moment.
"You're taking this seriously," she said.
"I have to."
She nodded.
"Henrietta would have wanted you to understand what she did."
I looked at her.
"Did she seem worried?"
Rosella paused.
"She wanted to be certain that her wishes were handled properly."
That sounded like Henrietta.
I could picture her sitting at her kitchen table, deciding what needed to be done.
She would have wanted the details correct.
She would have wanted the record clear.
She would have wanted the right person contacted.
I could not know everything she had thought about.
But I could recognize the care she had taken.
I gathered my notes.
I had come back with questions, and I had received answers to some of them.
More importantly, I had learned that I could keep asking.
I no longer felt that the safest thing I could do was disappear from the matter.
I had not come to the courthouse to claim something I didn't understand.
I had come because Henrietta had wanted me there.
And I intended to honor that request by learning what she had arranged.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: Rosella Reminded Me That Henrietta Had Made Her Wishes Clear While She Was Alive, and I Began to Understand Why My Name Had to Be Found
For Twenty-Six Years, I Thought I Knew My Place in That Family, Until Mrs. Lockridge Asked Me a Question I Couldn’t Understand
Part 15 of 24
