Andi Unexpected by Amanda Flower Page A

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 hopeto 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 seenon 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 incheslong, 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