In Sheep's Clothing by Rett MacPherson Page B

talking about her. I don’t know why it took them so long to sell it.”
    â€œWell, at any rate, they bought it in 1928.”
    â€œJust before the crash,” Aunt Sissy said.
    â€œYes, I noticed that,” I said. “A year later, they were most likely sweating bullets. Probably thought they were going to lose their farm.”
    I kept searching through the records and about ten minutes later found where Wendell Reed had bought the land in 1910. He had bought it from somebody with the last name Hendrickson. Twenty minutes later I had found the entry for the Hendricksons, who had bought the land in 1878. “Hey, eighteen seventy-eight,” I said.
    Aunt Sissy perked up and looked over my shoulder. “Who owned it?”
    â€œUh … Roy Hendrickson bought it in 1878. Isn’t that when you said a new house was built?”
    â€œYes,” she said. “He must have been the one who built it.”
    â€œWho told you that was the year a new house was built?”
    â€œOh, um, the Olsons told me.”
    â€œThey must have researched it some themselves,” I said.
    â€œWhat else did you find?” Roberta asked.
    â€œWell, the Hendricksons bought it from a James Rogers in 1878, who bought it in 1861,” I said. My stomach sort of flip-flopped. If our Swedish girl had moved into the house in 1858 and somebody else bought it in 1861, that meant that her family hadn’t lived there very long. That gave me a most disturbing feeling. I flipped more pages, more pages, and then I traced the lines with my finger until I found it. “Here it is. Karl Bloomquist.”
    Nobody said anything for a minute. We just sort of let the name hang in the air. “Karl Bloomquist bought the land in 1857. That’s right. Because in the novel, she says they lived with a cousin while the house was being built. They moved into the house in 1858.”
    â€œThat’s weird,” Roberta said.
    â€œWhy? What’s weird?”
    â€œIsn’t it strange that not one of those people willed their land to any of their offspring? I mean, how many other tracts of land would be sold time after time and never pass from father to son?”
    â€œThat is pretty unusual,” I said. “Now that you mention it.”
    All three of us were quiet a minute. I tapped Roberta on the shoulder. “Hey, you’re all right, Roberta.”
    â€œThanks,” she said. “Anytime.”
    â€œOh, don’t make that offer,” I warned.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œBecause I’ll take you up on it,” I said and smiled. “And you may regret it later.”
    â€œNow what?” Aunt Sissy asked.
    â€œWell, next on the list is the census. We know for sure that the Bloomquists owned the land in 1860 when the census was taken. So, now we need to find out if the Bloomquists had a son named Sven and a daughter.”
    â€œAnd whoever the daughter is, she’s the author of the book?” Aunt Sissy asked.
    â€œIt seems too easy,” I said. “But I guess so.”
    â€œI can’t believe it,” Aunt Sissy said.
    â€œBut I’m no closer to finding the ending of the book.”
    â€œThe ending of the book?” Roberta asked.
    â€œYes, the novel has no ending. Aunt Sissy thinks I’m going to be able to find the end of the story by finding the author. I think she probably got bored and just didn’t finish it,” I said.
    â€œYou haven’t finished reading it yet,” Aunt Sissy said. “There is no way that she could have just not finished the novel.”
    â€œYes, something I must remedy tonight,” I said, thinking about the pages waiting to be read. “Guess I should open this census book and find our novelist.”
    â€œI can’t stand the wait,” Roberta said. “Open the darned book.”
    â€œDid you index it?” I asked.
    â€œYes.”
    I flipped to the index in the back and found the