normally.
Letters from Coley Joe! They were bound to tell him something or give a clue as to what had happened. How long would it take for copies of the letters to arrive by fax? Was MLB321 sitting at the computer now, waiting for his answer? Or was she the kind that booted up once a week in her spare time? “Come on, MLB321! Do something!” Andy mumbled.
The phone on the fax line rang. His father’s fax machine beeped and went into action. Andy jumped to his feet, ran to the fax, and removed the sheets of paper as they came up. There were three letters, each addressed to “My Dearest Felicity” in a swirly, scratchy kind of handwriting that Andy found hard to read.
Mr. Thomas came into the room. “Are the letters going to be of any help with your project?” he asked.
“Project?” As he stared at the handwriting of an ancestor whose whereabouts had become a mystery, Andy realized he had forgotten he was searching because of his history assignment.
“Look, Dad!” Andy said, and waved the sheets of paper toward his father. “Real letters, written by Coley Joe.”
“That’s good?” Mr. Thomas asked.
“It’s cool. Really cool. All I have to do is figure out the handwriting so I’ll know what he wrote.”
“Have you thanked MLB321?”
“Ooops. I’ll do that right now.”
Andy went back to MLB321’s e-mail letter, clicked on
reply
, and wrote: “Letters received. Thank you very much. Hunter.”
He sent the mail and turned the computer over to his father. It was a terrible temptation to go up to his room and pore over Coley Joe’s letters, but he had to keep his interview appointment with his grandparents. For safe-keeping, Andy tucked the letters on top of the poetry book inside the drawer of his nightstand. He took a quick call from J.J. and filled him in before he ran across the lawn to his grandparents’ house.
Grandma Dorothy ushered him into the den, where Grandpa Zeke, dressed in sweatpants and an old DallasCowboys T-shirt, was stretched out in a recliner. Grandma Dorothy picked up the remote control and turned off the television set.
“Hey!” Grandpa Zeke exclaimed. “That blond girl from Idaho was just about to give the answer.”
“We promised Andy we’d tell him family stories,” Grandma Dorothy said. She sat in her armchair and smiled at Andy.
“Well, then, let’s get it over with,” Grandpa Zeke said. “That hospital soap opera’s coming on next, and I don’t want to miss it.”
Grandma Dorothy smiled at Andy. “Your grandpa’s just kidding,” she said. “Go ahead, Andy. Ask whatever you like.”
Andy gulped. “I forgot my notebook.”
“Looks like you forgot your pen, too,” Grandpa Zeke told him.
Andy looked at his empty hands, surprised. “I’m kind of excited,” he said. “I just got something special faxed to me.”
“A course on how to improve your memory?” Grandpa Zeke asked.
“Now, Zeke, don’t try to fluster the boy,” Grandma Dorothy said. She got up and fished through the top desk drawer until she found a notepad and pencil. “Here,” she said to Andy. “You can use these.”
“Thanks, Grandma,” Andy said. He looked towardthe screened porch and lowered his voice. “Is Miss Winnie back there?”
“Miss Winnie’s gone to bed,” Grandma Dorothy said. She settled back into her chair.
Andy leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I asked about Coley Joe Bonner on the Internet’s genealogy bulletin boards. I didn’t use Dad’s name. I used the name Hunter. A little while ago I got copies of three letters. They were written by Coley Joe Bonner to his girlfriend, back in Corpus Christi.”
Grandma Dorothy blinked, then frowned. “I heard Miss Winnie tell you not to question her about Coley Joe Bonner.”
“I’m not questioning her, Grandma. I’m trying to clear Coley Joe’s name. Do you know about Coley Joe and that his family thought he stole their money?”
“Yes, I know the family story. But the Bonners didn’t
just
Letters from Coley Joe! They were bound to tell him something or give a clue as to what had happened. How long would it take for copies of the letters to arrive by fax? Was MLB321 sitting at the computer now, waiting for his answer? Or was she the kind that booted up once a week in her spare time? “Come on, MLB321! Do something!” Andy mumbled.
The phone on the fax line rang. His father’s fax machine beeped and went into action. Andy jumped to his feet, ran to the fax, and removed the sheets of paper as they came up. There were three letters, each addressed to “My Dearest Felicity” in a swirly, scratchy kind of handwriting that Andy found hard to read.
Mr. Thomas came into the room. “Are the letters going to be of any help with your project?” he asked.
“Project?” As he stared at the handwriting of an ancestor whose whereabouts had become a mystery, Andy realized he had forgotten he was searching because of his history assignment.
“Look, Dad!” Andy said, and waved the sheets of paper toward his father. “Real letters, written by Coley Joe.”
“That’s good?” Mr. Thomas asked.
“It’s cool. Really cool. All I have to do is figure out the handwriting so I’ll know what he wrote.”
“Have you thanked MLB321?”
“Ooops. I’ll do that right now.”
Andy went back to MLB321’s e-mail letter, clicked on
reply
, and wrote: “Letters received. Thank you very much. Hunter.”
He sent the mail and turned the computer over to his father. It was a terrible temptation to go up to his room and pore over Coley Joe’s letters, but he had to keep his interview appointment with his grandparents. For safe-keeping, Andy tucked the letters on top of the poetry book inside the drawer of his nightstand. He took a quick call from J.J. and filled him in before he ran across the lawn to his grandparents’ house.
Grandma Dorothy ushered him into the den, where Grandpa Zeke, dressed in sweatpants and an old DallasCowboys T-shirt, was stretched out in a recliner. Grandma Dorothy picked up the remote control and turned off the television set.
“Hey!” Grandpa Zeke exclaimed. “That blond girl from Idaho was just about to give the answer.”
“We promised Andy we’d tell him family stories,” Grandma Dorothy said. She sat in her armchair and smiled at Andy.
“Well, then, let’s get it over with,” Grandpa Zeke said. “That hospital soap opera’s coming on next, and I don’t want to miss it.”
Grandma Dorothy smiled at Andy. “Your grandpa’s just kidding,” she said. “Go ahead, Andy. Ask whatever you like.”
Andy gulped. “I forgot my notebook.”
“Looks like you forgot your pen, too,” Grandpa Zeke told him.
Andy looked at his empty hands, surprised. “I’m kind of excited,” he said. “I just got something special faxed to me.”
“A course on how to improve your memory?” Grandpa Zeke asked.
“Now, Zeke, don’t try to fluster the boy,” Grandma Dorothy said. She got up and fished through the top desk drawer until she found a notepad and pencil. “Here,” she said to Andy. “You can use these.”
“Thanks, Grandma,” Andy said. He looked towardthe screened porch and lowered his voice. “Is Miss Winnie back there?”
“Miss Winnie’s gone to bed,” Grandma Dorothy said. She settled back into her chair.
Andy leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I asked about Coley Joe Bonner on the Internet’s genealogy bulletin boards. I didn’t use Dad’s name. I used the name Hunter. A little while ago I got copies of three letters. They were written by Coley Joe Bonner to his girlfriend, back in Corpus Christi.”
Grandma Dorothy blinked, then frowned. “I heard Miss Winnie tell you not to question her about Coley Joe Bonner.”
“I’m not questioning her, Grandma. I’m trying to clear Coley Joe’s name. Do you know about Coley Joe and that his family thought he stole their money?”
“Yes, I know the family story. But the Bonners didn’t
just
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