Previously on DOOL:
By Monday, word had spread beyond Hawthorne Grove. At the Franklin Library, Lynette leaned over the counter like she owned the place.
“Y’all keep records on old marriages, right?” she asked the archivist, fishing.
The woman’s eyes gleamed, half-curious, half-scandalized. “Some kids found a covenant Tied to the Cherokees?”
Nervously, Lynette responded, “I thought it was Chickasaw. At least that’s what I heard.”
***
Nathan’s phone buzzed on his way to the office. High school friends poking a little fun.
“Y’all digging up pirate treasure now? Facebook says so.”
Nathan shook his head and chuckled. He would have to look into that after work. Felt like the secret was about to be out, though, and he had a little fear of missing out.
***
That evening, Blake strode into Cheryl’s garage, eyes sharp. “Don’t bother trying to hide it. Word’s already out you found a marriage covenant with Malcolm Patterson’s name on it.”
Cheryl stiffened. “And who told you that?”
Blake smirked wryly. “The Hawthorne Grove grapevine. Faster than Google Fiber.”
The garage turned courtroom.
Blake planted himself by the workbench. “This covenant needs to stay in my family. We have a right to decide how it’s handled.”
Maya fired back. “That’s the problem, Blake – you think history is your personal inheritance. This belongs to everyone.”
The air crackled, their tones toward each other sharp enough to cut.
Sawyer raised her hands. “We don’t even know what ‘D.C.’ means yet – “
“Davidson County,” Nathan said firmly. “Case closed.”
Sawyer shook her head. She didn’t know why she was so hung up on ‘D.C.’ meaning “Davy Crockett”, but she couldn’t shake the connection. She swallowed hard, heat rising to her cheeks. Nathan was treating her like a joke. Nobody was taking her seriously.
The Heritage Foundation
Two days later, Cheryl found a letter in her mailbox, thick stationery embossed with the seal of the Williamson County Heritage Foundation.
"Dear Resident,
We have received reports of an item of potential historical significance being in your possession at this address.
We request its immediate transfer to our offices for evaluation."
Cheryl waived it like toilet paper. “Over my dead body,” she said to herself. “They just want to lock it in a museum basement and slap a plaque on it.
Bills & Distractions
Later that evening, Sawyer sat at her kitchen table surrounded by unopened envelopes – water, electric, internet. Her laptop screen glowed with spreadsheets from work, numbers blurring together. She rubbed her eyes.
The phone rang. A chipper voice: “Hi Sawyer? This is Jill from the Hale Agency calling about Riggins.”
“Okay,” she said, waiting for more information from Jill.
“The Bark Park wants to use him for a cover shoot for their October issue,” Jill said.
“What’s The Bark Park?”
“It’s a niche, regional magazine that focuses on Spaniel health, grooming, pedigree, competitions, etc.”
“Sounds….” Sawyer sighed. “I mean, I don’t have Riggins’ pedigree paperwork.”
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” Jill said. “I was able to get you the gig by negotiating a lower fee in lieu of papers.”
Sawyer leaned back and nodded to herself. “Of course,” she said, disappointed. “Makes sense.” Her tone was flat, more polite than eager.
Jill bubbled on about dates and locations. Sawyer murmured agreement, but her mind wandered. She still hadn’t see a dime from the Rafa and Russo commercial. All talk, no check.
That night, she sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, Dem Boyz draped around her like a living quilt. She scribbled DC in her Scribe, circling it again and again. “What if I’m not wrong, just … not right yet?” she whispered.
Riggins groaned and plopped his head onto the Scribe screen as if to say give it a rest, Mommy.
Sawyer sighed, curling an arm around him. “Fine. But someday, y’all are going to see I was onto something…if not right all along.”
Stay tuned for the next episode of DOOL…