The Blood Ballad Read Online Free PDF Page B

you about your grandfather’s music. I’ve discovered something … amazing.”
    â€œYes, my sister said that you’d called. I’m tied up today, but I can meet with you tomorrow.”
    There was a silence on the other end. “Hello? Mr. Morgan, I’m in the woods, so I’m afraid I might lose our connection.”
    â€œIn the woods?”
    â€œMy town is hosting a bird Olympics.”
    â€œIt is of the utmost importance that I speak to you today,” he said. The only people who actually use the word “utmost” in a casual conversation are people trying to sell you something, or they’re British. This guy wasn’t British, but the fact that he went right by the whole birding Olympics without asking for an explanation actually had me thinking that whatever he had to say to me must be pretty important. At least important to him. “I’m not sure how much longer…”
    â€œHow much longer, what?” I asked.
    â€œDo you remember a man named Scott Morgan?”
    Then it hit me. Of course, I should have recognized the last name Morgan. Not that it’s an uncommon name, but anytime you put the name Morgan with music in the southeast Missouri area, you come up with one family: the Morgan Family Players. During the twenties and thirties, they were famous for their music in about five states—mostly in the areas of southeast Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee, Kentucky, and southern Illinois. They were not unlike the Carter Family, but they never established nationwide fame. Also unlike the Carter Family, the Morgans seemed to fade into anonymity once the Depression ended.
    Scott Morgan was also the man primarily responsible for my grandpa being the fiddle player that he was.
    â€œYes, of course,” I said.
    â€œI thought you would. Scott Morgan was my grandpa. Look, I’ve found a tape. I really need to see you right away.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Glen, but I can’t see you until tomorrow. You can speak with my sister in town. She should be at the Gaheimer House today. If you go there, she’ll help you with whatever it is that you need. But I can’t see you until tomorrow.”
    â€œThis is very disconcerting, but I suppose if there’s no way around it…”
    â€œNo, I’m afraid not,” I said, glaring at the back of Eleanore’s head.
    â€œAll right, then, I’ll call you in the morning. I’ll meet you in town.”
    â€œSure,” I said, and hung up the phone. “Hey, Eleanore. What do I do if I have to pee?”
    She threw a roll of toilet paper down at me. “Find a bush. And put the used toilet paper in a Baggie until we get back to town. I’ll not have you littering—on top of everything else that you’ve done today.”
    My, my, she could be so persnickety.

Four
    Putting used toilet paper in a Baggie was a first for me, but I did as Eleanore instructed and pretty much kept as quiet as I could the rest of the day, for fear of Eleanore having a stroke in the middle of the woods.
    By about 6:00 P.M. , we had identified twenty-seven different bird species, including five different woodpeckers. Who would have thought there were so many woodpeckers in the world, let alone in Missouri? The river ran below our rocky perch, and the sun was setting behind us. Across the river in Illinois, the purple skies of dusk had already settled in, casting eerie shadows from the naked trees, and the temperature had dropped a good ten degrees. Thoughts of having to stay awake in the cold all night with Eleanore made me want to cry, but I was a big girl and told myself that I could do anything for a limited amount of time and that within twelve hours it would all be over.
    â€œI can’t imagine doing this on a day when it’s really cold,” I said out loud. Realizing that it was going to get down to about twenty-eight later, I shivered. Ten or fifteen years ago, it would