Page 37 of The Women of Oak Ridge

I STARED AT THE BOLD HEADLINE on the screen of the microfilm machine.

Fire Destroys Trailer in Happy Valley

“A fire destroyed the trailer home of Clive Morrison last night,” I read quietly.

The Oak Ridge Fire Department attempted to put out the blaze, but the house could not be saved.

The article went on to say that Mr. Morrison had been away at the time of the emergency and was uninjured.

Neighbors reported no suspicious activity, but the military police would investigate, nonetheless.

I drummed a beat on the desk with my fingernails.

I wouldn’t have an interest in a story about the fire if the house hadn’t belonged to Clive Morrison, the same man who’d filed a complaint against Aunt Mae. Curious, I backed up the film reel to view the first page of the issue and reread the date.

Unease swam in the pit of my stomach.

The fire took place the day after Mr. Morrison claimed Aunt Mae broke into his home. A home that burned to the ground less than twenty-four hours later.

It couldn’t be simple coincidence.

A terrible question took root in my mind as I stared at the black-and-white print.

Did Aunt Mae have something to do with the fire? The very idea seemed ludicrous, but the timing could not be ignored. It seemed impossible the two incidents were unrelated. Yet without knowing Aunt Mae’s side of the story, I couldn’t be certain.

As I’d done before, I printed the page and tucked it into my purse.

I’d share my findings with Jonas the next time I saw him.

I spent the next two hours searching articles from January through August 1945.

News of the bombings in Japan, the end of the war, and Oak Ridge’s shocking role in the enrichment of uranium filled each issue, but there were no other references to the fire, Mr. Morrison, Sissy, or Aunt Mae that I could find.

I’d just turned off the machine when I saw Jonas come through the library entrance, looking handsome in dark slacks and a white shirt. The librarian greeted him with a friendly smile. After they chatted, she looked in my direction. Jonas nodded when he saw me.

“Hi there,” he said when he approached. “I saw your car in the parking lot. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all.” I held back a grin. I was quite pleased he’d sought me out. “I was just finishing up.”

“Did you find anything interesting?” He pulled up a chair from a nearby table and sat down.

I removed the printed page from my purse and handed it to him. “Check out the article about the fire.”

After he finished reading, he took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and gave it to me. “I found something too.”

“What?” I asked.

He simply pointed to the paper.

A half dozen handwritten, dated entries from December 1944 filled the lined page.

5p.m. Mrs. Fenlor wants her husband removed as he had been drinking again. John Fenlor, age 42, locked up overnight to help him recuperate. I looked at Jonas. “What is this?”

“It’s a copy of a police log. We have something similar down at the station, although ours are typed these days. Calls, arrests, disturbances. Everything is recorded in the log. This one,” he indicated the document I held, “is from the 1944 Oak Ridge Police Department. Keep reading.”

I did.

The next entry was about a barking dog. Then I came to the third incident.

6p.m. Fire department called to burning trailer on Wheat Ave., MP on duty took over investigation. Resident Clive Morrison unharmed.

I met Jonas’s gaze. “I guess you came to the same conclusion I did when I read the article about the fire.”

He gave a slow nod. “The timing can’t be a fluke.”

“I agree,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice down. “But it also doesn’t mean Aunt Mae is guilty of anything. Especially not arson. I searched the old newspapers through August 1945 but didn’t find any other articles about her, Morrison, or the fire.”

“Same.” He handed back the printed news article. “I went through records and logs for the entire year of 1945. This is the only thing I found with Morrison’s name. There wasn’t anything about your aunt, which is good news. That means they never charged her with starting the fire.”

“That’s a relief.” I held the two documents side by side. “I wish I could ask Aunt Mae about all of this, but I don’t want to upset her. It’s probably nothing, especially if the military police didn’t pursue it. Besides, it happened over thirty years ago. It has no relevance to anyone today.”

“You’re right, but...” His voice trailed.

“But what?”

“The cop in me suspects there’s more to the story. What that might be, I don’t know. But you’re right. It happened a long time ago.”

I gathered my things and we made our way outside.

Brilliant sunshine and temperatures in the low eighties created a perfect summer day.

His police cruiser was parked next to my Camaro in the parking lot, the windows down, something you wouldn’t see in Boston.

Delinquents had no qualms about filching from an unattended vehicle, including a police car.

“My mom got home last night,” he said with a grin.

“She wasn’t happy when she found out about dad’s injury.

He’s doing everything he can to appease her.

She loves entertaining, so Dad’s going to fire up the barbeque grill tomorrow and invite some folks over.

I was hoping you could join us. Your aunt, too, if she’d like to come. ”

“That sounds fun. I’ll check with Aunt Mae to see if she has any plans and let you know.”

A male voice came over the radio from inside the police car, interrupting us. “I’ve got a 10-52 at the intersection of Illinois Avenue and Oak Ridge Turnpike. Fifty-six-year-old driver. Name is Maebelle Willett.”

I gasped. “Jonas, that’s Aunt Mae. What does he mean by a 10-52?”

He didn’t answer as he reached into the police car through the open window and grabbed the radio microphone.

“10-4. This is Tyson. What’s the situation?”

Static sounded, then the man on the other end said, “We have a 10-50 in progress, blocking the intersection.”

Sirens sounded before he cut off.

“10-4. I’m on my way.”

I didn’t wait for him to explain. “What’s going on, Jonas? Is Aunt Mae all right?”

When he faced me, he wore a look of concern. “She’s been involved in a car accident. They’ve called for an ambulance.”

I sucked in a breath and covered my mouth.

“Why don’t you come with me? I can get you there faster.”

We jumped into his vehicle. Jonas flipped a switch that turned on flashing lights and a siren, then tore out of the library parking lot. Cars pulled over to let us by, and I was grateful he’d volunteered to take me to the scene. All the while, I prayed Aunt Mae wasn’t seriously injured.

Two other police cars and an ambulance were on scene when we arrived.

“Let me find out what’s going on before you get out of the car, okay?” Jonas reached a hand to touch my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t wait for an answer and exited the vehicle. I watched him stride over to where the ambulance was parked. From where I sat, I couldn’t tell if anyone was inside the emergency transport or not.

Not far from the ambulance, I saw Aunt Mae’s car, stopped in the middle of the intersection.

It faced away from me and looked perfectly fine from this vantage point.

However, another car sat across from it, the damage obvious.

While I couldn’t be certain, it looked like Aunt Mae had broadsided the vehicle on the passenger side.

A man stood a few paces from it with a uniformed police officer, his hands motioning as he spoke.

Jonas soon returned and slid into the driver’s seat.

“Is she okay?” I asked, my voice wavering.

He pressed his lips. “She’s pretty banged up, but the paramedic is hopeful her injuries aren’t life-threatening.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “Can I see her?”

“They’re transporting her to the hospital now. We’ll follow.”

We drove behind the ambulance, lights flashing on both emergency vehicles.

When we reached the hospital, Jonas pulled into a parking space while the ambulance headed for the ER entrance.

We rushed over as the attendants brought Aunt Mae into the building on a wheeled gurney, with one of them explaining her condition to the doctor on duty as they sped down the hall.

A blanket covered her up to her neck, and her head was swathed in a bandage.

Her eyes were closed and her face had no color, causing my heart to race with fear.

Jonas and I hung back as they took her to a private, curtained area. Nurses immediately hovered over her, calling out medical terms, working in tandem. One hooked up an IV while another carefully lifted Aunt Mae’s arm to examine her bandaged wrist.

The doctor used a small flashlight to check the pupils in both of her eyes. “Ms. Willett?” He spoke close to Aunt Mae’s ear. “Can you hear me, Ms. Willett?”

Aunt Mae mumbled but didn’t open her eyes.

“You’ve been in a car accident,” the doctor said. “You’re in the hospital.”

She didn’t respond.

“This is Miss Willett’s niece, Laurel Willett,” Jonas said, gaining the doctor’s attention.

“Were you in the vehicle with your aunt?” the man asked, giving me a once-over.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

He seemed to assess my emotional state. “We’ll take good care of her.

She sustained a pretty bad blow to the head.

I suspect she has a concussion. We also believe she has a fractured wrist, but we’ll confirm that with an X-ray.

Once we get her settled in a room, you can see her.

For now, why don’t you go out to the waiting room.

” His gaze shifted to Jonas. “Maybe you could get her a soda or something cool to drink. She looks a little pale.”