From Here to Paternity

along the length to take the impact of a heavy plane landing. That’s all in the report Uncle Bill prepared for your husband. Why do you ask?“
    “No reason,“ Shelley said. “It just crossed our minds that it might be an option.“ She glared at Jane as if it were all her fault.
    “Is there any word about your uncle?“ Jane asked, hurriedly changing the subject.
    “From the sheriff? No, I’m afraid not. He says he’s ‘pursuing several leads’, but won’t say what they are.“
    I hope having that silly deputy follow me around constitutes pursuing a lead , Jane thought grumpily.
    “I brought something along that might interest you,“ Tenny said, reaching for an accordian-file folder she’d been carrying and had laid aside when they first sat down. Extracting a five-by-seven white envelope, she removed from it an old picture—a posed professional photograph mounted in a fancy brown cardstock designed to fold out and stand up. “Aunt Joanna and I found this with some of Uncle Bill’s things. It must be the one photograph I told you he once mentioned.“
    The picture was of a couple and two young children. The boy, presumably Bill Smith, was about three and wearing a “farmer’s boy“ outfit, little overalls with a plaid shirt, but these weren’t clothes just for a picture. A barely discernible patch on one knee attested to the fact that these were the best of his everyday clothes. The little girl, Pete Andrews’s mother, was about two years old and wearing a very simple, unfrilly little dress that likewise was probably the best of everyday. She had a blond Buster Brown hairdo, ornamented with a big bow that matched her dress.
    The mother was a thin, tired-looking woman. She must have died not very long after this picture was taken, and there was a hint of illness already in the drawn lines of her pretty face. Although the picture must have been taken in the early 1930s, the age of bobbed hair, the woman either hadn’t known the fashion or hadn’t chosen to follow it. Her hair, dark blond and curly, was pulled into a thick knot at the back of her neck. Wispy tendrils had escaped around her face. She wore a severe dress of a light, print pattern with only a narrow white collar and matching belt as decoration. This was clearly a farm wife, but oddly enough, with her plain garb and hair, she wore what looked very much like diamond earrings and a rather elaborate, sparkling necklace. She also wore two rings on the hand that came around the toddler on her lap. Her other hand, behind the little boy and probably hanging onto him as he stood on the photographer’s plush little bench beside her, wasn’t visible.
    “Look at the jewelry,“ Jane said softly to Shelley as they both studied the photograph.
    “It was in an old-fashioned wooden cigar box with the picture,“ Tenny said, also lowering her voice. “The necklace, earrings, and three rings. I’m putting them in a safe-deposit box first thing in the morning.“
    “Did you and your aunt know about this jewelry?“
    “I didn’t, but she did. Uncle Bill tried to give it to her when they were first married, but she said it wasn’t her style and he’d better save it for when they had a daughter. Of course, they never did, and she said after a while she forgot about it and didn’t remember until we found it. She’s given it to me.“ Tenny started to tear up as she spoke and took a quick gulp of her coffee.
    Jane turned her attention to the man in the picture. The first thing one noticed about him was the difference in the colors of his face. He was obviously a man who was normally bearded and hatted and out in the sun, but he shaved the beard and put aside the hat for the photograph. His upper cheeks, nose, and the lower half of his forehead were a good three shades darker than the rest of his clean-shaven face. His hair, long and shaggy, had been slicked back, leaving his face looking vulnerable and oddly naked.
    Yet it was a rather startling face. Handsome in a tierce way, with thick brows, an imposing jaw, and the kind of large, somewhat close, almost transparently blue eyes often seen in Civil War-era photographs. It was obvious from that lean, strong, almost angry face that having a picture taken wasn’t his free choice. He wore a black suit that must have been old-fashioned even during those days, and a suspiciously stiff white collar that bit into his strong, thick neck. It must have been purchased specifically for the photo and