“How do you know that?”
“I found it with some other letters that were part of a group of letters that never got delivered. They were supposed to arrive in Broken Rope via the Pony Express, but something must have happened.”
“Sounds feasible,” Jim said, and true to our prediction, he didn’t push for deeper answers.
Jake cleared his throat and read the letter. I watched Jim. I watched Joe and his horse. The ghosts were mostly unmoving—in the stillest way a horse could be, I supposed. But Jim’s stern features surprisingly transformed. He’d been sitting back with his arms crossed in front of his chest, but he relaxed as Jake read. He sat forward and placed his arms on his desk. His crinkled forehead remained crinkled, but the crinkles became more curious than impatient.
Jake finished the letter and folded the parchment. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I shrugged. I didn’t know what was supposed to happen next either. Nothing had changed. The ghosts were the same, and Gram had started to inspect her fingernails.
“I see,” Jim finally said after a long moment. “That’s very interesting, Jake.”
“It is? I mean, yes, I agree that it’s interesting, but I’d love to know more. Have you ever heard anything about these people?”
“I have, in fact.”
That got everyone’s attention, including Gram’s. She looked up from her fingers.
Jim smiled and then laughed a tiny bit—nothing jovial. Ironic, maybe.
“Everyone wondered what happened to him. Isaac became the family story. No one knew that he might have traveled east to fight in the war, or even considered it. I guess if that letter had been received they would have at least known he was thinking about it, but the communication just stopped—long before that letter. He was labeled ‘the coward’ because he never wrote home and, as far as anyone knew, never went back to Georgia. Sadly, he became an embarrassment. Shoot, maybe he did fight in the war after all. No matter what, he must have died shortly after sending that letter.”
“No one heard when he died, or where?” I said.
“Don’t think so.”
“I gotta say, I think it’s kind of amazing that you even know about him,” I said.
“Some stories fade but don’t die, I suppose.” Jim smiled. “My dad would have loved to read that letter. He spent a few years trying to track down what happened to Isaac.”
“I wish I would have found it sooner,” Jake said.
“It’s just good to know it existed. At least he tried to let people know what he was thinking and that he might not make it home. Gosh, Jake, when you find these things, do you ever wonder how different life might be for lots of people if things never got lost or miscommunicated?”
“All the time, Jim.”
“I bet.”
I looked at the ghosts and at Gram. Still, nothing changed. No one behaved differently, but I didn’t know if they were supposed to. We hadn’t discussed it that much.
“Jim,” I said because I wanted to stall a little longer, just in case. “What do you think this will mean to your family now?”
Jim blinked. “Just the knowledge changes everything a little. I doubt it will do much to transform our lives, but there’s a long history of not having an answer, of being embarrassed. Answers are good. Now the stories that are passed down have more satisfaction and less negativity attached to them. We didn’t know what happened to him, but now we have some idea that he tried to communicate.” He laughed. “It’s like there’s a punch line, a twist to the story, a happier ending. That’ll be fun.”