Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case by Nancy Haddock

looked harder at the path. Hadn’t Trudy galloped through here just yesterday? How had she known there was a path at all, much less known where it was located? Because she’d helped Hellspawn burglarize the barn?
    I mentally shrugged. I supposed it didn’t matter now. I let those thoughts go. As I did, neighborhood sounds receded, too, and I felt the peace I saw reflected in Sherry’s expression.
    “Sherry,” I began as we turned back to the house. “Did the married Stanton children live with their parents? I know the house is large, but it seems that would get awfully crowded.”
    “No, child. Back when we owned more property, they were offered tracts of land as wedding gifts to build their own houses. Some did that, and some moved to town. Why do you ask?”
    “Just curious. Have you ever considered applying for a historical landmark designation for your house?”
    Sherry linked her arm in mine. “The county historical society suggested we do that back in the eighties. I found trunks filled with family papers and mementos that Sissy had gathered. I even had most of the research together, but I always got sidetracked. Besides, I don’t know that the house is any finer example of architecture than a dozen others in the county. Other than being used as a courthouse for a spell, nothing particularly historical happened here. It’s simply where the Stantons raised their families.”
    “It can’t hurt to apply. If the application goes through, I think it will protect your house from being torn down. At least make it harder to do. Do you still have your research?”
    “I imagine I packed it all and left the trunks in the parlor.”
    “The one that needs cleaning?”
    She waved a hand. “It’s not really dirty. We do some of our crafting in there and in the dining room, and just haven’t tidied it yet.”
    “Then are you up for a little digging with me?”
    “I would love that!”
    Sherry gave me a smile of near rapture and a hard hug before she bustled inside. I admit I walked on air a bit as I trailed her, happy that I’d suggested a project that excited her. If we didn’t finish it on this trip, I’d make another one to work on it later. Or I’d ask Sherry to let me take the information home.
    Or so I thought until I saw the sheer volume of treasures packed in a trunk and two cedar hope chests.
    I dragged the trunk and chests out of a storage cupboard in the lower part of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases built into either side of the fireplace. Magnificently crafted bookcases that made the parlor look more like a library. Then, at Sherry’s direction, I arranged them in a semicircle around two wingback chairs. She moved basket-making supplies and labels for Aster’s herb concoctions out of the way, retrieved a large magnifying glass from the desk near the front porch windows, and we were soon elbow deep in Stanton family detritus.
    I latched on to copies of deeds, Samuel Stanton’s Civil War records, a delicate journal that had belonged to Samuel’s wife, Yvonne, and other papers. Age had faded the ink, so the magnifying glass came in handy. Sherry held up daguerreotypes, ambrotypes, and tintypes from the 1800s, and photographs going back to the early 1900s. I
ooh
ed and
aah
ed over each one, partly because that’s what Sherry expected, but mostly because I got caught up in a feeling of family history I’d never experienced before. We reverently examined each memento, from leather shoes and kidskin gloves to watches and rings, brooches and bracelets. Nothing escaped our attention as I peppered Sherry with questions. I even went to the kitchen to grab my tablet so I could take photos and type notes.
    The exercise reminded me a little of going through my mother’s things with Sherry, but without the aching sadness. I was so deep into the discoveries, I startled when Maise poked her head in through the pocket doors we’d left partially open.
    “Time for the drive-by.”
    Sherry folded a lacy