“Yes, I talked to him,” Justin said, putting up the laptop and turning to Susan. “At first he wasn’t going to meet with us, but I told him you were related to Jebediah. After that, he seemed quite anxious to see you. I explained a little of what you were looking for and he said if any of that information existed, he probably knew where to find it. So, he said he would meet us in an hour at this address,” Justin held up a small scrap of paper with scribbled writing on it. “From what he told me, we’ll be meeting him at Jebediah’s childhood home. We can leave any time you’re ready, because we have about forty-five minutes before we need to be there.”

“Then let’s go,” she said, grabbing her purse and a small notepad from the table by the front door. “You coming?” she called, as she went out the door.

Justin followed Susan out, locking the front door behind him.

They pulled up in front of a square, single story structure with just three minutes to spare. Justin parked behind a battered truck, painted John Deer green in the narrow, uneven, cracked driveway. As they stepped from their vehicle a short, elderly man came out of the house, busily combing at a friar’s ring of silver hair with his fingers. “Good morning,” he called to them as he neared the SUV. “You must be the Anders. I’m John, John Milton Johnson.”

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Susan said, extending her hand and seeing it quickly enveloped by his large, calloused palm. She noticed his grip was stronger than she had expected, as he enthusiastically pumped her arm up and down several times.

“I wasn’t doing anything else today,” he told them, releasing her hand and extending his to Justin. “You must be the young man I spoke with on the phone?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Justin and this is my wife, Susan,” Justin answered, returning the older man’s strong handshake.

Turning back to Susan, John said, “You know, my dear, you look very similar to a person I remember seeing in an old photograph I found right here in this house back in my youth. The only reason I recall the photograph at all, is because I developed quite a childhood crush on that young woman,” he added with a smile, then he reached out and squeezed her hand gently. “Let’s go inside and talk. Hopefully, I have the information you’re looking for,” he told her, heading toward the house as Justin and Susan fell into step behind him. He paused at the door and looked back over his shoulder. “With no one living here for so many years, this house has become something of a family junk closet,” he explained. “Any unwanted furniture, old papers, and photographs belonging to long dead ancestors have for some reason ended up here over the generations.”

John opened the door and stepped inside the house, while the others followed him in. As her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, Susan saw that what he had told them about the condition of the house was apparently not an overstatement. Looking around the room, it appeared that every available inch of space was occupied, with only a minimal area left for movement. Furniture was pushed up against walls and bunched up throughout the room, covered by dusty sheets that had once been white, while yellowing newspapers were stacked up in waist-high and chest-high columns.