newspaper published in town at the time of Eddie’s death, it didn’t take me long to find what I needed—
the Daily Republican
, 1890–1892.
No one else had ventured back to the microfilm area yet, so I had my pick of the viewers. And threading the film through the machine seemed easy after watching Lottie somany times. I clicked on the light, and soon I was scrolling through months of old-timey news.
I felt a little rush of curiosity as I wound my way closer and closer to the date of Eddie’s death. I scanned the pages of the January 14 issue, then the next day’s paper and the next, and the day after. Nothing. I had to close my eyes for a few seconds and blow out a big breath of air. All those waves of words were starting to make me seasick, so I forced myself to slow down and roll the film backward inch by inch. And suddenly, there it was! On page three, buried in between advertisements for Dr. Bull’s Cough Syrup and J. A. Pickering’s Traveling Musical Show. The obituary was so small, I had to squint to read the skinny column of print frozen on the screen:
Eddie Dolezal, the only son of Madame Theresa Dolezal, died yesterday afternoon of inflammation of the brain at the age of 17 years. He had been sick only a few days, having left Boerner Bros.’ Pharmacy (where he was a faithful employee) last Friday, complaining of illness.
The departed was a bright young man who planned to study medicine at the university. He and his mother have resided on the north side of town since making their voyage to America when Eddie was just a young boy of four. Eddie was preceded into the hereafter by his father and an infantbrother, who both died earlier in the family’s native village of Strmilov, Bohemia. Madame Dolezal has the sympathy of everyone for the loss of her only remaining son.
I sat back in my chair, staring at the screen. Poor Theresa. She had lost her whole family, one by one, like falling dominoes. How unlucky could you get?
Then I remembered those weird foreign words that Delaney had spotted on the back of the Angel’s base, the ones that had been too faded to read. The obituary said the Dolezal family had come from a place called Bohemia. So that would explain it! Maybe the epitaph was written in Bohemian.
“But where in the heck is Bohemia?” I muttered to myself.
I reached for my notebook so I could double-check the names that had been engraved under Eddie’s on the front of the statue’s base.
Nicholas Feldevert 1825–1911
Theresa Feldevert 1836–
So at least Theresa had managed to find a new husband after Eddie died. But what happened to her after that? Questions slithered in and out of my brain. I opened my notebook to a clean page, figuring I might as well try the Lottie approach. Whenever my mother was stumped in her research, she would hunch over one of her yellow legal pads andscribble and scratch and scribble some more until she had a list of her most burning questions. My list was about ten times shorter than most of Lottie’s.
—Where’s Bohemia?
—Who was Nicholas Feldevert?
—Did Theresa’s luck turn around once she married him?
—Is Theresa dead yet?
I smiled down at my notebook, thinking of how Lottie would be rolling her eyes at the idea of Theresa still wandering the earth more than a hundred and seventy years after she was born. But even Professor Landers would have to admit that the missing death date was too mysterious to ignore.
I was ready to switch off the light on the viewing machine when I heard someone behind me. It was Amy, the one who was always following Mellecker around. Her lip gloss had worn off and she had a dazed look in her eyes. She swooped into the seat next to mine, clutching a box of microfilm. “You actually know how to work that thing?” she whispered frantically. “Can you show me? Pleeeeeease? I can’t stand to ask that Ms. Beckett. She’s a witch! Know what she did? She snatched my purse right off my shoulder and stuffed it in one
the Daily Republican
, 1890–1892.
No one else had ventured back to the microfilm area yet, so I had my pick of the viewers. And threading the film through the machine seemed easy after watching Lottie somany times. I clicked on the light, and soon I was scrolling through months of old-timey news.
I felt a little rush of curiosity as I wound my way closer and closer to the date of Eddie’s death. I scanned the pages of the January 14 issue, then the next day’s paper and the next, and the day after. Nothing. I had to close my eyes for a few seconds and blow out a big breath of air. All those waves of words were starting to make me seasick, so I forced myself to slow down and roll the film backward inch by inch. And suddenly, there it was! On page three, buried in between advertisements for Dr. Bull’s Cough Syrup and J. A. Pickering’s Traveling Musical Show. The obituary was so small, I had to squint to read the skinny column of print frozen on the screen:
Eddie Dolezal, the only son of Madame Theresa Dolezal, died yesterday afternoon of inflammation of the brain at the age of 17 years. He had been sick only a few days, having left Boerner Bros.’ Pharmacy (where he was a faithful employee) last Friday, complaining of illness.
The departed was a bright young man who planned to study medicine at the university. He and his mother have resided on the north side of town since making their voyage to America when Eddie was just a young boy of four. Eddie was preceded into the hereafter by his father and an infantbrother, who both died earlier in the family’s native village of Strmilov, Bohemia. Madame Dolezal has the sympathy of everyone for the loss of her only remaining son.
I sat back in my chair, staring at the screen. Poor Theresa. She had lost her whole family, one by one, like falling dominoes. How unlucky could you get?
Then I remembered those weird foreign words that Delaney had spotted on the back of the Angel’s base, the ones that had been too faded to read. The obituary said the Dolezal family had come from a place called Bohemia. So that would explain it! Maybe the epitaph was written in Bohemian.
“But where in the heck is Bohemia?” I muttered to myself.
I reached for my notebook so I could double-check the names that had been engraved under Eddie’s on the front of the statue’s base.
Nicholas Feldevert 1825–1911
Theresa Feldevert 1836–
So at least Theresa had managed to find a new husband after Eddie died. But what happened to her after that? Questions slithered in and out of my brain. I opened my notebook to a clean page, figuring I might as well try the Lottie approach. Whenever my mother was stumped in her research, she would hunch over one of her yellow legal pads andscribble and scratch and scribble some more until she had a list of her most burning questions. My list was about ten times shorter than most of Lottie’s.
—Where’s Bohemia?
—Who was Nicholas Feldevert?
—Did Theresa’s luck turn around once she married him?
—Is Theresa dead yet?
I smiled down at my notebook, thinking of how Lottie would be rolling her eyes at the idea of Theresa still wandering the earth more than a hundred and seventy years after she was born. But even Professor Landers would have to admit that the missing death date was too mysterious to ignore.
I was ready to switch off the light on the viewing machine when I heard someone behind me. It was Amy, the one who was always following Mellecker around. Her lip gloss had worn off and she had a dazed look in her eyes. She swooped into the seat next to mine, clutching a box of microfilm. “You actually know how to work that thing?” she whispered frantically. “Can you show me? Pleeeeeease? I can’t stand to ask that Ms. Beckett. She’s a witch! Know what she did? She snatched my purse right off my shoulder and stuffed it in one
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