railroad shop and seventeen children in a school. Some of those lucky enough to survive the wind had succumbed to fires that swept through acres of wooden rubble.
The tornado had claimed just twenty-six lives in Griffin but inflicted an arguably greater wound. It had destroyed every building in the small community and dozens more in the outlying area, including a farmhouse that James Bell, father of Percival and Henry, had built in 1855.
Cameron thought about the house and the family that had once called it home as he folded the newspaper, set it aside, and stared blankly at the wall. He tried to imagine what it was like to lose most of your worldly belongings in the blink of an eye, but he simply could not.
Unlike Candice and Marjorie Bell, he had not lost a thing on March 18, 1925. In fact, he had gained something. He had acquired something interesting, new, and potentially priceless. He had gained a diary that was arguably the most valuable document on the planet.
Cameron reached for Henry Bell's journal, opened it to a page he had marked, and started reading. He had read the diary at least five times in the past seventy-two hours and all but memorized its contents. He knew the narratives, sketches, and formulas almost as well as he knew the particulars of his master's thesis, but he didn't understand what all of them meant.
That left him both frustrated and hopeful. He was frustrated because he could not figure out the most important parts of an important work. He was hopeful because he believed he had the means to find most of the answers that eluded him.
Cameron had not shared his discovery with Candice or Marjorie. Deciding on the spot to keep all of his options open, he had tucked the muddy journal in his satchel, returned to the Bell women as if nothing had happened, and comforted them in their moment of distress.
He had not seen the women since escorting them to a nearby farm that had somehow escaped destruction. When the farmer said he could drive up to two of the three tornado survivors to Evansville Wednesday night, Cameron happily gave up his seat. He returned to town the next morning on a bus transporting refugees from the disaster zone.
Before leaving Cameron at the farm, Candice had promised to finish their interview. She said she would contact him as soon as she had settled into her new home.
Cameron looked forward to the meeting. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to pick her brain, test her intellect, and hear her twang. He wanted to see her green eyes and beautiful smile. He wanted to do all these things and more, but he knew that now was not the time to do them.
Candice needed a break. She needed at least a few days to mourn her loss, comfort her mother, and adjust to living with her brother, sister-in-law, and niece.
Cameron pondered her situation for a moment and then returned his attention to the diary, which had become a favorite read. He looked at the bookmarked page, made a few mental notes, and proceeded to a page that was perhaps the most important in the work.
Tucked in the middle of the page, between observations about camp food, was a passage the Rhode Islander had discovered in less than ten minutes. It answered a pressing question.
"August 4, 1898: P and I said so long to the fellows today. Most seemed eager to go home to their families or return to their jobs. I am too. M and L seem like memories now. The farm is but a faint recollection. Were it not for P's 'discovery,' I would have joined the others in Truckee. As it is, I still have work to do. P insists his find is worth the delay. We shall see. Tomorrow we will return to Needle Peak and inspect the cave in question. I look forward to the visit, if only to satisfy my curiosity and bring my business here to a conclusion."
Cameron didn't need a decoder ring to decipher the letters. P was Percival, the diarist's brother and a fellow expedition member. M was Marjorie, his wife. L was Lawrence, his son. Now
The tornado had claimed just twenty-six lives in Griffin but inflicted an arguably greater wound. It had destroyed every building in the small community and dozens more in the outlying area, including a farmhouse that James Bell, father of Percival and Henry, had built in 1855.
Cameron thought about the house and the family that had once called it home as he folded the newspaper, set it aside, and stared blankly at the wall. He tried to imagine what it was like to lose most of your worldly belongings in the blink of an eye, but he simply could not.
Unlike Candice and Marjorie Bell, he had not lost a thing on March 18, 1925. In fact, he had gained something. He had acquired something interesting, new, and potentially priceless. He had gained a diary that was arguably the most valuable document on the planet.
Cameron reached for Henry Bell's journal, opened it to a page he had marked, and started reading. He had read the diary at least five times in the past seventy-two hours and all but memorized its contents. He knew the narratives, sketches, and formulas almost as well as he knew the particulars of his master's thesis, but he didn't understand what all of them meant.
That left him both frustrated and hopeful. He was frustrated because he could not figure out the most important parts of an important work. He was hopeful because he believed he had the means to find most of the answers that eluded him.
Cameron had not shared his discovery with Candice or Marjorie. Deciding on the spot to keep all of his options open, he had tucked the muddy journal in his satchel, returned to the Bell women as if nothing had happened, and comforted them in their moment of distress.
He had not seen the women since escorting them to a nearby farm that had somehow escaped destruction. When the farmer said he could drive up to two of the three tornado survivors to Evansville Wednesday night, Cameron happily gave up his seat. He returned to town the next morning on a bus transporting refugees from the disaster zone.
Before leaving Cameron at the farm, Candice had promised to finish their interview. She said she would contact him as soon as she had settled into her new home.
Cameron looked forward to the meeting. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to pick her brain, test her intellect, and hear her twang. He wanted to see her green eyes and beautiful smile. He wanted to do all these things and more, but he knew that now was not the time to do them.
Candice needed a break. She needed at least a few days to mourn her loss, comfort her mother, and adjust to living with her brother, sister-in-law, and niece.
Cameron pondered her situation for a moment and then returned his attention to the diary, which had become a favorite read. He looked at the bookmarked page, made a few mental notes, and proceeded to a page that was perhaps the most important in the work.
Tucked in the middle of the page, between observations about camp food, was a passage the Rhode Islander had discovered in less than ten minutes. It answered a pressing question.
"August 4, 1898: P and I said so long to the fellows today. Most seemed eager to go home to their families or return to their jobs. I am too. M and L seem like memories now. The farm is but a faint recollection. Were it not for P's 'discovery,' I would have joined the others in Truckee. As it is, I still have work to do. P insists his find is worth the delay. We shall see. Tomorrow we will return to Needle Peak and inspect the cave in question. I look forward to the visit, if only to satisfy my curiosity and bring my business here to a conclusion."
Cameron didn't need a decoder ring to decipher the letters. P was Percival, the diarist's brother and a fellow expedition member. M was Marjorie, his wife. L was Lawrence, his son. Now
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