CHAPTER 21
It was apparent that the attic in the Durant house had long been a storehouse for both treasure and trash. Much like Sarah’s description of the Stearns attic. Steve had uncovered some dusty Christmas decorations, a baby carriage, an ancient chiffonier filled with old dresses and some newspapers, one with a huge banner headline announcing that the “Japs” had bombed Pearl Harbor.
There were boxes of odds and ends, also suitcases stuffed with clothes. And magazines of a different era. Steve proceeded to move the magazines aside. “I think this place contains just about every edition of the ‘Saturday Evening Post’ ever printed,” he said.
Several feet away Linda trained her flashlight on an area not exposed to the attic light. “Steve, I think there’s a trunk back in here. I can see a corner of it, but there’s boxes in the way.”
Once Steve got the area cleared the trunk took center stage. “I’ll bet this baby was a beauty in its day,” Steve said. “All it needs is a little cleaning and polishing. Let me pull it out under the light and see what we’ve got.”
With some effort Steve moved the trunk. He lifted the clasp. The lid opened without resistance and they were viewing what appeared to be the letters of several lifetimes dating back to a much different era, a letter-writing age. The trunk’s contents seemed in good condition.
Steve stifled a sneeze. “It’s not quite like volcanic ash, but that dust gets your attention.”
“Why don’t we sort through some of the letters in here first,” Linda said. “We could clear off that table over by the stairs and see if there’s any rhyme or reason here.”
“You’ll have to help me on this,” Steve said. “I don’t know the names of the players, not too many, anyway.” He began lifting items from the trunk, many of the letters still in their envelopes, for stacking on the table.
The name on one of the envelopes caught Steve’s eye. “Here’s one addressed to Becky Stearns. Wasn’t she one of the daughters of Isaac Stearns?”
“Yes, let me see that. Hmmm, this is from Becky’s older sister, Freda. She seems to be working in a hospital in Portsmouth, Virginia. My word, this was written in 1864!” And look at this postmark! I didn’t know they had postmarks clear back in Civil War times.”
“Oh, postmarks go all the way back to Colonial days in this country. Idea borrowed from Great Britain, I suppose. I think they used postmarks quite a long time before stamps hit the scene.”
Steve delved deeper into the stack. “Here’s another letter to Becky. And here’s a couple to Freda. Let’s see. Yes, Becky wrote these. And here’s a deed for some property Mr. Stearns bought.” Steve picked up a newspaper clipping that was buried in the stack. “There’s a wealth of history here. You’ll be interested in this.”
“Wait! Steve, you’ve got to read this.” Linda reached over and handed a letter to Steve. The letter brought Steve up with a start. It was addressed to:
Mr. Gideon Glenn, Esq.
Dear Mr. Glenn:
Your letter of the 2th instant, addressed to Fanny Glenn, came to hand yesterday. We were quite surprised to learn that you are still alive, having assumed long ago that you had passed on during the Late Unpleasantness.
In regard to Fanny Glenn, it falls to my unhappy lot to inform you that Fanny has gone on to her reward, after some weeks of suffering the ill effects of typhoid fever. As for her son, Judd, he is now a member of the household of Fanny’s sister, Evelyn, and I am pleased to report that Judd is very much at home there with Evelyn’s two children. You may rest assured that he will continue to receive the best of care.
It must always be remembered that it is through the amazing mercy of God that we are alive and well. Trusting that you are recovering well from the travails of your wartime experiences, I remain,
Yours Most Sincerely
Elias McIntosh
Steve looked at Linda. “I am slightly stunned,” he said. “Gideon survived the war? Where did he go? Not back to New York, apparently.”
“What a strange letter,” Linda said. “Who is Elias McIntosh?”
“I assume that was Gideon’s father-in-law. McIntosh was Fanny Glenn’s maiden name.”
Linda shook her head. It sounds almost as though his father-in-law was inviting him not to come back.”
“Well, I don’t think there was any love lost between those two, from what I’ve heard,” Steve said. “Let’s see. The date on this letter is hard to read, but I think it’s dated May something, 1865. Hmmm. You suppose they took Gideon to a hospital?”
“Steve, this will answer a lot of your questions.” Linda handed him another of the letters from the stack. It was from Becky to Freda, and it was about Gideon. Steve could easily read Becky’s flowing handwriting.
It was dated March 30/65:
“Further on the visitor who is changing our lives, we’re not supposed to be doing this, but the war seems almost over and I no longer care. His name is Gideon. Father was opposed at first to the idea of moving him into the house. Now father spends time with him every day.
“Gideon is improving rapidly, and we are now taking short walks together outside. I must say he is a most unusual man. A fine person, really. And to think that not too long ago father was almost certain he was going to die, and I was praying for him.
“We have a Negro woman doing much of the work, and she is very good. Father pays her and she has sleeping quarters here. I think she might be somebody’s slave but she says she is a freed woman, and the way things are going I don’t believe it matters. Soldiers have quit coming around looking for runaways. Or deserters either, for that matter. It is quite chaotic here.
“I can’t think of anything else to mention. Our guest seems to be occupying my thoughts. More later.”
Becky
Steve put the letter down. “I wonder …..”
“Steve,” Linda interrupted, “It’s getting late and I’ve got to go to work tomorrow Let’s just package all these letters and I’ll see if my uncle won’t let us borrow them. You’ve had enough surprises for one day.”
CHAPTER 22
The following Saturday noon found Sarah Stearns busily preparing sandwiches and salad for the folks in the den at the Stearns home – husband Robert, George Durant, Linda, and Steve Glenn, who was soon to depart the area.
Mr. Durant was pouring over one of the letters Steve had culled from the Durant collection. “Listen to this one, Robert. It’s from Becky to Freda, and it’s dated April 3, 1869:
‘This is my first letter to you since I wrote about our preparations for heading
west across the state of Iowa. We are now in a bustling little town called
Sioux City. It is on the Missouri River, which sees a lot of traffic from
southward to here. Gideon is very busy at a saddlery, and there is always
much to be done. The business is close to a number of cattle pens on
the Floyd River, which flows into the Missouri.
‘We are doing well, and I would just as soon stay here and make this our
permanent home. But Gideon, as you know, wants to move on as soon as
we can. He has his eyes on land to the north of here. Not yet, though. It is
not safe to venture north at the moment because of Indian problems.’
The letter goes on to talk about their place in Sioux City. And on the envelope, by the way, is the name, ‘Becky Glenn.’”
“So, they moved to Iowa,” Robert Stearns said. “Where did you say they got married?”
“I didn’t say,” George Durant replied.
Steve laughed. “Well, ’where and when’ is a little bit up in the air, but I think I can find that out. Mr. Durant, why don’t you read that next letter?”
“Oh yeah, Robert. Listen to this – from Becky to Freda, dated May, 1872, and now they’re farming:
‘This is my first letter from our new location in northwest Iowa. It is beautiful
country, really, but so different from home. Fewer trees and fewer people.
Much distance between what few settlements exist, but everyone is friendly
and helpful. We are 20 to 30 miles from the western border of Iowa, and
west of that is Dakota territory.
‘Gideon says it’s the best farmland he’s ever seen. We are homesteading
160 acres, and the land will be totally ours in five years. But so much work
to do! Meanwhile, though, I am enjoying life here with Gideon. It always
stays rather pleasant in the summertime, and I love the rolling landscape
and the lush grain fields.
‘At the moment, Gideon is dragging timber to the site where he will build
our new home. This is prairie country and away from rivers timber is
limited. Gideon has bought the wood from a family living near the water.
‘We are temporarily staying in a sod house, and I must say it is fairly
comfortable. It actually feels warmer in cold weather than in a log or
frame home. Just the same, I will be looking forward to the day when
Gideon finishes our new home.’
And the letter goes on to ask some questions of Freda.”
“George, you need to clean up your attic more often,” Robert Stearns said. “Steve, you have any idea where this farm is located?”
“Only that it’s in Sioux County, Iowa. Postmarks on the letters weren’t any help, but I’m quite sure that’s the county from the geographical description of the farm property. Also from Becky’s mention of the distance south to Sioux City, which incidentally is not in Sioux County.”
“Steve is going back there to see what he can find out,” Linda said.
Mr. Durant looked puzzled. “Going back there? Steve, can’t you call someone for information?”
Steve shook his head. “I’ve tried that. Called the county recorder’s office, also tried to access county records on the web, also checked some genealogy sites. The county recorder’s office says I can trace property ownership back as far as 1870 in their files. They also have birth, marriage and death records dating back that far.”
“Birth records? Your ancestor was born in New York, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, but maybe his name appears in the Iowa records in connection with the birth of an offspring.”
“You say the records have the name of the original owner of the property?”
“Yes, they said that in most cases you should be able to find the original owner. But they went on to say that it depends to some extent on when the deed was recorded. I suppose some people are slow getting around to it. Anyway, it looks like it’s time for more legwork.”
“Sioux County Iowa!” George Durant said. “That’s a long way from the Radio City Music Hall. Do you need safari gear for that trip?”
“Oh, it shouldn’t be difficult,” Steve said. “I’m flying from here to Chicago O’Hare and from there on a commuter flight to Sioux City. Then a rent car about 50 miles north to Orange City. That’s the county seat. And I’m betting Gideon’s farm is around there somewhere.”
CHAPTER 23
Steve parked near the courthouse in Orange City, Iowa. It was an elegant red-brick building with white stone serving as trim around the windows and along one side a tower that loomed over the area. The grand old style of a different day, Steve reflected.
The grounds that surrounded the structure were neatly manicured. Steve climbed the steps and went in search of the county recorder’s office. There he was introduced to a woman named Marge whose specialty was “records research.”
He stated his case. “I’m looking for someone with the last name Glenn. An address or phone number. It’s a genealogy mission. Specifically, I’m trying to find anyone related to a man named Gideon Glenn, who fought in the Civil War and later settled on a farm somewhere in this county.”
“That could be a pretty tall order,” she said. “Our records include a growing number of farms that are absentee owned. The descendants of this man may not live on the farm any more. And may not own the property any more, for that matter. But maybe you can find your man Gideon in the files. I can show you how to search for him.
It didn’t take long for Steve to cruise through the county’s computerized jungle, and he did turn up property recorded in the name of Glenn. Three such names. But no Gideon.
Marge looked up when he approached her desk. “Any luck?”
“Nothing immediate,” he said. “Finding the original owner is not always that easy, I guess. In any event, I found no Gideon Glenn.”
“Well, sometimes the handwriting gets in the way. Some signatures are hard to read, and some people use initials that you might not be familiar with.”
“I wonder,” Steve said. “Do you suppose the public library here might have some sort of record of those in the county who fought in the Civil War?”
“It’s possible. It’s a good library. Right down the main drag. You can’t miss it.”
# # #
Steve pulled into the parking area alongside the Orange City Public Library and wondered if he was making any progress. Gideon Glenn had eluded him so far, but perhaps a library right here in Gideon’s home territory could provide some answers.
He approached a man behind the counter in the genealogy department, stated his mission, and added, “I’m hopeful you can direct me to a list of those men in Sioux County who were veterans of the Civil War.”
The worker eyed the surrounding files. “I’ve never seen such a compilation, but there’s a wealth of information here about Iowa’s role in the Civil War.”
He led Steve to a file drawer marked “Sioux County” and opened it. “This is a good place to start. If you hit any snags, just let me know.”
After a while Steve returned to the counter. “I don’t seem to be getting any closer,” he said. “Any other suggestions?”
“Well, one thought. If you don’t find anything in here, there’s the 1895 Iowa state census. It has a listing of ‘members of household in the Civil War,’ and includes the company and regiment. And also includes the state the man enlisted in if he wasn’t from Iowa, as you said was the case with the man you’re looking for.”
“The 1895 Iowa state census? I wonder where I could get that information?”
“Well, for sure you could get it by going to the state offices in Des Moines. Otherwise, I’m not so sure. One thing certain – it’s a huge list. Nearly 80,000 men served from Iowa.”
“Really? That’s an awful lot of farm boys, and the state must have been sparsely populated back then.”
“Right on both counts,” the librarian said. “Matter of fact, right after Ft. Sumter was fired on the governor of Iowa got a telegram from Lincoln requesting that the state furnish one regiment of men. And he reportedly said to his staff, ‘A whole regiment! How can we do that?’ Well, in the next four years the state supplied 48 infantry regiments, plus some cavalry regiments and artillery batteries. And when the war ended more than 12,000 of them were dead.”
“You sound like an authority on this subject,”Steve said.
“Well, we get a number of inquiries about the Civil War. And just recently a bunch of kids working on a high school project to do with the Civil War descended on us. They had plenty of questions. Believe me, they were starting from scratch.”
“I know how they feel,” Steve said. “Well, I’ve made note of a couple of families by the name of Glenn who are living in this county. I might check them out next. Otherwise, there’s that state census list you mentioned. But I still think I can find a county list of Civil War veterans somewhere.”
“That reminds me,” the librarian said. “There’s a Civil war monument in the Ireton Cemetery that you might be interested in. It lists the names of Civil War veterans who are buried in that cemetery. Quite a number of them. We were there visiting a gravesite some years ago. You know, that’s another thought – checking cemetery records around here.”
“Ireton? Where’s that?”
“Just a few miles west of here. Take Highway 10, and head south at the Ireton exit. I’d start at the city clerk’s office there. They have files on the area. Also they can direct you to a farm family by the name of Glenn some ways outside of Ireton, and point you the right way for a visit to the cemetery.”
When Steve left the Ireton city clerk’s office he couldn’t help but wonder about those early settlers in northwest Iowa. The hardships they had endured. What kept them from giving up and leaving shortly after they got there?
The lone fellow in the office was a local history buff and enjoyed sharing his knowledge. And he began painting a picture of what it was like back then, when Steve inquired about settlers in the early to mid-1870’s.
Yes, many log houses were built in the area in the mid 1870’s, he said. Some of the settlers were homesteaders and some buyers. The going rate was around $2 an acre. It was a lonely existence. Neighbors were very scarce, and breaking up the prairie sod and planting crops was difficult.
And then, he said, came the grasshoppers, some time in the Seventies. In more than one year grasshoppers destroyed most of the crops, and there were accounts of “a huge cloud that fairly blotted out the sun.”
And then came the cold, and the settlers were ill prepared for it. When the thermometer dropped to 30 below zero, sometimes as low as 40 below, they suffered. Those doing their chores couldn’t stand to be outdoors. Water would freeze in a pail on the way to the house.
The city clerk also told Steve about how they would set up markers from house to shed and other buildings so as to get to their stock. In a blinding snowstorm you could freeze to death not far from your door if you lost your way. Sometimes settlers had to use corn for fuel, which they considered almost a sin. They would try to make a bushel of corn last a day in a cook stove.
Survival became a question mark when grasshoppers destroyed the crops. On the other hand, he said, putting food on the table was not always that difficult. Wild prairie chickens were plentiful, as were geese and ducks. Also, deer roamed the area, and settlers found evidence that herds of buffalo had been there at some earlier time.
There were also many foxes and wolves. And, Steve learned, the mail traveled to Ireton three times a week from Orange City, back in those days. Also in the miscellaneous category he learned that homesteaders didn’t have to pay taxes on their property until they owned it outright.
As for records, the Town Hall had detailed records on births, place of birth, parents and their birthplace, and cause of death, dating back to 1890. But no mention of anyone named Gideon Glenn in the records. There was, though, the one Glenn family in the area who the librarian had mentioned to Steve. The name was Edwin Glenn.
It was worth a try, but Steve decided to take a look first at that Civil war monument he had heard about.
Steve headed for the Pleasant Hill Cemetery and pulled into the parking area inside the gate. Surveying the scene, he noted how quiet it was – not a sound. No traffic, no horns honking, no sirens, just a stillness and a light breeze rustling through the trees.
The cemetery rose up a gentle hill into the distance, and Steve started along a walkway that seemed to bisect the property. He wondered if there was by any chance a tombstone bearing the name GLENN somewhere nearby. It would be hard to find without some local knowledge.
Continuing up the walk Steve finally saw the monument the worker had mentioned in the library. It was of impressive size, maybe 15 feet tall including a Union soldier atop the monument. The soldier, with musket in hand, was standing at parade rest in full military attire, and he surveyed the countryside from atop the hill, farmland dead ahead of him and the town to his left and right.
Reaching the monument Steve read the inscription that greeted him as he came up the walkway:
“To the memory of the men who fought for our country
and are buried in the Ireton Cemetery ….. 1861-1865.”
Steve turned to the list of Civil War veterans on the adjoining side and started reading downward. There were 24 names inscribed on the stone. He came to the eighth name on the list:
FISHER, ALFRED, then
FOLLETT, CHARLES J., and next
FOSBURG, PORTER
And then he saw it:
GLENN, GIDEON.
CHAPTER 24
Steve headed down the gravel road outside Ireton and was glad his rental car had a compass. The fellow in the city clerk’s office had given him directions as to how to reach the farm home of Edwin Glenn, but it required negotiating a network of rural roads, mostly gravel, and not many markers.
And unlike the state highways Steve had encountered earlier, these rural roads did a bit of meandering here and there. The state roads leading into the area were hard-surface, in excellent condition and tended to follow section lines, with little deviation. If you were heading west it was due west, and it stayed that way.
Why, Steve wondered, was this road he was traveling called Dove Avenue? It was hardly an avenue. He’d forgotten how much dust a car can kick up traveling a gravel road on a dry day. He couldn’t recall being on a gravel road since he was a kid.
He was much impressed by the miles of corn and soybeans he was seeing to the left and right of him. He’d never seen corn quite like this. The center on a basketball team could hide in these rows.
Steve got to wondering about the family up ahead on the Glenn farm. The fellow in the city clerk’s office had said there had been Glenns on that property as far back as he could remember, and he had gone to school with Edwin Glenn. He recalled that Edwin’s father, now deceased, was named Samuel, but he didn’t know any others in the family.
After a right turn off Dove Avenue, then a left, then back to the right again, Steve found the Glenn home, nestled in a little grove of trees, not far from the road. The trees were there for a wind break, Steve figured. Someone had planted them. Surveying the landscape there were few trees in sight anywhere else.
Steve noted there was no livestock anywhere to be seen. But in and around a pair of nearby storage sheds was a raft of farm equipment, including a large combine that sported an enclosed cab with a windshield almost on the same level as a second-story building. This farm operator apparently worked a sizable acreage.
A series of metal grain bins stood nearby, loaded or ready to be loaded with corn and soybeans for future delivery. And close by was a large wagon and an auger used to load the grain trucks. The auger towered over the other equipment. What a departure, Steve thought, from the days when settlers picked corn by hand and dumped the ears into a shoulder bag.
He noted that the interior of one of the sheds looked like a mechanic’s garage, with a cement floor and automotive and workshop equipment lining the walls. This was not a mom-and-pop operation.
Steve turned away from the equipment sheds and was admiring the huge combine when he spotted a man in kakhis and field boots coming around the side of the Glenn residence. The man sported a cap bearing the label, “Iowa State Cyclones.”
“Are you in the market for a combine?” he asked.
“Don’t believe so,” Steve said. “But I think if would be fun to operate that baby.”
“It’s okay to ride in it for an hour or so. Then it gets boring. You get to thinking about other things you need to do. What can I do for you?”
“A couple of questions,” Steve said. “My name is Glenn, incidentally, and I’m wondering if you are by any chance Edwin Glenn?”
“Another Glenn, huh? Yes, I am Edwin Glenn.”
Steve got to the point. “The reason I’m here – I’m on a genealogy mission. Are you by any chance related to a man named Gideon Glenn?”
“Yes, he was my great-grandfather. He homesteaded this land. Why are you asking?”
Steve went on. “And he was a Civil War veteran, out of New York State?”
“Yes. I have a framed certificate in my office dating back to the late 1800’s certifying that he was in a New York regiment during the war.”
“Was it by any chance the 146th Regiment?”
“That sounds like it. Believe it was called the 146th Regiment, New York State Volunteers. What is your involvement here?”
“This will come as a bit of a shock to you,” Steve said, “but I can explain. You see, Gideon Glenn was also my great grandfather.”
CHAPTER 25
Saturday, and Steve and Linda Stearns were strolling along the shore at Wrightsville Beach, following the 12-mile drive from Wilmington.
“It was good of you to call me about locating Gideon,” Linda said. “I was hoping you’d come back here but until you called I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Well, first off, I had to call you,” Steve said. “Gideon is your relative, too, you know.”
Linda laughed. “Yes, he is, now that you mention it. But I thought you’d be fixing to move on, now that you’ve found him.”
“Well, I’m not quite done yet,” Steve said.
Their stroll along the white sandy beach brought them to a resort, several stories of modern design stretching out along the shoreline. The rooms, Steve noted, had floor-to-ceiling glass, and balconies, that provided an inviting view of the Atlantic.
Eyeing the structure, Steve said, “Now a land-lubber would have a hard time beating a room on the top floor of that place.”
“Very nice, all right,” said Linda. “But a bit pricey, I’m afraid, for my bank account.” She looked at Steve. “So, I suppose now you’ll be on the lookout for a job again. What was it you said – newspaper work? Or was it advertising?”
“A bit of both,” Steve said. “Fresh out of college I was in the newspaper business for quite a while, then went to work for an ad agency in St. Louis. Liked what I was doing on the news side, but advertising was a big step up, dollar-wise. So I decided to spread my wings.”
“Did you like the work? Advertising, that is?”
“Oh sure. It was productive work. And rewarding. We were always swamped. That is, until our main account got in trouble, and suddenly the party was over.”
Just past the hotel Steve noted the west side of the resort overlooked the intracoastal waterway. The waterway had widened into a harbor at this point, which provided a place for an anchorage close to the hotel.
“Let’s go back there and take a look,” Steve said. “I’m not sure whether I want a room on the top floor overlooking the Atlantic or on the other side watching the boats go by.”
As they approached the anchorage at the waterway Linda said, “I would vote for this side. The water looks bluer over here.”
A charter boat just returning from a deep sea fishing trip was tying up, and the fishermen were busy unloading what appeared to be a sizable catch.
“What do you suppose they got into?” Steve asked.
“Well, they’re not hauling up any large tuna,” Linda said. “Maybe some striped bass?”
“I’ll go ask.”
Back up from the dock, Steve said, “They have a nice catch of Spanish mackerel and bluefish. They stayed busy out there. What say we go back around the building and visit that oceanfront dining room?”
At a table looking out on the Atlantic, Steve said, “Sounds as though you’ve had some experience as a saltwater angler. Any offshore fishing?”
Linda laughed. “No, no. Much closer to home. When I was young my dad would occasionally take me fishing. We would go to one of his favorite spots close to the wetlands or along a canal, and I would bottom fish mostly.”
“And you put meat on the table?”
“Well, there were always sand trout and croaker to be caught. And sometimes I would catch a nice flounder. Those were trips I really looked forward to. But they were
short-lived. My dad died while I was still quite young.”
“So, when did you move to Wilmington?”
“I’ve been in and out. I worked a while in Wilmington for a title company, then my mother grew ill and I moved back to Castle Hayne to be with her. She’s gone now, and I’m back.”
Linda put down her menu. “Did you reach your aunt back home and tell her the news? ‘Babe?’”
“That’s right. ‘Babe’ is what she answers to. Yes, I reached her and she’s on cloud nine. This closes the book on her family tree and gives her a new family tree to play with. She’ll probably add a whole chapter on the ’Man from the Fifth Oneida.’ And she’s already talked to a couple of the gals among the Glenns up there in Iowa.”
“So, now that you’ve found what you were looking for, what’s next in your plans?”
“Well, it’s time to look for a job,” Steve said. “But the search may not take me far.”
“Oh?”
“Not really. I’m leaving tomorrow for a couple of days. Going down to Myrtle Beach. You remember I mentioned a Civil War ‘pen pal’? Barney Pollard? He’s big in a Civil War Roundtable down there, and he wants me to be at their meeting tomorrow night to tell them all about how I found my missing ancestor.”
“You’ve got quite a story to tell,” Linda said. “It will get their attention, I’m sure.”
“Well, I’m not sure what I’ll encounter there. These ‘Roundtables’ are scattered across the country, and they have quite a following. And some of the people are pretty knowledgeable. A few could classify as scholars. Anyway, it should be interesting.”
“And then you’re coming back here?”
“Oh yes. There’s another reason I’m going to Myrtle Beach. Maybe you’ve heard of Dillard News. I had the good fortune to meet Frank Dillard recently, and he’s called to see if I’d be interested in going to work for him. I’m meeting him down there day after tomorrow.”
Linda’s eyes lit up. “Really! Would it be work on a newspaper? That is, on the ‘news side’? Or advertising?”
“Both,” Steve said. “I don’t know all the details yet, but from what Frank Dillard said about it, I’m interested. I think you know, I like it in this part of the world. For a number of reasons.” He glanced out over the water, then back at Linda. “You’re one of the reasons, you know.”
Steve motioned for a waiter, then back at Linda. “For the moment let’s just say, if it’s a good offer I’ll take it.”
Linda smiled. “That would be nice.”