I haven’t been this excited since Lay-about Lindy let my daughter out of his pompous paws.
Thornton is exhilarating. His deft handling of the artifacts of Middle Valley from decades ago is without match, especially the newspapers and photos. Such insight … what an informative glimpse of our shores all those years ago.
I can hardly wait to share my experience with Merc and Cassie. I call them both.
Cassie is already at the Riverside, of course. Merc, still healing I suppose, needs to get out of my house soon as she can. I guess on some level she agrees, for once, and says she’ll meet me there. (She’s running out of sweatpants.)
“It was extradinary,” I tell them as I settle in. “Gin and tonic, please. For you, dear daughter?”
She raises her wine glass and Cassie fills it. “All good. Tell us.”
I explain how Thornton walked us through the entire cache, item by item, explaining each one. I try to describe the objects and convey Thornton’s words, the feeling he gave us all.
“I simply cannot express the thrill,” I tell them. “I mean, slaves! SLAVES! Can you imagine? Brought in over land and by river, usually under cover of darkness, perhaps 15 or 20 at a time! It’s like something out of a Hollywood movie! Oh my, we should get someone to write a screenplay. What do you think, Cass? Who has the chops for such a thing?”
Cassie shakes her head. “No idea. I think Bernie’s got enough on his plate these days, but he’s the only writer I know.”
Mercury, having drained her wine glass yet again, watches Cassie fill it. “Who would play you, Mother?”
I had not expected such a question, but it certainly was something to ponder.
“Meryl Streep,” Cassie says, out of nowhere, mixing me a fresh one.
I nod. “Of course. Who else?”
Gunnar Olafsson