Boxes one through eight I ruled out quickly because of the age of the contents. They covered the early years of the Ducotes in Mississippi up through the end of the Civil War. I itched to read some of the letters and other materials, but they would have to wait.

The next four boxes contained a hodgepodge of dates and types of items. There were letters from the 1880s and the 1920s, as well as postcards, photos, and several account books. I would have to check each of them carefully, and I figured that would take me a couple of hours. Might as well bring them into my office next door where I would be more comfortable and could be with Diesel as well.

The cat eyed me sleepily as I settled into my chair. When he saw me open the first box, he perked up. He always wanted to investigate any kind of container, and that reminded me I should weight down the tops of the other three boxes while I searched this one. That way I could keep my nosy feline in check.

Diesel hopped onto my desk, and I had to grab a stack of papers to keep them from sliding off. He poked his head in the open box and was about to climb in—despite the lack of space—when I told him not to do it. He looked at me with that “who, me?” expression that cats have perfected over the millennia since they first decided to domesticate themselves.

“Back to the window.” I pointed. He meowed, but when I repeated my command, he jumped back onto the sill. “Good boy.” I gave him a treat from the stash in my desk as a reward for his good behavior.

Now to delve into the box. I started with the letters and skimmed them quickly. There were a few from Richard Ducote to his wife, Cecilia, the parents of Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce, from the first year of their marriage. I felt like a voyeur, but I scanned them so quickly for any mention of Essie Mae that I didn’t really absorb their meaning.

No luck with the letters, so I moved on to the account books. The Ducotes were meticulous record keepers, particularly when it came to household expenses. I resisted the urge to go through and compare 1920s prices to current ones. I had to focus on my goal. There were periodic entries for wages with employees listed by name, but I couldn’t find names or initials to match either Essie Mae Whoever or Essie Mae Hobson, nor even an Essie or a Mae.

I finally put that box aside. A check of the time revealed that it was a few minutes past noon. Thanks to the skimpier-than-usual breakfast I’d eaten that morning, I felt hungry. If I started on another box I could spend an hour or more with it, and I was ready for some food right then.

I remembered that I might have to provide my own lunch because Azalea was home sick. If no one else had beaten me to it, there might still be some of that delicious ham and potato salad I’d had the day before. That would do nicely.