Page 18 of The Unmaking of June Farrow

My mother’s name felt like it was lodged in my throat. There wasn’t anyone in Jasper who wouldn’t recognize it.

“It’s Susanna Farrow, actually.”

The shape of his mouth changed. He stared at me. “I thought you said it was for someone born before 1900.”

“A different Susanna Farrow. Someone further back in the family.”

“Oh.” He relaxed just enough for me to notice. “Same spelling?”

I nodded.

He typed, hitting the keys in a steady rhythm, but he frowned when his eyes ran over the screen. “I don’t see anything here. Do you know anything else about her? Parents’ names, maybe?”

“No, that’s what I was trying to find out. She was married to Nathaniel Rutherford.”

Thomas’s expression shifted, and he sat back in the chair, his elbows finding the armrests. “Really.”

I waited, unsure of what his reaction meant.

“If that’s what you’re after, you can just say it, Ms. Farrow. You’re not the first person who’s come to this church trying to dig up information about that case.”

“I’m not trying to dig up anything,” I said, only seconds before realizing that wasn’t quite true. “A woman with the same name as my mother was married to Nathaniel, and I’m just trying to figure out who she was.”

He surveyed me, and I had the distinct feeling he was trying to decide if I was lying.

“Really. I don’t care anything about the minister.” Thatwasthe truth.

“Well, I imagine there’s not much documentation on her since she died so young.”

“What?” I sat up straighter in my chair.

“Oh, yes. Nathaniel is well known because of the murder, of course. But his story was quite tragic long before then.”

“What happened?”

“Well,” Thomas said on an exhale. “His father was the minister at this church for years, but he died of a heart attack just after Nathaniel married. Nathaniel was just a young man.” His hand lifted, a finger pointing to the open door that led to the sanctuary. “He was preaching God’s word at that very pulpit when it happened.”

I couldn’t help but look. The simple white wooden podium stood up a few steps on a small stage that overlooked the pews.

“Nathaniel took over his father’s position. But not long after, he and his wife had a daughter and she died.”

“Daughter?” My voice bent the word.

Thomas’s bottom lip jutted out. “She was just a baby. His wife never recovered. They say she lost her mind.”

I cringed. If I’d had any doubt left that she really was a Farrow, that one detail extinguished it.

“She took her own life up at Longview Falls. Like I said—tragic.”

A deep, dull pain erupted behind my ribs.

“Nathaniel never remarried, dedicating his life to the congregation of this church. He’s buried out there. His wife and daughter, too.”

My eyes went out the window again, to the waterfront down the hill. Only a mile and a half downstream, the river dumped over Longview Falls. The idea of the woman in the photograph tumbling over its edge made my stomach drop.

I swallowed hard. “Try Rutherford,” I said.

“What?”