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room, reviewing old data and waiting for the sunshine to break through. |
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Our first stop was at the Chambers Bay community office building, an ancient edifice constructed of crumbling brick surrounded by a landscape that consisted of mostly hardpan occasionally interrupted by patches of grass. The young lady behind the desk informed us that her name was Angie and readily expressed an interest in helping us in any way she could. We told her that we were doing research on a family tree and were interested in talking to a woman that we believed might have some information that could help us. The woman, of course, was the Austin widow. |
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"Dumb old me," Brenda gushed in an embarrassingly poor imitation of a Southern drawl. "We drove all the way up here, and I left her name and address on the dresserdumb old me." |
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Angie dug into her files while I scowled at Brenda. She shrugged her shoulders and quietly pointed to the fact that we were getting the information we wanted. |
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The Austin widow turned out to be Glenna Hoyt Austin, 67 years old and most recently a resident of Fort Albany on the southwest shore of James Bay. Her husband, an outfitter on the Albany River, had been dead for a number of years, and she had come to Chambers Bay in search of a long lost niece identified only as a Miss |
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