Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15 Dan's patented I'm just a cute, curious kid expression always got him results. "Can we just see that Churchill document?" he asked Mrs. Thembeka, with Oscar-winning innocence. "It would be, like, so cool to touch something that Churchill personally wrote." He turned to Amy for support, but she was barely paying attention. Her nose was in a biography of Winston Churchill that she had found. Mrs. Thembeka's phone started beeping, and she turned to pick it up. "I'm dreadfully sorry, dear, but our private holdings have very strict access. Excuse me." "Nice try," Nellie muttered. Dan's eyes wandered over to the file cabinets in

the library office directly behind Mrs. Thembeka. The papers had to be in there. He looked around frantically for anything that he could use to help distract the librarian. But his eyes locked on a bronze plaque hanging directly over the file cabinet: The Constitution Hill Library Is Grateful for the Support Of Our Generous Patrons to the Literacy Campaign Ruth Aluwani Oliver Bheka Piet Broeksma Grace Cahill "Amy, look!" Dan blurted out. "Grace! She's all over this place." Mrs. Thembeka glanced up at Dan. She murmured something into the phone, hung up abruptly, and came out from behind her desk.

"Did you know Grace Cahill?" she said. As she looked from Dan to Amy to Nellie and back, her eyes misted. "Oh, my goodness, I should have known. You look just like her." "I do?" Dan said. He adored his grandmother, but she did have silver hair and wrinkles. "The eyes are the same. And you…" Mrs. Thembeka took Amy's hand. "You must be the beloved granddaughter of whom she so often spoke. Please, sit." She gestured toward a chair and a small sofa and went to shut the office door. "I was so sorry to hear of your grandmother's passing. We were good friends, you know. How did you find this place? Was it Robert?" Dan looked at Amy. "Uh, we don't know any Robert." Mrs. Thembeka reached inside her desk, pulled out a stack of old photos, and held one toward them. "You see? This was, oh, ten years ago." In the photo, Mrs. Thembeka and Grace stood arm in arm under a theater marquee, on which could only be seen the words by Athol Fugard. Grace's skin was quite tan. In fact, her skin color

was nearly identical to Mrs. Thembeka's. "You look like sisters," Amy said. Mrs. Thembeka laughed. "Perhaps we were. In our souls we were very much the same." Dan flipped the photo and saw a faded inscription: He held it toward Amy, who looked as if she were about to cry. "Lemur…" she said. "That must be The Flying Lemur, Grace's private plane." "We'd had a full day of flying that afternoo— oh, did she love that airplane! Swaziland, Banhine National Park in Mozambique, refueling…" "What's 'Aloes'?" Dan said. Mrs. Thembeka smiled. "A reference to the play we saw, A Lesson from Aloes. The aloe plant thrives under the worst imaginable deprivation— harsh sun, no water for months. It is a symbol of the South African people, surviving despite apartheid. Some aloe species have quite remarkable healing properties. Grace loved this

play." "How did you know her?" Amy said. "She was on the library board committee that interviewed me," Mrs. Thembeka said softly. "They were about to hire a more seasoned administrator, but Grace insisted on someone passionate about human rights. I'd been involved in the struggle since my cousin Vuyo's… experience. He was a student in Soweto…." Was. Mrs. Thembeka's voice trailed off, and Dan recalled what Nellie had said about the Soweto uprising. Kids were killed by police. He had to turn away. "Can I look through these?" Amy asked, gazing at the pile of photos. "Of course, dear." As Amy eagerly took up the photos, Mrs. Thembeka unlocked another desk drawer. "A few months ago, Grace left me a phone message. She sounded weak, but I had no idea she was dying. She alerted me about the Churchill document. She said I was to list it in the

catalogue but limit it strictly to scholars and her direct descendants. With positive identification." Mrs. Thembeka shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "It was an odd request, something we weren't used to— frankly, I don't imagine any library would be. But she was insistent. Because she had done so much for us, the board approved. So, although I hate to ask, I will need to see proof…." "I think I have my school ID." Dan fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled Mars Bar wrapper, some loose string, a cherry Starburst, several unidentified pieces of clear plastic, and his dad's Australian passport. He panicked for a moment, until he spotted a corner of his school ID jutting out from it. He opened the passport and laid it flat. His ID was sticking to an inner page. He peeled it off to reveal his dad's passport photo and fake name, Roger Nudelman. "Here you go!" Dan said, holding out the ID. But Mrs. Thembeka was riveted on the photo, her eyes widening. "Nudelman…?" she said. "What on earth are you doing with Nudelman's