Chapter 4

After going through Mickey D’s and getting our breakfast, she was helping me to eat, while I drove. My driving partner said, “How long before our first stop?”

“After visiting my uncle, who lives on the northwest side of town, plus a few other people, we’ll be heading to El Dorado, about 90 minutes to the south. Rest if you want. We’ll be looking for where my grandpa’s buried.”

“OK, you’re the boss, Jeff.”

We ate and drove, pulling up to a very old house on the edge of Abilene.

“Who’s place is this?” she asked.

“It’s my oldest uncle, Dad’s oldest brother. He’s 74, and his name is William Charles Seeberger.”

“Do all the guys have a Charles somewhere in their names?” she asked.

“Most of them do,” I said knocking on the door. “He was too immobile to be at Dad’s funeral. Be nice to him.”

The door opened and I saw no glint of recognition, until I said, “It’s me Uncle Bill, Jeff Seeberger, your brother’s only son?”

“What do you want, Jeff? I’m busy!”

He was just sitting there looking at a not turned on TV.

“I wanted to sit and talk about your dad, Aaron. I’m working on the family’s Genealogy.”

“He was born in 1927 and died in 1963. What else do you need besides that?”

“Where was he born, Uncle Bill?” Dianne asked.

“Who are you?” he responded abruptly.

“My name is Dianne Jackson. I’m Jeff’s girlfriend,” she said.

“You, I’ll talk to. Come in ... but I don’t have much time for this fiddle-faddle?”

Her smile broke through his abruptness, we came in and she got the information that I was entering into my laptop as quickly as he was saying it.

Grandpa Aaron was born in Charlotte, North Carolina. He married the former Sarah Dorothy (Dottie) Butler, who was four years older, and then he was and they had eight children, all boys, with William being the oldest.

When he was through, he said, “I’m tired now, you can leave ... goodbye,” he said using his cane to get back up and open the door for us. He wouldn’t discuss his wife or children, but we got a fair amount of information.

“Now, aren’t you glad you brought me along?” Di said full of herself.

“Not everyone will want to talk like he did. That’s why we have the process. Two more people before we head to El Dorado.”

From there, we traveled to my mom’s mother, Georgia Martha Thomas-Jefferson, who had outlived her husband and children. She was about 88 years old, and I hoped still stout enough to remember at least some info we can follow up on, somewhere else.

After a knock on the door, I said, “Grandma Georgia, it’s me, Jeff – Laura’s son.”

I hadn’t seen her in ages. She came to the door, looking very spry for being as old as I knew she was. She invited us to sit, and Dianne introduced herself, getting a big smile from my Mor Mor.

During my training in Genealogy, the people doing it used the terms Mor for mother and Far for father, so William, whom we had just left was my Far Far and my mother’s father was my Far Mor. It’s marginally quicker to say than all the ‘greats’ and distinct enough to explain to someone else.

I had explained it to Di during our drive, who picked it up rather quickly. She’s smarter than her brother gave her credit for. I think he was protective of her because she was all he had left.

Anyway, Georgia Martha Thomas, my Mor Mor sounded willing to help us out, with names and places.

Her hubby, who was gone, was Robert Theodore Jefferson, and her maiden name was Thomas, something I hadn’t known before. She was the third of five kids, with her parents being Josiah Matthew Thomas and Katherine (Kitty) Miller-Thomas. Josiah had passed, but Kitty was still around, born back in 1899.

Di asked where she lived and we found out she was in an assisted living faculty in Wichita but wasn’t terribly coherent these days.

I should have realized that many of the people we could have asked are probably passed on or in similar situations like my Mor Mor Mor Kitty. I hadn’t planned on going to Wichita to check on her, so we headed to find a hotel to stay at in El Dorado. Before we went in, I gave Di a ring to put on, also putting one on my left hand’s ring finger.

You should have seen her eyes open wide.

“This is so, neither of us gets approached. We’re newlyweds while we are traveling, is that OK with you?”

“I’ll want a bigger ring when we are officially engaged,” she said.

We found a place with a vacancy, the Best Western Red Coach Inn. She went in with me, holding my hand and I asked for a room with a double bed, if they had any.

Suddenly, she seemed nervous and was squeezing my hand rather hard. She stayed quiet as our things were brought in on a luggage cart.

Our bellboy took my key and opened the door for us. I paused, then swooped her up in my arms and took her into the room, with him smiling and following us in, unloading our luggage.