Elnora Ruthanne Whitsett.
I want to get it right.
Something made me get dressed.
I put on my best navy-blue dress, collected my driver’s license, and drove to the courthouse.
Rosella was waiting.
She was an elderly woman with silver hair and glasses hanging from a chain.
When I introduced myself, she smiled gently.
“I knew Henrietta for forty years,” she said.
“She was my friend.”
Rosella explained that they’d played cards together every Tuesday.
Then her expression softened.
“She made me promise something before she passed.”
“What?”
“That I’d make sure you saw a particular document.”
She guided me through a hallway and into a small room lined with shelves.
On a large wooden table lay an enormous book bound in dark red leather.
Rosella opened it.
Then she turned it toward me.
“Read it yourself, honey.”
I adjusted my glasses.
At the top of the page were the words:
