The Great Gatsby Dialectical Journal

In the back seat of the cab, the scenery whirled by as Casey pondered the warning from an unexpected source. Why am I getting these messages? Is it a premonition? Denise and the tarot reader both told her she needed to watch out as she was in danger. Had she put her friends and loved ones in harm’s way by pursuing the truth? Who is this dark figure and why is it so desperate to keep its identity a secret? Should she stop seeking answers to Sean’s death for everyone’s safety?
Casey struggled with this as her head began to throb. She had a hard time accepting that people could see and talk with the dead let alone knowing the ones she cared about as well as herself could be in real danger from an unseen force. Her stubborn nature won out. An injustice …show more content…
“My wife is researching her family history in Louisiana. We would like to check the 1870 and 1880 census records.”
The clerk motioned for one of the volunteers to escort them to the microfilm area. The young man asked them to follow him. “We keep those records in the back. I’ll pull the 1870 and 1880 census and the Mortality Schedule for the same timeframe.”
Casey questioned this. “What’s a Mortality Schedule?”
The clerk seemed exasperated, “It gives the date and cause of death. I thought you might be interested to know how your ancestors died, but if you’re not, I won’t bother to pull it.”
“No, please. They could be helpful. Thank you for the suggestion.”
The clerk handed them an armful of microfilm and directed them to a quiet cubicle in the reader section to view the records. Casey took a seat, excited to move forward in her search for the truth. Ray said he wanted to go outside to call the Sheriff’s Department in Madison to see how far Troy had gotten on the exhumation …show more content…
He showed me several photos and I saw these. I asked him to make copies.”
Transferring her attention to the pictures, the one on top was of an old tintype with worn ragged edges and faded from age. Underneath and written in graceful, flowing script was the name of Monsieur Jacques Dominic Devereux, her fifth great-grandfather. “He was tall.”
“That was unusual for the time as people were typically shorter in those days. Have you ever noticed how old door handles are lower than they are now?”
“I never thought about. Makes sense now.” She had to squint at the faint image. The man had short dark hair, slicked back from a simple side part with bushy sideburns and a handlebar mustache. His dress was impeccable with a demeanor that radiated pride and good breeding. The strong jaw line was similar to the one reflected in the mirror every day. Casey studied her relative’s features to formulate an opinion as to his true nature. He couldn’t have been a pleasant man as he gave his daughter to an unsavory character without

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