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learning all the ins and outs, you know? But if you want someone who can help, you ought to talk to Ed’s Great-Aunt Lizzie. She’s your woman.”
    I scanned the phone book. “I don’t see an Elizabeth in the listings. Or should I be looking for a Mrs. Someone?”
    “No, she’s not in the book,” Mrs. Edward said. “She’s in a nursing home someplace. I’ve never even met her. I just hear them talking about her. And her last name’s not Biemsderfer either. I think it’s Martin. Her mother was a Biemsderfer though. You could call Ed another time and ask about it if you want.”
    I thanked her and we disconnected.
    Biemsderfer, Gerhard and Biemsderfer, K.M. were not home. Biemsderfer, Marlin, Jr., said, as soon as I mentioned genealogy, “Aunt Lizzie. She knows it all.”
    “Where do I find her?” I asked.
    There was a silence. “I don’t think I should tell you. No offense, but I don’t think I should.” And he quietly hung up.
    I tried Biemsderfer, Marlin, Sr., and an elderly woman answered.
    “I’m trying to trace my family,” I said.
    “Isn’t that lovely, dear.” Her voice was sweet and slightly breathless. “I hope you can. I wouldn’t want to be alone. I don’t know what I’d do without my boys.”
    “I’m looking for someone who may be able to give me information about my grandfather, Lehman Biemsderfer.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone in the family with the first name Lehman.” She sounded truly sorry for her lack of information. Again I heard that slight emphasis on first name .
    “Maybe you know someone where Lehman is the middle name?”
    “No, dear. I’m sorry. I only know people with Lehman as the last name. There are lots of Lehmans in this area, you know.”
    I sighed. The nice thing about Biemsderfer was that it was fairly uncommon, unlike Lehman. I was genuinely thankful for an unusual name simply because the process of elimination wouldn’t be so lengthy. “The man I’m trying to trace was born a long time ago. Lehman was born in 1918.”
    “Nineteen-eighteen? Why that’s almost as old as me. I wish there was someone left around here who is as old as me. It gets lonely. Everybody keeps dying or going into one of those awful nursing homes. Retirement homes, they call them nowadays, but they’re just death traps, whatever their name. Everyone who goes there dies. I made the boys promise me never, never ! I’ve been a widow for almost ten years, you know. Too long. And they made me move to a smaller house. But that’s okay because it wasn’t a retirement home. I always say I’m not homesick, I’m dog sick. They wouldn’t let me bring Bingo with me. We called him Bingo after that song the grandchildren liked to sing.” And she began to quaver, “B-I-N-G-O, and Bingo was his name-o.”
    I stared at the list of Biemsderfers remaining uncalled, and wondered how to get away from this lonely, slightly fey woman without being rude. Then an idea struck.
    “Say, Mrs. Biemsderfer, how many sons do you have?”
    “Five.”
    “And do they live locally?”
    “Three do. And so do five grandsons.”
    “Can you give me their names?”
    “Alan, Gerhard, Marlin Junior, Link, Edward, Duane, Wesley, and Peter.”
    I glanced down the list of names again. Alan, Edward, Gerhard, Peter, and Wesley were all there. Duane and Link were not. They were probably younger grandsons who still lived with their parents and didn’t have their own landlines.
    “Thanks. You’ve saved me from making some phone calls, I think,” I said.
    “You know,” she said, sounding suddenly very alert and authoritative. “The boys never had any interest in genealogy. They said it was boring. But that Alma is a different story. She’s close to obsessed. At least I tease her that she is.”
    “Alma?”
    “My daughter. She’s taken courses on genealogy, and she spends hours on that Internet looking for more information. ‘I got another leaf,’ she’ll say, whatever that means. She’s done