by Karen Kelly
“If you want to be amazed, watch a humpback breaching,” said Ian. “Fin whales aren’t much for breaching.”
“I’ve heard of a fin whale calf breaching in the Bay of Fundy,” said Cecil. “But I’ve never personally seen it, and I’ve been on the water most of my life as a fisherman and guide.”
They lingered to enjoy the fin whale for a long time. At one point it disappeared, and Annie wondered if it was time to explore another area. She had just turned to speak to Todd about it when the boat rocked from a jolt underneath. Annie grabbed at the dashboard, gripping the little wooden ledge Todd had made to right herself. “What’s happening?” Visions of submerged ledges and reefs rushed into her thoughts, although she thought they were too far from shore for that.
“Look port!” Ian urged, as he steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. Annie caught the long shadow of the whale emerging from under the boat.
“Is it mad or just being neighborly?” she asked, catching her breath.
“It’s being curious,” answered Todd.
“Maybe now would be a good time to look for some breaching humpbacks,” Annie suggested, only partially joking. The rocking boat reminded her the majestic giant wasn’t tame, and such power so close to them, even if it was simply out of curiosity, sent a tendril of chill down her spine.
“Ayup,” said Todd. He maneuvered away from the fin whale and gave some throttle. For the next hour they searched the water for signs of humpbacks or other whales, but saw neither flukes nor fins nor spouts. The sun was hovering low to the water when they all acknowledged that breaching was going to have to wait for another trip.
“I’m sorry, Annie,” said Ian, as the boat sped toward Stony Point harbor.
“Sorry? Oh, Ian, you have nothing to feel sorry for,” replied Annie. “What a gift y’all have given me today! I’m going to do what I can to make sure John can come whale watching next summer, including begging LeeAnn, if I have to.”
“If you can get him to the Maritime Museum in November, I think John might do the job for you,” Ian said, smiling with relief.
Annie patted the pocket in which her camera was nestled. “These photos will help too, I’m sure.” The sea air was getting colder by the minute as the wind kicked up. Annie’s coat had been enough to fight off the chill while the sun was higher, but now she fought the shivers, realizing one more layer of clothing might have been wise. She looked forward to gaining the harbor where the winds would be buffered.
They neared Butler’s Point, the firs and pines black against the sunset sky of pinks, lavenders, and blues. Countless times Annie had stood on her porch to watch the play of sunrise colors over the water. It had been a long time since she’d seen it the other way around. It was no wonder to her why Gram and Grandpa had chosen to put down roots in Stony Point.
17
The morning after her whale-watching adventure—while the sun announced its imminent appearance by painting the canvas of sky with shades of cornflower blue, cerulean, melon, and yellow ochre—Annie placed the zippered tote containing the birch-bark box in the passenger seat of the Malibu and walked around to slide behind the steering wheel. She had several hours to drive and wanted to arrive at Sipayik before lunchtime. The meandering road of Route 1 beckoned her with its autumn splendor.
Remember, Annie, you’re a woman on a mission, she told herself. No stopping to explore until you finish at the reservation.
She pulled out of the driveway, not surprised to see that the windows of the carriage house were still dark. Alice had been aghast during their phone conversation the previous night when she heard about Annie’s early departure time. “The only thing that could get me out so early is fire raging through the house,” Alice had declared. Annie was determined to find another method of luring Alice to experience a glorious Maine sunrise and toyed with ideas as she headed for Route 1 North.
Annie made good time winding through towns like Belfast, Bucksport, and Orland, stopping only once in Ellsworth to stretch her legs and grab some coffee at the 1950s retro Martha’s Diner. The coffee was good, and she could tell by the crowd, the aroma, and snatches of conversations that it was a place worth revisiting when she had time to sit down for a meal.
Just after eleven o’clock Annie found the tribal government office at Sipayik on Route 190. A circular drive encompassed a grassy circle where two flagpoles stood, one flying the Passamaquoddy flag and the other the Stars and Stripes. Annie turned to the right and parked near the entrance of the long one-story building. Inside, the large central room was reminiscent of the offices of Annie and Wayne’s dealership in Texas, with light painted walls, standard business desks outfitted with phones and computers, and a large copy machine against a wall with a large calendar from an Eastport Realtor hanging near it. Two women were standing beside one of the desks, their heads bent over an open file folder. They glanced up when Annie stepped over the threshold and one of them, whose ID badge identified as Janet, came to greet her.
“Hello. Are you from the university?” she asked pleasantly.
“Oh, no. I’m not.” Annie stammered a little, caught off guard.
“Oops. We had a call from the linguistics department last week, asking if they could send another doctoral student for some research. Thought that might be you.” From the good-humored squint of Janet’s dark eyes under a glossy brown fringe of bangs, Annie got the feeling visits from academics were common occurrences.
“My university days are long past.” Annie grinned. “But I am here to do some research, personal though.” She told Janet about her discovery in the attic and showed her the box and collar. “I’d like to find out if Clara Stewart is registered with the tribe. A Passamaquoddy friend suggested I start here.”
Janet nodded to the other woman, indicating she could return to what she’d been doing before Annie came. “What’s your friend’s name?” she asked.
“Cecil Lewey.”
A smile sprang instantly into Janet’s eyes, fanning across her face. “Cecil! One of the best dancers I’ve ever seen. It would be a shame if I didn’t help a friend of his.”
Janet’s eyes moved to the box and collar. “These are very personal heirlooms,” she said. “What was the name again?”
“Clara Stewart,” answered Annie. “I assume that is her married name. She was married in 1904 or earlier. I don’t know her maiden name.”
Janet moved to a desk with a computer and sat down at the keyboard. Her fingers flew over the keys, accessing the Passamaquoddy registry.
“Got something!” Janet exclaimed triumphantly. “1886, Clara Mitchell, born to William and Catherine Mitchell. She married Finlay Stewart in 1902. Let me see if any children are listed.” Janet clicked the mouse a couple of times, and tapped in an additional search. “One child registered, Evelyn Stewart.” Janet paused as she searched for later entries. “The line stops at Evelyn.”
Annie jotted down the names and dates. “What was Evelyn’s birth date?”
“June 23, 1906.”
“Is there any way of knowing why a line ends?” Annie asked. “Does the registry indicate if there are no more children or a premature death or anything?”
“Sometimes records are more detailed,” Janet explained. “There is no year of death listed for Evelyn, though. That would suggest the family did not wish to keep registered with the tribe, or could not, for whatever reason. I can print out the family line before Clara, if you’d like.”
“Oh, please do! That would be a great help,” said Annie.
“Hmmm, looks like there’s a Revolutionary War veteran in the family, a captain,” Janet said as she prepared the information for printing. “Probably fought in the Battle of Machias.” She swiveled her chair away from the desk and stood. Walking over to the printer, she pulled the printouts and handed them to Annie, who added them to her tote.
“I hope the information will help you find out more. I hope you can find the family members, if the line has continued.”
“Thank you so much for your help, Janet.” Annie reached out to shake her hand. “Having Evelyn’s name and birth date gives me much more to go on and also strengthens my suspicions that the items are not from my ancestors.”
Janet walked Annie to the door. “If you find more information on Evelyn’s family line, please let me know. I’d like to update our records. And bring Cecil for one of the dance days. You’ll both enjoy it.”
“I’d love to come,” said Annie. “Do you have a list of dates?”
“We always post them on our website.” As Janet opened the door for Annie, in rushed a blast of cold air. They could hear the two flags out front snap in the wind. “Storm’s kicking up.”
“I’ll do my best to stay ahead of it,” said Annie, keeping a tight hold on the tote. “Thanks again, Janet!” She hurried to the car, imagining the kind of storm that was coming. The dense fog the area was infamous for would be terrible to drive through. Annie decided to fill up her gas tank and pick up some lunch she could eat as she drove so she wouldn’t have to stop again on the way home.
By four thirty Annie was pulling up the driveway of Grey Gables. She had driven through increasing cloud cover until she was about forty-five minutes outside of Stony Point, when the rain began. Pulling as close as she could to the door, Annie was still quite wet before she hurried under the shelter of the porch roof. “Why didn’t you bring a slicker?” she chided herself. “Haven’t you learned how tricky Maine weather is yet?”
Boots was stationed at the entrance to the living room when she opened the door. She padded over to Annie. “Hey, Boots! Did you miss me?” Annie said, bending down to give the cat a little loving attention. But Boots didn’t love the dampness of her shoes and slacks, and scooted away back to the dry comfortable couch.
“Miss Persnickety!” Annie chuckled. “I’m going to change into comfortable dry clothes, make some dinner, and then will you be ready for a good cuddle? I’m sure not going anywhere on this wild night!” Boots closed one eye, tilted her head, and began licking a paw and then passing it over an ear. Annie had been dismissed to make herself presentable.
After making and enjoying a warm meal, Annie settled down with Boots on the couch, a cup of tea steaming on the side table next to her. She pulled out her crochet and set to work, hoping to finish and block the first pillow pieces. The rhythm of the alternating passes of Tunisian knit and purl work lured her into a state of relaxation after the tense ride home. Boots shifted her body until her back pressed lightly against Annie’s leg. Annie paused long enough to run her hand along her sleek back, being careful not to allow any stray cat hairs to end up crocheted into the pillow.
The sound of the rain drumming against the house made her think of Janet’s comment about Cecil and his dancing. Annie had been impressed with the ease Cecil had shown those hours on the boat, his body adjusting effortlessly to any movement of the vessel over the water, even the jolt from the fin whale passing under them. After so many years of making his living on the sea, Cecil understood its rhythms as well as he did the dances of his tribe. But Annie thought back to the first time she’d met Cecil and puzzled over something. His posture had been just as straight as it had been on the boat, but he had used a walking stick on their climb back up the stone steps. There had been no walking stick on the boat, and he had not leaned against the side of the boat or the dash or a friend. How could he do that for so many hours?
A ringing phone interrupted her mental gymnastics. Startled, Annie set her crochet back in the bag and lunged for the phone. “Hello?”
“Annie, it’s Peggy.” Peggy’s voice was breathless, a rare state for someone used to bustling around at work while never losing a word in conversation.
“Hi, Peggy. Is everything OK?”
“No, it’s not,” Peggy answered bluntly. “The strangest thing just happened. John and Gwen were here at the diner for dinner.” She paused. “They got into an argument, right there in the middle of their fish chowder. They were almost yelling, Annie!”
“That does sound very unusual for both of the Palmers,” Annie said. But, she thought to herself, it doesn’t sound as odd as it might have last week.
“Gwen was as white as her double-bleached tablecloths. I’ve never seen her like that. And Annie, I heard John use your name. More than once. Something about it all being your fault. Whatever he thinks you did, he’s really mad about it. Do you know what he meant?”
Annie sighed. “No, I don’t know what John was talking about, Peggy, but I think it must have something to do with the mystery about the box because Alice told Gwen about the new clue after she and Stella got back from the museum. Then, when I went to ask John if Gwen was all right after she missed the meeting, he refused to talk to me.”
“Hmm. Well, you know we all like helping you with your mysteries. It gives us an excuse for snooping and adds a little excitement to the week. You have ended up with people mad at you before. I just never thought the Palmers would be.”
“We’re going to have to find other things to do for excitement, Peggy,” said Annie, knowing already that snooping had never needed an excuse in Stony Point. “I’m through with mysteries, for good. I’m tired of being the spark that sets off all these emotional and relational fires. The town has burned down enough times in its history, it doesn’t need me blowing hot embers everywhere.”
“Aw, Annie, don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault—”
Annie jumped as someone banged on the door.
18
The insistent pounding at her front door jarred Annie into urgency.
“Peggy, I need to go. Someone’s at my door. If you hear anything else about Gwen or from her, please let me know. Bye!” Annie placed the handset back in its charger and ran to the door. A blast of wind tried to wrestle the door from her grip. A man stood on the porch, his face shrouded in the shadows of a raincoat hood. Fighting the urge to slam the door, Annie spoke, voice raised to compete with the wind and rain. “Hello! How can I help you?”
A hand lifted and pushed back the hood. It was John Palmer. In spite of the strange occurrence in town Annie was relieved to see him.
“John! Please come in!” Annie widened the opening of the door, stepping back. John stamped his feet to shake off some of the water and mud, and stepped over the threshold, stopping just inside the door on the entry rug.
“You ask how you could help me,” said John with a rusty hinge of a voice. “You can help by giving up your meddling ways!” His eyes darted around the foyer and hall until they rested on a portrait of Charles and Betsy Holden and narrowed. “Your grandparents were meddlers too!”
“Since everyone in Stony Point seems to know everyone else’s business, I should fit right in, just like Grandpa and Gram did!” Annie retorted. As frustrated as she was with John’s accusation, Annie caught herself before her emotions got the best of her and tried a different angle. “John, Gwen has told me story after story of ways Gram was a blessing to others. She didn’t seem to think that was meddling.” Boots appeared near the top of the stairs, descending slowly one step at a time, as if sizing up the situation.
“Well, she does now!” John paused with his mouth open, gasping in air. Annie expected him to continue, but he didn’t.
“Is Gwen in the car?” asked Annie. “Let’s all sit down and talk about this.”
“No!”
“Is that no to her being in the car or no to talking?” Annie tried to keep her voice as calm as possible, but calm was the last thing she felt, her heart pounding like a drum.
Uncertainty flickered in John’s eyes, but he clamped his mouth shut.
“What I still don’t know is what I’ve done to meddle in your business—or Gwen’s.” As Annie spoke, Boots stepped down into the foyer, padding forward to lightly brush against Annie’s legs. Then the cat positioned herself between John and Annie with ears pricked sideways and her tail pointed at an angle toward the floor, ready to show aggression, if need be.
“Well, I’m
not about to educate you!” John’s voice heightened to a yell. He yanked the hood of his coat back over his head. “But don’t you ever bring hurt or harm to my wife again.” He jerked open the door, tossing back over his shoulder, “Better yet, go back to Texas!” The slam of the door reverberated from the door frame out along the wall.
Annie sank down to sit on the bottom step of the staircase, holding out a hand to Boots. The potential threat gone, Boots’s tail lifted and her ears moved forward as she drew close to Annie for a rub. “Whew!” Annie exclaimed in an attempt to lighten the moment. “If John could swing a golf club like he swung that door, his golfing buddies would be impressed!” That didn’t work, so she allowed the automatic movement of her hand over fur to calm her.
“I have to find Gwen, Boots. I don’t think she was with John. If she’s as upset as he is, she could be so vulnerable on a night like this.” Annie gave Boots one last scratch under the chin before going into the living room for the phone. She punched in Gwen’s cell phone number, wincing as she heard the rain splattering against the window like snowballs thrown by the wind. Gwen’s voice mail greeting spoke into Annie’s ear. Disappointed but not surprised, Annie left another message. “Gwen, it’s Annie. Please call me. I’m worried about you.”
As soon as she ended the first call, she dialed a different number. When her friend answered, Annie drew a sigh of relief. “Alice, thank God you’re at home! I need your help.”
“Then I’m glad I’m home too,” said Alice. “What’s up?”
“I just had the most awful visit from John Palmer, and it followed a phone call from Peggy with a strange story.” Annie heard a beeping begin on the other side of the line. “Now I’m truly worried about Gwen.”
“I can tell by your voice. Do you want me to come over?” Annie heard the beeping stop and the sound of Alice’s oven door opening and shutting.
“Would you? It sounds like you’re baking again.”
