“Stop right there.” Joe held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Just stop.”
“Joe, please . . . please hear me out.” From the scowl on his face she was sure he wasn’t listening to a word, but she plowed on. “I’ve lived a good life. I’ve been greatly blessed. But I can’t rest easy while you and your brother continue this estrangement. I’m nearly ninety years old. What if I die? I can’t leave this world without at least trying to bring you two together.”
For a moment, Joe looked as if he might answer her. Then he stood up from the table. “If that’s why you’ve come, then you’ve wasted your time. The damage is done. It’s ancient history. There’s nothing you or my brother can say to change that. That ship has sailed, Mom. So don’t start stirring all that up.” He stopped himself and she could almost see him biting back his next thought. Then he said, “I’ve got to go. I just wanted to find out if you were all right.”
Adele swallowed back a lump in her throat. How could she be “all right” when he was still so angry at her? Didn’t he understand that? She felt her eyes stinging, but she didn’t want to cry in front of him. That wouldn’t help at all.
“My health is fine. No worries there, thank God,” she said firmly.
“All right then . . . I don’t know how long you’re staying. Marie wants to have you over to the house, but I’m working a lot of nights this week and next. We’ll give you a call, okay?”
Adele nodded. “Give me a call whenever you get around to it. I’ll be here.”
Joe left the way he’d come, through the kitchen door, practically slamming it on the way out. Adele reached for her coffee but her hand was shaking so badly, she couldn’t get it to her lips. She put it down and took a few deep breaths.
Oh, this was getting complicated. More than she had ever expected. Sam was with her. Molly was against her. Joe had snuck up and fired a warning shot. Why did it have to be so hard? She wasn’t an ambassador at the United Nations. She was just an old woman, trying to make amends for her mistakes.
Stop it, stop it right now, Adele Morgan, she chided herself. You’ll never get anywhere feeling sorry for yourself. Your son just barks and you start whimpering? You brought him into this world. You wiped his bottom and fed him at your breast. He wouldn’t exist without you. Buck up and get a grip. No one ever said this was going to be easy. I have to call Sam, she realized. If he plans on talking to his father on my behalf, he ought to know Joe and I have already had words.
Adele was about to leave the table to find her cell phone when Liza Martin walked into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Morning, Adele. Did you sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you.”
Liza walked over to the table and noticed Adele’s untouched plate. “Would you like something else besides pancakes? I can make you some eggs or oatmeal. We have fruit and yogurt, too.”
“The pancakes are fine. I was just . . . interrupted,” she explained.
“They look cold. I’ll get you a hot stack.” Without waiting for a reply, Liza swept the dish away and walked over to the stove to make a fresh batch.
Adele was about to stop her. Then she just thanked Liza for her trouble. She did want those pancakes and wasn’t going to let Joe ruin her nice breakfast, too. Besides, she needed her strength and energy more than ever. Nothing short of a miracle would patch up this mess, she could see that now. And it looked like she was the one who had to make that miracle happen.
* * *
Jonathan headed back to Lilac Hall on Tuesday, feeling eager and excited. He was ready to dig back into all that research material. The day before he had barely gotten into the records from the town meetings, and he knew they might be a gold mine of information.
But he also knew his anticipation had as much to do with seeing Tess again. He walked into the large, echoing entry hall and headed for the reception desk. There was only one person there to help visitors, the older woman he had seen at the desk with Tess yesterday.
Maybe Tess was in the office behind the desk, or upstairs helping another visitor. He wanted to ask, but decided not to. She said she was working today. If she’s here, I’ll find her.
After he left his things in a locker, the woman led him back up to the same reading room he had worked in the day before and took out the binders he needed. She did it the same way Tess had, but it wasn’t quite the same, he thought.
He settled down in the same seat but couldn’t concentrate. He felt suddenly deflated, like a balloon with all its air leaked out. He glanced at his watch. Maybe she was coming in later. I’ll go down and look for her in a little while, when I need to take a break, he decided. He didn’t want to seem too obvious. Besides, he did have important work to do and she was a distraction. An attractive, charming distraction, he corrected himself as he flipped open his laptop.
He forced himself to focus on the documents and found the place where he had left off the day before. Entries about the mysterious illness started to appear in the town records in the fall of 1633, about six months after the settlers had arrived. The first cases were noted in September.
“. . . Elijah Haywood and William Stanton taken sick with fever. The men had been clamming on the marshes for two days prior,” Jonathan read in an entry dated September sixth. “Ruth, wife of William, stricken as well. The affliction commences with profuse sweating, violent chills, high fever, and vomiting. Boils and rashes strike on the third day. Apothecary Simon has dosed the sick with boiled elm bark and ginger root. They are also bled.”
Excited by the entry, Jonathan quickly looked ahead. But the next place he found mention of the fever was over a month later. The number of victims had grown to thirty, with many more unnamed also sick with the disease. The settlers had never seen anything like it back in England and called it Marsh Fever, owing to the first victims. It was unclear whether the marshland was truly the source of the illness, though it was possible that mosquitoes or some other airborne insect was carrying the disease, he thought.
The germ was highly contagious and could sweep through an entire family in a few days. He knew that this was partly owing to the lack of knowledge about how diseases spread and poor hygiene in the 1600s. But it sounded like a sickness that would be dreadful in any era.
There were so many illnesses of that time that simply did not exist in this modern day. The descriptions were hard to evaluate completely. As Jonathan had told the women at the inn, Marsh Fever sounded similar to Yellow Fever, except for the boils and the fact that the illness lasted longer. Also, the settlers believed it was still contagious for several weeks, even if one survived the first phase of fevers.
Doctors in that era used leeches and drew cups of blood from patients, believing that they were draining the illness from the body. Apothecaries and even the Wampanoag people offered herbs and tree bark to lessen the fever and other symptoms. Jonathan suspected that some of that probably did help, though nothing could cure it.
He looked further and found scraps of notes from a town meeting held in early November. The death toll was mounting. The list of the recently deceased filled an entire page. “. . . Benjamin Walker, Daniel Walker, Joshua Thurgood, Jane Thurgood, Olivia Thurgood, Lillian Thurgood, Thomas Smith, Rebecca Smith, Charity Smith . . .”
Jonathan knew, of course, that epidemics killed large numbers of people, but somehow seeing the individual names—a great number of them seeming to be family members—made this one so much more real than others he had studied. The town was under siege. “So many innocent lives lost,” wrote the governor, John Ames. “We dig graves night and day, praying for God’s mercy that He might lift this pestilence.” Jonathan paused, feeling deeply saddened by the words. He could practically hear the governor’s despairing voice echoing in the reading room.
Tess paused at the doorway for a moment, her gaze fixed on Jonathan as he worked. He was concentrating so dee
ply, she didn’t want to startle him. She liked the way he looked, frowning over the pages laid out on the table and tapping some quick notes on his keyboard.
She wondered if he had looked around the building for her, or wondered where she was. She had looked for him—and found him. But now it seemed as if she should come back later. He might not like being disturbed, she thought as she slowly turned away.
“Tess! Wait . . .”
She had barely taken two steps down the hall when she heard him call out to her. As she turned to go back to the room, they nearly collided in the doorway. Jonathan had to catch her shoulders for an instant so they wouldn’t crash. His touch was gentle but firm, and any doubts that he was eager to see her were quickly dispelled by his brilliant smile.
“Hey . . . there you are. I was just about to come down and look for you.”
“Mrs. Fisk asked me to do some filing in the office this morning. I just noticed your name in the visitors’ book.”
Whoops, she had given herself away. Now he knew for sure that she had been looking for him, too. She quickly changed the subject, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “So, how’s it going? Did you find any good information today?”
“I did. Great stuff. The village records document the first appearance of the disease and its spread. Reading these firsthand accounts is different from the secondary sources I’ve seen. It’s very, very sad. The husband and wives, and so many children . . .” His voice trailed off. Tess understood. These struggles happened so long ago, but it was still very moving to read the firsthand accounts.
“Did you read the entry written by Governor Ames, where he asks God for mercy?”
Jonathan nodded. She could see it had affected him. Maybe that was why he looked so serious before. “I just read that one. . . . Did he catch the fever, too?”
“Yes, he did. He died very quickly. Within three days.”
Jonathan ran a hand through his hair. “That’s too bad. I was hoping he survived it. But I haven’t found anything about survivors. I haven’t even found any mention of the quarantine yet.”
“I’m not sure you’ll find any. The records are so incomplete.”
“Yes, they are pretty spotty,” he agreed. “Though the fragments are very rich.”
Tess considered his problem for a moment. “I do know of a document in the collection that might help you. John Ames’s wife kept a journal at their farm. We have some pieces of it. Maybe she mentions the quarantine.”
“A journal? That’s fantastic!”
Tess might have just told Jonathan he’d won the lottery. He looked so excited, she thought he was going to grab her and kiss her. Not that I would mind that, she realized.
“I don’t know for sure if she mentions the quarantine,” she reminded him. “But we do have most of the journal.”
She glanced at her watch. “I’m on a break right now and need to grab some lunch. But I can come back later and find it for you.”
“I could use a break,” Jonathan said quickly. “I mean, if you don’t mind company. Do you have time to run into town for a bite? Someplace other than the Clam Box,” he added quickly.
Tess had to laugh at his expression when he mentioned the diner. “I don’t have enough time left to go into town. There’s an employee lunchroom here. The menu is limited, but the food isn’t bad.”
“Sounds fine to me,” Jonathan said quickly. He grabbed his computer, and they walked down the long hallway side by side. The entire building was very quiet, one of the main reasons Tess loved working here. Through the open doors along the way, they could see other visitors studying documents intently and so quietly, you could hear the sound of turning pages as you walked by.
Downstairs, she led him to a door at the back of the first floor, where a sign read EMPLOYEES ONLY. They entered the narrow, light-filled space.
“Wow . . . this is nice,” Jonathan said, looking around.
The employee café was actually very pretty, and Tess never minded taking her breaks here. The floor and one wall were stone, and the other wall had long windows. Wrought-iron tables and chairs were set in a row with a counter at the far end. The windows framed a view of a garden with a gravel path and arching white arbors.
“I think this space was a solarium and sort of an indoor greenhouse when the Warwicks lived here. The first owner’s wife was an avid gardener and raised orchids indoors.”
Tess found an empty table, and Jonathan put his belongings down on a chair. Then they walked up to the food counter. He turned to look out at the windows as they stood on line. “It feels like we’re in a greenhouse—or actually sitting outside. What’s in that garden?”
“Roses, all different kinds. Mrs. Warwick planned it so that there’s always something blooming throughout the spring and summer. All the brides in town want to have wedding photos taken here, but the trustees are strict about it and very few are allowed in.”
“I see. Serious business.” Jonathan’s tone was thoughtful, but she could tell from his eyes he was teasing her. “I guess when the time comes, you’ll have good connections.”
“I haven’t given it a thought,” she said quickly. Though the truth was, she really did want her wedding photos here . . . when the time came. “I suppose I’ll have a fair shot if I can stay on good terms with Mrs. Fisk.”
They both got coffee and sandwiches. When they came to the cashier, Jonathan quickly paid for both of them.
“Oh, you don’t have to buy my lunch, that’s okay,” Tess said.
“I want to. You told me about that journal and you brought me to this interesting, hidden-away place.”
That much was true. But he was almost acting as if it were a date. Well, maybe it sort of is, she realized. A “starter” date? They sat at their table and opened their sandwiches.
“So, how long have you worked here?” he asked curiously.
“Gee . . . let’s see. Since high school, I guess. I was a summer intern my junior year. Now that I’m in college, I’ve been promoted. I actually get paid. Not much,” she added with a laugh. “But I like the atmosphere.”
“A little different than the diner?”
“A little. Though both have their charms.”
“I can’t see any in the diner, but if you say so.”
“I like the people watching. There are all the regulars who live here . . . Reverend Ben, the Hegmans, Officer Tulley . . . He and Charlie go back to grade school. I already know what they’ll order and can practically predict what they’ll talk about, too.” Jonathan smiled at her confession. “Then there are all the new people who come into town. Some are very interesting to talk to.”
“Like me?” he asked. His dark eyes widened as he took a sip of coffee.
“Yes, I’d include you in that category.” He looked pleased by her answer. Was he blushing a little? That was cute, she thought.
“So you work at this place and the diner and go to BU. How do you manage all that? Do you commute to school from here?”
“Oh no, I live on campus.” Not that far from your campus, she nearly reminded him. “We’re on intercession now, so I’m here until January. I work at both these places in the summer, so they take me back for a few weeks during school breaks. The extra money comes in handy for Christmas shopping. It would be too boring doing nothing all this time.”
“I know what you mean. I’m on a break now, too. Most of the other people in my program are off skiing or under a palm tree somewhere, sipping a blended drink.”
“Or home for the holidays?” She thought he would add that choice, but he didn’t. Interesting, Tess thought.
“Yes, some went home,” he said quickly. “But I’d rather be working, too.”
Tess thought about asking what his plans were for Christmas, but some intuitive little voice warned her to stay on more neutral ground.<
br />
“So, it sounds like your research is going well today,” she said.
“Even better than I expected. This place is a real treasure trove. I don’t think I’m going to tell my friends about it.” She could tell he was half-joking, but half-serious, too.
“Is your department very competitive?”
“Deadly. But probably no worse than anywhere else.”
“Oh, that’s encouraging.”
He laughed at her reply. “Don’t worry, Tess. I haven’t known you very long, but I’m practically positive you’ll hold your own in grad school . . . more than hold your own, I’d say.”
She met his glance and didn’t know how to answer him. His compliment was encouraging but had taken her by surprise. And so had the warm expression in his eyes.
He looked away, picking up his sandwich again. “What do you like best about studying history? I mean, what made you choose that subject instead of say, literature or biology?”
“I’m not sure exactly. I’ve always liked to read true accounts about events or biographies. I love novels, but true stories seem more compelling. I also like to understand why things happen. What are the influences—the social climate and small events that lead up to one momentous one? It is so amazing to me that if one simple little thing had not gone a certain way, an entire war could have been prevented—or a national leader would not have been assassinated. Or a revolution wouldn’t have begun.”
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I know what you mean. I think about that a lot, too.”
“I love reading firsthand sources, like the letters and diaries kept here. It’s like voices are talking to you from the past, telling you their very private, personal stories. I think places like this little building are so important, preserving the stories and legacy of so many people. Their struggles and victories. The mysteries in their communities, like the Marsh Fever epidemic. Maybe someone like you or me can figure it out someday. And all their suffering wouldn’t have been in vain.”
“It is like voices,” Jonathan said. “And sometimes the voices seem to be calling out, across the centuries, asking you to help them. I feel the same . . . though you put it into words much better than I can. When I do intense research and sit reading documents for days, I end up hearing voices in my head,” he confessed. He gave her a shy grin. “Sometimes I even start talking back to them.”
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