by Wendy Webb
“Jess was talking to another woman, and there was something about the way she was looking at me,” Kate started. “At her. The way the other woman was looking at Addie. She touched Jess’s arm like she owned him. And the things she said! Apparently she was an old girlfriend. It was all very subtle, and it could’ve been innocent, but it certainly seemed to me that something was going on between them.”
“Right here in this house,” Simon murmured.
“Right where we were standing day before yesterday.”
“So, tell me more,” Simon said, his eyes narrowing.
“I was looking out the window, and I could hear a party going on behind me,” Kate explained. “I wanted to turn and look at everything—I was dying to—but I couldn’t. My body, or more exactly, hers, wouldn’t move that way.”
They were silent for a while. “You know what I think?” Simon said. “If you really are dreaming about the past, then you’re dreaming about what was. Literally. You’re seeing, and living, what actually happened. You couldn’t turn and look into the ballroom when you wanted to in the dream because she didn’t in real life.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” Kate said.
“But I have to tell you, last night’s dream might have been nothing more than the product of your overactive imagination. You found those newspaper clippings yesterday, and we had been up in the ballroom wondering what it might have been like in Harrison’s day. You had that weird encounter with . . . whatever it was that scratched your neck. That might be all it was.”
“Agreed,” Kate concluded. She stared out onto the street, remembering the detail of how it had been all those years ago. “But if that’s the case, I’ve got a very accurate imagination. I saw the sun set on Wharton out of the windows in my dream. I know exactly what this town looked like one hundred years ago.”
After breakfast, Kate walked out of Harrison’s House with Alaska at her side into a rush of chilly air. It startled her—she had been expecting a warm, summer day. No, she thought, that was what the weather was like in my dream. It’s autumn now. Summer’s over. She turned and began making her way down the hill, the same hill she had climbed and descended yesterday and many times before that. Yet this time, she was struck by how much it had changed. Pavement, houses one after another, shops, restaurants. Cars. People. Cell phones. As Alaska sniffed here and there, Kate thought about the past.
Where was the blueberry patch? Where was the house with the magnificent garden? Kate looked around and tried to mesh the streetscape she had seen in her dream the night before with the modern-day version of the same. There, on the corner, the white wooden house with the big front porch. That’s where the garden had been. Kate wondered if the people who owned that house ever found an errant carrot, a determined sunflower, a stubborn stalk of corn growing in their finely manicured backyard. Did they have any idea what had been there before their house was built? Did they know that someone had tended the earth, turned the soil, watered, and weeded and did it all to feed his family?
Kate walked in these two worlds, the present and the past, for an hour or so. And then it was time to take Alaska back to the house and start her day. She was anxious to get back to the library and learn the rest of the story.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Kate was waiting on the steep library steps when the scruffy librarian, the same one who had been there yesterday, slouched around the corner, headphones on his ears, enormous coffee cup in his hand. When he saw Kate, he smiled.
“Been here all night?” he teased.
“Not quite.” She smiled.
“You’re here to time travel again, aren’t you?” he asked as he fumbled with his keys and opened the big double doors.
“That feels exactly like what I’m doing,” Kate said. “Sometimes I don’t know where 1910 ends and today begins.”
“Tell me about it,” he mumbled, flipping on the lights and setting his overstuffed shoulder bag on the counter.
“Okay if I just head to the shelves myself?” Kate asked.
“You know the way,” he said.
Soon, Kate had gathered the next rolls, threaded her machine, and immersed herself in the past. After a few moments, she found the next article.
POLICE CHIEF OUTLINES CASE AGAINST STEWART
Wharton police chief Arnold Becker explained to jurors today how and why he came to charge Jess Stewart with the murder of his wife.
“It’s simple, common-sense police work,” Chief Becker explained on the stand. “In matters like this, things tend to stay very close to home. When a wife goes missing, we look to the husband first. Usually, that’s the farthest we have to look.”
“So, your case against Mr. Stewart is entirely circumstantial?” asked prosecuting attorney Jeffrey Howard.
“No,” the chief said. “The dockworker, Lange, came to us and said he knew Stewart’s story about coming back on the Sunday train from Minneapolis was false because he had seen him in Wharton on Saturday. And we haven’t been able to find a single witness on the Sunday train who remembers seeing Stewart. That means Stewart lied. Lying plus a missing wife generally leads to a murderer.”
This wasn’t good. They couldn’t find one witness who would say that Jess was on the Sunday train? Kate wondered how hard they had looked, how many people they had interviewed. Her reporter’s instincts kicked in, and she found herself thinking about the accuracy of passenger records and logs a century ago. Would the rail company have had information about who was on that train? People probably just bought their tickets with cash, she reasoned. No credit card receipts, no checks with one’s name and address on them, no online reservations. Police couldn’t track someone’s movements as accurately as they could today. It would be much easier to hide the truth of one’s whereabouts, or fabricate an alibi, in that simpler time, Kate thought.
Kate desperately wanted to believe in Jess’s innocence. But she had to admit that it was looking more and more like he was, indeed, guilty of this crime.
STEWART EJECTED FROM COURTOOM!
It was an emotional day in the courtroom as jurors heard from Mrs. Stewart’s physician, Dr. Jonas Maki, who testified that Mrs. Stewart had come to see him for a routine appointment one week before she disappeared.
“She was ready to deliver her baby,” Dr. Maki testified. “It could have come at any time.”
When asked if Mrs. Stewart had ever confided in him regarding trouble in her marriage, Dr. Maki replied that she had not. “She was excited for the birth of her first child, and she reported Mr. Stewart was pleased about it as well.”
The courtroom hummed and murmured as the doctor stepped down from the stand, but just at that moment, Mr. Jess Stewart rose up out of his chair and began screaming wildly. “Why isn’t anyone looking for my wife? You’ve arrested the wrong man and left it at that! She could be alone, hurt, giving birth to our child! Why won’t you go out and look for her?”
Mr. Stewart’s lawyer and two bailiffs tried to restrain Mr. Stewart, who flailed his arms and knocked over his chair, continuing to rant and rave like a madman. He was ejected from the courtroom by the judge, who recessed the trial for the day, presumably to allow Mr. Stewart to regain control of his senses.
This reporter could see that the jury was shocked by the outburst of rage and anger, imagining, no doubt, what sort of dark and evil circumstance had caused Mr. Stewart to turn that rage on his poor wife.
Despite Kate’s obsession with the trial itself, she continued to marvel at the differences in journalistic styles of a century ago. So much emotion. So much bias. The reporter covering this trial obviously believes Jess is guilty, Kate thought.
WITNESS FROM THE SUNDAY TRAIN COMES FORWARD!
Mrs. Elsie Johnson, widow of Elmer Johnson of Wharton, took the stand today to testify that she and her daughter, Mrs. John Potter of Wharton, saw Mr. Jess Stewart on the train from Minneapolis to Wharton on Sunday, April 24.
“My daughter and I had gone to the city a week earli
er for some shopping,” Mrs. Johnson testified. “We were coming back on the train that Sunday, and we saw Mr. Stewart.”
“You’re sure it was Mr. Stewart?” the prosecutor asked.
“I’m certain of it,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I commented to my daughter how handsome he was. When I saw his picture in the newspaper and read that you couldn’t find anyone to confirm that he was on the Sunday train, I knew I had to come forward.”
“And you’re sure it was Sunday?” the prosecutor wanted to know. “Sometimes when ladies are shopping, they can lose track of time.”
A few members of the jury chuckled.
But Mrs. Johnson turned to the jury and said, “Mr. Stewart was on that train. It was Sunday. There is no doubt about it. I’ll stake my life on it. I know because of that terrible fog. That was the day.”
The packed courtroom gasped. Mr. Stewart’s mother began crying and collapsed into the arms of Mrs. Marcus Cassatt. “Thank God,” she was heard to say.
The courtroom also included prominent businessman Harrison Connor and his wife, Celeste, who was cradling their newborn baby in her arms.
Later, as they exited the courtroom, Mr. Connor told this reporter, “I have steadfastly maintained Jess Stewart’s innocence. He is a victim here. The man lost his wife and child. There could be nothing worse than that for any man. Nothing worse.”
Jess wasn’t lying about coming to Wharton on Sunday! It didn’t mean he didn’t kill Addie, Kate reasoned, but at least he wasn’t lying about his movements. It also meant the dockworker lied. Why would he do that?
Kate decided to keep searching the files to find out, once and for all, the outcome of the trial. When they knew what happened, then she and Simon could start dissecting everything she had learned. She threaded another roll into the machine and turned the handle.
WITNESSES TAKE STAND IN STEWART’S DEFENSE
A parade of character witnesses, including Jess Stewart’s mother, Mrs. Stewart’s parents, and local businessman Harrison Connor, took the stand today to defend Jess Stewart against these heinous charges that have been brought against him.
Hmm, Kate thought. The reporter’s tone is turning. Public opinion must be changing as well.
“I have known Jess Stewart for a long time, since our days in college, and I can unequivocally state that he is not capable of murdering anyone, let alone his beloved Addie,” Harrison Connor said on the stand today. “I believe in him so much that I have charged my personal attorney with defending him. My wife and I have spent countless evenings with the Stewarts, and we can both tell you that Jess and Addie were very much in love. He was fiercely protective of her and more than a little jealous. Who wouldn’t be? His wife was one of the most beautiful women—inside and out—in this town or any other.”
Something about this statement made Kate catch her breath. It sounded wrong somehow. It was almost as though her great-grandfather was planting seeds of doubt in the minds of the jury. Jealous. Protective. Why would he do that? Did he believe Jess killed Addie? If he did, why would he support him publicly? What did he really know? She read on.
Mrs. Stewart’s mother, Mrs. Marcus Cassatt, said on the stand that her daughter had loved Jess Stewart all her life, that they had been children together in Great Bay. Mr. Cassatt testified that Mr. Stewart had gone away to college promising to return and marry his daughter, which he, in fact, did.
“My son has always been a good boy, a loving son, and a wonderful husband to his wife,” testified Mrs. Jennie Stewart, widow of Mr. Phillip Stewart, through bitter tears. “He sends money home every month for me to live on. He worked hard to make something of himself, in order to give Addie something more than the life of a fisherman’s wife. He loved Addie with all his heart, ever since he was five years old. He could not wait to be a father. There is no possibility that he killed her and that precious baby she was carrying. There’s no reason. Why would he have killed them? There is no motive for him to have committed this crime.”
But there was a motive, Kate thought. Stewart had been cheating on Addie. Judging by what had transpired in her dream about the ballroom, the way Harrison Connor pointedly steered Addie to break up the party between Jess and that woman, Sally, Harrison likely knew all about it. She threaded another roll into the microfiche machine and turned the lever gingerly, almost afraid to find what happened next.
STEWART UNFAITHFUL TO WIFE!
The jury heard about a different side of Jess Stewart during today’s proceedings. Several rather damaging witnesses took the stand, eliciting gasps of disbelief from the packed courtroom.
Three women, Anna Jacobsen, Jill Jakes, and Helene Bonnet, all of Minneapolis, testified that they had relations with Mr. Stewart during and after his collegiate years, shedding doubt on Mr. Stewart’s reported faithful intentions to marry Addie Cassatt.
The prosecuting attorney asked Miss Bonnet if she knew about a relationship between the accused and Miss Sally Reade, who, according to Miss Bonnet, is traveling in Europe at this time and could not be contacted for the trial. Miss Bonnet testified that Miss Reade, her self-described best friend, and Mr. Stewart shared an intimate relationship before and after his marriage. She claimed that Mr. Stewart had promised to marry Miss Reade, but broke it off suddenly because of his engagement to a girl from his hometown, Addie Cassatt. This threw Miss Reade into an emotional turmoil as breach of promise certainly would, and she did not see Mr. Stewart for several years. They were reacquainted last year in Wharton and, according to Miss Bonnet, resumed their intimate relationship.
“They were having an affair,” Miss Bonnet stated. “Sally told me all about it.”
Jess Stewart sat silently during the testimony, hanging his head.
Kate’s stomach was turning. She threaded the next roll and read on.
JESS STEWART GUILTY OF MURDER
After ten hours of deliberation, in an unusual verdict, the jury in the Jess Stewart trial has found Mr. Stewart guilty of the murder of his wife, Adelaide, despite the fact that no body was found.
Mrs. Stewart was last seen on April 24 and is presumed to have gone missing from the couple’s Front Street home shortly after that time. Mrs. Stewart was heavy with child, mere days away from delivery.
Prosecutors alleged that Mr. Stewart killed his wife to clear the way for him to marry his mistress, Miss Sally Reade, daughter of financier Preston Reade of Minneapolis and heir to his sizable fortune.
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears,” said prominent local businessman Harrison Connor, Mr. Stewart’s friend and employer. “I guess this goes to show that we really don’t know what anyone, even our closest friend, is capable of.”
Sentencing will take place on May 15.
Kate printed the article. She felt a tightening in her chest, as though someone was pulling a rope around her. He killed her. He really did it.
She didn’t want to read on, didn’t want to know more, but she couldn’t stop herself from threading another roll into the machine. She turned the handle, wincing with anticipation of what she might find on the next page.
JESS STEWART MURDERED ON COURTHOUSE STEPS!
As convicted murderer Jess Stewart was being led into the courtroom today to hear the judge hand down his fate, he was shot in the chest by Marcus Cassatt, the father of Mrs. Stewart.
“You bastard,” Mr. Cassatt was heard to say. “You killed my little girl.”
Mr. Stewart fell on the courthouse steps. This reporter heard him call out his wife’s name as he took his last breath.
Kate stared at the page, tears spilling from her eyes. Her hands shook as she printed the article. She gathered up all the sheets she had printed over the past two days, put them together in a file folder, tucked it into her bag, and returned the rolls to their rightful resting places. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t wait to get out of that library and into the fresh air.
Kate burst through the double doors and onto the street, gasping as though she h
ad been drowning. She made her way around the people, past the shops and restaurants, and out onto the town’s main dock at the water’s edge where she sat down, hard, and dangled her feet over the side toward the water.
The two people in her dreams were so alive, so in love, such good friends, laughing together, fighting, making up—and now they were dead, both of them, within weeks of each other. A family ruined, obliterated, not even given a chance to begin. A love denied, extinguished. Jess killed her. And his baby. Because of another woman. Addie’s father probably ended up in jail himself, but Kate didn’t read far enough to find out for sure.
And for what? An affair? How could it possibly be?
Kate fished a tissue out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes but couldn’t stop the tears from coming.
“Hey.” She felt a warm hand on her back. “Kate. What’s wrong?”
Nick sat down on the dock next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. Kate put her head onto his chest and sobbed. He didn’t say anything—he just held her and let her cry it out.
She drew back and blew her nose on a tissue. “I don’t understand it,” she said, her voice shaking. “These people lived and died a century ago. Had they not been victims of murder, had Addie and Jess lived out their entire lives to their natural conclusions, they’d still be in the ground right now. I couldn’t possibly have saved them. I couldn’t warn Addie about Jess’s betrayal, no matter how desperately I wanted to. I couldn’t warn Jess to keep his eyes focused on his family, or there would be dire consequences. I’m totally helpless. So, what is this all for?”
“I take it he was found guilty,” Nick said.
She nodded, holding her file folder. “It’s all in here.”
“Why don’t you show me what you found over a burger?”
Kate took a deep breath, not knowing what else to do. Nick stood up and held his hand out for Kate to take. She slipped her hand into his and let him help her up to her feet.
