Daughters of the Lake(63)

“Do all of these machines make copies?” Kate asked. She did not want to find herself staring at vital information with no way to print it out.

“Only the three nearest to the window,” he replied, again, pointing. “You’ll need quarters.”

Kate thanked him and found the rolls she needed, chose a machine, one that could indeed print the page viewed on the screen, and settled in for what she knew would be a long day’s work. Unlike the internet, there was no way to search a microfiche by subject. The newspapers appeared in their entirety and were arranged by date only. Did the woman die in 1905? 1910? Kate had no way of knowing exactly when it had happened. Grasping in the dark wasn’t her favorite way of collecting information, but at the moment, it was all she had. Kate carefully threaded the first roll into the machine, January 1905, and flipped the power switch on.

Hours later, she had searched through nearly four years’ worth of newspapers. An event like the death of a prominent woman would be front-page news, Kate reasoned, so she took the time to scan only the front pages of each issue. She found herself sidetracked, however, by other stories in the news—it was a glimpse into American life in a more innocent age. World War I hadn’t yet occurred—a thing as horrible as a world war wasn’t even imagined on the day that her great-grandparents had had a picnic with the beautiful, long-haired woman in Kate’s dreams. Prohibition was not in full swing, though there were rumblings about it, immigrants were flooding into Ellis Island. Closer to Kate’s home, the logging and shipping industries were dominating the news and refabricating the countryside.

Kate was startled to read that, in 1905, several severe storms hit the Great Lakes, including one so fierce and sudden that it froze men solid on the deck of their ship, which was stranded just far enough offshore to prevent their rescue, as horrified townspeople looked on. That storm created the call for more lighthouses to be built—ones that Kate herself had explored, and considered ancient, as a child. It was a time of incredible expansion and growth in the area, and the sense of optimism, not just in Wharton but in the country as a whole, was tangible, even to Kate, reading about it secondhand almost a century later. What an exciting time to be alive, Kate thought, when the country was relatively new. She saw her great-grandfather’s name and grainy photograph in the news several times, always in reference to his business.

She looked at her watch and thought of taking a break to rest her eyes from the monitor’s glare, but instead she decided to just keep plugging along. She was here now, and fatigued or not, she wasn’t going to stop searching until she had some answers.

Kate threaded roll after roll, scanned page after page, worrying with every headline that passed before her eyes in a flash that perhaps she was mistaken, perhaps she would find no information about this woman’s death, perhaps the woman on her beach was not the same woman in the photograph after all.

Then she came upon something that made her stop short. Kate held her breath and read:





LOCAL WOMAN MISSING


Mrs. Jess Stewart (née Adelaide Cassatt) has gone missing from her Front Street home. Mr. Stewart, vice president of Canby Lines, owned by local businessman Mr. Harrison Connor, returned home late Sunday, April 24, from a business meeting in Chicago to find his wife had vanished without a trace. She was last seen by a maid on Sunday afternoon.

Upon arriving home that evening and finding his wife missing, Mr. Stewart sent word to his wife’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Cassatt of Great Bay, who had not heard from their daughter. St. Joseph’s Hospital has no patients who match her description. Mrs. Stewart’s clothes, shoes, and suitcases remain in the home. Police reports indicate no evidence of foul play.

Mrs. Stewart is a young woman with long auburn hair. She is heavy with child, due to deliver at any moment. The frantic Mr. Stewart asks anyone with any information regarding his wife’s whereabouts to contact the authorities.

Mr. Connor has offered a sizeable reward to anyone who provides information that will bring Mrs. Stewart home.

A photo appeared under the article. Small and inky though the shot was, there was no mistaking it. Kate’s heart began pounding loudly in her chest, her body shaking with the reality of it. She was looking at proof of the impossible.

Adelaide Stewart—Kate caught her breath. Addie. That was the name of the woman in Kate’s dreams. Jess Stewart was the husband. His name took root in her heart, as though it had been there all along.

Kate put three quarters in the machine, and through the tears that had begun welling up in her eyes, she hit the “Print” button.

Kate was a reporter; she knew there had to be more to the story. What happened to Addie? How did she wind up missing? What of the child? The story said she was “heavy with child,” yet she washed up with a baby. And how did she end up in the lake in her nightgown? Kate turned the machine’s handle slowly, twisting through the days and weeks that were held captive on the roll.

MAN ARRESTED! WIFE MURDERED!

Mr. Jess Stewart, vice president of Canby Lines, has been arrested in the disappearance of his wife, Adelaide. After a thorough police investigation, Mr. Stewart was taken into custody today and charged with her murder.

Mr. Harrison Connor, Mr. Stewart’s employer, president of Canby Lines, proclaims Mr. Stewart’s innocence, offering a sizeable reward to anyone providing information that will lead to his exoneration.