“What on earth for?” John questioned irritably.
“For one thing I found her portrait stuck away in the back of Grandfather’s wine cellar,” Kim said. “Looking at it emphasized that she’d been a real person. She even had the same eye color as I do. Then I remembered what had happened to her. She certainly didn’t deserve to be hanged. It’s hard not to be sympathetic.”
“I was aware of the painting,” John said. “What were you doing in the wine cellar?”
“Nothing in particular,” Kim said. “Just taking a look around. It seemed like such a coincidence to come across Elizabeth’s portrait, because I’d recently been doing some reading about the Salem witch trials. And what I’d learned just added to my feelings of sympathy. Within a short time of the tragedy there was an outpouring of regret and repentance. Even back then it had become evident innocent people had been killed.”
“Not everyone was innocent,” John said.
“Mother intimated the same thing,” Kim said. “What could Elizabeth have done for you to suggest she wasn’t innocent?”
“Now you are pushing me,” John said. “I don’t know specifics, but I’d been told by my father it had something to do with the occult.”
“Like what?” Kim persisted.
“I just told you I don’t know, young lady,” John snapped angrily. “You’ve asked enough questions.”
Now go to your room, Kim added silently to herself. She wondered if her father would ever recognize that she’d become an adult and treat her like one.
“Kimmy, listen to me,” John said in a more conciliatory and paternalistic tone. “For your own good don’t dig up the past in this instance. It’s only going to cause trouble.”
“With all due respect, Father,” Kim said, “could you explain to me how it could possibly affect my welfare?”
John stammered.
“Let me tell you what I think,” Kim said with uncharacteristic assertiveness. “I believe that Elizabeth’s involvement could have been a humiliation back at the time the event occurred. I also can believe it might have been considered bad for business since her husband, Ronald, started Maritime Limited, which has supported generation after generation of Stewarts, ourselves included. But the fact that the concern over Elizabeth’s involvement has persisted is absurd and a disgrace to her memory. After all, she is our ancestor; if it hadn’t been for her, none of us would even be here. That fact alone makes me surprised that no one has questioned over the years this ridiculous knee-jerk reaction.”
“If you can’t understand it from your own selfish perspective,” John said irritably, “then at least think of your mother. The affair humiliates Joyce, and it doesn’t matter why. It just does. So if you need some motivation to leave Elizabeth’s legacy be, then there it is. Don’t rub your mother’s nose in it.”
Kim lifted her now cool cappuccino to her lips and took a drink. She gave up with her father. Trying to have a conversation with him had never been fruitful. It only worked when the conversation was one-sided: when he told her what to do and how to do it. It was as if he mistook the role of a father to be an instructor.
“Mother also tells me you have embarked on a project at the compound,” John said, assuming that Kim’s silence meant she’d become reasonable about the Elizabeth issue and accepted his advice. “What exactly are you doing?”
Kim told him about her decision to renovate the old house and live in it. While she talked, John went back to glancing at his papers. When she’d finished his only question concerned the castle and his father’s belongings.
“We’re not going to do anything to the castle,” Kim said. “Not until Brian comes home.”
“Good,” John said as he advanced the page of his Wall Street Journal.
“Speaking of Mother, where is she?” Kim asked.
“Upstairs,” John said. “She’s not feeling well and is not seeing anyone.”
A few minutes later Kim left the house with a sad, anxious feeling that was a complicated mixture of pity, anger, and revulsion. As she climbed into her car she told herself that she hated her parents’ marriage. As she started the engine she pledged to herself that she would never allow herself to be ensnared in such a situation.
Kim backed out of the driveway and headed toward Salem. As she drove she reminded herself that despite her revulsion toward her parents’ relationship, she was at some risk to re-create a similar situation. That was part of the reason why she’d reacted so strongly to Kinnard’s sporting trips when he’d had plans to be with her.
Kim suddenly smiled. Her gloomy thoughts were immediately overpowered by the memory of the flowers that had been arriving from Edward on a daily basis. In one way they embarrassed her; in another they were a testament to Edward’s attentiveness and caring. One thing she felt quite confident about: Edward would not be a womanizer. In her mind a womanizer had to be more assertive and more competitive, like her father, or, for that matter, like Kinnard.
As frustrating as her conversation with her father had been, it had the opposite effect of what he’d intended: it only encouraged her interest in Elizabeth Stewart. Consequently, as Kim was driving through downtown Salem, she detoured to the Museum Place Mall.
Leaving her vehicle in the car park, Kim walked to the Peabody-Essex Institute, a cultural and historical association housed in a group of old refurbished buildings in the center of town. Among other functions it served as a repository for documents about Salem and the environs, including the witchcraft trials.
A receptionist in the foyer collected a fee from Kim and directed her to the library, which was reached by a few stairs directly across from the reception desk. Kim mounted the steps and passed through a heavy, windowed door. The library was housed in an early nineteenth-century building with high ceilings, decorative cornices, and dark wood molding. The main room had marble fireplaces and chandeliers in addition to darkly stained oak tables and captain’s chairs. A typical library hush and a smell of old books prevailed.
A friendly and helpful librarian by the name of Grace Meehan immediately came to Kim’s aid. She was an elderly woman with gray hair and a kind face. In response to a general question from Kim, she showed her how to find all sorts of papers and documents associated with the Salem witch trials including accusations, complaints, arrest warrants, depositions, hearing testimony, court records of the preliminary hearings, mittimi, and execution warrants. They were all carefully catalogued in one of the library’s old-fashioned card catalogues.
Kim was surprised and encouraged by the amount of material that was so easily available. It was no wonder there were so many books on the Salem witch trials. The institute was a researcher’s paradise.
As soon as the librarian left Kim on her own, Kim attacked the card catalogue. With a good deal of excitement she looked up Elizabeth Stewart. She was confident she’d be mentioned in some form or fashion. But Kim was soon disappointed. There was no Elizabeth Stewart. There were no Stewarts at all.
Returning to the librarian’s desk, Kim asked the woman directly about Elizabeth Stewart.
“The name’s not familiar,” Grace said. “Do you know how she was connected to the trials?”
“I was told she was one of the accused,” Kim said. “I believe she was hanged.”
“She couldn’t have been,” Grace said without hesitation. “I consider myself an expert on the extant documents concerning the trials. I’ve never come across the name Elizabeth Stewart even as a witness, much less one of the twenty victims. Who told you she was accused?”
“It’s a rather long story,” Kim said evasively.
“Well, it certainly wasn’t true,” Grace said. “There’s been too much research by too many people for one of the victims to have been missed.”
“I see,” Kim said. She didn’t argue. Instead she thanked the woman and returned to the card-catalogue area.