Dreams of Fire (Maple Hill Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

Marianne was desperately trying to think of some topic of conversation that might return her to the moment before she’d told him about her haunted house. She couldn’t think of anything casual to say. As she stood there awkwardly, Oscar cruised through, looked at Ruari speculatively and then rubbed against his legs. Ruari smiled and stroked Oscar’s head and back.

“I never asked you what you did.” He broke the silence first as he carefully removed pieces of glass from the window frame with a pair of pliers.
 

“I’m an historian--for hire,” she said with some relief.

He looked at her quizzically over his shoulder, and she elaborated, “I have a doctorate in history, and I look things up for people. I sometimes write articles or summaries for a more general audience. I specialize in post Civil War America and dabble in Victorian England.”

“Wow.” He sounded genuinely impressed. “What made you move here, if I may ask?”

“That’s a really long story,” she said and added silently, that I’m really not going to tell you. “The short version is that I used to visit my grandparents in Vandenberg as a kid. When I needed to move out of the city, and this house was available, I took the chance to live in Maple Hill. I have fond memories of coming here in the summers as a child.”

“How do you get your research done from here?”

“The Internet is often a place to start, I have my own books, and I can always get down to various libraries in New York for other resources.”

He nodded. “Sounds like the best of both worlds—except for the ghosts, I mean,” he added with a smile.

“Yeah,” she said, embarrassed all over again. She opted to ignore the last bit. “I haven’t been here long, so mostly I’m just hoping it will work out.”

He’d finished his work and closed his toolbox. “Well, I’ll have to order the glass from the hardware store. It should be cut and ready this afternoon, and I can come back and install it whenever you like.”

“I was planning on going to the library today. I have some research I have to get done. Maybe tomorrow? I put a board across it last night to keep the animals out, so I guess I can just do that again?”

He nodded. “That will work for now, but it would be good to get the glass back in before it rains again. We’re due for another thunderstorm in a couple of days.”

“Tomorrow for sure then. Can you come in the morning?”

His lips quirked up politely. “I can be here by nine.”

She grabbed the clean laundry and hastened up the stairs after him. After he left, she dumped the basket on her bed and got her research bag together.

Chapter 15

Walking gloomily to the library, Marianne pondered the door she’d closed by being so forthright with Ruari. He clearly thinks I’m a nutcase. That relationship is probably not going anywhere now, she thought. Well, once all the repairs were finished, she probably wouldn’t see much of him anyway. She didn’t remember seeing a ring on his left hand, but he could easily have a girlfriend. A guy that nice and good-looking would surely have a girlfriend.
 

Quiet purpose permeated the library and helped her focus. Picking up where she left off the day before, Marianne spent the day leafing and then scrolling through back issues of the
Maple Hill Register
. She found no obituary for Adam Sullivan. He could have moved away, and if he died elsewhere, his death wouldn’t necessarily be mentioned locally. She’d have to expand her search later. The bottom line was if he were still alive, he couldn’t be her ghost no matter how creepy he was.

Her cell phone chimed, and she hastened to stop the noise. The caller ID said Dr. Wentwroth was calling. He was one of her professors from grad school. She had done a post doc project with him a couple of years ago but hadn’t talked to him in almost a year. She stood up and said quietly, “Hello?” as she hurried out of the reference room.
 

“Marianne? This is Jim Wentwroth,” his deep voice always reminded her of James Earl Jones.

“Dr. Wentwroth! How nice to hear from you!” There was a little alcove with chairs near the bathrooms, and she stopped there and perched on the arm of a chair.

“It’s Jim, please. It’s good to hear your voice too. How are you doing?” He sounded warm as always.

“Sorry, habit. I’m fine. I’m working on a little research project in—“ she hesitated and said, feeling a little guilty, “town. How are you?”

“I’m well.” He sounded cautious. “I got a curious call from Geoffrey earlier today. Are you two still in touch?”

Her stomach dropped uncomfortably. “Um, no. The divorce papers went through a couple of months ago, and I try not to see him at all.”

He sounded relieved. “Ah. Good. Then, I did the right thing. He called sounding very friendly, asking where he might find you, and I told him we hadn’t spoken in a long while, and I didn’t know where you were.”

“I’m in—“

“No, no! Don’t tell me. That way, if I’m captured, he can’t torture me to tell,” he chuckled, trying to make light of it, but her stomach fell further.

“Thank you, Jim. I appreciate it.”

“Marianne, you were one of my best students and are a stellar person as well. Geoffrey never treated you with the seriousness and respect you deserved. When he called, I thought you should know. Wherever you are, you seem to be off his radar at least.”

She’d blushed at his praise and murmured an automatic denial, before saying, “I hope I can stay that way.”

“Let me know if I can be of any further assistance. I could tell him you’ve been spotted in Zanzibar, if you like,” he offered.

She smiled in spite of herself. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.” She hung up and clutched her phone. Her ex was still trying to find her. Thank goodness for loyal friends, she thought. After a few minutes of fruitless speculation, she told herself, there’s no use in stressing about it for now, and tucked the thoughts back into a box.

She returned to her table in the historical records room and tried to get back into her groove. It took some time, but the lure of history and an unsolved mystery drew her back in.

Markus Bordman’s name turned up a few times linked to the insurance company he worked for and once for a Kiwanis Club event that he’d co-chaired. Mr. Bordman, the insurance adjuster, seemed more boring than angry. There had been no mention of a Mrs. Bordman. Also, Marianne hadn’t come across his obituary, so he might still be alive. If she could find him, he might consent to an interview with her.

The lack of solid leads was getting discouraging. She moved on to the last set of names, Anne and George Rutherford, the first owners of the house. At last she found what she was looking for in a 1963 issue. Below a grainy picture of a woman with dark hair and thick 1940s glasses, Marianne read,
 

Anne Elizabeth Rutherford (nee Eddy) died in her home on Sunday at the age of 63. She is survived by her husband George W. Rutherford of Maple Hill, NY. Born August 10, 1900 to Josephine and Samuel Eddy, Anne lived in the neighboring town of Schukill until the age of 5 when the family moved to Maple Hill. Anne attended Maple Hill Elementary, Junior and High schools where she earned top honors in her class. She was musically talented and from 1918-1920 attended the Institute of Musical Art, which later became the Julliard School. She withdrew before she earned a degree. Upon returning to Maple Hill, she became a beloved piano teacher for two generations of local students. It became a local honor to be invited to one of her piano concerts. She married George William Rutherford in 1925, and they lived in Maple Hill until her death from cancer. The Rutherfords have no children of their own, but she felt a strong connection to all of her students. The memorial service will be on Monday followed by the burial in Maple Hill Community Cemetery.

“Wow,” Marianne whispered. “That explains a few things.” She peered more closely at Anne Rutherford’s picture and thought she looked solemn and a little sad. “I wonder…” she murmured to herself. Marianne asked the librarian to let her into the copy machine area. She made a copy of the obituary and asked her where the really early copies of the newspaper were located.

“The newspaper was founded in 1901, and we have microfilm of most of the issues here,” Mrs. Caldwell replied with pinched lips. Marianne thought she looked like she’d eaten lemons for lunch.

“Would there have been news from more than one town reported in the Maple Hill paper?”

“Sometimes. You’ll just have to see. Are you looking for something specific?” She seemed annoyed to have to help this visitor.

“I’m new to Maple Hill and don’t know the area very well. Where is Schukill?”

The librarian frowned, tapping her pencil on the tabletop, and said, “I think Schukill may have been an early town or hamlet that lost its post office for some reason and became unincorporated. Its land would have been absorbed by more successful neighboring towns. Do you want maps of the area or early editions of the newspaper?”

“Maps first, please.” She was able to find both towns in an 1899 survey. Schukill seemed to have been a little north of Maple Hill along a creek with a long Dutch name ending in –kill written in curly lettering she couldn’t make out.
 
There was a new survey for the area in 1915, and it seemed that Maple Hill and Schukill were roughly the same size. Both had businesses, homes, and churches. The long Dutch named creek seemed to have been renamed as the “Schukill Creek” which now divided them. After some further searching, she found a map dated 1921. Maple Hill was mentioned, but Schukill had mysteriously vanished.

So, something had happened between 1915 and 1921. Marianne thought about the dual effects of WWI and the 1919 flu epidemic that could certainly have robbed a small town of population and economic vitality. She went back to the 1915 map and looked closely at the tiny print indicating businesses and buildings.

She looked at the copy of the obituary and then went in search of the librarian. Mrs. Caldwell seemed upset at having to break off her own task. Marianne said, “I’m sorry to bother you again, but it seems the town I was looking for disappeared from the records around 1921. What would have happened to the buildings and such? There is a Maple Hill Cemetery mentioned. Do you know if it still exists? I was thinking of looking for a particular grave.”
 

The librarian’s lips thinned as she raised her penciled eyebrows and said, “Of course. That’s probably now the Maple Hill Community Cemetery. Pardon me for asking, but are you a relative? I’m just curious why you are so interested.”

Marianne replied in a companionable, you-know-how-it-is tone, “No, I’m not a relative. I think this woman,” she indicated the obituary, “used to own the house I live in now, and I was curious. I’m an historian myself and wanted to learn about local history.”
 

Mrs. Caldwell relaxed fractionally and nodded, “Well, it’s possible that Maple Hill or Henryville absorbed Schukill. If it was originally along a road that survived, it probably would have just become part of one town or the other. The cemetery is not far outside of town along the main road, heading north. You can’t miss it.”

Marianne thanked her for her help and then went back to take some notes. She was just finishing making a copy of the 1915 map when the closing bell for the library sounded, and she looked at her watch in surprise. It was 5:00, and she suddenly realized she’d never had lunch. Her stomach growled reproachfully.

The faint notes of her favorite tune floated up from her purse, and she fished the phone out just before it went to voicemail. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Kelly. Are you coming for dinner tonight? We’re glad to have you. Besides Sarah is dying to know what you found out today.” She sounded remarkably energetic after a full day’s work.

“Okay. I need to go home long enough to feed Oscar and grab some clean clothes.”

“I can meet you at your house, and we can walk home together. I’ve gotta stop at the co-op for a few things anyway.”

“See you in twenty minutes.”

She hustled back to the house in the late afternoon heat. After feeding Oscar, she got her overnight bag together. The hall looked unfriendly in the glare of the bulb, but the patching was dry. She could paint tomorrow. She was glad Kelly was coming soon. The sense of anxiety would have made it hard to sleep. Oscar seemed to be a little twitchy too, lashing his tail and pacing around. She was reluctant to crate him and take him with her, though, since he was not overly fond of the little carrier and seemed to be safe here even if she wasn’t. Deciding to leave him a second night, she sat cuddling him in her lap while she waited for Kelly.

The blonde stylist didn’t grill her on the walk back to Main, which surprised Marianne. Instead, she talked about her day, recounting a story involving a fussy customer who had come back to color her hair for the third time, clearly trying to match a shade only she could imagine.
 

They got a few things at the co-op. Marianne tried to contribute, but Kelly refused.

“Please let me give you a little something. It’s the only way I can think of to thank you,” Marianne insisted.

“Nope. We got this,” Kelly said firmly.

Marianne groped for another way and had a flash of inspiration. “Do you guys like ice cream? We could go to Sweet’s after dinner, my treat.”

Kelly grinned. “You’re on!”

Sarah and Kelly let her help with dinner, broiled fish and potatoes with lots of garlic, and Marianne made a salad to go with it. At the dinner table, Marianne recounted her library trip.

 
“It’s interesting that Anne was musically talented enough to get into the early Julliard School but never finished,” Kelly observed.

“Yeah. I don’t know why she didn’t finish,” Marianne said. “Being a professional musician and a woman in that era was rare but not impossible. Maybe her parents couldn’t afford to pay? Or maybe she’d met George Rutherford by then, and he married her before she could finish. It wasn’t uncommon for a woman to give up college to marry.”

“That’s so wrong,” Kelly said passionately. “It really ticks me off when women aren’t allowed to pursue their goals and dreams as readily as men are. Especially if they are talented.” She passed the potatoes across the table.