by Karen Kelly
“Ouch! You’ve always been a warmhearted person, but this is taking it too far, Annie. You’re way too hot. I’ll be right back.” Alice set the basket at the foot of the bed and hurried out to the linen closet in the hall to find a soft washcloth. After a visit to one of the guest rooms, and then the bathroom, she returned to place a bowl of water on the nightstand and the dampened washcloth across Annie’s brow to cool her.
Annie closed her eyes in relief and gave a short sigh. “Thanks,” she murmured.
“Maybe I should stay here,” Alice debated. “I was right about the others wanting to still go and research, but I’m not sure you should be alone now that I see you.”
One eye below the green-and-white striped cloth opened. “I want you to go. If I feel like I need someone, I’ll call June Wallace.” The eye closed again, and one hand reached out to pat the phone beside her. “Promise.”
“Well, then I’m going to have to lay in some supplies for you before I leave.” Alice drew the basket closer and opened it. “I brought herbal throat drops, Throat Coat Tea, and rice pudding—it’s nice and soft. But I’ll have to figure out how to keep it cool until you feel like eating. There’s no way I want you to try maneuvering the stairs while you’re alone to get to the fridge.” She looked at the bedside table and removed some items she deemed unnecessary to make more space, setting them on the bureau across the room. “And you’ll need a pitcher of water so you don’t get dehydrated.”
She turned the cloth over and ordered her patient to not get up while she went down to the kitchen.
“As if I could,” Annie muttered.
When Alice returned, she carried a tray with a pot of Throat Coat Tea and a pitcher of water, cups, a bowl of lemon wedges, and the honey bear. Setting it on the side table, she rushed out again to return quickly with a cooler she’d found and filled with ice. She set it on the floor in front of the bedside table with the handle up so Annie could grab it more easily and placed the rice pudding in it, alongside some applesauce she’d found.
“Do you think you can sit up and sip some tea?” she asked as she poured the tea and added the lemon and honey.
Annie mentally shoved the elephant off her and pushed against the mattress to carefully hoist herself up into a more upright position. Alice added an extra pillow behind her back and took the cloth from her forehead to cool it off in the water basin.
Warily bending her head down a little, Annie took a sip from the cup Alice held to her lips, and then another before resting her head back on the pillow. As Alice returned the refreshing cloth to her forehead, Annie whispered, “We need to make a list of what y’all need to research.”
“That’s a good idea.”
Annie pointed over to the chair set in the corner, her project bag resting on it. “Get the spreadsheet and notebook out of the bag.” Alice followed her instructions and pulled the chair over to sit next to her friend. She grabbed a pen from the bureau.
“Look for Dante and Daisy Bianco.”
Alice wrote, and then looked up from the notebook. “Because we need to verify that Daisy is the “fatherless” of Psalm 82:3, right?”
Annie nodded.
“Do we know Dante’s wife’s name?”
Annie shook her head, a small movement to keep her head from exploding. “Maybe you’ll find it.” She paused, trying to capture the scattered thoughts of what she had planned the night before. “Check census information.”
“You’re getting to be a pro at this,” Alice observed, writing. “That’s a good idea. Looking into the Maine wood-pulp business might also be helpful. That was the cargo Song of Laima was carrying, right?”
“Yes, anything on the companies in business during the twenties and thirties.”
“And the Song of Laima and its owner, maybe? Or whoever was sending the wood pulp from Lithuania?” Alice asked.
“Worth a try.” Annie closed her eyes again. “Oh, the newspaper articles in Maude’s scrapbook didn’t say much about the actual trial, just a small blurb about Dante being convicted and sentenced.” She paused to take a deep breath. “See if they have additional newspaper articles or other records. Maybe Maude missed some.”
The two women thought for a few more minutes and added a couple more subjects for research, until Alice noticed the time on the bedroom clock. “I better get going soon. Won’t help if I’m late since I’m the one with the spreadsheet now.” Alice packed the notebook and spreadsheet in her own purse.
After making sure Annie had everything she might need while she was gone, Alice left her sipping the last of her tea, ready to try to sleep some more. About to go out the front door, she heard a loud meow behind her and turned to see Boots standing in the doorway of the living room.
“Oh, Boots! You haven’t been fed yet, have you?” Alice hurried to the kitchen where the cat’s food bowl sat empty and forlorn; the water bowl was not yet empty, but it soon would be. “Can’t be a proper guard cat without the essentials, can you, girl?” she asked over her shoulder to the waiting feline who had followed closely behind her. Scooping up the water bowl, Alice rinsed it out and filled it with plenty of fresh water. She grabbed the bag of cat crunchies from a bottom cabinet and filled the food bowl.
“There! Bon appétit, Boots! Take care of our Annie while I’m gone.” The cat chowed down in lieu of an answer, releasing Alice to run out the door and head for A Stitch in Time.
14
The five Stony Point women—Alice, Kate, Peggy, Gwen and Stella—approached the one-acre campus of the Maine Historical Society along a herringbone-patterned brick pathway. During the one-hour drive in Mary Beth’s SUV, the shop owner having assured them she would have no need for the vehicle until closing time, they had each chosen their subject for research.
Peggy swung her gloved hands, filled with energy at the thought of the day free from diner and home responsibilities. No watching the clock to dash back to The Cup & Saucer like most Tuesdays. “I can’t wait to dig into the census records. I hope I can find out the name of Dante’s wife.”
“You will first be asked to fill out a research registration form, Peggy,” Stella warned her, “as all the newcomers must. Did everyone bring their driver’s licenses or a photo ID?”
Kate grinned. “You know I did, or Mary Beth would kill me for driving her SUV without my license handy.”
The others nodded or gestured to indicate they also had their identification with them.
“I hadn’t thought of it before, but is there a charge for using the library?” asked Peggy, hoping it wouldn’t be much if there were. The truck repairs right before Christmas didn’t leave much extra, even with Annie’s generous payment for the lamp Wally had made.
Gwen shook her head. “First-time visitors receive a day of research free. If you come again, they’ll charge a daily fee, or you can become a member. Stella and I are members.”
“Living next door to Annie, I may as well become a member,” said Alice. “I’m bound to be back!” Climbing the four front steps, she opened the wide door inset with a large eight-over-eight–paned window and held it open for the others.
They entered the high-ceilinged room brightened by the natural light flooding in tall arched windows. Gwen turned to the others. “We have to check our purses and any totes or briefcases. They have lockers in which to store them. Take out anything you need for your research.” Alice removed Annie’s notebook and information, and made sure she had a pen in her pocket. After checking their bags, they filled out the research registration forms and handed over their IDs to be photocopied and attached to the forms, and Alice paid for her membership. Their last preliminary task was to sign the research day book.
“Pretty soon they’ll be taking fingerprints or DNA samples,” Peggy joked.
“They have some very rare items in their collections,” said Gwen. “Rare means valuable, making precautions necessary.” Not wanting to appear like she was admonishing Peggy, she added, “It can be intimidating for a first-timer.�
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When everyone had signed the day book, Alice gathered everyone around for a last-minute review. “Let’s research our topics until one o’clock and meet at the front door to go to lunch. After sharing what we’ve found while we eat, we’ll decide if we need to come back and spend more time. How does that sound?”
Kate looked at her watch and nodded. “We should be able to accomplish a good deal during that time. Portland Press Herald archives, here I come.” She started across the large room to locate the microfilm collection of Maine newspapers.
“Where would I find the census information?” Peggy asked.
Gwen gestured toward the bank of computer workstations. “The library has a database with searchable census records all the way back to 1790. The search capability is very helpful.”
“Good,” said Peggy. “I’m not a fan of looking through a million names for just a couple of people.” She waved a blue-and-white–marbled composition book at her friends and hurried toward the computers.
“I don’t think Peggy knows how to walk anymore,” Alice noted to Stella and Gwen. “Her only speed is bustle. I’ll try to research William Holden with the same database.” Waving, she, too, headed over to the computers to check out the online catalog to plan her approach to the library’s various collections.
Gwen and Stella smiled at each other and went their separate ways to find as much as they could on the Maine wood-pulp industry of the 1920s and 1930s, and information on the Baltic ship and its originating port, respectively.
At one o’clock the women gathered in front of the main door, as planned, having retrieved their personal items from the lockers. Gwen arrived accompanied by a man wearing a nametag, which identified him as a library docent. Gwen introduced him to her friends. “Everyone, this is Mr. Gerrish. He is a historian of Maine and has been helping me for the last hour in my research.”
The man gave a slight bow, the light from the windows creating shadows on his gaunt face. “I’m pleased to meet you. Mrs. Palmer was telling me about the judge’s Bible and notations, and I must confess I’m fascinated by it. Quite an unusual artifact.” His blue eyes were wide with curiosity, their paleness reminding Alice of the blooms of the hydrangea bush she had transplanted near her front door from her mother’s house when her mother had moved to Florida.
“Mr. Gerrish was kind enough to offer to put together some copies of information on the wood-pulp companies in the state while we’re at lunch,” said Gwen.
The man pushed a hand through the thick waves of his salt-and-pepper hair. “I’m happy to help any way I can. Is there anything else I can locate for you?”
Gwen looked around at the faces of the other women for their reactions. One by one they indicated they had nothing to add to Mr. Gerrish’s research. Only Stella spoke to say to the docent, “Thank you for your willingness, Mr. Gerrish.”
“You’re most welcome,” he responded. “Enjoy your lunch then.” He opened the wide door and held it for them as they left the building in search of lunch.
After walking a few blocks, the women settled at a table in a nearby eatery they found to have all the necessities: clean tables, reasonable prices, hot beverages and lack of rock-and-roll memorabilia for Stella. After making their food choices and ordering, they shared their discoveries.
“Stella, what did you find out about the Song of Laima and its cargo?” asked Alice.
Stella did not bother to consult any notes. “The Brown Library has an extensive collection of historical business records, such as account books, correspondence, ships’ logs, and deeds. The docking in March of 1929 was not its first in Portland. I found several entries citing the Song of Laima’s docking in Portland Harbor with its cargo of wood pulp in the late 1920s. Its port of origin was Klaipeda State Seaport.”
Recognition lit up Alice’s eyes. “Klaipeda! That’s what Ian found when he checked the coordinates on his cellphone app. He was right!”
“That fits with what I found too,” said Gwen. “In the late 1800s and early 1900s, lumber and wood pulp was a booming industry in Maine, but it started to slow down in the 1920s. That would have opened up room for more foreign importation of wood pulp.”
Peggy tapped her red fingernails on the table. “Sounds like a motive for the arson to me … like corporate espionage or something.”
“So why didn’t they try it sooner, if the importing had started before 1929?” asked Alice.
Peggy shrugged. “No clue. Maybe they just finally got tired of the competition and decided to take action. I’ll be interested in the information on those wood-pulp companies Mr. Gerrish is going to find for us.”
“Did you find out anything about Bianco, Peggy?” asked Gwen. “But wait a minute, here comes our food.” The waiter set their lunches before them, and after checking to ensure they had everything they needed, left them to continue their conversation.
Peggy took the top off her sandwich and added a flurry of pepper. “I had no idea a census could be so interesting. That HeritageQuest database was cool. Do you know they asked everyone in 1930 if they owned a radio?” She paused to take a quick bite of her sandwich. “Dante Bianco was not in the 1920 census, and I checked the entire census for the United States.” Her face grew more serious. “The 1930 census gave his address as Maine State Prison in Thomaston.”
“Was he still there in the 1940 census?” Alice asked, spearing a kalamata olive from her bowl of greek salad.
Kate answered instead of Peggy. “I found his obituary in the Press Herald microfilm. He died in 1935.” There was silence around the table for a moment.
Stella delicately buttered the soft roll that had accompanied her soup and addressed Kate and Peggy. “Were either of you able to find information on Dante’s family?”
“I only found Dante,” answered Peggy. “Then, after finding Dante listed as a resident of the Maine prison, I checked all of Maine, but there were no females named Daisy Bianco listed in all of Maine.”
Alice frowned. “How can that be? William noted all those verses about widows, as well as the fatherless. Wouldn’t it make sense that Dante Bianco’s child and widow are somehow connected too? ”
“The census did list Dante with an ‘m’ for married,” said Peggy.
Kate looked quickly at Peggy. “It did? That’s strange.”
Peggy nodded. “Why?”
“Because the obituary didn’t give any survivor information like they usually do. It simply stated Dante Bianco had died in prison at the age of 28 where he had been serving a sentence for the arson of the ship and manslaughter.” Kate took a sip of her coffee, a pensive look on her face.
“Then what did William’s notation about Daisy and daughter mean?” said Gwen. “William had no children, so who else could he have been talking about but the prisoner’s daughter?”
Stella lowered her soupspoon. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility that Dante’s wife relocated to give herself and her child a fresh start away from the stigma of her husband’s fate.”
“Or could the wife have changed her name after Dante’s conviction?” Gwen wondered out loud. “It must have been terribly difficult for a wife in those circumstances!”
Peggy picked up a chip and gestured with it. “One of the clippings in Maude’s scrapbook said Bianco was an immigrant, right?”
“Yes, it did,” Alice confirmed. “From Italy.”
“Maybe she went back to Italy. Or up to Canada—that would have been a lot cheaper. I’ll check on HeritageQuest when we go back to get the information from Mr. Gerrish. I know they had links to the Canadian census. It never occurred to me to check it. If she changed her name, then I have no idea what more to do.”
Nodding her approval of Peggy’s plan, Stella turned to Kate. “Did you find anything else of interest in the Press Herald archives?”
Kate’s dark hair bobbed as she nodded. “I found an article with a little more information about the trial. And I found out why William wrote the word vigilo in the margin,
meaning ‘to watch.’ Two men testified that they saw Dante on the dock by the ship. They stated that they shouted at him, but he ran, dropping a watch with ‘Bianco’ engraved on the back.”
“So vigilo was in reference to a watch! I was thinking maybe a night watchman was involved somehow,” Alice said. “Way off, there.” She rearranged the food on her plate with her fork. “What were the names of the witnesses?”
“Well, I thought it was strange, but the article never named the two witnesses,” answered Kate. “That’s not normal, is it? Even in the 1920s?”
Stella lowered her fork to her plate and leaned back slightly in her chair. “Even though there are many influences which bear upon the press, I would say it was unusual.”
“I can’t imagine journalists getting away with that these days,” said Gwen.
Stella addressed Alice, “And what did you discover in your research on William?”
“Quite a bit,” answered Alice. “The library has an index to ‘Maine Notables’ and William—as a judge for so long in Portland—was listed, of course. But if my job was to dig up some dirt on him, I failed miserably. The man seemed to be highly respected by his peers. I found a pamphlet that contained a transcript of speeches given in William’s honor at a banquet for his retirement. Yes, I know people aren’t always sincere at those kinds of public events, but I didn’t see any hint of sarcasm or obvious schmoozing. It appears Annie was definitely blessed in the heritage department.”
“I’m sure it will be a relief for her to hear such confirmation.” Gwen’s eyes followed the waiter’s movements until he was facing her and then signaled to him. “Although it doesn’t help us solve this mystery, except to strengthen our reasons for not discounting William’s notations.”
When the young man approached the table, Gwen asked for a little more coffee and the bill, emphasizing she was to be given the check. As Stella started to protest, she said, “No arguments. It’s two weeks until Christmas, and I want to treat.”