Acceptable Risk

2

Saturday, July 16, 1994

Edward double-parked on Beacon Street across from the Boston Common and ran into the foyer of Kim’s building. After ringing her bell, he kept his eye out for a Boston meter maid. He knew of their reputation from sore experience.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Kim said when she appeared. She was dressed in khaki shorts and a simple white T-shirt. Her dark, voluminous hair was pulled back in a pony tail.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Edward said. By mutual consent Edward was dressed in a similar, casual fashion. “I had to run by the lab.”

They both stared at each other for a beat, then burst out laughing.

“We’re too much,” Kim admitted.

“I can’t help it.” Edward chuckled. “I’m always apologizing. Even when it isn’t warranted. It’s ridiculous, but you know something? I wasn’t even aware of it until you pointed it out at dinner last night.”

“I only noticed it because I do it too,” Kim said. “After you dropped me off last night, I thought about it. I think it comes from feeling overly responsible.”

“You’re probably right,” Edward said. “When I was growing up I always thought it was my fault when something went wrong or someone was upset.”

“The similarities are frightening,” Kim mused with a smile.

They climbed into Edward’s Saab and headed north out of town. It was a bright, clear day, and even though it was early morning, the sun already gave adequate hint of its summer strength.

Kim lowered the passenger-side window and jauntily stuck her arm out. “This feels like a mini-vacation,” she said.

“Particularly for me,” Edward said. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I usually spend just about every day in the lab.”

“Weekends too?” Kim questioned.

“Seven days a week,” Edward admitted. “The usual way I can tell it is a Sunday is when there are fewer people around. I guess I’m just a boring guy!”

“I’d say dedicated,” Kim said. “I’d also say you’re very considerate. The flowers you’ve been sending me daily are glorious, but I’m hardly accustomed to such gallantry. I certainly don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Edward said.

Kim could sense his unease. He pushed his hair off his forehead several times in a row.

“It’s certainly not ‘nothing’ to me,” Kim said. “I want to thank you again.”

“Did you have any trouble getting the keys to the old house?” Edward asked, changing the subject.

Kim shook her head. “Not in the slightest. I went over to the lawyers right after work yesterday.”

They drove north on route 93, then turned east on 128. The traffic was light.

“I certainly enjoyed our dinner last night,” Edward said.

“Me too,” Kim said. “Thank you. But when I thought about it this morning I wanted to apologize for dominating the conversation. I think I talked too much about myself and my family.”

“There you go apologizing again,” Edward said.

Kim struck her thigh in mock punishment. “I’m afraid I’m a hopeless case.” She laughed.

“Besides”-Edward chuckled-“I should be the one apologizing. It was my fault because I bombarded you mercilessly with questions that I’m afraid might have been borderline too personal.”

“I wasn’t offended in the slightest,” Kim said. “I just hope I didn’t scare you when I mentioned those anxiety attacks I used to get when I first went to college.”

“Oh, please!” Edward laughed. “I think we all get them, especially those of us who tend to be compulsive, like doctors. I used to get anxiety attacks in college before every test even though I never had any problems with grades.”

“I think mine were a little worse than run-of-the-mill,” Kim said. “For a short time I even had trouble riding in the car, thinking I might get one while I was cooped up.”

“Did you ever take anything for them?” Edward asked.

“Xanax for a short time,” Kim said.

“Did you ever try Prozac?” Edward asked.

Kim turned to look at Edward. “Never!” she said. “Why would I take Prozac?”

“Just that you mentioned you had both anxiety and shyness,” Edward said. “Prozac could have helped both.”

“Prozac has never been suggested,” Kim said. “Plus even if it had been I wouldn’t have taken it. I’m not in favor of using drugs for minor personality flaws like shyness. I think drugs should be reserved for serious problems, not mere everyday difficulties.”

“Sorry,” Edward said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Kim said. “But I do feel strongly about it. As a nurse I see too many people taking too many drugs. Drug companies have got us to think there is a pill for every problem.”

“I basically agree with you,” Edward said. “But as a neuroscientist I now see behavior and mood as biochemical, and I’ve reevaluated my attitude toward clean psychotropic drugs.”

“What do you mean, ‘clean’ drugs?” Kim asked.

“Drugs that have little or no side effects.”

“All drugs have side effects,” Kim said.

“I suppose that’s true,” Edward said. “But some side effects are quite minor and certainly an acceptable risk in relation to the potential benefits.”

“I guess that’s the crux of the philosophical argument,” Kim said.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Edward said. “I remembered those two books I’d promised to loan you.” He reached in the backseat, grabbed the books, and slipped them into Kim’s lap. Kim leafed through them, jokingly complaining that there weren’t any pictures. Edward laughed.

“I tried to look up your ancestor in the one on the Salem witch trials,” Edward said. “But there is no Elizabeth Stewart in the index. Are you sure she was executed? Those authors did extensive research.”

“As far as I know,” Kim said. She glanced in the index of Salem Possessed. It went from “spectral testimony” to “Stoughton, William.” There was no Stewart at all.

After a half-hour drive they entered Salem. Their route took them past the Witch House. Edward’s interest was immediately aroused, and he pulled to the side of the road.

“What’s that place?” he asked.

“It’s called the Witch House,” Kim said. “It’s one of the prime tourist attractions in the area.”

“Is it truly seventeenth century?” Edward asked as he stared at the old building. “Or is it Disneyland-like recreation?”

“It’s authentic,” Kim said. “It’s also on its original site. There is another seventeenth-century house nearby at the Peabody-Essex Institute, but it had been moved from another location.”

“Cool,” Edward said. The building had a storybook appeal. He was enthralled by the way the second story protruded from the first, and by the diamond-shaped panes of glass.

“Calling it cool dates you.” Kim laughed. “Call it ‘awesome.’”

“OK,” Edward said agreeably. “It’s awesome.”

“It’s also surprisingly similar to the old house I’m going to show you on the Stewart family compound,” Kim said. “But it’s technically not a witch house since no witch lived in it. It was the home of Jonathan Corwin. He was one of the magistrates who conducted some of the preliminary hearings.”

“I remember the name from Salem Possessed,” Edward said. “It certainly brings history to life when you see an actual site.” Then he turned to Kim. “How far is the Stewart compound from here?”

“Not far,” Kim said. “Maybe ten minutes tops.”

“Did you have breakfast this morning?”

“Just some juice and fruit,” Kim said.

“How about stopping for coffee and a donut?” Edward asked.

“Sounds good,” Kim said.

Since it was still early and the bulk of the tourists had yet to arrive, they had no trouble finding parking near the Salem Commons. Just across the street was a coffee shop. They got coffee-to-go and strolled around the center of town, peeking into the Witch Museum and a few of the other tourist attractions. As they walked down the pedestrian mall on Essex Street, they noticed how many shops and pushcarts were selling witch-related souvenirs.

“The witch trials spawned an entire cottage industry,” Edward commented. “I’m afraid it’s a little tacky.”

“It does trivialize the ordeal,” Kim said. “But it also stands as testament to the affair’s appeal. Everybody finds it so fascinating.”

Wandering into the National Park Service Visitor Center, Kim found herself confronted by a virtual library of books and pamphlets on the trials. “I had no idea there was so much literature available,” she said. After a few moments of browsing, she purchased several books. She explained to Edward that once she got interested in something she usually went overboard.

Returning to the car, they drove out North Street, passing the Witch House again, and turned right on Orne Road. As they passed the Greenlawn Cemetery Kim mentioned that it had once been part of the Stewarts’ land.

Kim directed Edward to turn right onto a dirt road. As they bumped along, Edward had to fight with the steering wheel. It was impossible to miss all the potholes.

“Are you sure we’re on the right road?” Edward asked.

“Absolutely,” Kim assured him.

After a few twists and turns they approached an impressive wrought-iron gate. The gate was suspended from massive stanchions constructed of rough-hewn granite blocks. A high iron fence topped with sharpened spikes disappeared into the dense forest on either side of the road.

“Is this it?” Edward questioned.

“This is it,” Kim answered as she alighted from the car.

“Rather imposing,” Edward called as Kim struggled to open the heavy padlock securing the gate. “And not that inviting.”

“It was an affectation of the age,” Kim yelled back. “People with means wanted to project a baronial image.” After removing the padlock, she pushed the gate open. Its hinges creaked loudly.

Kim returned to the car and they drove through the gate. After a few more twists and turns the road opened up to a large grassy field. Edward stopped again.

“Good Lord,” Edward said. “Now I understand why you said baronial.”

Dominating the enormous field was a huge, multistoried stone house complete with turrets, crenellations, and machicolations. The roof was slate and pockmarked with fanciful decorations and finial-topped dormers. Chimneys sprouted like weeds from all parts of the structure.

“An interesting mélange of styles,” Edward said. “It's part medieval castle, part Tudor manor, part French château. It's amazing.”

“The family has always called it the castle,” Kim explained.

“I can see why,” Edward said. “When you described it as a huge, drafty old place, I had no idea it was going to look like this. This belongs down in Newport with the Breakers.”

“The North Shore of Boston still has quite a few of these huge old houses,” Kim said. “Of course some of them have been torn down. Others have been recycled into condos, but that market is flat at the moment. You can understand why it’s a white elephant for me and my brother.”

“Where’s the old house?” Edward asked.

Kim pointed to the right. In the distance Edward could just make out a dark-brown building nestled in a stand of birch trees.

“What’s that stone building to the left?” Edward asked.

“That was once a mill,” Kim said. “But it was turned into stables a couple of hundred years ago.”

Edward laughed. “It’s amazing you can take all this in stride,” he said. “In my mind anything over fifty years old is a relic.”

Edward started driving again but quickly stopped. He’d come abreast of a fieldstone wall that was mostly overgrown with weeds.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the wall.

“That’s the old family burial ground,” Kim said.

“No fooling,” Edward said. “Can we look?”

“Of course,” Kim said.

They got out of the car and climbed over the wall. They couldn’t use the entrance since it was blocked by a dense thicket of blackberry bushes.

“Looks like a lot of the headstones are broken,” Edward said. “And fairly recently.” He picked up a broken piece of marble.

“Vandalism,” Kim said. “There’s not much we can do about it since the place is vacant.”

“It’s a shame,” Edward said. He looked at the date. It was 1843. The name was Nathaniel Stewart.

“The family used this plot until the middle of the last century,” Kim explained.

Slowly they walked back through the overgrown graveyard. The farther they went the more simple the headstones became and the older they got.

“Is Ronald Stewart in here?” Edward asked.

“He is,” Kim said. She led him over to a simple round headstone with a skull and crossed bones done in low relief. On it was written: Here lyes buried y body of Ronald Stewart y son of John and Lydia Stewart, aged 81 years Dec’d. oct. y 1. 1734.

“Eighty-one,” Edward remarked. “Healthy guy. To reach such a ripe old age he must have been smart enough to stay away from doctors. In those days with all the reliance on bloodletting and a primitive pharmacopoeia, doctors were as lethal as most of the illnesses.”

Next to Ronald’s grave was Rebecca Stewart’s. Her stone described her as Ronald’s wife.

“I guess he got remarried,” Kim said.

“Is Elizabeth buried in here?” Edward asked.

“I don’t know,” Kim said. “No one ever pointed out her grave to me.”

“Are you sure this Elizabeth even existed?” Edward asked.

“I think so,” Kim said. “But I can’t swear to it.”

“Let’s see if we can find her,” Edward suggested. “She’d have to be in this general area.”

For a few minutes they searched in silence, Kim going one way, Edward another.

“Edward!” Kim called.

“Did you find her?” Edward asked.

“Well, sort of,” Kim said.

Edward joined her. She was looking at a headstone similar in design to Ronald’s. It belonged to Jonathan Stewart, who was described as the son of Ronald and Elizabeth Stewart.

“At least we know she existed,” Kim said.

They searched for another half hour but didn’t find Elizabeth’s grave. Finally they gave up and went back to the car. A few minutes later they pulled up in front of the old house. They both got out.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it looked like the Witch House,” Edward said. “It’s got the same massive central chimney, the same steeply pitched gable roof, the same clapboard siding, and the same diamond-shaped panes of glass. And most curious, there is the same protrusion of the second story over the first. I wonder why they did that.”

“I don’t think anyone knows for certain,” Kim said. “The Ward House at the Peabody-Essex Institute has the same feature.”

“The pendants under the overhang are much more decorative than those at the Witch House,” Edward said.

“Whoever turned those had quite a flair,” Kim agreed.

“It’s a charming house,” Edward said. “It has so much more class than the castle.”

Slowly they strolled around the aged building, pointing out its details. In the back Edward noticed a freestanding, smaller structure. He asked if it were equally as old.

“I believe so,” Kim said. “I was told it was for the animals.”

“A mini-barn,” Edward said.

Returning to the front door, Kim had to try multiple keys before she found one that unlocked the door. As she pushed it open it creaked just like the outer gate to the compound.

“Sounds like a haunted house,” Edward said.

“Don’t say that,” Kim protested.

“Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts?” Edward said.

“Let’s just say I respect them,” Kim said with a laugh. “So you go first.”

Edward stepped through the door into a small front hall. Directly ahead was a flight of stairs that twisted up out of sight. On either side were doors. The door on the right led into the kitchen, the one on the left to the parlor.

“Where to first?” Edward asked.

“You’re the guest,” Kim said.

“Let’s check out the parlor,” Edward said.

The room was dominated by a huge fireplace six feet wide. Sprinkled about the room was some colonial furniture as well as lawn tools and other paraphernalia. The most interesting piece of furniture was a canopied bed. It still had some of its original crewelwork bed hangings.

Edward walked over to the fireplace and glanced up the flue. “Still in working order,” he said. Then he looked at the wall above the mantel. Stepping back, he looked at it again.

“Can you see that faint rectangle?” he said.

Kim joined him in the middle of the room and peered at the wall. “I see it,” she said. “Looks like a painting used to hang there.”

“My thought exactly,” Edward said. Wetting the tip of his finger, he tried to smudge the outline. He couldn’t. “It must have hung there a good many years for the smoke to outline it like that.”

Leaving the parlor, they mounted the stairs. At the head of the stairs was a small study built over the front hall. Above the parlor and the kitchen were bedrooms, each with its own fireplace. The only furniture was a few more beds and a spinning wheel.

Returning to the kitchen on the first floor, Kim and Edward were both struck with the size of the fireplace. Edward guessed it was almost ten feet across. To the left was a lug pole, to the right a beehive oven. There were even some old pots, fry pans, and kettles.

“Can you imagine cooking here?” Edward asked.

“Not in a million years,” Kim said. “I have enough trouble in a modern kitchen.”

“The colonial women must have been experts at tending a fire,” Edward said. He peered into the oven. “I wonder how they estimated the temperature. It’s fairly critical in bread making.”

They passed through a door into the lean-to part of the house. Edward was surprised to find a second kitchen.

“I think they used this during the summer,” Kim said. “It would have been too hot to fire up that massive fireplace for cooking during warm weather.”

“Good point,” Edward said.

Returning to the main part of the house, Edward stood in the center of the kitchen, chewing on his lower lip. Kim eyed him. She could tell he was thinking about something.

“What’s going through your mind?” she asked.

“Have you ever thought about living here?” he questioned.

“No, I can’t say I have,” Kim said. “It would be like camping out.”

“I don’t mean to live here the way it is,” Edward said. “But it wouldn’t take much to change it.”

“You mean renovate it?” Kim questioned. “It would be a shame to destroy its historical value.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Edward said. “But you wouldn’t have to. You could make a modern kitchen and bath in the lean-to portion of the house, which was an add-on anyway. You wouldn’t have to disturb the integrity of the main part.”

“You really think so?” Kim said. She looked around. There was no doubt it was a charming building, and it would be a fun challenge to decorate it.

“Besides,” Edward said, “you’ve got to move out of your present apartment. It’s a shame to leave this whole place vacant. Sooner or later the vandals will get in here and possibly do some real damage.”

Kim and Edward made another walk through the building with the idea in mind of making it habitable. Edward was progressively enthusiastic, and Kim found herself warming to the idea.

“What an opportunity to connect with your heritage,” Edward said. “I’d do it in a flash.”

“I’ll sleep on it,” Kim said finally. “It is an intriguing idea, but I’d have to run it by my brother. After all, we are co-owners.”

“There’s one thing about this place that confuses me,” Edward said as he glanced around the kitchen for the third time. “I wonder where they stored their food.”

“I imagine in the cellar,” Kim said.

“I didn’t think there was one,” Edward said. “I specifically looked for an entrance when we walked around the house when we first arrived, but there wasn’t any. Nor are there any stairs leading down.”

Kim stepped around the long trestle table and pulled aside a heavily worn sisal mat. “There’s access through this trapdoor,” she said. She bent down and put her finger through a hole in the floor and pulled the trapdoor open. She laid it back on the floor. A ladder led down into the darkness.

“I remember this all too well,” Kim said. “Once, when we were kids, my brother threatened to close me in the cellar. He’d been enchanted with the trapdoor.”

“Nice brother,” Edward said. “No wonder you had a fear of being cooped up. That would have terrified anyone.”

Edward bent down and tried to look around the cellar, but he could only see a small area.

“He had no intention of actually doing it,” Kim said. “He was just teasing. We weren’t supposed to be in here at the time, and he knew I was already scared. You know how kids like to scare each other.”

“I’ve got a flashlight in the car,” Edward said. “I’ll run out and get it.”

Returning with the light, Edward descended the ladder. Gaining the floor, he looked up at Kim and asked her if she was coming down.

“Do I have to?” she questioned half in jest. She came down the ladder and stood next to him.

“Cold, damp, and musty,” Edward said.

“Well said,” Kim remarked. “So what are we doing here?”

The cellar was small. It only comprised the area beneath the kitchen. The walls were flat fieldstone with little mortar. The floor was dirt. Against the back wall was a series of bins made with stone or wood sides. Edward walked over and shined the light in several of them. Kim stayed close at his side.

“You were right,” Edward said. “Here’s where the food was kept.”

“What kind of food, do you suppose?” Kim asked.

“Stuff like apples, corn, wheat, and rye,” Edward said. “Maybe dairy products as well. The flitches of bacon were hung up, most likely in the lean-to.”

“Interesting,” Kim said without enthusiasm. “Have you seen enough?”

Edward leaned into one of the bins and scratched up some of the hard-packed dirt. He felt it between his fingers. “The dirt is damp,” he said. “I’m certainly no botanist, but I’d wager it would be great for growing Claviceps purpurea.

Intrigued, Kim asked if it could be proven.

Edward shrugged. “Possibly,” he said. “I suppose it would depend on whether Claviceps spores could be found. If we could take some samples I could have a botanist friend take a look at it.”

“I imagine we could find some containers in the castle,” Kim suggested.

“Let’s do it,” Edward said.

Leaving the old house, they headed for the castle. Since it was such a beautiful day they walked. The grass was knee-high. Grasshoppers and other harmless insects flitted about them.

“Every so often I can see water through the trees,” Edward commented.

“That’s the Danvers River,” Kim said. “There was a time when the field went all the way to the water’s edge.”

The closer they got to the castle the more awed Edward became with the building. “This place is even bigger than I had originally thought,” he said. “My word, it even has a fake moat.”

“I was told it was inspired by Chambord in France,” Kim said. “It’s shaped like the letter U, with guest quarters in one wing and servants’ in the other.”

They crossed a bridge over the dry moat. While Edward admired the gothic details of the doorway, Kim struggled with the keys just as she’d done at the old house. There were a dozen keys on the ring. Finally one opened the door.

They passed through an oak-paneled entry hall and then through an arch leading into the great room. It was a room of monumental size with a two-story ceiling and gothic fireplaces at either end. Between cathedral-sized windows on the far wall rose a grand staircase. A stained-glass rose window at the head of the stairs filled the room with a peculiar pale yellow light.

Edward let out a half-groan half-laugh. “This is incredible,” he said in awe. “I had no idea it was still furnished.”

“Nothing has been touched,” Kim said.

“When did your grandfather die?” Edward asked. ‘ This decor looks as if someone left on extended vacation in the nineteen twenties.”

“He died just this past spring,” Kim said. “But he was an eccentric man, especially after his wife died almost forty years ago. I doubt if he changed anything in the house from when his parents occupied it. It was his father who built it.”

Edward wandered into the room while his eyes played over the profusion of furniture, gilt-framed paintings, and decorative objects. There was even a suit of medieval armor. Pointing to it, he asked if it were a real antique.

Kim shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” she said.

Edward walked to a window and fingered the curtain fabric. “I’ve never seen so much drapery in all my life,” he said. “There must be a mile of this stuff.”

“It’s very old,” Kim said. “It’s silk damask.”

“Can I see more of the house?” Edward asked.

“Be my guest,” Kim said with a wave.

From the great room, Edward wandered into the darkly paneled library. It had a mezzanine accessed by a wrought-iron circular stair. The high shelves were served by a ladder that moved on a track. The books were all leather bound. “This is my idea of a library,” Edward said. “I could do some serious reading here.”

From the library Edward walked into the formal dining room. Like the great room, it had a two-story ceiling with matching fireplaces at either end. But unlike the great room, it had a profusion of heraldic flags on flagpoles jutting out from the walls.

“This place could have almost as much historical interest as the old house,” Edward said. “It’s like a museum.”

“The historical interest is in the wine cellar and the attic,” Kim said. “Both are completely full of papers.”

“Newspapers?” Edward asked.

“Some newspapers,” Kim said. “But mostly correspondence and documents.”

“Let’s take a look,” Edward said.

They mounted the main stairs to the equivalent of the third floor since most of the first-floor rooms had two-story ceilings. From there they climbed another staircase two additional floors before reaching the attic. Kim had to struggle to get the door open. It hadn’t been pried in years.

The attic space was enormous since it occupied all of the U-shaped floor plan of the house except for the area of the turrets. Each turret was a story taller than the rest of the building and had its own conical-shaped attic. The main attic had a cathedral ceiling in accordance with the roofline. It was reasonably well lighted from its many dormers.

Kim and Edward strolled down a central aisle. On both sides were innumerable file cabinets, bureaus, trunks, and boxes. Kim stopped randomly and showed Edward that all of them were filled with ledgers, scrapbooks, folders, documents, correspondence, photos, books, newspapers, and old magazines. It was a virtual treasure trove of documentary memorabilia.

“There must be enough stuff in here to fill several railroad cars,” Edward said. “How far back in time does it all go?”

“Right back to Ronald Stewart’s time,” Kim said. “He’s the one who started the company. Most of it is business-related material, but not all of it. There’s some personal correspondence as well. My brother and I used to sneak up here a few times when we were kids to see who could find the oldest dates. The problem was that we weren’t really allowed, and when my grandfather caught us he was furious.”

“Is there as much down in the wine cellar?” Edward asked.

“As much or more,” Kim said. “Come, I’ll show you. The wine cellar is worth seeing anyway. Its decor is consistent with the house.”

They retraced their steps down the main stairways and returned to the formal dining room. Opening a heavy oak door with huge wrought-iron hinges, they descended a granite stairway into the wine cellar. Edward understood immediately what Kim meant about its decor being consistent with the house. It was designed as if it were a medieval dungeon. The walls were all stone, the sconce lighting resembled torches, and the wine racks were built around the walls of individual rooms that could have functioned as cells. They had iron doors and bars over the openings into the hall.

“Somebody had a sense of humor,” Edward said as they walked down the long central hall. “The only thing this place lacks is torture devices.”

“My brother and I didn’t see it as funny in the slightest,” Kim said. “My grandfather didn’t have to tell us to stay out of here. We didn’t want any part of it. It terrified us.”

“And all these trunks and things are filled with papers?” Edward asked. “Just like the attic?”

“Every last one of them,” Kim said.

Edward stopped and pushed open the door to one of the cell-like rooms. He stepped inside. The wine racks were mostly empty. The bureaus, file cabinets, and trunks were pushed against them. He picked up one of the few bottles.

“Good Lord,” he said. “This is an 1896 vintage! It could be valuable.”

Kim blew derisively through pursed lips. “I sincerely doubt it,” she said. “The cork is probably disintegrated. No one has been taking care of them for half a century.”

Edward replaced the dusty bottle and opened a bureau drawer. Randomly he picked up a sheet of paper. It was a customs document from the nineteenth century. He tried another. It was a bill of lading from the eighteenth century.

“I get the impression there isn’t much order here,” he said.

“Unfortunately that’s the case,” Kim said. “In fact there is no order whatsoever to any of it. Every time a new house was built, which had been fairly frequent up until this monstrosity, all this paperwork was relocated and then returned. Over the centuries it got completely mixed up.”

In order to make her point, Kim opened a file cabinet and pulled out a document. It was another bill of lading. She handed it over to Edward and told him to look at the date.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Sixteen hundred and eighty-nine. That was just three years before all the witchcraft nonsense.”

“It proves my point,” Kim said. “We just looked at three documents and covered several centuries.”

“I think this signature is Ronald’s,” Edward said. He showed it to Kim and she agreed.

“I just got an idea,” Kim said. “You’ve got me interested in this witchcraft phenomenon and particularly in my ancestor Elizabeth. Maybe I could learn something about her with the help of all these papers.”

“You mean like why she’s not buried in the family burial plot?” Edward asked.

“That and more,” Kim said. “I’m getting more and more curious about all the secrecy about her over the years. And even whether she truly was executed. As you pointed out, she’s not mentioned in the book you gave me. It’s pretty mysterious.”

Edward gazed around the cell they were in. “It wouldn’t be an easy task considering the amount of material,” he said. “And ultimately it might be a waste of time since most of this is business related.”

“It will be a challenge,” Kim said as she warmed to the idea. She looked back in the file drawer where she’d found the seventeenth-century bill of lading to see if there were any more contemporary material. “I think I might even enjoy it. It will be an exercise in self-discovery, or, as you said in relation to the old house, an opportunity to connect with my heritage.”

While Kim was rummaging in the file cabinet, Edward wandered out of the cell and deeper into the extensive wine cellar. He was still carrying the flashlight, and as he neared the back of the wine cellar he switched it on. Some of the bulbs in the sconces had blown out. Poking his head into the last cell, Edward shined the flashlight around. Its beam played across the usual complement of bureaus, trunks, and boxes until it stopped on an oil painting leaning backwards against the wall.

Remembering all the paintings he’d seen upstairs, Edward was curious as to why this one deserved such ill treatment. With some difficulty he managed to work his way over to the painting. He leaned it away from the wall and shined the light on its dusty surface. It appeared to be a painting of a young woman.

Lifting the painting from its ignominious location, Edward held it over his head and carried it out of the cell. Once in the hallway, he leaned it against the wall. It was indeed a young woman. The décolletage it displayed belied its age. It was done in a stiff, primitive style.

With the tip of his finger he wiped the dust from a small pewter plaque at the base of the painting and shined the light on it. Then he grabbed the painting and brought it to the cell where Kim was still occupied.

“Take a look at this,” Edward said. He propped it against a bureau and illuminated the plaque with the flashlight.

Kim turned and looked at the painting. Sensing Edward’s excitement, she followed the beam of the flashlight and read the name.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “It’s Elizabeth!”

Enjoying the thrill of discovery, Kim and Edward carried the painting up the stairs and into the great room, where there was adequate light. They leaned it up against the wall and stepped away to look at it.

“What’s so damn striking about it,” Edward said, “is that it looks a lot like you, especially with those green eyes.”

“Maybe eye color is the same,” Kim said, “but Elizabeth was far more beautiful, and certainly more endowed than I.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Edward said. “Personally I think it is the other way around.”

Kim was transfixed by the visage of her infamous ancestor. “There are some similarities,” she said. “Our hair looks similar and even the shape of our faces.”

“You could be sisters,” Edward agreed. “It certainly is an attractive painting. Why the devil was it hidden away in the very back of the wine cellar? It’s far more pleasing than most of the paintings hanging in this house.”

“It’s weird,” Kim said. “My grandfather must have known about it, so it’s not as if it were an oversight. As eccentric as he was, it couldn’t have been that he was concerned with other people’s feelings, especially not my mother’s. He and my mother never got along.”

“The size looks pretty close to that shadow we noticed above the mantel in the old house,” Edward said. “Just for fun, why don’t we carry it down there and see.”

Edward lifted the painting, but before he could take a step, Kim reminded him about the containers they’d come to the castle to find. Edward thanked her and put the painting back down. Together they went into the kitchen. Kim found three plastic containers with lids in the butler’s pantry.

Retrieving the painting from the great room, they started for the old house. Kim insisted on carrying the art work. With its narrow black frame, it wasn’t heavy.

“I have a strange but good feeling about finding this painting,” Kim said as they walked. “It’s like finding a long-lost relative.”

“I have to admit it is quite a coincidence,” Edward said. “Especially since she’s the reason why we happen to be here.”

Suddenly Kim stopped. She was holding the painting in front of her, staring at Elizabeth’s face.

“What’s the matter?” Edward asked.

“While I’ve been thinking she and I look alike, I just remembered what supposedly happened to her,” Kim said. “Today it’s inconceivable to imagine someone being accused of witchcraft, tried, and then executed.”

In her mind’s eye Kim could see herself facing a noose hanging from a tree. She was about to die. She shuddered. Then she jumped when she felt the rope touch her.

“Are you all right?” Edward asked. He’d put his hand on her shoulder.

Kim shook her head and took a deep breath. “I just had an awful thought,” she admitted. “I just imagined what it would be like if I were sentenced to be hanged.”

“You carry the containers,” Edward said. “Let me carry the painting.”

They exchanged their loads and started walking again.

“It must be the heat,” Edward said to lighten the atmosphere. “Or maybe you’re getting hungry. Your imagination is working overtime.”

“Finding this painting has really affected me,” Kim admitted. “It’s as if Elizabeth were trying to speak to me over the centuries, perhaps to restore her reputation.”

Edward eyed Kim as they trudged through the tall grass. “Are you joking?” he asked.

“No,” Kim said. “You said it was quite a coincidence we found this painting. I think it was more than a coincidence. I mean, when you think about it, it is astonishing. It can’t be purely by chance. It has to mean something.”

“Is this a sudden rush of superstition or are you always like this?” Edward asked.

“I don’t know,” Kim said. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“Do you believe in ESP or channeling?” Edward asked.

“I’ve never thought much about it,” Kim admitted. “Do you?”

Edward laughed. “You sound like a psychiatrist, turning the question back to me. Well, I don’t believe in the supernatural. I’m a scientist. I believe in what can be rationally proved and reproduced experimentally. I’m not a religious person. Nor am I superstitious, and you’ll probably think I’m being cynical if I say the two are related.”

“I’m not terribly religious either,” Kim said. “But I do have some vague beliefs regarding supernatural forces.”

They reached the old house. Kim held the door open for Edward. He carried the painting into the parlor. When he held it up to the shadow over the mantel, it fit perfectly.

“At least we were right about where this painting used to hang,” Edward said. He left the painting on the mantel.

“And I’ll see to it that it hangs there again,” Kim said. “Elizabeth deserves to be returned to her house.”

“Does that mean you’ve decided to fix this place up?”

“Maybe so,” Kim said. “But first I’ll have to talk with my family, particularly my brother.”

“Personally, I think it’s a great idea,” Edward said. He took the plastic containers from Kim and told her he was going to the cellar to get some dirt samples. At the parlor door he stopped.

“If I find Claviceps purpurea down there,” he said with a wry smile, “I know one thing that information will do: it will rob a bit of the supernatural out of the story of the Salem witchcraft trials.”

Kim didn’t respond. She was mesmerized by Elizabeth’s portrait and lost in thought. Edward shrugged. Then he went into the kitchen and climbed down into the cool, damp darkness of the cellar.