John lowered his paper.
“I did indeed,” he said. “Joyce mentioned that you’d become interested in Elizabeth Stewart and had been asking questions about her. It surprised me. I called you to ask why you wanted to upset your mother like that.”
“I wasn’t trying to upset her,” Kim said. “I’ve become interested in Elizabeth and I just wanted to know some basic facts. Like whether or not Elizabeth truly had been hanged for witchcraft or whether it was just a rumor.”
“She was indeed hanged,” John said. “I can assure you of that. I can also assure you that the family made a good deal of effort to suppress it. Under the circumstances I think it is best for you to leave it alone.”
“But why does it warrant such secrecy after three hundred years?” Kim asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t matter if it makes sense to you or not,” John said. “It was a humiliation then and it is today.”
“Do you mean to tell me that it bothers you, Father?” Kim asked. “Does it humiliate you?”
“Well, no, not particularly,” John admitted. “It’s your mother. It bothers her, so it should not be a subject for your amusement. We shouldn’t add to her burdens.”
Kim bit her tongue. It was hard not to say something disparaging to her father under the circumstances. Instead she admitted that not only had she become interested in Elizabeth but that she’d developed a sympathy for her.
“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.