“It’s the least I could do for all this trouble I’ve caused,” Kim said. “But what about the Rachel Bingham work? Does anybody know where it might be?”
“There is someone,” Helen said. “After a bit more digging around, I discovered the work had been transferred from the Law Library to the Divinity School in 1825, right after the construction of Divinity Hall. I don’t know why it was transferred; perhaps it had something to do with the filing difficulties here at the Law Library.”
“My Lord!” Kim exclaimed. “What a journey this book has had.”
“I took the liberty of calling my counterpart over at the Divinity School Library just before noon,” Helen said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Kim said. She was pleased Helen had taken the initiative.
“Her name is Gertrude Havermeyer,” Helen said. “She’s something of a battleax, but she’s got a good heart. She promised she’d look right into it.” Helen took a piece of note paper and wrote down Gertrude’s name and phone number. She then took out a single-sheet map of the Harvard campus and circled the Divinity School.
A few minutes later Kim was on her way across the campus. She passed the Physics Lab and skirted the Museum Building to reach Divinity Avenue. From there if was just a few steps to Gertrude Havermeyer’s office.
“So you’re the reason my entire afternoon has been wasted,” Gertrude said when Kim introduced herself. Gertrude Havermeyer was standing in front of her desk with her hands aggressively settled on her hips. As Helen Arnold had suggested, Gertrude projected a severe, uncompromising temperament. Otherwise her bravado belied her appearance. She was a petite, white-haired woman who squinted at Kim through wire-rimmed trifocals.
“I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you,” Kim said guiltily.
“Since I took the call from Helen Arnold I’ve not had a second to do my own work,” Gertrude complained. “It’s taken me literally hours.”
“I hope at least your efforts weren’t in vain,” Kim said.
“I did find a receipt in a ledger from that period,” Gertrude said. “So Helen was right. The Rachel Bingham work was sent from the Law School, and it did arrive here at the Divinity School. But as luck would have it, I could not find any reference to the book in the computer or in the old card catalogue or even in the very old catalogue which we’ve saved in the basement.”
Kim’s heart fell. “I’m so sorry to have put you through all this for nothing,” she said.
“Well, I didn’t give up there,” Gertrude said. “Not on your life. When I get committed to something, I don’t let it rest. So I went back through all the old handwritten cards from when the library was first organized. It was frustrating, but I did find another reference more by luck than anything else except perseverance. For the life of me I cannot figure out why it wasn’t included in the main library index.”
Kim’s hopes brightened. Following the trail of Elizabeth’s evidence was like riding an emotional roller coaster. “Is the work still here?” she asked.
“Heavens, no,” Gertrude said indignantly. “If it were, it would have been in the computer. We run a tight ship here. No, the final reference I found indicated that it had been sent to the Medical School in 1826 after being here for less than a year. Apparently no one knew where to put the material. It’s all very mysterious because there wasn’t even an indication of what category it belonged to.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Kim said with frustration. “Searching for this book or whatever it might be is getting too much. It’s becoming a bad joke.”
“Buck up!” Gertrude ordered. “I went through a lot of effort on your behalf. I even called over to the Countway Medical Library and spoke to John Moldavian, who’s in charge of rare books and manuscripts. I told him the story, and he assured me he’d look right into it.”
After thanking Gertrude, Kim went back to Harvard Square and reboarded the Red Line for Boston.
It was now rush hour, and Kim had to squeeze onto the train. There were no seats so she had to stand. As the train thundered over the Longfellow Bridge, Kim began to think seriously about giving up the whole Elizabeth quest. It had been like chasing a mirage. Every time she thought she was getting close, it turned out to be a false lead.
Climbing into her car in the MGH garage, Kim started the engine and then thought about the heavy traffic she’d be facing on her way out to Salem. At that hour just getting through the Leverett Circle interchange would probably take close to a half hour.
With a change of heart, Kim turned her car in the opposite direction and headed for the Countway Medical Library. She’d decided she might as well follow up on Gertrude’s lead rather than sit in traffic.
John Moldavian seemed perfectly suited for work in a library. He was a soft-spoken, gentle man whose love for books was immediately apparent by the affectionate and caring manner he handled them.
Kim introduced herself and mentioned Gertrude’s name. John responded immediately by searching for something among the clutter on his desk.
“I’ve got something here for you,” he said. “Where in the devil did I put it?”
Kim watched him as he shuffled through his papers. He had a thin face dominated by heavy black-framed glasses. His thin mustache looked almost too perfect, as if it had been drawn with an eyebrow pencil.
“Is the Rachel Bingham work here at the library?” Kim hazarded to ask.
“No, it’s no longer here,” John said. Then his face brightened. “Ah, here’s what I wanted.” He lifted a single sheet of copy paper.
Kim silently sighed. So much for the Gertrude lead, she thought.
“I looked through the Medical School Library records for 1826,” John said. “And I found this reference to the work you’re seeking.”
“Let me guess,” Kim said. “It was sent somewhere else.”
John regarded Kim over the top of the paper he was holding. “How did you guess?” he asked.
Kim gave a short laugh. “It’s been a pattern,” she said. “Where did it go from here?”
“It went to the Department of Anatomy,” John said. “Of course today it is called the Department of Cell Biology.”
Kim shook her head in disbelief. “Why on earth would it have been sent there?” she asked rhetorically.
“I’ve no idea,” John said. “The entry I found was rather strange. It was in the form of a hastily handwritten card that had apparently been attached to the book or manuscript or drawing. I made you a copy.” John handed the paper to Kim.
Kim took it. It was hard to read, forcing her to turn herself in order to take advantage of the light coming through the window. It seemed to say: Curiosity by Rachel Bingham contrived in 1691. Looking at the word “curiosity” reminded Kim of Mary Custland telling her that a “repository of curiosities” had been lost in the 1764 fire, suggesting that the Rachel Bingham work had been a part of that collection. Thinking back to Jonathan’s letter to his father, Kim surmised that the handwriting she was now looking at was Jonathan’s. In her mind’s eye she could see a nervous Jonathan Stewart rapidly scribbling the card in a panic to get out of the tutor’s chamber where he’d surreptitiously entered to change the name to Rachel Bingham. Had he been discovered he probably would have been asked to leave the college.
“I called over to the department chairman,” John said, interrupting Kim’s ruminations. “He referred me to another gentleman by the name of Carl Nebolsine, who’s the curator in charge of the Warren Anatomical Museum. So I called him. He told me that if I wanted to see the exhibit to come over to the administration building.”