“You don’t mind, right, Granny? That’s what we talked about. Ruthie’s trying to preserve some of these old stories for posterity. You know, for future generations who might be curious about how people settled Lost Harbor.”
“Yes, yes, I know. You go ahead and record, Ruthie. Now where would you like me to start?”
Ruthie clicked her little digital audio recorder and set it close to Mrs. Desroches, on top of a pile of scientific-looking books that must be Natalie’s. “I’m mostly interested in what life was like in the early days here.”
“It was a lot of hard work.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “I witnessed a kidnapping, how about that?”
That sounded juicy. Maybe as Mrs. Desroches told the story, she’d also include some details about daily life in early Lost Harbor. “When was this? How old were you?”
“I was still a child. Fifteen, I believe. I certainly didn’t intend to witness a…” She trailed off before she finished the sentence. Ruthie glanced over at Natalie and saw that she too was leaning forward to listen eagerly.
“Kidnapping,” Natalie prompted.
“Yes, I felt so guilty for a long time. That poor baby.”
Natalie and Ruthie glanced at each other in surprise. “I’ve never heard of a kidnapped baby in Lost Harbor,” said Ruthie.
“Oh, yes, it was a huge scandal. Must have been, oh, seventy years ago now. Would you like some tea? Natalie, make this poor girl some tea.”
“I’m fine—” Ruthie began, but Mrs. Desroches shooed her away. Reluctantly, Natalie got to her feet.
“This is so unfair, Granny. Don’t say anything until I get back, okay?”
“Nonsense, this story is for Ruthie’s project. I always liked her hair. Remember that sunset-orange color? So vivid, like a freshly dug carrot in the sunshine.”
Ruthie grimaced. “You have a gift for descriptions, Mrs. Desroches.”
“Thank you.” Looking pleased, the woman sat back in her rocking chair. “That’s very kind of you. How’s your mother?”
“She sends her best.” Keeping an elderly person on track was always a key part of these interviews. “So, whose baby was it that was kidnapped?”
“Well, that’s the thing. Back then, everyone gave birth at home. The only doctor lived in Grantview, half a day’s ride by dogsled in the winter. Betty Dobbin helped birth all the babies around here. She was pregnant herself, but her baby was stillborn, even though she didn’t tell anyone. That happened often back then, too. I used to wonder if newborns didn’t take one look around them and decide life here was just too tough. I had a dark sense of humor, you know.”
“That is pretty dark.” Ruthie frantically scribbled notes in her journal: questions to ask, names to follow up on. “So you’re saying she switched her stillborn baby with another one?”
“Yes, exactly. Annie McBride gave birth to twins, then passed out from loss of blood. When she woke up, Betty told her one of the babes didn’t survive and that she’d taken care of it. She secretly tucked that second twin away in the bag she always brought with her to make house calls. She took him home with her and announced that she’d finally given birth to her own baby. Meantime, her actual baby was awaiting burial in the backyard, which wouldn’t thaw out until springtime.”
Ruthie’s head was spinning by now. “Wait, what?”
“Oh, in those days we held on to our deceased loved ones until the ground was thawed out enough to dig up a grave,” Mrs. Desroches said cheerfully. “They stayed frozen.”
Of course. It made sense now that Ruthie thought about it. That was a nugget of early Lost Harbor life if ever she’d heard one.
“So where do you fit into this story? What was it that you witnessed?”
“I had a beau. I used to sneak out to see him. We were kissing under a tree when Betty Dobbin came hurrying past us. The baby was crying and she was shushing it. I thought she was simply taking the baby for some air, though to be honest, I didn’t give it much thought at all. Roger was such a good kisser.” She gave a dreamy smile as Natalie arrived with some tea.
“Grandad’s name was not Roger,” Natalie said sternly.
“No. Roger was my first love, but he broke my heart. Your grandfather was more of a friend, and a good one. He stood by me through the scandal. That’s why I decided to marry him. I never regretted that decision. Roger married Sally instead, and look how that worked out for him.”
Ruthie was so busy writing all of this down that she barely noticed the fragrant tea Natalie set beside her.
“Roger Buchanan. He’s the one who died in a blizzard?” Rumor had it that Sally had been so furious with him that she’d refused to let him inside, and he wandered off and froze to death. She would have loved to get Sally’s version of that story, but obviously that was not going to happen.
But Mrs. Desroches had apparently decided she’d said enough. “I can only tell my own story. You’ll have to ask Sally about hers.”
Ruthie sighed wistfully. “If only I could kidnap her and make her talk. But she says she hates talking about the past.”
“Well, if she ever does, she has more stories bottled up than a crate of whisky.”
“Back to the kidnapping. What happened to the baby?”
“Betty left town in the middle of the night and was never heard from again. I suppose she figured that she couldn’t raise the baby in the same town as his twin. I felt like I had to speak up, even though it got me in big trouble. Betty’s family denied everything, and since they were one of those original families who settled—” She broke off abruptly, as if she’d just hit a tripwire.
Ruthie made a note as she waited patiently for the old woman to continue.
Original families?
Lost Harbor had been discovered by a group of explorers who’d stumbled across the natural harbor during a break in the fog, then couldn’t find it again. What a great project that would be—learning more about those explorers.
“By original families, do you mean the explorers?”
When Greta spoke again, she sounded much more hesitant. “Yes. I overheard something about them too.”
“I’d love to hear more about that.”
Confusion clouded her features. “I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about that. I remember a threat.”
“Someone threatened you?”
“No, no. At least I don’t think so. I overheard it.”
“While kissing Roger Buchanan?” Natalie asked dryly.
“No, during a town meeting. A few years later. I was sitting in the back with my knitting while everyone was arguing. Our town meetings always got out of hand. There were two old men near me having a fight. One of them said they’d tell everyone at the meeting about their real names. The other threatened to run him out of town on a harpoon if he so much as opened his mouth. You should have heard his voice. I was so scared, I’ve never said a word until this very moment.”
“What do you think he meant about their real names?”
“Well, it was a Dobbin and a Shipp. Both of them were from explorer families. That’s all I can tell you. I shouldn’t talk about it anymore.”