Chapter 14
O n Monday afternoon, Kathleen wiped down the last table in her café and flipped the sign to “Closed.” The afternoon had been busier than usual, filled with locals wanting to discuss every detail of Isabel’s wedding.
Usually, Kathleen enjoyed the post-event buzz that rippled through Sapphire Bay after a special occasion. But today, she’d found it difficult to concentrate on the conversations swirling around her.
The café door chimed, and Lynda poked her head inside. “Ready for our adventure?”
Susan appeared behind her, practically bouncing with excitement. “I’ve been thinking about the hidden room all morning. I’m glad I was shopping because I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything else.”
Despite her melancholy mood, Kathleen smiled at her friends’ enthusiasm. “Let me grab my keys and lock up. Are you driving back to my house with me or Lynda?”
“I’ll go with Lynda,” Susan said quickly. “The gifts I bought for my staff are in the back of her truck. I can have everything unpacked before you get home.”
Kathleen nodded. “Sounds good. Remember to wait for me before you go into the basement.”
“We will,” Susan and Lynda said as they hurried onto the sidewalk.
With their excitement lifting her spirits, Kathleen completed the rest of her closing routine in double-quick time and drove straight home. When she arrived, Lynda was holding three heavy-duty flashlights, and Susan had the strap of her expensive camera around her neck.
Kathleen’s eyebrows rose. “It looks like you’re going to a professional photoshoot instead of into my basement.”
Susan grinned. “Isabel made me promise to take pictures of everything we find. Did you know that she wanted to postpone the honeymoon to be here?”
Lynda stared at her in disbelief. “You’re joking. She’s been looking forward to going to Washington, D.C. with Frank and Tommy for ages.”
“I know. I couldn’t believe it either.” Susan laughed. “Poor Frank looked panic-stricken when she suggested it last night, and Tommy would have been heartbroken. Frank said his grandson has been dreaming about going to the National Air and Space Museum for months.”
Kathleen opened the front door, and they stepped into the entryway. Even with all the renovation work left to do, the house felt like home.
“Where’s Patrick?” Susan asked, glancing around as if she expected him to emerge from the kitchen with his tool belt and ready smile. “I thought he’d want to be here for this.”
Kathleen’s steps faltered. She hadn’t told her friends he’d left. “He’s in New York City. His grandson needs help with a business emergency.”
“New York?” Susan’s eyebrows rose. “When will he be back?”
“I don’t know,” Kathleen said with as little emotion as possible. “It could be weeks. Maybe longer.” She felt Lynda’s concerned gaze but didn’t elaborate. Her friends knew her well enough to recognize when she needed space to process something difficult.
“Well, that’s his loss,” Susan said firmly. “We’ve got a mystery to unravel and no time to waste.”
Kathleen left her keys on the hall table. “Give me five minutes to get changed.”
“You have three,” Lynda said as she hurried down the hallway. “I need to use the bathroom anyway.”
When they eventually made it to the basement, it felt different from the last time Kathleen was here.
The wood and benches she’d moved with Patrick were still stacked to one side of the cavernous space.
Maybe knowing what she was about to see made the space seem more mysterious and awe-inspiring.
Or it could have been imagining what had happened down here that made it more special.
Once inside the hidden room, they spent several minutes examining the room’s contents more carefully.
Lynda’s veterinary knowledge came in handy.
Even though her medical background was focused on animals, she was fascinated by the medical instruments, while Susan marveled at the tiny handmade garments.
“Look at the stitching on this gown,” Susan said, holding up one of the delicate white dresses Kathleen had seen on her first visit. “Someone spent hours on this embroidery. These aren’t mass-produced items—they were made with love.”
“The medical tools are amazing too,” Lynda observed, carefully examining a set of forceps. “These would have been standard equipment for a midwife in the 1880s. Whoever set up this room knew what they were doing.”
Kathleen knelt beside the scattered papers Patrick had gathered, trying to decipher more of the water-damaged writing.
Susan had been exploring the far corner of the room and suddenly called out, “There’s something back here! Behind this set of shelves.”
They helped Susan push the bookcase along the wall. Behind it was an alcove, and nestled inside was a metal container about the size of a shoe box.
“It’s heavy,” Susan said as she lifted it out. “Whatever’s in here might not be as damaged as some of the other things we’ve found.”
The metal box showed signs of age but no rust. When Susan opened the hinged lid, they saw an oiled cloth that was packed with carefully folded papers.
“These are in much better condition,” Kathleen observed as Susan gently lifted out the top document. “The box must have protected them from the dampness.”
The sheet of paper was thick and of high quality. The elegant handwriting in brown ink had faded but remained clearly legible. At the top of the page, it said: “Record of Services Provided - Florence Buckley, Certified Midwife.”
Susan looked at her friends. “Did Florence own the house or was she paid to be here?”
Kathleen shrugged. “I don’t know yet. When I spoke to Percy, he said he’d do some background research about the house before he came tonight. Chloe has already seen the basement and has sent one of the documents to the Smithsonian to have it analyzed.”
“That’s great,” Lynda said. “Chloe worked at the Smithsonian for so long that she’d be the perfect person to look at what you found.”
Susan picked up another record. “Look at this. These aren’t just birth records. They’re complete case files.”
The document in Susan’s hands detailed the care provided to someone identified only as “M.R.” The notes described a young woman who had arrived in the third week of October, 1889, “in distress and without resources.” Florence Buckley had recorded the medical details of the pregnancy and the birth, and the steps she’s taken to help the woman create a new identity.
“Florence provided false documents,” Kathleen said, re-reading the careful notations. “Look what it says here. ‘Arranged lodging in Missoula under the name Mrs. Margaret Roberts, widow. Provided references from fictional deceased husband’s employer. Child to be known as legitimate heir.’”
“She was helping the women become widows,” Susan said in awe. “No one would have known the truth. Instead of being ostracized, the women might have been able to find work, rent rooms, and live independently.”
They carefully examined more documents from the box. Each told a similar story. Young women arrived pregnant and desperate. They received medical care during their pregnancy, and left with new identities that would allow them to support themselves and their children.
“Florence Buckley wasn’t just a midwife,” Lynda said admiringly. “She was running an underground network to help women escape social destruction.”
Kathleen read another case file. “The detail in these records is amazing. Florence documented everything—where the women went afterward and what names they chose. Some of them even have follow-up notes about how they were settling into their new lives.”
Susan pulled out a thicker document from the bottom of the box. “This looks different. It’s written on official letterhead.”
The paper bore the seal of Montana Territory and was addressed to Florence Buckley. As they read the formal language, its significance became clear.
“It’s her midwifery certification,” Susan said breathlessly. “Issued in 1883 by the territorial government. She was legitimately trained and licensed.”
“Which means she wasn’t some back-alley practitioner,” Lynda added. “She was a qualified medical professional who used her skills to help women who would have been abandoned.”
Kathleen bit her bottom lip. “I wonder if Florence had any help or if she did all of this on her own.”
Susan carefully counted the documents. “There are at least forty case files in here. Because of the years they span, she could have been working on her own.”
Kathleen pointed to the documents she’d found with Patrick. “There could be more in there, but the ink’s faded.”
“Kathleen’s right,” Lynda added. “There are probably a lot of records that didn’t survive. What Florence was doing could have gone on for years.”
Over the next half hour, they carefully examined each document, piecing together the story of Florence Buckley’s remarkable work. The records documented nearly two decades of secret service to women in crisis.
“Percy will be beside himself when he sees all of this,” Kathleen said finally.
Susan took some photos of the metal box and the documents they’d found. “I’ll send the photos to Isabel tonight.”
Kathleen looked around the room. “We should leave everything else until Percy gets here.”
Lynda nodded. “Good idea. I’ll make everyone a cup of coffee while we wait for him.”
As they climbed back up to the main floor, Kathleen thought about Patrick and wished he could have been here. He would have appreciated the historical significance and understood how much this meant to her.
But Patrick was in Manhattan, fighting corporate battles and living the life he thought he’d left behind. And she was in Sapphire Bay, uncovering the secrets of women who, like her, had learned to build new lives.