Chapter 28
K athleen brushed a strand of hair from her face with the back of her gardening glove.
The morning was warmer than she’d expected, and she could feel perspiration gathering beneath her wide-brimmed sun hat.
Around her, the garden was slowly revealing its original beauty as she and Patrick worked methodically through years of neglect.
“I think Florence and Miriam would approve,” she said, sitting back on her heels to survey their progress.
The flowerbeds that flanked the wraparound porch were beginning to show their intended design.
Curved borders that had once showcased carefully planned perennial displays were slowly taking shape.
“Look at this iris. It has to be original to the house.”
Patrick straightened from where he’d been wrestling with an overgrown lilac, his face flushed but content. His presence in her life had become as natural as breathing. “I still can’t believe that Percy found some photos of what the house used to look like.”
Kathleen nodded, gently freeing the delicate purple iris from its tangle of weeds.
Ever since Mabel’s Facebook post had thrust Florence and Miriam Buckley’s story into the public eye, she’d felt compelled to restore the house and grounds as quickly as possible.
The photos Percy had found were worth their weight in gold.
Working on the house also provided a distraction from the chaos that had erupted since the discovery became public knowledge. Working in the garden felt like she was reclaiming some measure of peace in the midst of the media storm.
The sound of a car door closing in the driveway made her tense.
Over the past two weeks, she’d had a steady stream of visitors.
Reporters, curiosity seekers, self-proclaimed historians, and local residents had made their way to her front door.
Kathleen had grown weary of explaining over and over that she wasn’t ready to discuss Miriam and Florence’s story publicly.
“Mrs. Armstrong?” A woman’s nervous voice called out. “I’m so sorry to bother you at home.”
A young woman approached Kathleen and Patrick with a camera bag slung over one shoulder and a backpack on the other.
She stopped a respectful distance away, her hands raised slightly in a gesture of peace.
Unlike the local news crew that had shown up yesterday demanding interviews, this woman waited to be invited closer.
Patrick had risen and positioned himself slightly in front of Kathleen. It was a protective gesture that had become second nature to him since the media attention began. “Can we help you?” he asked, his tone polite but wary.
“My name is Piper Adams,” the woman said, and Kathleen could see her making an effort to slow down despite her obvious excitement.
She must have been in her early thirties, with curly brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“I tried to reach you at the café, but it was closed. I know I should have contacted you another way, but I was afraid that if I didn’t come immediately, I might lose my nerve. ”
Kathleen brushed the dirt from her gardening gloves. Her first instinct was to politely but firmly send the woman away, but something in Piper made her pause. There was a genuineness in her that had been missing from the other people who had arrived unexpectedly.
“What can we do for you, Ms. Adams?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.
“I’m a documentary filmmaker,” Piper said, then quickly continued when she saw Kathleen’s expression change.
“Please, let me explain. I’m not here to exploit Miriam and Florence’s story or to invade your privacy.
I’ve been researching networks like hers for years, although none of them created new identities for the unmarried mothers. ”
Kathleen relaxed slightly. Unlike the other media people who’d contacted her, Piper wasn’t pushing for immediate access or treating the story like a sensational scoop.
“I drove here from Seattle,” Piper continued, “because what Florence and Miriam did is part of a larger story about women looking after each other. My own great-great-grandmother was helped by a similar network in Vancouver.”
The personal connection caught Kathleen’s attention. “Your great-great-grandmother?”
“She was seventeen and pregnant. Her family abandoned her.” Piper’s voice grew quieter. “A woman like Florence took her in and gave her the chance to build a life for herself and her daughter. Without that help, I wouldn’t be here today.”
Kathleen felt something shift inside her chest. Piper wasn’t here to exploit their discovery for quick fame or profit. She was someone who understood, on a deeply personal level, the significance of what Florence and her aunt had done.
“I understand you must be overwhelmed by all the attention,” Piper said, glancing between Kathleen and Patrick.
“The last thing I want is to add to that pressure. But I’ve been working on a documentary about these forgotten networks for three years, and what you found could add a new dimension to the story. ”
Kathleen studied Piper’s face, looking for signs of the calculated ambition she’d seen in other reporters. Instead, she saw genuine passion tempered by respect.
“What exactly are you proposing?” she asked, curious about Piper’s answer.
“A historically accurate documentary that would focus on Florence and Miriam’s work within the broader context of the other underground networks,” Piper said, her words gaining confidence.
“I’m not interested in sensationalizing their story or turning your house into a tourist attraction. I want to honor their legacy.”
Patrick stepped forward. “You mentioned other networks. The Smithsonian sent us some information about two other groups of people who helped pregnant women. Were there others?”
Kathleen was grateful for his question. It gave her a chance to learn more about Piper’s work and discover more about the secret network of women.
Piper’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “It was more extensive than most people realize. Women performed this work across the West, including Montana, Colorado, California, and even Washington. Canada was no different. They were often midwives like Florence or widows with resources like her aunt. They corresponded with each other, shared resources, even helped move women from one safe house to another.”
Kathleen was amazed that Piper knew so much. “If we hadn’t discovered the hidden room, I never would have known about this part of our history.”
“A lot of people don’t know anything about it,” Piper said.
“Stories have been lost because everyone worked in secret. It doesn’t help that women’s history has been undervalued for so long.
” Piper took a spiral-bound document out of her bag.
“I put together all the information I’ve found so far. You can have this.”
Kathleen stepped forward and took the heavy document. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. From what I’ve heard, the records you found are the most complete of any documentation that’s been discovered.”
Kathleen nodded. “That’s what the Smithsonian said, too. Would you like to sit down and talk about this properly?” she asked, surprising Patrick and Piper. “I don’t want to make any commitments, but I’d like to learn more about the documentary.”
Piper’s face brightened with hope and gratitude. “Of course. I’ve brought examples of my previous work and personal references from the people I’ve interviewed.”
“There’s a table on the back porch where we can sit,” Kathleen said, making the decision before she could second-guess herself. “Patrick, would you mind making some coffee?”
As they moved toward the house, a cautious optimism began to replace the exhaustion that Kathleen had been carrying since the story went public.
For the first time since Mabel’s post, she was talking to someone outside of her friends and family who understood the historical significance of the discovery.
And, more importantly, how it needed to be shared.
While Patrick prepared coffee in the kitchen, Kathleen listened as Piper explained her background and showed her examples of her previous documentaries.
Piper’s approach to her work was professional but personal.
She clearly understood the difference between historical preservation and media exploitation.
“I’m a single mother myself,” Piper said, pulling out photographs from her research. “My daughter is eight, and I want her to grow up knowing about women like Florence and Miriam. Regardless of what society expected of them, they saw injustice and chose to act, even when it was dangerous.”
Piper’s photographs showed documents similar to what they’d found in Kathleen’s basement.
There were letters exchanged between women in different cities, along with a few pictures of other safe houses.
Kathleen studied them with growing amazement.
Even after reading the information the Smithsonian had sent her, she hadn’t realized how widespread the network was.
“This is remarkable,” she said when Patrick returned with the coffee tray. “We were told that other women were doing similar things. But I had no idea it was so extensive.”
“What Florence and Miriam did was part of something much larger,” Piper agreed, accepting coffee gratefully. “But their contribution was unique because of how thoroughly they documented their work. Most of the other networks left very little trace of their activities.”
Patrick settled into his chair, and Kathleen could feel his protective attention even as he studied Piper with growing interest. His presence gave Kathleen the confidence to ask the questions that mattered the most.
“How would you handle my privacy?” she asked Piper. “I didn’t expect all this attention. If we were part of the documentary, it could make it ten times worse.”
Piper nodded solemnly. “Maintaining your privacy is important to me. You would have complete control over how much of your story is included, if any. The focus would be on Florence and Miriam, and the historical significance of the network. We don’t need to discuss how or where you found the information unless you choose to share that aspect. ”
Kathleen looked at the document Piper had given her. The way they’d discovered the hidden room was as much a part of the story as the items themselves. “And if you did want to talk about the house, how could we stop my property from becoming a circus?”
Piper tilted her head to the side. “We could film historical reenactments elsewhere if needed, or focus on the documents and artifacts rather than the location. The goal isn’t to create a tourist destination, but to tell an important story that’s been forgotten.”
Kathleen was impressed by Piper’s thoughtfulness. Unlike the other reporters who had contacted her, this felt right. But she’d learned to be cautious about making quick decisions when emotions were involved.
“I’d want to talk to the Smithsonian before agreeing to anything,” she said slowly. “Dr. Sarah Mitchell has been helping with the authentication process. I’d need her input on how this might affect their research.”
“Of course,” Piper said immediately. “I’ve already contacted them about the documentary and they’ve shared some valuable information with me.”
Patrick’s hand briefly touched Kathleen’s shoulder. It was a gesture of support that reminded Kathleen that she didn’t have to make this decision alone.
“What would be your timeline?” she asked Piper.
“I’m flexible,” Piper said. “This is too important to rush. I’d rather take the time to do it right than hurry to meet an artificial deadline. If you decide to participate, we could work around your schedule and comfort level.”
Kathleen took a deep breath. “I need time to think about what we’ve discussed. And I definitely need to speak with Dr. Mitchell before making any decisions.”
“I completely understand,” Piper said, gathering her materials with obvious care. “Thank you for taking the time to listen to me. Whatever you decide, I’m grateful that Florence’s story is finally being recognized for the important history it represents.”
As Piper prepared to leave, she turned back with a final thought.
“I should mention that I’m staying in town for a few days.
I’d like to do some research at the local historical society, regardless of your decision.
If you have any questions or want to discuss this further, I’ll be at the Lakeside Inn. ”
After Piper drove away, Kathleen sat in thoughtful silence on the porch with Patrick. The garden work was forgotten for the moment as she processed what had just happened.
“She’s different from the others,” Patrick said finally, echoing her own thoughts.
“She is,” Kathleen agreed. “Piper’s more thoughtful and more respectful. And her personal connection to what we found sounds genuine.”
Patrick reached over and took her hand, his callused fingers warm and reassuring. “What are you thinking?”
Kathleen was quiet for a moment, staring out at the lake where the afternoon light was beginning to turn golden. “I’m thinking about Florence,” she told Patrick. “About what she would want. She documented everything so carefully. Maybe she’d want her stories to be shared, to inspire other people.”
“But only on your terms,” Patrick said firmly. “Only in a way that feels right to you.”
Kathleen squeezed his hand, grateful for his unwavering support. “I know. And I will talk to Dr. Mitchell first. But for the first time since the story became public, I feel like there’s a way to honor Florence’s legacy without losing control of it completely.”
As they sat together, Kathleen thought about Piper. Perhaps she’d offered Kathleen and Patrick exactly what they’d been looking for—a way to share this remarkable story while protecting the women involved. The decision still felt enormous, but for the first time, it also felt positive.