21 #2
The birth entries were short. The names of the parents were noted, followed by gender, and birth order of the newborn—say, third son or fourth daughter. Finally, the name of the new addition.
Mason was staring at her impatiently. Raquel hastily worked to decipher the name of the parents in the entry before her. She felt pretty good about her interpretation, though the next two listings proved more challenging.
“Move on,” Mason ordered briskly. “First pass is always fast and furious. We’ll dig deeper into the weeds later.”
The next two listings were easier, but then, come a mid-January entry, more scowling ensued.
“And you’re certain of the name?” Mason pressed.
“Smith seems pretty clear,” Raquel answered dryly.
Another harrumph. “Skip down a line. Do you see a note regarding the fate of the newborn?”
Raquel did as instructed, drew up short. She worked the sentence several times, but there was no mistaking the brief entry. “The baby died,” she murmured. “The next day. I don’t see a cause given.”
Mason nodded, not appearing at all surprised.
“I don’t understand?”
Mason’s tone was brisk: “So far, we have four birth entries that don’t appear in official records; each of the infants died within twenty-four hours. Back in the day, even deceased infants were included in family records. Given the mortality rates, death was considered just another part of life.”
“Perhaps the databases are incomplete?”
“For that many settlers unique to this area?” Mason gave her a look.
“There’s one last entry,” she offered. While Mason diligently entered those specifics, she jotted down the dates of the missing birth records.
“These particular deliveries are all from the same time period. Starting in December 1790, ending in April 1791. Basically five deceased babies in five months, none of whom were included in official records. Is it just me, or does that seem exceptionally odd?”
“Found it!” Betty called out. The woman rose to standing, holding up a battered, leatherbound volume that appeared one sneeze away from total disintegration. She carried the crumbling book to the table while Mason blinked his eyes in surprise.
“What is that? I’ve never seen that before. Why wasn’t that with the rare documents collection? Did you even wash your hands before handling?”
Betty rolled her eyes. “To judge by its condition, the book might be very old, but valuable, not so much.”
Still, the woman handled the battered journal carefully as she eased it open, the front cover nearly falling off. She delicately flipped a few more pages, then: “Aha!”
Betty held the original diary next to one of the photographed ledger pages. The writing in both was faded, but it didn’t take an expert eye to see the penmanship was a match.
“So what is that?” Mason moved closer to Betty.
“It’s a personal diary. And note the inside cover. Definitely once again our Ruth something or other, elaborate flourishes and all.”
“How was the item entered into our collection?”
“That’s the thing. I happen to remember this diary specifically.
The town library found it mixed in with a bunch of recently returned novels.
They reached out to us, given its age. I gave it a look-see, but honestly, without being able to make out the author’s name or having any idea where it came from, I was as stymied as they were.
I recommended they try to determine who’d dropped it off.
I don’t remember hearing anything more after that.
But, well, here it is. So I’m guessing the library never identified the local family of origin and eventually handed it over to us instead. ”
“Hmmm.” Mason delicately flipped more pages.
“Yes, yes, definitely appears to be a personal diary. These entries are much more extensive.” He mumbled his way through the first few paragraphs.
“Weather, daily life, some mention of travails, which would be a woman in labor. So our midwife kept both a professional and a personal daily account? Who was this woman?”
Betty peered at Raquel. “You were saying the tragic birth entries cover a matter of months?” Betty turned toward Mason with a raised brow. “As in a single winter?”
Raquel definitely picked up on the undercurrent but didn’t know what to make of it.
“Five infants,” Betty murmured, fully fixed on Mason, “all of whom died within twenty-four hours of birth. All of whose births—and deaths—were never entered into official records.”
“You don’t think…” the man sputtered.
“Come now, we’ve both been thinking it since yesterday. A young woman boarded up in a watery shaft with the bones of a newborn babe? Ding dong bell, the witch is in the well,” Betty sang softly.
“I don’t understand…” Raquel started.
But just then, Mason flipped a chunk of pages in the diary, and a scrap of white paper fluttered out. Betty swooped down to snatch it off the floor.
The old woman straightened slowly. “Oh my,” she murmured, holding out a note that was clearly written on the recent side of history. “I guess the library did determine the original owner of the journal.” Betty’s gaze rose to meet their own. “This says to please contact Dave and Janet Dixon.”
Then a heartbeat later: “I guess we now know what day this journal was dropped off.”
Another heartbeat after that. “Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.”
Raquel just got a chair beneath the older woman before she collapsed.
“I think I might take a minute,” Betty murmured.
Raquel didn’t blame her at all.