Chapter 2
Clara carefully selected a few books and handed them to the mystery man. His eyes lit up with appreciation as he accepted them with another smile. He glanced down at the name tag on her blue blouse neatly tucked into her gray slacks.
“Thank you, Clara. I appreciate the help.”
“Absolutely,” she replied with a bright smile. Hearing him use her name had given her a warm and fuzzy feeling she hadn”t experienced in a long time. “Are you thinking about moving here?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he shrugged. “I”m James, by the way. I know your name, you should know mine.”
“It”s nice to meet you, James. Do you have any other questions?”
“Actually, yes. Have you been in town for a while?” James inquired.
Clara smiled and nodded. “Pretty much my whole life. Born and raised here. It”s a small town, you know? Everyone knows everyone.”
James chuckled and put the books on the table. “I can imagine. Mind if I pick your brain for a few minutes? I”m intrigued by the town”s history.”
The library was fairly empty, and the books weren”t going anywhere. The only other presence was a young mom in the kids” section, engrossed in a picture book with her little boy. Spending a few minutes with a handsome stranger would be okay.
“Absolutely, I”d love to share what I know,” Clara replied, gesturing to the table for them to sit down.
As they settled into the old, mismatched chairs Clara purchased at a yard sale a few years earlier.
James leaned in, holding her gaze. “Are there any newspapers from around the early nineteen hundreds? I”m curious about the town”s past.”
Clara”s eyes sparkled with excitement. “That is one of my pet projects. I”ve helped curate the collection over my ten years here. I am hoping to get them scanned and digitized. I”ve done some, but there”s so much more to do.”
“You”ve undertaken this task yourself?” he asked with surprise.
“Yes,” Clara shrugged and smiled shyly. “I find it fascinating, plus it preserves our history for future generations.” She rose and walked to an old bureau in the corner, James following closely behind. He watched as she carefully pulled out a drawer packed tightly with archived newspapers, sorted by year and month. They were all in plastic sleeves, a job Clara had spent many long nights working on.
“These are some of the oldest issues we have,” she said. “I have them in binders by year.”
James’ eyes widened in appreciation as he carefully owned the first binder. The newspapers carefully protected in the plastic sleeves were yellowed and faded with age. “This is a lot of work,” he said.
“It was fun. Is there a particular year you were looking for?”
“I”m not sure,” he answered. “I think the turn of the century or right around there.”
“You”re looking for something particular?”
“Honestly, I”m not sure what I”m looking for,” he smiled.
They each carried binders to the table. James opened the one from nineteen-oh-two, being very careful with the pages. As he flipped through the yellowed pages, briefly scanning the headlines, Clara got the impression he was indeed looking for something.
“Can you tell me about Watch Hill?” James asked as he looked up from the pages.
“What would you like to know?”
“Everything,” he laughed. “Is your family from here?”
“My father was born and raised here,” she started. “He met my mother on a trip to Maine. They fell in love, and she moved here to be with him. That was right around the time the lumber mill shut down.”
His eyes lit up. “The lumber mill?”
“Watch Hill once thrived as a lumber town. A lot of the men worked here. The mill was owned and operated by the third generation of the Wentworth family. They were a prestigious family that basically helped form Watch Hill. When the mill closed in the seventies, the town struggled. Most of the young people and families all moved away in search of work. Now, it”s a haven for retired folks and those seeking some time away from the hustle and bustle. We have a lot of vacation homes and second homes around here for those who want to appreciate the natural beauty.”
Clara loved to share her passion for the town”s history which was evident in her animated gestures. He was watching her, and it looked like he was genuinely interested. The way he was looking at her made her blush. “I”m sorry. I”m rambling.”
“No,” he quickly shook his head. “Tell me more. You said there was a founding family that closed the mill. Why? Why was the mill shut down?”
The question took Clara by surprise. “I”m not sure. I assume it was because it wasn”t making money. Sadly, I don”t think there”s anyone to ask. The last member of the Wentworth family who still lived here passed away a couple of months ago.”
“I see.” James absorbed the information, a frown on his face as if he was in deep thought. “Do you know the mayor?” he asked, his gaze fixed on Clara.
She laughed, a genuine sound that echoed through the quiet library. “It”s not that small of a town. I mean, we”re not exactly bumping into each other at the grocery store. But I know enough about the local politics and happenings. I know who he is, and I did vote for him.”
“What about folklore?” he asked.
“Folklore?”
“Yes, any old stories or mysteries?” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and watching her intently. His gaze was enough to make her blush again, but she smiled at the question.
“Oh, we have our share of those,” she replied, resting her chin on her hand. “From hauntings in the old town hall to rumors of buried treasure near the mill. It seems every small town has its share of tales and legends.”
“Tell me about the treasures,” he said, his eyes sparkling with fascination.
“Well, the most famous one is about a hidden cache of gold coins. According to the story, old man Wentworth–the original one–was paranoid about banking and didn”t trust banks with his money. So, he hid a cache of gold coins somewhere near the mill. No one knows whether that”s true or not. It”s just one of those tales that get passed down from generation to generation.”
James looked thoughtful, his gaze returning to the binder in front of him. “Do you believe in it?”
“I”m not sure,” Clara admitted, shrugging her shoulders. “It”s a fun story for tourists and keeps some of our kids busy in the summer looking for treasure, but personally, I”ve never given it much thought. Why do you ask?”
James didn”t respond immediately. She could see he had something more to say. Was he a treasure hunter? He wouldn”t be the first one to show up and think he was going to find gold. Clara didn”t believe it. If it was there, it would have been found a long time ago.
“What about ghosts?”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Any ghost stories?” He asked it with a sly smile that said he was teasing.
“Unfortunately, the only ghost stories involve old fishermen and pirates that never made it to the shores of the United States.”
“Bummer,” he grinned.
“Are you a treasure hunter?”
“Unfortunately, no,” he sighed.
“Then what brings you to Watch Hill and its history?” Clara asked, her curiosity piqued.
James looked at her for a moment before replying, “It”s a long story.”
She was ready to hear his story, but the dinging bell on the front desk stopped him. She inwardly groaned. She wanted to hear the story. “I”m sorry,” she sighed.
“Go ahead,” he nodded. “I”ll be right here reading through the papers.”
She excused herself, feeling a flush of flustered nerves at the attention James was giving her. A young woman was at the counter. Clara recognized the woman and quickly checked her out while making the usual small talk, but she wasn”t really listening. Her mind was on the man in the corner. After finishing her job, she debated whether she should go back to the table. Maybe he was just being nice and humoring her as she rambled about the town. She was so starved for male attention that she could have easily mistaken his politeness for genuine interest.