Chapter 18

Paul was completely drawn into the diary of Jeremiah Ackley, the minister who committed suicide after the death of his daughter, and had been reading for hours. After his run, he’d stopped for breakfast at a quaint little roadside diner called the Maple Leaf and was served by a very pretty and very funny young waitress named Suzie. She kept calling him “Sugar,” which made him grin. She knew how to work her tables, though, and he could tell that she was a staple in this town. People adored her.

After returning to his lodging, he showered, made a few phone calls and then headed back to the library to continue reading. Michelle was there again, waiting for him, and when he walked in, she simply put the diaries back on the counter for him to read.

He picked up the minister’s journal and thumbed through the pages. Jeremiah, from what he’d read, was a faithful and gentle man. His wife had died of tuberculosis—or consumption as they called it back then—not long after their daughter Veronica had been born. He never remarried but instead chose to move his daughter to Maplewood where a new town was beginning to emerge. He wanted to do mission work, and seeing that there was a need, he felt compelled to fill it.

There were entries about the town size, about a bout of flu they dealt with, about mining tragedies that were a common occurrence, and about his devotion to his daughter. He insisted on giving her the best education and was her tutor for most of her young life. He doted on her, and from what he’d written, she loved him back just as fiercely.

For instance, in a journal entry marked April 13, 1730 he wrote:

Veronica has shown a great fascination with the education of a proper young woman and told me that the Lord has led her to believe that she should teach the students of Maplewood the things that I have taught her.

I was delighted by this. She took well to languages. Her Greek and Latin are nearly perfect. She is able to read and write Hebrew and could quote Shakespeare from memory. Her arithmetic skills are impressive as is her fascination with astronomy and physics. She certainly has her mother’s aptitude for learning and every day she grows, she looks more and more like her.

Oh, Tess, if you could see your child now. She has grown into a beautiful and intelligent woman and asks questions that sometimes surprises her old man. I must admit, her decision to stay here and open a school for the children of this small town thrills my heart to no end. I had set enough money aside, from the sale of our estate, to educate her in a college she wished to go to. Yet she refused to hear such things from me.

“Who would look after you?” she insisted.

“I can take care of myself you know,” I replied and she made me laugh when she said:

“You had Mother in your life two years before I was born and I have been here nineteen years taking care of you. That is twenty-three years someone has looked after you,” she reminded me, a little haughtily but in jest. “You take care of this town and I take care of you.” She melted my heart and I, of course, relented.

“Fine then, we will take the money set aside for your education and build a school with it.”

“Good. These children deserve a good education and I intend to give them the one my father gave me.”

The words warmed Paul’s heart as he continued to read. He found his way through entries which talked about the building of the school house, the townspeople’s pleasure at having her as a teacher, and the number of students who came. Veronica ordered school supplies for each student, worked with their parents to set up a proper schedule for school that the townspeople agreed to, and helped tutor those who fell behind in their studies.

All in all, Jeremiah was very proud of her yet his concerns that she showed no interest in marrying started to surface. He worried that she would be without children or a husband to take care of her when he passed away. He was afraid she was being a spinster and didn’t like the thought of that. When he brought it up to her, she simply brushed him off saying that no proper suitors had met her fancy. Actually, she despised anyone she met who tried. So, after a while, Jeremiah just let her be.

From what Paul read, everything went smoothly, until just about a year prior to the earthquake. That is when Riley Dunne came to town and Veronica began to change. He was getting ready to flip over to another page when Michelle walked over.

“Hey, hate to do this to ya. But were closing up in ten minutes.”

“What time is it?” Paul asked.

“Ten till six. You’ve been reading for almost five hours.” She sat across the table from him.

He looked shocked and inserted a white slip of paper to mark his spot. He checked his wristwatch. “Oh wow. I didn’t even realize, I am sorry.”

She raised her hand and smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I’m happy that we have these here for you to read and that you enjoy them so much.”

“God, I haven’t read journals like this since I was an undergraduate. This is incredible. How many people have read this?”

“Hardly anyone, I suspect. I found them buried in some boxes that were donated to the library several years ago. I dusted them off, read them, and cataloged them so they wouldn’t deteriorate any further.”

“Are you from here?” Paul asked, putting his jacket on.

“Nope. I’m from Dallas, Texas. My husband Charlie and I met while I attended school down there. He came down to work for one of the pipelines being built and we met at a coffee shop. The rest, as they say is history.” She stood up, grabbed the journals and said, “We’re closed on the weekends but I will keep them here again for you for Monday, if you will be back, that is.”

“Yes, I’ll be here,” he said, heading towards the door.

“Hey,” she called out, and he turned to her.

“You know, now that I think about it, every town has its share of secrets. I think these journals may contain some things, some history that would shine a not-so-pleasant light on this town. I’m surprised they actually survived this long without being hidden better or destroyed.”

He considered her words and nodded. “Yeah, perhaps you’re right. Well, goodnight.”

“Night,” she replied as he pushed open the door and stepped out into a rainstorm.

He pondered her words and the things that he had read as he drove back to the B&B. Thunder crashed and rain pelted his windshield as he drove his truck across town. His cell phone rang, and he went to answer it, but with all the rain and the distance from a cell tower, the call dropped before he could answer it. Instead of trying to call the number back, he tossed it up on the dashboard and navigated the truck through the town. The streets were empty on the rain-soaked night. He pulled back into the driveway of the house and dashed inside.

Mrs. Deidra Hatch, the owner and caretaker of the B&B, met him inside the door. “Supper is on the table if you’re hungry Mr. Spencer. How was your day?” She took his windbreaker from him and hung it in the closet. Mrs. Hatch was a rather rotund woman, her hair swept up in a bun on top of her head other than the loose strands that fell, having escaped their bobby pins. She turned from the closet door and put her hands on her hips, her face alight with anticipation for his answer.

“Just fine, Mrs. Hatch. Spent most of it down at the library, actually. How was your day?”

“Oh, it was a good one, dear. Had a few more guests leave, so you have most of the house to yourself. Come on and eat something, you’re too thin,” she said, waddling back towards the kitchen.

He chuckled. The woman reminded him of Aunt Bea from The Andy Griffith Show that he used to watch when he was a kid. He followed her down the hall and into the kitchen where the smells of dinner called to his hungry stomach.

They entered the kitchen by way of the swinging door and saw a couple sitting at the long table along with Mr. Hatch, a retired mine foreman. The gray-haired man was strong as an ox from years of working underground, and like his wife, he was starting to become very round in the middle. He was wearing a cardigan sweater over a plaid shirt and the buttons looked like they were holding on with dear life. Paul was sure if one of them let go, someone was going to the Emergency Room.

The couple he noticed was young, maybe in their mid-twenties, newlyweds he presumed. They ate and talked quietly among themselves, though the husband looked up and Paul nodded to them as he sat. The husband nodded back and returned to his dinnertime conversation with his wife. There was a huge platter of pork chops, along with other smaller dishes, and Paul realized he was starving.

Mr. Hatch set down his fork and sat back in his chair, patting his belly. “Mother, you made another fine meal.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hatch this is really good,” said, the young wife, her mousy voice barely audible.

“Why thank you, dear. It was nothing,” Mrs. Hatch replied as she finally took her place next to her husband.

Paul disagreed. He started shoveling food in his mouth; his stomach growled with appreciation. He sat quietly eating for a bit when Mr. Hatch spoke to him.

“So, you work for the US Geological Survey, eh?” The Survey was paying for his stay in the house for as long as they were interested in the tremors underneath the lake. The credit card he had used to check in was one issued to him by them.

The couple looked up at him in unison and Paul nodded, chewing, and swallowing his food.

“What brings you to Maplewood, then? Are we next in line for the big one?” Mr. Hatch laughed; his wife rolled her eyes and tried to hush him up.

“No, no, he’s fine, Mrs. Hatch. We noticed a little bit of activity recently in this area. Nothing to worry about, really. We are just monitoring it for the time being.” Paul said, dipping some bread into gravy.

“We’re from California, we’re pretty used to tremors,” the man across the table said. His wife nodded in agreement.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, that place rumbles quite a bit.”

“Does Vermont have a history of earthquakes?” the young husband asked. He had finished his food and sat back in his chair.

“Sure. Tremors happen just about everywhere. Serious quakes? Not since the early 1900s and further back,” Paul said. He was curious about how much the Hatches knew about Lake Veronica and was pleasantly surprised when Mr. Hatch spoke up.

“This town was formed because of an earthquake,” he said, leaning forward. The couple turned their heads to face him.

“Really?” asked the wife.

“Sure did. As a matter of fact, that lake out there, filled up with water after the majority of the town sank into it way back in the 1700s. A lot of people died that night. One of the worst mining disasters in history, but you don’t hear about it much for some odd reason.” He pulled out his pipe and filled it with tobacco.

“Don’t scare the kids, Papa,” chided his wife as she ate. She looked over at Paul and shook her head.

“Nah, they’re from California. They can take it. Besides, wasn’t it there that the bad earthquake of ’88 happened?” Mr. Hatch asked the husband.

“Eighty-nine. But yeah. I was four. My family and I lived in San Francisco at the time. It was pretty scary.”

Mr. Hatch snorted. “I am sure it was. Anyway, what happened here hasn’t happened in a very long time. Don’t you worry your pretty little head over anything.” He eyeballed the wife in a fatherly way. She just smiled meekly in response.

The doorway of the kitchen opened and Melissa, the couple’s young daughter, walked in with a piece of paper in her hand, which she gave to Paul.

“You going to eat, sweetheart?” Mrs. Hatch asked.

“Yeah, Mom, let me just finish the rest of these invoices, and I’ll be in,” she said, heading back out the door.

Paul took a glance at the fax sheet, excused himself from the table, and went back to his room.

The others watched him leave, Mr. Hatch arched an eyebrow at his wife and she, catching it, shook her head and returned to her meal.