Part 12 (1/2)
”I AM SO SORRY AM SO SORRY,” DAISY SAID, SMILING WARMLY. ”I SEEM TO ALWAYS SEEM TO ALWAYS be keeping you waiting. Have you and Sandy introduced yourselves?” Her hair was in the same impeccable bun. be keeping you waiting. Have you and Sandy introduced yourselves?” Her hair was in the same impeccable bun.
”Yes, we have. We've been talking about the joys of shelving.”
”I do ask them to do a lot of that. Copying and shelving. Very tedious, I know. But a great deal of real research is just plain tedious. My students and helpers are very patient with me.”
She turned her smile on Sandy, who gave her own brief version and returned to the journals. I was struck by how differently Jeannotte interacted with this student compared with what I'd seen with Anna.
”Now, then, let me show you what I've found. I think you'll like it.” She gestured toward the sofa.
When we'd settled she lifted a stack of materials from a small bra.s.s table to her right, and looked down at a two-page printout. Her part was a stark white line bisecting the crown of her head.
”These are t.i.tles of books about Quebec during the nineteenth century. I'm sure you'll find mention of the Nicolet family in many of them.”
She gave it to me and I glanced down the list, but my mind was not on elisabeth Nicolet.
”And this book is about the smallpox epidemic of 1885. It may contain some mention of elisabeth or her work. If nothing else, it will give you a sense of the times and the enormity of suffering in Montreal in those days.”
The volume was new and in perfect condition, as though no one had ever read it. I flipped a few pages, seeing nothing. What had Sandy been about to say?
”But I think you're especially going to like these.” She handed me what looked like three old ledgers, then leaned back, the smile still on her lips, but watching me intently.
The covers were gray, with deep burgundy binding and trim. Gingerly, I opened the top one and turned several pages. It smelled musty, like something kept for years in a bas.e.m.e.nt or attic. It was not a ledger, but a diary, handwritten in a bold, clear script. I glanced at the first entry: January 1, 1844. I flipped to the last: December 23, 1846.
”They are written by Louis-Philippe Belanger, elisabeth's uncle. It is known that he was a prodigious journal keeper, so, on a hunch, I checked with our rare doc.u.ments section. Sure enough, McGill owns part of the collection. I don't know where the rest of the journals are, or if they've even survived, but I could try to find out. I had to pledge my soul to get these.” She laughed. ”I borrowed the ones that date to the period of elisabeth's birth and early infancy.”
”This is too good to be true,” I said, momentarily forgetting Anna Goyette. ”I don't know what to say.”
”Say you will take exceedingly good care of them.”
”May I actually take them with me?”
”Yes. I trust you. I'm sure you appreciate their value and will treat them accordingly.”
”Daisy, I'm overwhelmed. This is more than I'd hoped for.”
She raised a hand in a gesture of dismissal, then refolded it quietly in her lap. For a moment neither of us spoke. I couldn't wait to get out of there and into the journals. Then I remembered Sister Julienne's niece. And Sandy's words.
”Daisy, I wonder if I could ask you something about Anna Goyette.”
”Yes.” She was still smiling, but her eyes grew wary.
”As you know I've been working with Sister Julienne, who is Anna's aunt.”
”I didn't know they were kin.”
”Yes. Sister Julienne called to tell me that Anna hasn't been home since yesterday morning, and her mother is very worried.”
Throughout our conversation I'd been aware of Sandy's movements as she sorted journals and placed them on shelves. The far end of the office now grew very still. Jeannotte noticed, too.
”Sandy, you must be quite tired. You go on now and take a little break.”
”I'm fi-”
”Now, please.”
Sandy's eyes met mine as she slipped past us and out the office door. Her expression was unreadable.
”Anna is a very bright young woman,” Jeannotte continued. ”A bit skittish, but a good intellect. I'm sure she's fine.” Very firm.
”Her aunt says it isn't typical for Anna to take off like this.”
”Anna probably needed some time to reflect. I know she's had some disagreements with her mama. She's probably gone off for a few days.”
Sandy had hinted that Jeannotte was protective of her students. Was that what I was seeing? Did the professor know something she wasn't telling?
”I suppose I'm more of an alarmist than most. In my work I see so many young women who aren't aren't just fine.” just fine.”
Jeannotte looked down at her hands. For a moment she was absolutely still. Then, with the same smile, ”Anna Goyette is trying to extract herself from the influence of an impossible home situation. That's all I can say, but I a.s.sure you she is well and happy.”
Why so certain? Should I? What the h.e.l.l. I threw it out to see her reaction.
”Daisy, I know this sounds bizarre, but I've heard that Anna is involved in some kind of satanic cult.”
The smile disappeared. ”I won't even ask where you picked up that information. It doesn't surprise me.” She shook her head. ”Child molesters. Psychopathic murderers. Depraved messiahs. Doomsday prophets. Satanists. The sinister neighbor who feeds a.r.s.enic to trick-or-treaters.”
”But those threats do exist.” I raised my eyebrows in question.
”Do they? Or are they just urban legends? Memorates for modern times?”
”Memorates?” I wondered how this concerned Anna.
”A term folklorists use to describe how people integrate their fears with popular legends. It's a way to explain bewildering experiences.”
My face told her I was still confused.
”Every culture has stories, folk legends that express commonly held anxieties. The fear of bogeymen, outsiders, aliens. The loss of children. When something happens we can't understand, we update old tales. The witch got Hansel and Gretel. The man in the mall got the child who wandered off. It's a way to make confusing experiences seem credible. So people tell stories of abductions by UFO's, Elvis sightings, Halloween poisonings. It always happened to a friend of a friend, a cousin, the boss's son.”
”Aren't the Halloween candy poisonings real?”
”A sociologist reviewed newspaper accounts from the 1970s and 1980s and found that during that time only two deaths could be shown to have occurred due to candy tampering, both by family members. Very few other incidents could be doc.u.mented. But the legend grew because it expresses deep-seated fears: loss of children, fear of the night, fear of strangers.”
I let her go on, waiting for the link to Anna.
”You've heard of subversion myths? Anthropologists love to discuss these.”
I dug back to a grad school seminar on mythology. ”Blame giving. Stories that find scapegoats for complicated problems.”