he had to smile. His weekend with Jennie was full of wonderful surprises, the least of which was her amorous attitude toward sex. Paul found it embarrassing at first, but quickly realized how much he enjoyed her. She had been the first woman he’d been with in two years, but she made him feel like Rudolph Valentino.
The pleasant thoughts evaporated as he neared Burlington and remembered why he was here. Something ominous cloaked Harbor View, and he kept hearing the words of the old drunk, Hudson Cregg. “Leave while you still can!”
Paul left the car in the parking garage and walked to the Vermont Historical Society, an association housed in a group of refurbished buildings in the center of town. It served as a repository for documents and genealogical history.
A receptionist directed Paul to the library, a few steps up on the second floor. The library was housed in an early nineteenth-century building with high ceilings and dark wood molding. The main room had several brick fireplaces and a glass chandelier. Huge oak tables with captains’ chairs dominated the floor. The smell of old books prevailed. Paul was surprised at the amount of material available. Everything was carefully catalogued.
Paul began his search by looking up genealogical information from Cutting, refining it by adding the name Baxter.
This time he found a wealth of information.
In fact, there were several drawers full of information. After a half hour, Paul found what he was looking for: a reference to Charles Baxter. He was born December 8, 1885, the son of James and Elsie Baxter. He died on April 24, 1946, the husband of Barbara Baxter. No cause of death was given. No children of record. Paul raised his head and stared out the window.
No children of record! Then who was Philip Baxter?
He could feel tiny gooseflesh rise up on the nape of his neck.
They must be mistaken, Paul surmised. Perhaps Charles Baxter had adopted Phillip and it never made it into the public record. After all, there was a thriving industry of baby sellers back in the thirties. But, the resemblance between the two...
Going back to the generalized information, Paul got a book that summarized the history of Charles Baxter. Apparently Baxter was recognized at the time as the foremost expert on medicinal plants and their relationship to indigenous cultures. His PhD. was from Harvard where he was a part time botany professor.
Paul lowered the book and stared off into space while he collected his thoughts. Alarm bells were going off in his head. Too many coincidences . He shook his head and quietly laughed at himself. He’d been watching too many horror movies. His imagination was taking melodramatic leaps.
After spending a few more minutes going over the Baxter file, Paul decided to go to the computer room and search old newspaper articles. He had no idea whether he would find anything, or if any articles had even been saved from that long ago. And if they were, would they be of any use?
Paul typed in:
http://newsarticles.com/charlesabaxter/harborview
After a minute, a list of articles appeared on the screen. Some dated back to 1930. Most had to do with contributions Baxter had made to the scientific community. Especially in the field of ethno-botony, the study of plants and their effects on indigenous peoples. Then, almost by mistake, Paul pulled up another article. This one was about a political contribution Baxter had made to the Governor’s campaign fund. It had a picture of the Governor of Vermont in 1949. Ainsworth Abbott. Paul almost fell out of his chair.
Ainsworth Abbott!
Paul recognized Abbott. He was a resident at Harbor View.
Next, Paul had another idea. He typed in the name of Baxter’s faithful secretary, Margaret Melvin. An article popped up with an accompanying photo. What he saw sent a chill through him.
This cant be!
For a few moments, Paul just stared at the computer screen and tried to imagine how it was possible. In one sense, he was pleased.
The pleasant thoughts evaporated as he neared Burlington and remembered why he was here. Something ominous cloaked Harbor View, and he kept hearing the words of the old drunk, Hudson Cregg. “Leave while you still can!”
Paul left the car in the parking garage and walked to the Vermont Historical Society, an association housed in a group of refurbished buildings in the center of town. It served as a repository for documents and genealogical history.
A receptionist directed Paul to the library, a few steps up on the second floor. The library was housed in an early nineteenth-century building with high ceilings and dark wood molding. The main room had several brick fireplaces and a glass chandelier. Huge oak tables with captains’ chairs dominated the floor. The smell of old books prevailed. Paul was surprised at the amount of material available. Everything was carefully catalogued.
Paul began his search by looking up genealogical information from Cutting, refining it by adding the name Baxter.
This time he found a wealth of information.
In fact, there were several drawers full of information. After a half hour, Paul found what he was looking for: a reference to Charles Baxter. He was born December 8, 1885, the son of James and Elsie Baxter. He died on April 24, 1946, the husband of Barbara Baxter. No cause of death was given. No children of record. Paul raised his head and stared out the window.
No children of record! Then who was Philip Baxter?
He could feel tiny gooseflesh rise up on the nape of his neck.
They must be mistaken, Paul surmised. Perhaps Charles Baxter had adopted Phillip and it never made it into the public record. After all, there was a thriving industry of baby sellers back in the thirties. But, the resemblance between the two...
Going back to the generalized information, Paul got a book that summarized the history of Charles Baxter. Apparently Baxter was recognized at the time as the foremost expert on medicinal plants and their relationship to indigenous cultures. His PhD. was from Harvard where he was a part time botany professor.
Paul lowered the book and stared off into space while he collected his thoughts. Alarm bells were going off in his head. Too many coincidences . He shook his head and quietly laughed at himself. He’d been watching too many horror movies. His imagination was taking melodramatic leaps.
After spending a few more minutes going over the Baxter file, Paul decided to go to the computer room and search old newspaper articles. He had no idea whether he would find anything, or if any articles had even been saved from that long ago. And if they were, would they be of any use?
Paul typed in:
http://newsarticles.com/charlesabaxter/harborview
After a minute, a list of articles appeared on the screen. Some dated back to 1930. Most had to do with contributions Baxter had made to the scientific community. Especially in the field of ethno-botony, the study of plants and their effects on indigenous peoples. Then, almost by mistake, Paul pulled up another article. This one was about a political contribution Baxter had made to the Governor’s campaign fund. It had a picture of the Governor of Vermont in 1949. Ainsworth Abbott. Paul almost fell out of his chair.
Ainsworth Abbott!
Paul recognized Abbott. He was a resident at Harbor View.
Next, Paul had another idea. He typed in the name of Baxter’s faithful secretary, Margaret Melvin. An article popped up with an accompanying photo. What he saw sent a chill through him.
This cant be!
For a few moments, Paul just stared at the computer screen and tried to imagine how it was possible. In one sense, he was pleased.
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