The Quincy Bay Quandary, page 15
“Any chance it’s still standing?” Geneva asked.
“Not only is the building still standing, but it’s now a part of the National Park Service. It’s in Cambridge.”
“Where’s that from here?” Drake asked.
“Back toward Boston, about an hour from here,” Geneva answered. “You want to go for a drive, don’t you?”
Drake looked at her, then gave her a smile. “It is a historical site, right?”
“It is,” Ingrid said. “Not only did Washington use the house as his headquarters, but Longfellow owned it as well.”
“Longfellow the poet?” Allie asked.
“Yep.”
“That is interesting. I’m in if you guys are,” Allie said.
Geneva smiled. “Okay. Let’s go get the car and hit the road.”
An hour in the mid-afternoon traffic took an hour and a half, but eventually Geneva found her way to Cambridge and parked in front of the Longfellow house. The house was a three-story mansion, painted yellow with a large white door, white window trim, and black shutters. There was a large yard in front, and the quartet walked up the front sidewalk and stood before the house’s door.
Drake took off his hat, scratched his head, and put his hat back on. “Looks too good for being so old. They must have rebuilt it at some point.”
Geneva pulled on Drake’s arm to move him along. “Let’s go find out.”
“Welcome to the Longfellow House,” the park ranger said as the friends entered the visitor center. “Are you interested in a tour?”
Drake stepped forward to represent the group. “Sure. Could you tell us a little about the house’s history first?”
“Of course. As you can see from the outside, they built the house in the Georgian style in 1759 for John Vassall, Jr., who used the home as a summer residence. In 1774, patriots confiscated the house, and General George Washington used it from 1775 to 1776 as his house and headquarters. The house passed through various hands after the war. Ultimately, poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow received it as a wedding gift from the father of his new bride Frances Appleton. After his death, the surviving Longfellow children put the house into a trust in 1913, and in 1972 the trust donated the property to the National Park Service.”
“What’s in the house now?” Geneva asked.
“Since the Longfellow family held the property for so long, the house is as when Henry lived and worked here. There’s also an excellent exhibit based on some guests the Longfellow family had come through. The dignitaries included Charles Dickens, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Oliver Wendell Holmes. The emperor of Brazil once visited as well.”
“That all sounds cool, but we’re primarily interested when Washington used the house as his headquarters. Are there any exhibits highlighting that era?”
“Yes. There is one room that was used as Washington’s office when he was in the house that is set up the way we believe it was back then.”
“Can we check out that one?” Drake asked.
“You’re not interested in the rest of the house?” the ranger asked. “Usually when people visit, they want to experience what it was like in the time of the Longfellows.”
“Oh, you see, our friends here are visiting from Nashville. They came all the way here to learn about the American Revolution. We wanted to show them something associated with General Washington,” Geneva explained.
“You don’t want to tour anything else, just the Washington room?”
“Not unless it was authentic to the time Washington was here,” Geneva clarified.
“Well, why don’t you four follow me and I’ll take you over,” the ranger said.
“Are you sure you can leave your post? What if someone else comes in?” Allie asked.
The ranger smiled at her, then stood, and reached for his hat. “Not a problem. My partner should be back soon, and it won’t take us long to see the one room.”
He led the group from the visitor’s center and locked up behind him. He led the party to the entry door of the mansion, and they stepped into the blue entryway. They walked directly through the front parlor and into a room dedicated to Washington’s stay at the house.
Along one wall was a fireplace, and above the fireplace were portraits of George and Martha Washington. There stood a simple wood table underneath the lone window. Scattered on the tabletop were several maps and pieces of correspondence. On a mannequin in the corner was a reproduction of Washington’s coat and hat, and a side table held a few old books.
“Not much to learn here,” Drake said.
“That’s why there’s only the one room,” the ranger explained. “When Washington left the house, they took pretty much everything with them when they moved on to the Dexter House in Dedham. What we have here is a basic recreation based on what few items we had from the time.”
“Is there anything original?” Drake asked.
The ranger shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. Even the portraits are reproductions. If you want to see the originals, you’d have to go down to D.C.”
Ingrid pointed at a framed hand-written document on the wall. “What’s this?”
The ranger walked over to it and straightened the frame. “This is actually an original. A poem written by Phillis Wheatley entitled ‘To His Excellency, George Washington’ that she sent to Washington himself in 1775. What you see on the wall there is what the Pennsylvania Gazette republished in 1776.”
“I’ve never heard of Phillis Wheatley,” Geneva said.
“I’m not surprised, although more people should. Historians consider Wheatley the first African-American author of a published book of poetry. She was born in West Africa, kidnapped, and sold as a slave. When she came to North America, the Wheatley family bought her. She learned to read and write and started writing poetry. After she published her first book, she got emancipated. Rumor has it she and Washington corresponded with each other several times, and newspapers published several more of her poems.”
“What happened to her?” Ingrid asked.
“She died young and poor in Boston.” The ranger’s radio squawked, and he stepped out of the room to take the call.
“While we have a moment alone, look around and check if we missed anything important,” Drake ordered.
The four split up and inspected everything in the room. Drake dedicated his effort to the fireplace. They looked for clues, but there was nothing to be found. Dejected, they left the room, walked out of the house, and found the ranger outside, still having a conversation over the radio.
The ranger spotted the group, waved at them, then headed back toward the visitor’s center.
“Well? What now?” Geneva asked. “Should we do a loop around the exterior? Check out the carriage house?”
Drake scrunched his face and shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s worth it. I think we finally hit the end of the road here. So, with that, back to geocaching. Is there anything around here to find?”
Ingrid was the first to open her app and check. “There’s an EarthCache and a multi-cache nearby. Those are the two closest. Anyone interested?”
“You know I’m not a fan of EarthCaches,” Allie said. “How hard does the multi look?”
Ingrid brought up the cache detail and checked it out.“Doesn’t look too bad at all. Looks like stage one gets you the call number, and they hid the final inside of the library.”
Allie’s face brightened. “You should have led with that. I love library caches!”
Five minutes later, they were in the parking lot of the library, and were looking for stage one around the library’s bulletin board.
Drake spotted it first. “I have it. It’s 796.233.”
“You sure?” Geneva asked.
Drake pointed at the sheet he was reading from. “They have a list of the most popular books of the month. One is titled Finding Tupperware in the Woods by G. Cacher.”
Geneva nodded. “Good enough for me. Let’s go in.”
Drake held the outer door and let the ladies enter the library before him. As with entering any library for the first time, it took them a couple of minutes to get their bearings. It wasn’t long until they headed for the 796 section of the stacks. Once there, all four of them scanned the shelves until Allie pointed at the book they needed.
Geneva pulled the volume from the shelf and opened the book. They had all seen geocaches in libraries before. Some were fake books; some were plastic containers hidden in book sleeves. The most common was the one they had before them. Someone had gone through the work of cutting a hole in the inner pages, leaving just enough on the edges to make it resemble an actual book. They glued the title page to a thin piece of cardboard, and when Geneva turned the page, they found the goodies inside. The contents included a green plastic army man, a pair of red dice, and a coupon for a free ice cream cone. Geneva pulled the paper log from inside and passed it around. Once everyone signed, she tucked it back into the book and returned the book to the shelf.
Together, they all left the section and headed toward the door. On the way out, Allie stopped when she got to a computer, hit the spacebar to activate the screen, and brought up the library catalog. Once she got in there, she did a name search on Phillis Wheatley, and found a grand total of one book in her name. She jotted down the Dewey Decimal number for the book on a scratch pad next to the computer and ripped the page from the pad. She turned to ask a question, but discovered all her friends were gone.
Allie shrugged, glanced at the note, and headed back to the stacks to find the American poetry section. When she got to the eight-elevens, she scanned the shelf but couldn’t find the book she wanted. Allie took a step back, put her fingers on the book a few spots ahead of where she expected the volume to be, and touched each book in sequence to make sure she hadn’t missed it. Once satisfied she hadn’t just passed it over, she checked the shelf above where the book should have been. When that was unsuccessful, she checked the shelf below. There, in the American Drama section, was the book she wanted.
Allie opened the book and checked the table of contents. In there she noticed the same poem she saw hanging on the wall of the Longfellow House, and several others as well.
“There you are. Where did you disappear to?” Ingrid said as she appeared in the aisle. “Allie? Are you there?”
Allie looked up from the book, then closed it. “Sorry, what?”
“We got back to the car and realized you weren’t there. Drake wanted to leave you behind, but I said I’d come in and look for you.”
Allie grinned. “He’s such a dork, isn’t he? Hey, do you have a library card that works for this library?”
Ingrid held up her phone. “Sure. There’s an app for that.”
“Can you check out this book for me?” Allie handed the volume of poetry over to Ingrid, who took it and glanced at the spine.
Ingrid raised an eyebrow and held the book up. “What’s this about? A little light reading?”
Allie smiled. “Just a hunch. Can you get it for me, pretty please?”
“I don’t know. Checking out a book for someone else can be a dangerous thing. You never know if they will return it, and the next thing you know, you’ve racked up a dollar’s worth of late fees and your card gets disabled.”
“You’re just as big of a dork as Drake is. Come on, let’s get out of here before they really leave us behind.”
Chapter Sixteen
It was a few minutes after eight, and Allie had settled into bed with the Phillis Wheatley book when she heard a gentle knock at her door. She threw the covers off her, plodded over to the door, and opened it, and discovered Ingrid standing there.
“I’m sorry. Hey, I get I should have called first, but I thought since I was nearby anyway, I’d stop by. I have a question for you.”
“Sure, what is it?”
Ingrid smiled. “Would you like to meet my cat?”
“Your cat? I didn’t know you had a cat. Want to come in?”
Without waiting for the answer, Allie backed away from the door to allow Ingrid room to enter. “Are you serious about me meeting your cat?”
Ingrid nodded. “I realize it seems silly.”
“Is your cat here?”
“Of course not. She’s back at my apartment. It looks like you’re ready for bed. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you be and catch you tomorrow.”
Ingrid turned to leave, but Allie reached out and grabbed her arm. “No, wait. I’d love to meet your cat. Give me a moment to get dressed.”
Allie grabbed her jeans that were folded over the back of the chair, took off her sweats, and got into her jeans. She tucked her t-shirt into her pants and zipped them up. She grabbed her room key from the top of the dresser and slipped into her shoes.
“Okay, I’m ready. Lead the way,” Allie said.
Forty-five minutes later, Ingrid slipped the key into the lock of her apartment door. “Watch out. She likes to make a break for it sometimes.”
Allie took a step back and waited for a little ball of fur to rush her way the second that Ingrid opened the door a crack, but no cat appeared.
“And sometimes she doesn’t.” Ingrid stepped over the threshold and flipped a light switch.
There was a small bench next to the door in the entryway, and Ingrid slipped out of her shoes and tucked them under the bench. To be polite, Allie followed suit.
Ingrid walked into the living room and turned on another light. “Come on in and make yourself at home. I’ll go find Roxie.”
Allie sat down on the couch and looked around the room. There was a television set and three bookshelves, crammed with books, on the opposite wall from the couch. In front of the couch was a small coffee table holding a laptop, and in front of the balcony windows was a small easy chair. From where she sat, Allie could look at the area set aside as the dining area, which contained a small square table and two chairs, and a door she assumed led to the kitchen.
A shadow crossed the room and the next thing she knew, Allie’s breath was knocked out of her chest as the largest cat she’d ever seen jumped into her lap. She tried to push the beast away, but instead, the cat reached up and put its paws over Allie’s shoulder and nuzzled in her ear. The cat’s purr was loud enough to make Allie believe she was on an airplane.
“Oh, you found Roxie!” Ingrid said as she came back into view.
“More like Roxie found me. I was expecting a house cat, not a full-grown tiger.”
“She’s part Maine Coon, part Russian Blue.”
“She’s gorgeous is what she is,” Allie said as she petted the cat’s slate gray fur. “Is she going to get any bigger?”
“Oh, I hope not. She’s almost like having an elephant for a pet as it is. Here, let me take her from you.”
Ingrid grabbed Roxie and with a grunt, lifted the cat and placed her on the chair. The cat stood, did a lazy circle, and laid down. Roxie put her head on her paws and closed her green eyes.
“Thanks for coming over. You want something to drink? Beer? Soda? Water?” Ingrid asked, mindful of being a good host.
“I’d take a glass of water, thanks.”
“Ice?”
“No. Straight out of the tap is fine.”
Ingrid traipsed into the kitchen and returned with two bottles of room temperature water and passed one over to Allie, opened the other, and took a drink.
Allie waited. She sensed Ingrid wanted to say something. She didn’t, and instead, Ingrid played with the bottle cap and stared at her cat. “Everything okay, Ingrid?”
Ingrid turned her attention from Roxie and gave it to Allie. “Can we talk about last night?”
“Of course. What’s on your mind?” Allie put her bottle on the floor and turned sideways in her seat, so she was facing Ingrid.
Ingrid looked from Allie to the floor, picked a spot on the carpet, and stared at it. “I wanted you to understand that I realized last night was really special. It was a first for me, for sure, and I didn’t want you to think that I did it just because I think you’re pretty. I really like you, and I’ve never had these feelings for anyone the way I feel them for you.”
Allie reached over, placed her fingers beneath Ingrid’s chin, and gently lifted her head to force her to make eye contact.
“Wait. You said I’m pretty?” Allie asked.
Ingrid hesitated and nodded.
“I think you’re pretty, too. Beautiful, in fact. You should know that I’ve never felt this way before, either. I’ve been in quasi-relationships with both men and women, but never anything serious. I’ve never thought about wanting anything serious. At least, until I met you.”
Ingrid took Allie’s hand in hers. “I’m in love with you, Allie. Since the moment I first saw you last year.”
Allie squeezed Ingrid’s hand. “I love you, too.”
Ingrid’s face turned from uncertainty with a side of fear to exuberance in a heartbeat. “So now what?”
Allie leaned forward and gave Ingrid a gentle, lingering kiss. “I have no clue. You tell me.”
The next morning, Allie’s eyes fluttered open, and she was aware of three things. First was the sunlight peering in through the window. The second was the sensation of an enormous weight on her lower legs. The third, and best, were Ingrid’s blue eyes looking at her.
“Good morning,” Allie said. “How long have you been awake?”
“Only a few minutes. I wanted to glance at you to make sure last night wasn’t a dream. Now that I say it out loud, that sounds super creepy.”
Allie smiled. “No. Not creepy at all. Why can’t I move? Did you drug me? Because that would be super creepy.”
Ingrid laughed. “Nope, that never crossed my mind. You’re sleeping on Roxie’s side of the bed, and she decided that you’re only a lumpy part of the mattress. Roxie, time to get up. Roxie, up.”
Allie sighed when the blood came rushing back to her legs as the cat stood, stretched, and finally jumped down to the floor with a loud thump. She leaned over, gave Ingrid a kiss.
