Thomas sat down in the leather rolling chair, giving the mouse a shake. “You can have a seat, if you’d like.”
“Thanks.” I tried to sound more comfortable than I was, taking the chair against the window and pulling my bag into my lap. The view overlooked the widest part of the river, where a few boulders split the water into four sections that ran white over the rocks.
“Thankfully, birth records have all been digitized now, which should make this pretty simple,” he said, eyeing me over the computer screen. “Who is it we’re looking for?”
My mother’s name felt like it was lodged in my throat. There wasn’t anyone in Jasper who wouldn’t recognize it.
“It’s Susanna Farrow, actually.”
The shape of his mouth changed. He stared at me.
“A different Susanna Farrow. Someone further back in the family.”
“Oh. Same spelling?” He relaxed just enough for me to notice.
I nodded.
He typed, hitting the keys in a steady rhythm, but he frowned when his eyes ran over the screen. “I don’t see anything here. Do you know anything else about her? Parents’ names, maybe?”
I shook my head. “No, that’s what I was trying to find out. She was married to Nathaniel Rutherford.”
Thomas’s expression changed again, and he sat back in the chair, his elbows finding the armrests. “Really.”
I waited, unsure of what his reaction meant.
“If that’s what you’re after, you can just say it, Ms. Farrow. You’re not the first person who’s come to this church trying to dig up information about that case.”
“I’m not trying to dig up anything,” I said, realizing that wasn’t quite true. “A woman with the same name as my mother was married to Nathaniel, and I’m just trying to figure out who she was.”
He surveyed me, and I had the distinct feeling he was trying to decide if I was lying.
“Really. I don’t care anything about the minister.” That was the truth.
“Well, I imagine there’s not much documentation on her since she died so young.”
“What?” I sat up straighter in my chair.
“Oh, yes. Nathaniel is well known because of the murder, of course. But his story was quite tragic long before then.”
“What happened?”
“Well,” Thomas said on an exhale. “His father was the minister at this church for years, but he died of a heart attack just after Nathaniel married. He was just a young man.” His hand lifted, a finger pointing to the open door that led to the sanctuary. “He was preaching God’s word at that very pulpit when it happened.”
I couldn’t help but look. The simple white wooden podium stood up a few steps on a small stage that overlooked the pews.
“Nathaniel took over his father’s position. But not long after, he and his wife had a daughter and she died.”
“Daughter?” My voice bent the word.
Thomas’s bottom lip jutted out. “She was just a baby. His wife never recovered. They say she lost her mind.”
I cringed. If I’d had any doubt left that she really was a Farrow, that one detail extinguished it.
“She took her own life up at Longview Falls. Like I said—tragic.”
My lips parted, a deep, dull pain erupting behind my ribs.
“Nathaniel never remarried, dedicating his life to the congregation of this church. He’s buried out there. His wife and daughter, too.”
My eyes went out the window again, to the waterfront down the hill. Only a mile and a half downstream, the river dumped over Longview Falls. The idea of the woman in the photograph tumbling over its edge made my stomach turn.
I swallowed hard. “Try Rutherford,” I said.
“What?”
“See if there are any records for Susanna Rutherford. Maybe it’ll have a birth date somewhere?”
“That could work.” He turned back to the computer, typing.
The phone in my bag buzzed and I reached inside, pulling it out. A picture of Mason standing in front of the barn lit up the screen behind his name. I silenced the call and dropped the phone into the bag, rubbing at my temple in an attempt to soothe the ache growing there.
“Here we go,” Thomas murmured.
I stood, coming around the desk to see the screen over his shoulder. The website looked like some kind of database, the words Presbyterian Regional Assembly visible at the top of the page.
“There’s a baptism record linked to her married name.” He clicked on the file, and a black-and-white scan of an old log opened, filling the entire screen. Row after row of names and dates were recorded in the same ornate handwriting.
Thomas leaned in closer, eyes roaming over the entries, but he looked to the door when the sound of footsteps echoed out in the sanctuary. He pushed away from the desk, getting to his feet. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Tom,” a woman’s voice called back.
“Excuse me.” He stepped around the desk, leaving me alone in the office, and I took his chair.
The old style of calligraphy made the words almost impossible to read, and it was made more difficult by the glare coming through the window. I dragged a finger over the screen slowly until I found it.
Susanna Rutherford.
It was listed under the field MOTHER. The record wasn’t for Susanna’s baptism. It was for her child’s.
The name stared back at me, but it didn’t look familiar anymore. There was something that felt twisted about it. Distorted, almost.
I reached for the mouse and zoomed in on the page, reading the entire entry carefully. It was dated 1912.
Baptized by Nathaniel Rutherford on the 4th day of April, with her mother, Susanna Rutherford, as witness.
My eyes stopped on the next name, my throat closing up painfully. I read it again. And again.
June Rutherford.
June.
I pushed away from the desk, sending the chair rolling backward a few inches. As if that space between me and the computer would somehow change what was written there. But the more I stared at it, the blacker the ink appeared. It was almost as if it were moving on the screen. Rippling like water.
Voices echoed on the other side of the open office door, followed by more footsteps. I pulled the phone from my bag, taking a picture of the screen before I closed out of the document Thomas had opened and I deleted Susanna’s name from the search field. My hands were trembling as my fingers left the mouse.
“Find anything?” Thomas came back through the door as a car engine sounded outside.
“Not really.” I smiled shakily. “But thanks anyway.” I stood, pulling the bag back over my shoulder before making my way past him.
“You know,” Thomas said, waiting for me to look at him. “You’re always welcome here. If you ever need anything. Even just to talk.”
I pressed my lips together, unable to muster any kind of answer. What would he think if I told him about the photograph and baptism record? What would he say if I divulged the creeping thought that was unspooling in my fractured mind?
His smile faded in the eerie silence that fell over the room.
I turned on my heel, following the aisle back to the open doors. My feet flew over the steps, and I didn’t draw in a full breath until I was outside with the sunlight touching my skin. There was a tightening in my chest. A pinch at its center that made the lump in my throat expand.