Kathleen watched Percy adjust his glasses as she led him toward the basement stairs.
“I still can’t believe what you discovered,” Percy said as he walked down the creaking steps. “In all my years studying local history, I never found anything suggesting your house might have been a safe haven.”
“That’s why I wanted you to see everything,” Kathleen said as she turned on the basement lights. “Chloe’s sent a sample of the documents to her friends at the Smithsonian. They’ll test them to see if they’re authentic.” The bare lightbulbs softened the walls, making them look less harsh than when they’d had four flashlights aimed at the stone. “It’s a pity she couldn’t be here this afternoon, but she had to go to Bigfork.”
Percy looked around the basement. He pulled out a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket and began writing down what he saw.
“Moving the workbench is what led you to find the door?” he asked, pointing toward the heavy wooden table they’d moved earlier.
Kathleen nodded. “Patrick wanted to take a closer look at a support beam. That’s when he saw that section of wall,” she explained, walking across the concrete floor. “We had no idea what we’d find.”
When they reached the hidden doorway, Percy stopped. Even though Kathleen had tried to describe it over the phone, seeing it in person clearly surprised him. His hands shook as he reached toward the nearly invisible line where the door met the wall.
“Beautiful work. It’s similar to what Chloe and Steve found in the old steamboat museum,” he said quietly, running his fingers along the stonework. “Whoever built this meant for it to stay hidden.”
Kathleen nodded. “Patrick was amazed by the construction, too. The extra support beams have made the foundation stronger.”
Percy’s pen hovered over his notebook. “Before we go inside, tell me again about what you found.”
“Most of the papers are damaged by water, but we could still read parts of them,” Kathleen said, lowering her voice. “There were birth dates, names, and what looked like medical records. The earliest date we could read was 1887.”
“And the baby clothes?”
“Dozens of them. All sewn by hand, and all in good condition for their age.” Kathleen paused, remembering how she’d felt holding the tiny clothes. “Someone spent a lot of time making them. They must have cared about what they were doing.”
Percy looked up from his notebook, his eyes bright with excitement. “That fits with what I’ve always thought about that era in our history. The official records from that time don’t tell us much, especially about things society didn’t want to acknowledge. But there were always people who quietly did what needed to be done.”
Kathleen opened the heavy door, and they both shone their flashlights into the hidden room. Percy drew in a sharp breath as the light showed the preserved remains from another time.
“My goodness,” he whispered, stepping carefully into the small space. “This is more than I imagined.” Percy looked at everything they’d discovered. He took pictures with a small digital camera from another pocket, talking to himself as he worked.
He stopped in front of the table where the glass bottles and metal instruments still lay. “These are what doctors would have used around 1890 for delivering babies.”
Kathleen watched Percy work. She was impressed by how systematic he was. When she showed him the metal box containing Florence’s midwifery certificate and other documents, he was speechless.
“Even without finding these papers,” he told her, “this room was definitely used as a place where women came to have their babies.”
He turned to look at the shelves of baby clothes, his hands gentle as he examined the tiny clothes. “These weren’t made quickly. Someone spent a lot of time preparing for the children who would be born here.”
Kathleen pointed toward the metal box. “Given what we’ve found, do you think Florence helped women create new identities?”
Percy frowned. “It’s highly probable, but Florence would have needed help. Do you know if she was married or had family living with her?”
Kathleen shook her head. “We haven’t had time to look at Florence’s life. Did you discover anything after I called you?”
Percy flipped back a few pages in his notebook. “I did do some quick research on the previous owners of your house. I know the Morrisons lived here for sixty years before you bought it, but I managed to trace it back a little farther. Florence’s name came up in some old property records from the early 1900s. She owned the house for several years, though the exact dates are still unclear.” Percy adjusted his glasses. “What’s interesting is that her name also appears in some church records, but not as a regular member. More like someone who helped every now and then.”
Kathleen rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. “Do you think the church knew about what she was doing?”
“I’m not sure,” Percy said carefully. “But whoever knew about what was happening here would have been sworn to secrecy. Otherwise, there would have been serious consequences for them, too.”
From upstairs, Kathleen heard Lynda laugh as she made dinner with Susan. The difference between the warm sounds above and the serious history they’d discovered in the basement felt right to Kathleen. Maybe this house had always been a place where women took care of each other.
“What happens now, Percy?” she asked. “I mean, what’s the right way to handle this?”
He put his notebook back in his pocket and aimed his flashlight toward the door. “I’ll call Chloe tonight and see what’s happening with the samples she borrowed. But we need to be very careful. This discovery could change what we know about how people helped each other in Victorian Montana. It also deals with things that were very sensitive then and still are now.”
As they walked back toward the main basement area, Percy kept thinking out loud. “We’ll need Chloe’s help, of course. Her experience at the Smithsonian will be important for preserving and documenting everything properly. And we should probably contact the state historical society.”
