Kathleen brushed the dirt from her gardening gloves. Her first instinct was to politely but firmly send the woman away, but something in Piper made her pause. There was a genuineness in her that had been missing from the other people who had arrived unexpectedly.
“What can we do for you, Ms. Adams?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.
“I’m a documentary filmmaker,” Piper said, then quickly continued when she saw Kathleen’s expression change. “Please, let me explain. I’m not here to exploit Miriam and Florence’s story or to invade your privacy. I’ve been researching networks like hers for years, although none of them created new identities for the unmarried mothers.”
Kathleen relaxed slightly. Unlike the other media people who’d contacted her, Piper wasn’t pushing for immediate access or treating the story like a sensational scoop.
“I drove here from Seattle,” Piper continued, “because what Florence and Miriam did is part of a larger story about women looking after each other. My own great-great-grandmother was helped by a similar network in Vancouver.”
The personal connection caught Kathleen’s attention. “Your great-great-grandmother?”
“She was seventeen and pregnant. Her family abandoned her.” Piper’s voice grew quieter. “A woman like Florence took her in and gave her the chance to build a life for herself and her daughter. Without that help, I wouldn’t be here today.”
Kathleen felt something shift inside her chest. Piper wasn’t here to exploit their discovery for quick fame or profit. She was someone who understood, on a deeply personal level, the significance of what Florence and her aunt had done.
“I understand you must be overwhelmed by all the attention,” Piper said, glancing between Kathleen and Patrick. “The last thing I want is to add to that pressure. But I’ve been working on a documentary about these forgotten networks for three years, and what you found could add a new dimension to the story.”
Kathleen studied Piper’s face, looking for signs of the calculated ambition she’d seen in other reporters. Instead, she saw genuine passion tempered by respect.
“What exactly are you proposing?” she asked, curious about Piper’s answer.
“A historically accurate documentary that would focus on Florence and Miriam’s work within the broader context of the other underground networks,” Piper said, her words gaining confidence. “I’m not interested in sensationalizing their story or turning your house into a tourist attraction. I want to honor their legacy.”
Patrick stepped forward. “You mentioned other networks. The Smithsonian sent us some information about two other groups of people who helped pregnant women. Were there others?”
Kathleen was grateful for his question. It gave her a chance to learn more about Piper’s work and discover more about the secret network of women.
Piper’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “It was more extensive than most people realize. Women performed this work across the West, including Montana, Colorado, California, and even Washington. Canada was no different. They were often midwives like Florence or widows with resources like her aunt. They corresponded with each other, shared resources, even helped move women from one safe house to another.”
Kathleen was amazed that Piper knew so much. “If we hadn’t discovered the hidden room, I never would have known about this part of our history.”
“A lot of people don’t know anything about it,” Piper said. “Stories have been lost because everyone worked in secret. It doesn’t help that women’s history has been undervalued for so long.” Piper took a spiral-bound document out of her bag. “I put together all the information I’ve found so far. You can have this.”
Kathleen stepped forward and took the heavy document. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. From what I’ve heard, the records you found are the most complete of any documentation that’s been discovered.”
Kathleen nodded. “That’s what the Smithsonian said, too. Would you like to sit down and talk about this properly?” she asked, surprising Patrick and Piper. “I don’t want to make any commitments, but I’d like to learn more about the documentary.”
Piper’s face brightened with hope and gratitude. “Of course. I’ve brought examples of my previous work and personal references from the people I’ve interviewed.”
“There’s a table on the back porch where we can sit,” Kathleen said, making the decision before she could second-guess herself. “Patrick, would you mind making some coffee?”
As they moved toward the house, a cautious optimism began to replace the exhaustion that Kathleen had been carrying since the story went public. For the first time since Mabel’s post, she was talking to someone outside of her friends and family who understood the historical significance of the discovery. And, more importantly, how it needed to be shared.
While Patrick prepared coffee in the kitchen, Kathleen listened as Piper explained her background and showed her examples of her previous documentaries. Piper’s approach to her work was professional but personal. She clearly understood the difference between historical preservation and media exploitation.
“I’m a single mother myself,” Piper said, pulling out photographs from her research. “My daughter is eight, and I want her to grow up knowing about women like Florence and Miriam. Regardless of what society expected of them, they saw injustice and chose to act, even when it was dangerous.”
Piper’s photographs showed documents similar to what they’d found in Kathleen’s basement. There were letters exchanged between women in different cities, along with a few pictures of other safe houses. Kathleen studied them with growing amazement. Even after reading the information the Smithsonian had sent her, she hadn’t realized how widespread the network was.
“This is remarkable,” she said when Patrick returned with the coffee tray. “We were told that other women were doing similar things. But I had no idea it was so extensive.”
“What Florence and Miriam did was part of something much larger,” Piper agreed, accepting coffee gratefully. “But their contribution was unique because of how thoroughly they documented their work. Most of the other networks left very little trace of their activities.”
Patrick settled into his chair, and Kathleen could feel his protective attention even as he studied Piper with growing interest. His presence gave Kathleen the confidence to ask the questions that mattered the most.
“How would you handle my privacy?” she asked Piper. “I didn’t expect all this attention. If we were part of the documentary, it could make it ten times worse.”
