“I thought most of the farmers around here leased their land from the Winter Families,” Ben said. That was the impression he’d gotten from the Swannhaven Trust meetings he’d attended.
“Used to be the case for all of them. But times come in both good and bad. All the families have had to sell some land over the years. Think of the Swanns: once the richest in the land, but in the end the bank got it all. Fortune comes hand in hand with misfortune around here. But you know that,” she said. Ben looked up at her. “You live in their house. Wouldn’t you say they had a taste of both?”
“Yes, that’s true,” Ben said. “Sorry to hear about the Kirkwoods’ troubles, though.”
“Well, everyone’s got some of their own, I suppose. The sorry year we’re having, it’s a wonder that the bank hasn’t taken half the land in the valley. The town’s bleeding money as it is. We can’t afford to lose any more taxpayers. You know it as well as I from the trust meetings. This year’s worse than last, and last year was mighty bad. Especially with the sickness still hitting the herds. Don’t know how we’re going to keep everything running. Some say we should ask North Hampstead to annex us. Sure, it would save us a pretty penny, but it’s still hard to believe it’s come to that.”
“It won’t come to that,” Ben said. Now it was Lisbeth’s turn to look at him. “Swannhaven’s been through a lot in three hundred years. It’s going to take more than a burst real estate bubble to finish it off.”
“It warms my heart to hear you say so.” Lisbeth smiled. “Now tell me how things are going for you.”
Ben didn’t bring up Hudson; he told her about the progress they’d made on the house. He also mentioned how his book was going, but he was vague on the details. Swannhaven was a private place, and he didn’t know how the villagers would react to the subject of his novel. He mentioned that his brother would be staying with them for Christmas, though Ted traveled so much for work that Ben wasn’t sure when he’d be coming up.
“Must be a success, too, then. Must be in the blood.”
“Were the Lowells a success?” Ben asked. The ruins of their dreary farm did not speak of any great achievements. The people there might have been happy and proud and good, but he had not sensed accomplishment.
“Oh.” She squeezed a wedge of lemon into her tea. “The Lowells were always well thought of around here.”
Ben noticed a yellowed front page with a huge headline framed and hanging on the wall behind Lisbeth. The Great Fire, it read.
“How bad was that?” Ben gestured to the frame.
“The Great Fire of 1878. Let’s say there used to be a lot more buildings in town. Used to be a town, for that matter.”
“That was around the time the railroad went under, too?”
“That’s right,” Lisbeth said. “Though I don’t remember that coming up at the Preservation Society.”
“I’ve been doing a little research on my own,” Ben said. He reached for the milk and he felt her eyes on him. “Oh, and before I forget, Caroline and I are having some people over next Friday—we’re inviting everyone from the trust, and the Bishops will be there, too. We’d love for you to come.”
“Lord knows I’ve been half-dying to see what you’ve done with the place.”
“We’re hoping people can come over between six and seven o’clock; can you get away from the Lancelight by then?”
“It’s the slow season. This time of year, one of the girls could work the register, walk the floor, man the grill, and still have enough time to do her nails.”
“That’s great. We’re both excited to show you around.”
“Likewise. Now, should we get down to business? I could jabber on all day, but the old copies of the Dispatch are in the cellar.” She got up and Ben followed her into the kitchen.
The steps to the cellar were narrow and steep. As they descended, the air became colder. The tight, damp feel of the space reminded Ben of the old Lowell farmhouse.
“You’re welcome to look at anything down here,” Lisbeth said. They’d reached the bottom of the stairs, and the cellar was larger than Ben had expected. There were cardboard boxes piled against three sides of the room and a small desk and chair arranged along the remaining wall. A few framed portraits were hung above the desk. “You won’t find everything in here, but you’ll find everything that survived. Between fires, floods, and careless clerks, you’re sure to see a couple gaps here and there. You know what you’re looking for?”
“I guess I’m most interested in the major events that the village has been through. It seems to have a more action-packed history than most.”
“That’s a pretty way of phrasing it,” Lisbeth said.
“I’m still curious about the Winter Siege, but I guess the Dispatch doesn’t go back that far. I’d love to learn more about the Great Fire that the issue upstairs mentioned, or anything else that you think is interesting.”
“There was a problem with poisoned water during the Depression.” She moved closer to the stack of boxes. “The Black Water. The crates should be labeled with the year of the issues inside, but I wouldn’t count on much more organization than that. I’d try ’33 for that one. The Great Fire was in 1878. And there was also the sickness that cut through the milk herds; ’82 for that calamity.”
“That’s the same thing that the cows are getting now?” Ben asked.
Lisbeth nodded. “Still hasn’t gotten as bad as ’82, though. Not yet, praise God.”
“I’d love to know more about that. And I’m interested in the fire at the Crofts that killed the Swann boys in the early eighties.”