Remember, Annie, you’re a woman on a mission, she told herself. No stopping to explore until you finish at the reservation.
She pulled out of the driveway, not surprised to see that the windows of the carriage house were still dark. Alice had been aghast during their phone conversation the previous night when she heard about Annie’s early departure time. “The only thing that could get me out so early is fire raging through the house,” Alice had declared. Annie was determined to find another method of luring Alice to experience a glorious Maine sunrise and toyed with ideas as she headed for Route 1 North.
Annie made good time winding through towns like Belfast, Bucksport, and Orland, stopping only once in Ellsworth to stretch her legs and grab some coffee at the 1950s retro Martha’s Diner. The coffee was good, and she could tell by the crowd, the aroma, and snatches of conversations that it was a place worth revisiting when she had time to sit down for a meal.
Just after eleven o’clock Annie found the tribal government office at Sipayik on Route 190. A circular drive encompassed a grassy circle where two flagpoles stood, one flying the Passamaquoddy flag and the other the Stars and Stripes. Annie turned to the right and parked near the entrance of the long one-story building. Inside, the large central room was reminiscent of the offices of Annie and Wayne’s dealership in Texas, with light painted walls, standard business desks outfitted with phones and computers, and a large copy machine against a wall with a large calendar from an Eastport Realtor hanging near it. Two women were standing beside one of the desks, their heads bent over an open file folder. They glanced up when Annie stepped over the threshold and one of them, whose ID badge identified as Janet, came to greet her.
“Hello. Are you from the university?” she asked pleasantly.
“Oh, no. I’m not.” Annie stammered a little, caught off guard.
“Oops. We had a call from the linguistics department last week, asking if they could send another doctoral student for some research. Thought that might be you.” From the good-humored squint of Janet’s dark eyes under a glossy brown fringe of bangs, Annie got the feeling visits from academics were common occurrences.
“My university days are long past.” Annie grinned. “But I am here to do some research, personal though.” She told Janet about her discovery in the attic and showed her the box and collar. “I’d like to find out if Clara Stewart is registered with the tribe. A Passamaquoddy friend suggested I start here.”
Janet nodded to the other woman, indicating she could return to what she’d been doing before Annie came. “What’s your friend’s name?” she asked.
“Cecil Lewey.”
A smile sprang instantly into Janet’s eyes, fanning across her face. “Cecil! One of the best dancers I’ve ever seen. It would be a shame if I didn’t help a friend of his.”
Janet’s eyes moved to the box and collar. “These are very personal heirlooms,” she said. “What was the name again?”
“Clara Stewart,” answered Annie. “I assume that is her married name. She was married in 1904 or earlier. I don’t know her maiden name.”
Janet moved to a desk with a computer and sat down at the keyboard. Her fingers flew over the keys, accessing the Passamaquoddy registry.
“Got something!” Janet exclaimed triumphantly. “1886, Clara Mitchell, born to William and Catherine Mitchell. She married Finlay Stewart in 1902. Let me see if any children are listed.” Janet clicked the mouse a couple of times, and tapped in an additional search. “One child registered, Evelyn Stewart.” Janet paused as she searched for later entries. “The line stops at Evelyn.”
Annie jotted down the names and dates. “What was Evelyn’s birth date?”
“June 23, 1906.”
“Is there any way of knowing why a line ends?” Annie asked. “Does the registry indicate if there are no more children or a premature death or anything?”
“Sometimes records are more detailed,” Janet explained. “There is no year of death listed for Evelyn, though. That would suggest the family did not wish to keep registered with the tribe, or could not, for whatever reason. I can print out the family line before Clara, if you’d like.”
“Oh, please do! That would be a great help,” said Annie.
“Hmmm, looks like there’s a Revolutionary War veteran in the family, a captain,” Janet said as she prepared the information for printing. “Probably fought in the Battle of Machias.” She swiveled her chair away from the desk and stood. Walking over to the printer, she pulled the printouts and handed them to Annie, who added them to her tote.