Rosanne Higgins - The Seer and the Scholar

Rosanne L. Higgins

Copyright 2015 Rosanne L. Higgins

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Table of Contents

November, 2014

Maude Travers sat back and stared at theempty screen of her laptop hoping that words would appear by sheerforce of her will to put the story to paper (so to speak). She hadbeen trying for months to write a novel based on the diary of CiaraNolan, the first Keeper of the Buffalo Orphan Asylum and formerinmate of the Erie County Poorhouse. Even seated at her Kittingerdesk, surrounded by the Victorian wall sconces and parlor lamps ofher antique lamp shop, Maude just couldnt bring nineteenth centuryBuffalo to life. She was an anthropologist by training, not anovelist. She had published many scholarly articles and bookchapters focusing on her poorhouse research, so why was it so hardto write a fictional account using the same data forinspiration?

Because data demanded to be analyzed, thatswhy. The poorhouse records she had examined for the past twodecades offered plenty of quantifiable variables, categories ofinformation such as age, sex, and country of birth that could bescrutinized and organized to create a report of what life was likefor poorhouse inmates. The real story of the poorhouse inmates wastold by those data, facts that were there for anyone to verify. Forexample, the vast majority of individuals who sought relief at theErie County Poorhouse were foreign born, mostly from Ireland andGermany. Thousands of people had traveled to America in search of abetter life, only to have their dreams thwarted along the way bysome tragedy which left them destitute upon arrival. Mostindividuals, called inmates, stayed only a few days or a few weeks,just long enough to get back on their feet, or find another sourceof help. Those who did stay for months, or years, were likely veryold, very sick, or both.

In addition to the ledgers that had providedso much detail about the poorhouse experience, Maude had read thejournal of Ciara Nolan. That was qualitative data: detailedaccounts of daily life at the Buffalo Orphan Asylum that could notbe categorized, counted or massaged by statistics, but wereimportant nonetheless. These were the real life experiences of theKeeper in her daily struggle to keep the orphanage viable. Maudehad read about how children had learned to knit their own socks, astrategy employed to keep idle young minds occupied. The pride withwhich the Keeper recorded yet another healthy year in which nochildren were lost to the diseases that ravaged other parts of thecity was tangible in her report. There was a story to be told,Maude was certain of it, but it would take some getting used to,this concept of fiction.

From her office in the back of the shop sheowned with her husband Don, Maude heard the phone ring. For onceshe was happy that the old building had but one phone jack in thefront of the shop as she gave the blank screen a final defiant lookmeant to convince herself that she wasnt giving up, but she didhave to walk away to answer the phone.

Good morning. This is the Antique LampCompany. How may I help you?

Hi, Maude. Its Christine. Got aminute?

Sure. Whats up?

I just wanted to thank you and Don againfor coming last night and to let you know that you won something inthe silent auction.

Oh, we are always happy to supportpediatric cancer research, Maude assured her friend. What did Iwin?

Your family tree.

My what? Maude was trying to recall all ofthe silent bids she submitted at the fundraiser the previousevening. Oh, right, the genealogical research certificate. Howdoes that work?

Well, the researcher is a member of theWestern New York Genealogical Society. Her contact info is on thegift certificate. Im sure she will give you all of the details.Let me know how it goes. I would love to do something like that formy mom.

Are you going to be in today? I could runnext door and grab the gift certificate before I leave for theday. Christine was a graduate student in history and worked at theantique shop next to Maudes. Both women shared an interest inlocal history and often popped in on each other for a quick cup ofcoffee and a chat when business was slow.

Im not working today, but Im in theneighborhood now, so I can drop it by if you like.

Maude looked at the clock, noting she hadonly fifteen minutes until she was officially open for business,and then thought about the blank screen waiting in her office.Sure, come on over.

The morning was busy, which was not unusualfor that time of year when people were out shopping for theholidays. The windows of their shop on Chippewa Street stoppedpedestrian traffic on a regular day, with the sparkling crystalsand hand-painted glass of nineteenth century lamps and chandeliers.During the winter holidays the shop looked nothing short ofspectacular to passersby. Frosted windows were bedazzled with whitetwinkle lights, drawing shoppers into Christmas past. Featuredamong the luminary treasures stood a real scotch pine, decked outin Victorian splendor. Maude and Don had learned years ago that byadding other unique items like vintage jewelry, accessories andantique housewares to the already breathtaking collection of periodlamps and lighting fixtures, they could increase traffic throughtheir store. Now they were a must stop for many downtownshoppers. It was after lunch by the time Maude was able to take alook at the gift certificate she had won the night before.

Abigail Stevens, she read out loud fromthe business card that had been clipped to the envelope. Letsgive you a ring and find out exactly what I have won. After aquick look at the certificate inside, she pulled out her cell phoneand gently tapped the numbers on the screen.

Hello, said the voice on the otherend.

Hello. My name is Maude Travers. I amlooking for Abigail Stevens.

This is Abby. How can I help you?

I am the proud winner of a certificate forgenealogical research. I won it at a silent auction lastnight.

Oh, right, the childrens cancer event.That was last night? I had actually intended to go too, but I musthave got my dates mixed up. I thought it was next week. How didthey do?

Well, I think. So how exactly does thiswork? Maude asked.

The gift certificate entitles you to eighthours of genealogical research. Are you interested in building yourfamily tree, or do you have a particular ancestor you would like toknow more about?

Hmm, thats a good question. I know momsfamily came from Ireland. Im not sure about my dads side.

Well, lets start with some names. Whydont you send me an e-mail with the names of your parents, andgrandparents on each side? Include any details you know, like theirplace or date of birth, and well see what we come up with fromthat. I will let you know what I find and if you want to continuebeyond the value of the gift certificate, we can discuss mypricing.

That sounds good. Would you mind textingyour e-mail address to my phone? If I write it down on a piece ofpaper, I will likely lose it!

No problem. I look forward to hearing fromyou.

Maude pushed the end button on her cellphone and made a mental note to call her mother to see if she couldlearn any details about the family that might be helpful to Abby.She felt the phone vibrate as it dropped back into her purse.Remembering she had turned the ringer off to minimize distractionswhile working on her novel earlier that morning, Maude turned itback on in case Don or the kids needed to contact her. She ignoredthe phone and prepared for the late afternoon shoppers, assumingthe ringtone she heard as it was slipped back into her pursesignaled the genealogist passing along her e-mail address. Headingback out toward the front of the shop, the familiar sound of thefirst few chords of the Rolling Stones song Time is on My Sidewas coming from the office once again indicating another text hadbeen received. That particular song was the ringtone for incomingtexts from persons unknown or persons not special enough to havetheir own ringtone. Since the text was not from Don or the boys,she ignored it again, deciding whoever it was could wait until shewas ready to leave for the day.