who Connie felt certain was destined for the academic life, approached his passion in a methodical manner that seemed already purged of wonder. Talking to Sam reminded her of a time when she still found history exciting, tantalizing. He leaned in the doorway, one boot crossed over the other, arms folded. His forearms, under the rolled sleeves of his work clothes, were tanned and lined with muscle. She realized that she was staring and pulled her gaze away.
“I was going through some old papers in my grandmother’s house in Marblehead,” she said, hedging somewhat in her description, leaving out mention of the key. “And I found something. I think it’s a name, but I’m not certain.” She pulled the tiny parchment from her pocket and handed it to him.
Sam rubbed his thumb over the paper, gazing at it. “Could be.” He nodded. “And you’ve tried the historical society out there, I take it.”
“Nothing. No Deliverances of any kind. Then I tried the church, and they told me that their records are all here.”
“And you’re thinking it dates from the first period of colonial settlement?” he asked. “Why?”
“Well, the age of the paper and the handwriting, for one,” said Connie. “And if it is a name, it seems too old-fashioned to be Revolutionary. And if it were nineteenth century, wouldn’t it more likely be ‘Temperance’ than ‘Deliverance’? But really I’m just working on a guess. It might not even be a name at all.”
Sam scratched the stubble under his chin. “All your reasoning seems to make sense. The handwriting certainly resembles some early examples I’ve seen.” He caught her looking at him, eyebrows raised. “I spend a lot of time at the landmarks commission office,” he explained.
Connie paused, surveying the rows of undisturbed records books. “I guess this could take a while,” she said.
“I needed a break from painting anyway,” Sam said with a laugh.
T HREE HOURS LATER , S AM AND C ONNIE SAT BACK TO BACK AT THE CARD table, hands grimy with book spine fragments, resting. They had checked the card catalogue for the name in a myriad of different spellings, and when that proved futile, they started pulling ledgers off the shelves two and three at a time, beginning with the oldest. Their search had been fruitless so far—no Deliverance Dane in any of the christening records from 1629 all the way through 1720.
“’Course, if Dane was her married name, she wouldn’t be in the christening records,” Sam pointed out.
“True enough,” said Connie. “But I had to start somewhere. That’s one reason researching women can be so much trickier than researching men. Their names can change several times, depending on how many times they marry.” She paused. “It’s like they become different people.”
Next they found only scattered marriage records for people with the last name Dane, including a Marcy Dane who married someone named Lamson in 1713. Neither of the married Danes were named Deliverance, and they did not appear to be related. They could not be completely sure, as some pages seemed to be missing from the marriage records for the 1670s, but after a few hours’ unproductive research both were starting to suspect that the phrase might not be a name after all.
Then they plunged into the death records, skimming rapidly.
“Aw, here’s poor Marcy Lamson again,” murmured Connie, turning a brittle page in the deaths ledger dated 1750–1770 . “She died in 1763.” She felt a strange tugging in her chest, unfamiliar and solemn. Connie propped her chin on one dirty hand and gazed into the middle distance.
“Something the matter?” asked Sam, looking up from the 1730–1750 deaths volume open across his knee.
“Oh, not really.” Connie sighed. “Just thinking.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” asked Sam, leaning closer to her over the card table and dropping his voice.
“What’s weird?” she said, turning to him.
“That you can have this
“I was going through some old papers in my grandmother’s house in Marblehead,” she said, hedging somewhat in her description, leaving out mention of the key. “And I found something. I think it’s a name, but I’m not certain.” She pulled the tiny parchment from her pocket and handed it to him.
Sam rubbed his thumb over the paper, gazing at it. “Could be.” He nodded. “And you’ve tried the historical society out there, I take it.”
“Nothing. No Deliverances of any kind. Then I tried the church, and they told me that their records are all here.”
“And you’re thinking it dates from the first period of colonial settlement?” he asked. “Why?”
“Well, the age of the paper and the handwriting, for one,” said Connie. “And if it is a name, it seems too old-fashioned to be Revolutionary. And if it were nineteenth century, wouldn’t it more likely be ‘Temperance’ than ‘Deliverance’? But really I’m just working on a guess. It might not even be a name at all.”
Sam scratched the stubble under his chin. “All your reasoning seems to make sense. The handwriting certainly resembles some early examples I’ve seen.” He caught her looking at him, eyebrows raised. “I spend a lot of time at the landmarks commission office,” he explained.
Connie paused, surveying the rows of undisturbed records books. “I guess this could take a while,” she said.
“I needed a break from painting anyway,” Sam said with a laugh.
T HREE HOURS LATER , S AM AND C ONNIE SAT BACK TO BACK AT THE CARD table, hands grimy with book spine fragments, resting. They had checked the card catalogue for the name in a myriad of different spellings, and when that proved futile, they started pulling ledgers off the shelves two and three at a time, beginning with the oldest. Their search had been fruitless so far—no Deliverance Dane in any of the christening records from 1629 all the way through 1720.
“’Course, if Dane was her married name, she wouldn’t be in the christening records,” Sam pointed out.
“True enough,” said Connie. “But I had to start somewhere. That’s one reason researching women can be so much trickier than researching men. Their names can change several times, depending on how many times they marry.” She paused. “It’s like they become different people.”
Next they found only scattered marriage records for people with the last name Dane, including a Marcy Dane who married someone named Lamson in 1713. Neither of the married Danes were named Deliverance, and they did not appear to be related. They could not be completely sure, as some pages seemed to be missing from the marriage records for the 1670s, but after a few hours’ unproductive research both were starting to suspect that the phrase might not be a name after all.
Then they plunged into the death records, skimming rapidly.
“Aw, here’s poor Marcy Lamson again,” murmured Connie, turning a brittle page in the deaths ledger dated 1750–1770 . “She died in 1763.” She felt a strange tugging in her chest, unfamiliar and solemn. Connie propped her chin on one dirty hand and gazed into the middle distance.
“Something the matter?” asked Sam, looking up from the 1730–1750 deaths volume open across his knee.
“Oh, not really.” Connie sighed. “Just thinking.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” asked Sam, leaning closer to her over the card table and dropping his voice.
“What’s weird?” she said, turning to him.
“That you can have this
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