A hand-drawn chart, no matter how detailed, rarely replaced a proper blueprint. Nora Vance studied the crude lines again over her morning coffee at the Port Blossom Inn. A structural assessment of the Salt-Spray Cottage would benefit immensely from knowing the original build, not just what remained.
She left her temporary room, grabbing her canvas bag. The Town Hall wasn't far, a sturdy granite building tucked behind the old Congregational church, a pleasant ten-minute walk from the inn. Inside, a narrow hallway led to a door marked "Archives & Records." A woman sat at a large oak desk, spectacles perched on her nose, surrounded by stacks of binders. She was small, with perfectly coiffed white hair, and gave Nora a sharp, appraising look.
“Good morning,” Nora said. “I’m Nora Vance. I recently purchased the Salt-Spray Cottage on Tern Island.”
The woman clasped her hands, resting them on a ledger. “Welcome to Port Blossom, Mrs. Vance. I’m Cora Jean Ripple, the Town Archivist.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ripple. I was hoping to access any original building plans or property deeds you might have on file for the cottage.”
“Records for the Finch property are… rather particular, Mrs. Vance.”
“Particular? How so?”
“Well, the records clearly indicate Captain Alistair Finch constructed that residence in 1920.”
“Yes, I know that much.”
Cora Jean peered over her glasses. “He was a fascinating individual, Captain Finch. The town’s greatest hero, in fact. Celebrated for his bravery at sea, a true pioneer of Port Blossom’s maritime legacy.”
“I understand his historical significance, Mrs. Ripple. I’m an architectural restoration specialist. My goal is to return the cottage to its original grandeur.” Nora paused. “For that, I really need those foundational documents. Blueprints, surveys, anything detailing the original construction.”
Cora Jean sighed, a whispery sound. “The unfortunate truth, Mrs. Vance, is that many documents from that particular era are… misplaced.”
“Misplaced? What exactly does that mean?”
“It was a turbulent time, you see. Records were not always as meticulously kept as they are today.” Cora Jean tapped the ledger. “The official deed of sale is on file, of course. It simply transfers ownership from the Finch estate to yourself. Beyond that, specifics of the actual build are rather scant.”
“Scant how? Can you clarify what’s missing?” Nora asked, trying to keep her voice even. “Is there an index? A microfiche reel I could review?”
Cora Jean pushed her glasses up. “The Town Hall sustained a minor fire in 1957. A number of older records were regrettably lost or damaged beyond legibility.”
“A fire? Goodness. Were many records affected?”
“While we possess various historical registers and Captain Finch’s extensive sailing logs, architectural drawings were deemed of lesser import in that period.”
“So there’s nothing at all? No original blueprints?” Nora pressed. “Not even a general site plan?”
“None to be found, Nora Vance,” Cora Jean said, emphasizing Nora’s full name with a slight pause. “I have personally overseen this archive for thirty-five years. If there were such items, I would know.”
“That’s… unusual for a home of that size and age.” Nora considered her next move. “What about the original survey? Property lines for Tern Island?”
“Those are available,” Cora Jean conceded, pushing a small, leather-bound book across the desk.
“Excellent. May I see them?”
“Of course. But they outline the parcel of Tern Island, not the cottage’s footprint itself. You are free to copy any pages you require.”
“What’s the cost per page?”
“Two dollars apiece.”
“Two dollars? For a survey copy? That seems rather steep.” Nora selected three pages. “I’ll take these then. That will be six dollars, correct?”
“That is correct.”
Nora handed over the money. “Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Ripple.”
Cora Jean merely offered a tight, polite smile. “You are most welcome, Mrs. Vance.”
“It’s a shame about the blueprints, though. I’d hoped to find something more substantial.” Nora gathered her copies. “Without them, I’ll have to draft new ones based on my own careful measurements and observations. It’s an extra step, but a solvable problem.”
The wind had picked up when she emerged from the Town Hall. She stopped at the small general store on Main Street, picking up a bag of local coffee beans for seven dollars and some fresh bread. Back at the Port Blossom Inn, she placed a call to Ben Carter.
“Ben, it’s Nora. I’m back on the mainland. Could you run me over to the island this afternoon? Say, two o’clock?” she asked. “I’ve just been to the archives, and I wasn't able to find the original blueprints, so I think I need to do a more detailed internal survey of the cottage than I originally planned.”
“Reckon so,” Ben replied, his voice calm over the phone. “Two o’clock it is. I’ll meet you at slip seven.”
By one forty-five, Nora was at the docks, the salty air bracing. She saw Ben’s boat approaching from the far side of the harbor. The fifteen-minute ride to Tern Island was uneventful, the Atlantic churning a deep slate gray under the overcast sky.
As Ben tied up his boat, Nora stepped onto the rough-hewn dock. She walked up the sandy path, the Salt-Spray Cottage looming ahead. Its weathered boards looked even more stark today, less charming and more like a challenge. She pulled out her keys, the heavy brass one for the boathouse cool in her palm. The cottage, despite its dilapidation, still held a certain defiance against the elements.
She pushed open the front door. The interior was still, silent. Just as she stepped inside, a shadow fell across the threshold.
“What in thunder do you think you’re doing?”
Nora turned sharply. Silas Blackwood stood framed in the doorway, his neat white beard catching the dim light. His eyes, usually sharp, held a furious glint.
“Mr. Blackwood. I’m heading inside to work on my property,” Nora said, keeping her voice steady despite the shock of his presence. “What are you doing here?”
“This is no longer your property, not for your sort of meddling,” he declared, stepping fully into the living room. His voice was rough, unyielding. “I have just come from the Town Hall myself. And I was informed there that certain… historical protections are about to be put in place for this site. Protections that you, madam, are already violating.”
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