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"Fortunately for me, many people do. Last year the ponds around us yielded over fifteen thousand tons per acre. And that was after extraction of the shells."
Heidi tried to look fascinated as Essex went on about the spawning and cultivation of oysters while leading her up a gravel path to a colonial brick house nestled in a grove of apple trees. After settling her comfortably on a leather couch in his study, he produced a pot of tea. Heidi studied him carefully as he poured.
John Essex had twinkling blue eyes and prominent high cheekbones on the part of his face that showed; the bottom half was hidden in a luxuriant white mustache and beard. His body had no senior citizen fat.
Even when he was dressed in old coveralls, mackinaw jacket and Wellington boots, the courtly manner that once graced the American embassy in London was still apparent.
"Well, Commander, is this an official visit?" he asked, handing her a cup and saucer.
"No, sir, I'm here on a personal matter."
Essex's eyebrows raised. "Young lady, thirty years ago I might have interpreted that as a flirtatious opening. Now, I'm sad to say, you've only excited an old derelict's inquisitive nature."
"I would hardly call one of the nation's most respected diplomats an old derelict."
"Times gone by." Essex smiled. "How may I be of service?"
"In doing research for my doctorate, I ran across a letter written by President Wilson to Herbert Asquith." She paused to pull a transcript from her purse and pass it to him. "In it he refers to a treaty between England and America."
Essex donned a pair of reading spectacles and read the letter twice. Then he looked up. "How can you be sure it's genuine?"
Without answering, Heidi handed him the two photographic enlargements and waited for a reaction.
William Jennings Bryan, portly and grinning, was bending to enter a limousine. Two men stood behind him in seemingly jovial conversation. Richard Essex, dapper and refined, wore a broad smile, while Harvey Shields had his head tilted back in a belly laugh, displaying two large protruding upper teeth, or what dentists termed an over bite surrounded by a sea of gold inlays. The chauffeur who held open the car door stood stiffly unamused.
Essex's face remained impassive as he studied the enlargements. After several moments he looked up.
"What is it you're fishing for, Commander?"
"The North American Treaty," she replied. "There is no hint of it in State Department records or historical archives. I find it incredible that all trace of such an important document can be so thoroughly lost."
"And you think I can enlighten you?"
"The man in the picture with William Jennings Bryan is Richard Essex, your grandfather. I traced your family tie in the hope that he may have left you papers or correspondence that might open a door."
Essex offered a tray of cream and sugar Heidi took two lumps. "I'm afraid you're wasting your time. All of his personal papers were turned over to the Library of Congress after his death, every scrap."
"Never hurts to try," Heidi said dejectedly.
"Have you been to the library?"
"I spent four hours there this morning. A prolific man, your grandfather. The volume of his posthumous papers is overwhelming."
"Did you conduct a search of Bryan's writings also?"
"I drew a blank there too," Heidi admitted. "For all his religious integrity and inspiring oratory, Bryan was not a prodigious author of memoranda during his service as secretary of state.
Essex thoughtfully sipped his tea. "Richard Essex was a meticulous man, and Bryan leaned on him like a crutch to draft policy and prepare diplomatic correspondence. Grandfather's papers reflect an almost pathological attention to detail. Little passed through the State Department that didn't have his mark on it."
"I found him to be an obscure sort of person." The words came out before Heidi knew she had spoken them.
Essex's eyes clouded. "Why do you say that?"
"His record as undersecretary for political Affairs is well documented. But there's no accounting for Richard Essex the man. Of course I found the usual condensed Who's Who type of biography, listing his birthplace, parents and schools, all in neat chronological order. But nowhere did I see a definitive description of his personality or character, his likes and dislikes. Even his papers are written in the third person. He's like the subject of a portrait the artist forgot to flesh out."
"Are you suggesting he did not exist?" Essex asked sarcastically.
"Why, no," Heidi said sheepishly. "Quite obviously you're the living proof."
