thoughts, but found this habit dry and obsessive. She wanted to share these feelings. She tried to give them expression in letters to her college friends, but often these letters followed the direction of her friends' married lives and degenerated into chit chat and gossip.
Sometime in the late Twenties, she began again to write stories. At first they were simple pieces describing some incident or feeling. But as she gained confidence, she began to create a world of characters who explored the great ideas of the time and the manifold expressions of her heart.
Few of her pieces could be described as great, or even compelling, literature, but they nevertheless provided her that wonderful fulfillment of creation. As she told a friend in a letter at the time, "The act of creating characters and directing their lives for even a few pages gives me the thrill of a god. I don't believe there is anything more divine in the human spirit than the creative impulse. I honestly don't know how I could enjoy my life without this outlet."
She mailed off a few of her better stories to magazines, but received only polite rejections. Though she found it disconcerting that no one else seemed to appreciate these tales, it didn't stop her from writing. While it would be nice to share her stories with others, her real reward came from writing them.
But Harriet, possessing the somewhat mischievous soul that she did, soon devised another way to share her tales. Having recognized the natural tendency of people to read "personal" papers left in library books, she decided to hide her stories in various volumes throughout the library. Onto each story she would affix a typed note inviting the reader to enjoy the tale. And to heighten the mystery neither note nor story would be signed.
Over the years she seeded the library's books with a great number of stories and when the books were returned, she received with relish and delight the unsolicited comments of the lucky finders. As more stories were found and word began to spread that there were hidden treasures among the books, there was a marked upturn in the use of the library.
Everyone loves a good mystery and a small rural community in Maine was no exception. Several finders of tales, including Waldo Harrison, a retired banker and local Sherlock Holmes buff, got together to share stories and compare notes. While there was little in the notes or stories to disclose authorship, these self-appointed sleuths knew the library was the place to start.
Mr. Harrison questioned Harriet thoroughly and was particularly interested to know if anyone had been, as he said, "lurking" about the library. The librarian smiled inwardly but claimed no knowledge of the stories' origins.
"We have no clues at this time," Mr. Harrison had said concluding the interview, "but rest assured, Miss Stoddard, we will leave no stone unturned until we discover the culprit's identity." Harriet found it amusing that the mystery had created such a stir and had transformed the mystery author into a "culprit".
For several years prior to the outbreak of the Second World War, the mystery flared in the community, fanned primarily by the interest of Mr. Harrison. In 1938 he wrote an article for the Oxford County Plain Talk. In this piece he attempted a psychological profile of the author based upon the seventeen stories that had surfaced to date. His analysis included the types of books in which the stories were found and the subject matter of the tales.
From these he concluded that the author was a well-educated male in his late forties with tendencies toward megalomania and who was obsessively secretive. He felt that such a person could be easily moved to crime and it was each citizen's duty to help discover the identity of this sadly misguided soul. He asked that any new stories be promptly reported to him.
During this period Harriet continued to write and hide stories in the library. She greatly enjoyed the controversy sparked by Mr. Harrison and the notoriety it gave her little tales. But by late 1939 the events in Europe dominated the news and the prolonged illness of Mr. Harrison that eventually led to his death in 1940, contributed to a dwindled interest in the mystery.
Occasionally a new story would surface providing an unexpected pleasure for the reader. When it was returned to the library, Harriet received it with a smile and quietly recirculated it to the stacks. As the years passed, the two greatest pleasures of her life were writing stories and receiving the reports of surprise and enjoyment from readers as they returned their finds to the desk.
In the mid Fifties, Harriet's health began to fail and she was permitted by the selectmen to hire an assistant. While she explained all aspects of the library's operation to young Marilyn Stockton, she never said a word about the hidden tales until one day a young reader returned a story to Marilyn who was working the desk.
Marilyn brought it back to Harriet's office. "Miss Stoddard, here is something odd. Tommy Hartner brought this story in and said he found it in one of our books. It's a typewritten story of honor and loyalty among young friends, entitled 'A Matter of Principle.' I just read it and it's quite good. The note attached says to return it to the library."
Harriet then told her about the mysterious author who hid his stories in the books of the library and that it had been going on for over twenty years. She opened a drawer and pulled out a scrapbook containing copies of all the stories turned in and a clipping of the Plain Talk article by Mr. Harrison. Marilyn was fascinated and spent several days reading through Harriet's file of stories. What Marilyn was not told was that all together there were one hundred and seventy-nine stories hidden throughout the library.
Harriet continued working at the library until 1958 when ill health finally forced her retirement. The town arranged a celebration to honor her forty-two years of service. At the dinner, there was as much talk of the Library Mystery, as it was now known, as there was of her many accomplishments in the library. Though she was sorely tempted to reveal her authorship of the stories, she resisted on the grounds that in this age of scientific revelation, there was still need for mystery.
In retirement, Harriet spent her final years in illness and pain. She continued to read when possible, but hadn't the strength to write except for one final effort. At last she decided to reveal the mystery. And she did it in the same way she had created it – through a story left hidden in the town library."
The next morning Tom and Kathleen could hardly wait till the library opened. At breakfast they showed the story to their hosts, but found that the Todds were newcomers to the area and unaware of any Library Mystery.
At a quarter to ten they walked across the common and waited impatiently for the library to open. The first thing out of Tom's mouth as a smiling grey-haired woman opened the door, was, "Are you Marilyn Stockton?"
The woman, surprised by his unexpected question, stammered, "I was . . . I mean . . . yes, I am. That's my maiden name. I'm now Marilyn Legrand. But who are you?"
"You'll have to forgive us," Kathleen started. "We're the O'Malleys. I'm Kathleen and this is my husband, Tom. We're staying at the Todd House and we've found a story in one of your books."
A knowing smile came over the librarian's face. Tom handed her the story and note.
She looked at the note. "This is unusual!" she exclaimed.
"What's that?"
"This note is written in longhand. All the others were typewritten." She read a little bit and then smiled. "I might have known!"
Tom and Kathleen awaited her explanation.
She spoke again, but this time with tears in her eyes. "We've wondered for years who our mystery author was. A few of us here at the library suspected it might have been Miss Stoddard, but had no way of knowing for sure. She certainly never gave us a hint."
In his excitement, Tom interrupted, "She admits it all in this story. She says she wrote over a hundred and seventy stories."
"A hundred and seventy-nine," Kathleen corrected.
Marilyn looked at the story. "So this is her confession, is it?" She skimmed the tale briefly and looked up. "That dear, sweet lady. She has given all of us in the community a priceless gift." Her ey
es tearing, she reached into her pocket for a tissue and blew her nose.
She cleared her throat and went on, "Back in the Sixties I undertook a project to preserve and catalog the stories that had been found. This one, which is obviously the key to the collection, is the hundred and fifty-sixth to be turned in. It's conceivable that some have been lost, but even at that, there must be a few more hidden on these shelves."
"Isn't this wonderful!" Kathleen was effusive.
Marilyn turned to Kathleen and said, "I'm so grateful for your discovery. This is just the encouragement I need to finish the catalog. Miss Stoddard was very well thought of in this community. With this revelation we can probably raise money to publish the collection."
"I hope you do. We'd certainly love to have a copy!" Kathleen said with enthusiasm. "And it would make a nice little addition to your library."
Marilyn looked around at the thousands of books stacked neatly on row after row of shelves. As a librarian she loved them all, but she also loved Miss Stoddard and the special legacy she left the community. She answered quietly, almost to herself, "For us it would be the crown jewel of our collection."
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