From Here to Paternity

had been something about a medicine woman who was treated with great deference. Perhaps this woman was one such person.
    While she was idly speculating, she had failed to notice the approach of a woman who could be none other than Doris Schmidtheiser.
    “Hello, there,“ a gravelly voice said.
    “Oh!“ Jane said, surprised.
    “I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you one of our attendees?“
    “I don’t believe so. You’re with the Holnagrad Society?“
    “Yes. May I join you for a moment?“
    Oh, dear. Shelley had warned her, but Jane was trapped. Even if she’d seen the woman coming, there wouldn’t have been much she could have done to escape—short of taking a suicidal dive out the window.
    “Certainly. I’m free until my friend arrives in a moment,“ Jane said, glancing at her watch.
    Doris introduced herself as the first vice president of the Society and fussed around with her notebooks and folders, extracting a violently pink handout sheet. Jane decided that, close up, Mrs. Schmidtheiser looked more like an amiable horse than like Abe Lincoln in drag. She had a long, angular face with huge teeth and somewhat protruding eyes. Her voice had a neighing quality that emphasized the visual impression.
    “I just wanted to make sure you knew about our classes for the public,“ she said. “We meet here every year to discuss our own concerns, but we also give an enormous number of very reasonably priced lectures to anyone else who wishes to attend. Beginners’ tips, tracing Black ancestors, Jewish genealogy, how to access the National Archives, deciphering ship lists, special information on the Soundex, Miracode and census records, customs regarding Declarations of Intent and which courts to look in for them, writing family histories, preservation of documents and photographs…“
    Jane held up her hand to stem the tide. “Thanks very much. It all sounds very interesting.“ (And incomprehensible, she thought.) “My friend is taking some of your classes this morning. That’s who I’m waiting for.“
    “Perhaps you’d like to attend our debate this afternoon,“ Mrs. Schmidtheiser said, undeterred. She was thrashing among her papers again, presumably trying to find an announcement of the debate.
    “Debate?“
    “Yes, the Holnagrad Society exists to—“
    This time Jane interrupted quickly. “I know about the Society. Lucky—Dr. Lucke—explained it this morning.“
    “Dear, dear Lucky. Such a fine man. Then you know we have a serious interest in Mr. William Smith, the owner of the resort.“
    “Yes. Do you mean the debate is about him?“
    Mrs. Schmidtheiser nodded. “About Mr. Smith and a pretender back in Holnagrad.“ She laughed in a contemptuous, whinnying manner.
    “A pretender? To the Russian throne, you mean?“ Jane felt like an ass even saying the bizarre words.
    But Mrs. Schmidtheiser was too deeply into the subject to recognize its inherent absurdity. “Yes. A member of our group mistakenly believes this gentleman in Holnagrad has a better claim to the title of Tsar than our Mr. Smith. Of course, there’s a Eurotrash claimant as well, but nobody recognizes his claim except his playboy friends. Excuse me,“ she said, plunging her big, bony hand into her purse and extracting an orange pill bottle. She struggled with the lid for a moment, removed a tiny white pill, and popped it in her mouth, then took a swig of Jane’s water to wash it down.
    “This member,“ she went on, apparently unaware of any lapse of manners, “Stu Gortner, has been in contact with this man back in the Old Country and is forever promoting his cause. He and I are going to present our research to the membership. Of course, we’re calling it a debate, but it really isn’t. It’s truly just a conflict between information on my part and foolish, self-serving speculations on his. Apples and oranges,“ she said, laughing loudly. Several people at nearby tables turned around to stare at the source of this shrill sound. “Apples and oranges,“ she repeated, as if she’d made up the phrase and was going to get as much mileage out of it as possible.
    “It sounds very interesting,“ Jane lied. “Perhaps I’ll attend if I’m free.“ She hoped Mrs. Schmidtheiser didn’t try to pin her down on what else she had to do at a resort.
    Mrs. Schmidtheiser clapped her big hands together in a gesture that would have been embarrassing if done by a prettier, more feminine woman and verged on the criminal in