eleanor chestnut

Unearthing the past

Eleanor and I met by accident. It was an ordinary day. I was browsing Pearl, the digital collection at Presbyterian Historical Society, for eye-catching content, humming along to whatever song dribbled from my computer’s speakers. Scrolling, scrolling, endlessly scrolling, until — a specter, a ghostly figure in white, prompted me to pause, my finger hovering atop my mouse. Or — no. Not a ghost. A woman.