“There are rules, of course,” said Helen. “We aren’t the public library. You may have access to whatever you wish, but you may not take anything out. Nor may you make photocopies of anything; the paper isn’t getting any younger. If you want copies, ask me and I’ll see to that for you.” She eyed Hudson, fixing him with a keen stare. “Are you a coffee drinker, Mr. Jones?”

Hudson, bewildered, said, “I like the odd Starbucks now and again.”

“Well, finish it before you come in here,” Helen said. “That goes for water, juices, tea, what have you. No liquids of any kind around the materials. As far as the National Steinbeck Center is concerned, the blue laws are in effect. The man himself would call us all a bunch of tight prohibitionists, but we can’t run the risk of some clumsy academic knocking over a Diet Pepsi and ruining things for everyone.”

“No coffee,” said Hudson. “Anything else?”

“Just one,” Helen said. “If you find anything really scandalous, you let me know. There’s nothing I like better than good dirt.”

“Absolutely,” said Hudson. “So, when can I start?”

“Right now,” Helen said, standing up. “Follow me.”

She left the office, Hudson right behind. Walking through the lobby of the building, she stopped at an elevator and pressed a button. The doors slid open and they stepped into the cool confines of the metal box.

“Like most people, we keep our old stuff in the basement,” Helen joked as they descended. “Fortunately, ours is a little less damp than most.”

The doors opened and they emerged into another hallway. Helen led the way to yet another door, and they stepped into a small, sparely furnished room that looked very much like just about every library research room Hudson had ever spent time in. Two large wooden tables were situated side by side, each with two chairs tucked neatly underneath. Reading lamps provided assistance to those overhead. Otherwise, the room was bare.

“Do you have any idea at all what you’d like to see first?” Helen asked him.

Hudson placed his briefcase on one of the tables. “Not entirely,” he said. “I was thinking perhaps the journals from 1948.”

“All of them? There are at least seven, if I recall.”

“How about the last half,” Hudson suggested. “Maybe from summer on. I think that’s when he first started thinking about the story that turned into East of Eden.”

“Not exactly one of his lesser known works,” remarked the archivist, and Hudson knew she was thinking about his claim to be interested mostly in Steinbeck’s more minor creations.

“No,” he agreed. “But it’s well documented, and I want to see how directly he comments about his creative process in his journals. I think it will help me understand the level of honesty, if you will, about his ideas that he was willing to commit to paper.”