Thursday, April 18, 5:15 p.m.
Nell’s white dress and fair hair were covered by a dark cloak. She hesitated a moment, and then saw me.
“You came,” I said, amazed she’d gotten away.
“You needed my help,” she said. “Quickly—we need to leave here before they find I’m not in my room. I told my uncle I had a headache and had to rest.”
“Follow me.”
The encroaching dusk and Nell’s dark cloak helped to hide her identity as we dodged through the alley in back of the Main Street stores, down toward the river, and then toward the Herald office. It was the only place I could think of where we could talk.
She stepped inside and looked around. “How wonderful! You have a real printing establishment here.” She touched the press and looked at the trays of type Charlie and I’d left unfinished. “What are you working on?”
“I’ve been asked to print copies of Maine’s Act to Raise Volunteers for all the towns in Lincoln County. If I finish the job by Monday morning, I’ll be able to pay off what I owe, and I’ll own everything here, free and clear. If I don’t, then I’ll lose the business.” I blurted out what I hadn’t even told Ma and Pa. Somehow I felt I could tell Nell.
“But instead, you’re looking for your friend.”
“I couldn’t stay here and work when Owen was missing.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Like my letter said, his name is Owen Bascomb and he’s nine years old. You answered a question for his parents at your meeting last Saturday. You told them they would have another child.”
Nell sat in the chair by the desk. Her expression drifted a little, as it had at the meeting. “I remember.”
“They had another son, a boy younger than Owen, but he died of fever. Owen’s father tried to enlist yesterday morning, but was told the army didn’t want him because he wasn’t white. Owen was upset, and ran away.”
“Tell me more about Owen. Owen himself.” Nell’s voice was calm.
“He has a parrot named Gilthead that his uncle, a blue-water mariner, gave him. He works with me here at the print shop. He’d sooner do that than go to school, but he’s sharp. He attends classes off and on, and catches up with his lessons quick enough. He doesn’t have any close friends his own age that I know of. He brags sometimes, about workin’ here. And he bragged about how good a soldier his father would be. Other boys don’t like his talkin’ as though he’s better than they are.”
What else was there to say about Owen?
“He’s a good boy. A hard worker.” I paused. “He’s my friend.”
Nell didn’t say anything. She sat, staring at nothing. Then she began to sway slightly, back and forth, from side to side. “Waters . . . waters . . . separating . . .”
My hands went cold. Owen had drowned, then. Like Ethan. That must be what she was seeing. He was separated from us by the waters. Why had I asked her to help? I didn’t want to hear this.
“Soldiers . . . many soldiers. I see soldiers over the water. And gray stones. Lines of gray stones . . .”
Nell stopped. Her voice changed. “That’s all; it’s gone. But I saw something. It was all mixed up. I don’t know this area, or Owen. You’ll have to help put the pieces together, Joe.”
“Is Owen dead, then?”
“I didn’t see that,” she said, surprised. “I didn’t see him at all, to be truthful. But what I saw had something to do with where he is. Clues.”
“You said waters. The Sheepscot is deep and wide, and borders Wiscasset. For sure that’s the biggest water near here.”
“What else did I say?”
“You don’t know?”
“When I’m in one of my trances, as I was a few minutes ago, it’s a little like being in a dream. I can’t always remember what happened.” Nell smiled and shrugged. “I’m used to it, but I know it sounds strange. If you need my help, then I need yours to help interpret what I saw and said.”
“You said separating.”
Nell nodded. “That was close to waters?”
“Yes, I think so.” This was harder than I’d thought it would be. I’d imagined she’d just be able to close her eyes and tell me where Owen was, and I could go and get him. I should have written down everything she’d said.
“The Sheepscot River is right there,” Nell said, pointing at the river, which we could now barely see in the darkness through the window. “What does it separate? What’s on the other side of the river?”
“That’s Davis Island. Part of the town of Edgecomb.”
“I remember,” Nell said. “You told me that the night we met on the street. I’d wanted to walk on the bridge, and you said it would be too dangerous because of the ice.”
“You think Owen might have gone over the bridge to Edgecomb?” I’d never thought of Owen leaving this side of the river. So far as I knew, no one else had thought of that either.
“The other words I said—what were they?”
“Soldiers. Lines of gray stones.”
“Is there a graveyard for war veterans in Edgecomb?” Nell asked.
“No,” I said, jumping up and grabbing her hand to pull her with me. “Not a graveyard. But I think I know where Owen is now! Thank you!”
I didn’t know for sure if Nell was right, but her clue had given me the best idea so far as to where to look for Owen. Maybe those spirits of hers really did know what was happening. If I found Owen, then Charlie’d be proved wrong. Nell wasn’t a fraud.
I started toward the door, then stopped. “You should go back to the inn before your uncle finds out you’re gone.”
“I’m not going back; I’m going with you,” said Nell, pulling her cloak around her body. “I’ve never had an adventure like this. I don’t care what my uncle says; if your friend Owen’s in trouble, it might be good if there are two of us.”
I nodded. I picked up the tin lantern I’d thought to fill at home that morning, and lit it to help guide our way. I hoped it held enough oil to see us there and back.
Most folks in Wiscasset were sitting down to warm suppers as Nell and I started across the Long Bridge toward Edgecomb, and, we hoped, toward Owen. I’d told Ma I’d probably be working late, with the bill from Augusta to print, so she’d think I was either at the office or looking for Owen. What Nell’s aunt and uncle would think when they discovered her absence, I couldn’t be sure. I just knew it wouldn’t be good.