Uncertain Glory (6 page)

Arf!

The sound wasn't close by. Maybe I'd only heard the low moan of a ship's rigging grinding against its mast.

“Trusty!”

ARF!!

This time I was sure: The bark was louder. I ran, carefully, toward the sound—toward the corner where Water Street met Main Street, and then Main Street became the red Long Bridge across the Sheepscot. In winter ice gathered around the bridge's pilings, and the wooden bridge itself became a treacherous pathway of thick ice. Even now, black ice from the dampness and fog would cover the boards, making them slick and dangerous. Trusty wouldn't have ventured onto the bridge, would he? A small dog could easily slip off into the icy salt water.

I called again. “Trusty?”

The answering bark was soft, but close by. I turned. For a moment the fog cleared, and it looked like the mist circled around a slight figure standing in the doorway of Mr. Pinkham's stationery store.

Then Trusty ran toward me, feet slipping wildly on the ice but tail wagging like mad. I dropped the lantern and swept him up in my arms, burying my face in fur wet with fog. His tongue lapping my face was rough and warm.

“There you are! You should have known better than to run away in the fog!” Trusty's whole body shook with delight.

“I can see he's your dog.” The white-hooded figure stepped carefully out of the mist.

“What are you doing out in this weather?” I asked, staring. “It's dangerous on the streets.”

Nell Gramercy laughed. “You're here, too! I couldn't stand being inside any longer. I wanted to see the river in the fog.”

“There isn't just fog. There's black ice—ice you can't see. You'd best get back to your inn.”

Nell hesitated. “Your dog . . . you called him Trusty? Trusty found me. I was staring at the river. It changes, you know, every second. I saw faces there, in the mist.”

I gulped. “I've lived here all my life. I assure you, there are no people on the river now, miss.”

Nell shrugged. She was as small as I remembered; her head only came up to my shoulder. “Sometimes there are people no one else sees. What is across the bridge?” She took another step toward me and slipped on the ice. I grabbed her arm to keep her from falling.

“I'm afraid I came north unprepared.” She stuck out her foot, displaying a stylish leather boot clearly not meant to be worn on icy streets. “I expected April to be warmer.” Even in the gray mist I could see her blush. “Before you got here I tried to walk back up the hill, but I slipped. And fell.”

She held out her left hand, as a child would do to show a sore spot. The palm of her thin white kid glove was torn. Kid gloves sold in our store were expensive. Most women in town wealthy enough to own a pair saved them for elegant occasions.

“I'll get you back to the inn,” I said. “That's Long Bridge—longest bridge in the State of Maine, folks say—more than three thousand feet long. It goes over to Davis Island, in Edgecomb. You can't see the island now, because of the fog.”

“Do many people live there? I thought of walking across before I found out how icy it was.”

“A few families. And Fort Edgecomb is there. It was built to protect Wiscasset during the War of 1812.”

“It's old, then.”

“People talk about fixin' it up, but never seem to do so. It's a nice spot for a picnic. Or a game of hide-'n'-seek for children in summer.”

Nell shivered. “I'm cold. I'll let you help me to the inn. I'm staying at the Mansion House.”

I put Trusty down, hoping he'd stay with us. Nell took my arm as though she were a grown woman, not a twelve-year-old. No one had ever taken my arm before. I sure hoped I didn't fall on my rear again while she was trusting me to help her stay upright.

I held the lantern and we started carefully up the hill.

“I should introduce myself,” she said. “I'm Nell Gramercy, from Albany, New York. No one knows I left the inn. My aunt and uncle think I'm resting. They'd be furious with me if they knew I'd left. I'm embarrassed at having to ask for help, but I don't know how to get back up the hill without falling again.”

“I'm Joe Wood, from Wiscasset, Maine.” I grinned, thinking how Charlie would howl if he could see me now. “I own a newspaper and print business in town. I know who you are. I've heard you can talk to the dead.”

“Spirits of the departed come to me,” Nell corrected. “I don't know why, or how. It's been happening since I was very young.”

“My father was at your spirit circle the other night. You delivered a message from my older brother, Ethan.”

“I remember your father, and the spirit of your brother. Your brother was young when he moved on, wasn't he?”

“He was fifteen when he died.”

“I'm sorry.” She paused. “I had brothers, too, once. I hope the message helped your father.”

I nodded. “It did. Pa seems to be sorrowing less. He's helping Ma at our store again.”

“I'm glad. Spirits come to me because they're not at peace, or because they feel someone they left behind is not.”

We made our way carefully up the street, Trusty following close behind.

“Then you really hear the voices of dead people?” I couldn't help but ask her directly.

“Not all the time. And I don't hear them exactly; I sense them,” said Nell. “It's hard to explain. And it's very tiring. That's why I was lying down this afternoon. I had one of my headaches.”

“Ma gets headaches. She drinks peppermint tea or powdered charcoal in water.”

“Does that help her?”

“I guess. She doesn't have to lie down a lot.”

“She's lucky. Sometimes my headaches last for days, and I can't eat or sleep. My uncle gives me medicine, but it doesn't take the pain away; it lifts me above the pain. Sometimes I wish I didn't have
commitments to people. Then I could hide in a dark place for hours. This afternoon I felt a little better and hoped some fresh salt air would clear away the pain and shadows.”

“Has it?”

“I guess it has.” Nell smiled. “I've been so worried about getting back to the inn over the ice I haven't had a chance to think about my head. I must be better!”

Up the hill, a block ahead of us, several men were standing outside the telegraph office.

“Wait,” Nell said, stopping. “Why are all those men there?”

“Waiting to hear the latest news from Charleston,” I explained. “The telegraph office is in Mr. Johnston's store.”

“Then take me to the back door of the inn, please.”

“But that's half a block farther than the front door.”

“I don't want anyone in town to see me. They might start asking me questions about the future, or about their loved ones. And my uncle will be sitting with his brandy and cigar in the tavern or lobby of the Mansion House. He'd be furious if he knew I'd gone out alone. The back door is best.”

“How did you leave without his seeing you?”

Nell grinned and tightened her grip on my arm as we made our way across a patch of thick ice. “Down the back stairway and through the kitchen. My aunt was napping, and the maid told me how.” She squeezed my arm. “They don't usually leave me alone. I've tried to get away on my own other times, but never managed before.”

“Get away? You mean you can never leave your aunt and uncle?” Of course, girls had to stay closer to home than boys. But Nell was famous.
She traveled. Somehow I'd expected her to have more freedom than others.

“My aunt and uncle schedule my work so I have little spare time. They say they're protecting me from this world, so I can more innocently speak with the next.” She grimaced. “Perhaps so. But I miss the freedom I had growing up, when my spirits were free to come and go as they pleased, not as my uncle demanded. And I was free to explore this world as well as the next.” She had wide blue eyes. “I love the scent of the sea, and the softness of the fog, here. But if I don't return to the Mansion House soon, I fear my uncle will be very angry.” She quickly corrected herself. “He'll be concerned about my well-being.”

“Then, Miss Gramercy, I shall conduct you back to the kitchen.”

“It's Nell,” she said. “I get so tired of people calling me ‘Miss Gramercy.' I'd like to be just plain Nell to someone besides my aunt and uncle! And, after all, you've saved me from being frozen by the river.”

Trusty barked.

“And, of course, Trusty, you must call me Nell, too.”

What would Charlie think? Miss Gramercy—Nell—seemed just like anyone else. Excepting she talked to dead folks, of course. But the way she spoke about it, she could have been describing the color of her hair, or how tall she was. It was just part of her, something she could do.

How could I write an article saying Nell was tricking everyone if she really
did
hear voices? Some religious folks said God talked to them, and no one said they were crazy. How was this any different?

I slept little that night, trying to puzzle it out.

Chapter 11

Saturday, April 13, 5:30 p.m.

“I can't believe you actually talked with her last night!” Charlie said, as he carried another chair from the dining room to the ballroom of the Mansion House. He and I had press passes for Nell Gramercy's meeting, but Charlie's father hadn't been impressed with our importance. He'd recruited us to set up the room for the event. “You talked with her alone. Without me!”

“I couldn't exactly ask her to stand outside in the cold while I ran to get you.” I lined up the chairs in the eighth row. “Besides, we weren't alone. Trusty was with us.”

Charlie parted the drapes and looked out at Main Street. “The crowd that was outside the telegraph office has starting moving this way. Looks like no change in the news from South Carolina.”

“Good. Our front page says the fighting continues. I've been worried it would end and we'd have to print a special edition, or change the whole front page.”

Charlie leaned to the right so he could see up Main Street. “I see Owen, over by the town pump. Your idea that he should sell copies in the street before the meeting was brilliant. Four or five people are in line to buy
Herald
s right now.”

I clapped Charlie on the shoulder. “More money toward what I owe Mr. Shuttersworth! You were right about those interviews, asking
people what they thought about the situation down south. People
do
like to see their names in the newspaper.”

“Good thing we printed extra copies. It's not every day we have a battle in Charleston
and
a spiritualist in town, that's for sure.” Charlie looked around. “Father said we should put seventy chairs in here. I think we're done.”

“Did you look closely at the room before we started moving the chairs in? You know—to see if Nell or her uncle had changed it in any way?” Nell hadn't acted as though she was a fraud when we'd talked, but there was no harm in investigating.

“Nothing's suspicious. The drapes were drawn, and the oil lamps lit. The stove's full of wood. This room is always set up this way for an evening gathering.”

“What about Nell's chair and table?”

“They're the same ones used in the dining room.” Charlie looked around the room again. “I'll tell Father we've finished so he can be sure everything is exactly the way Mr. Allen requested.”

I'd only been on the second floor of the Mansion House a few times. The ballroom was directly across from the dining hall. To the left were doors leading to other, smaller rooms. I peeked into an empty sitting room elegantly wallpapered in bright red-and-blue stripes. Next to it was another parlor, this one painted in green with a pattern of leaves stenciled on the walls. A love seat and several chairs were arranged with two card tables, one of them set for a game of chess. At the very end of the hallway the door of a third room was partially closed. I was about to look in when I heard voices. I stopped, just in time.

I could hear Nell's voice clearly.

“My headache's better, thank you, Uncle Horace. But I'm still lightheaded.”

“Horace, you must keep this grand assembly of yours short tonight, or Nell will be worse tomorrow. I cannot believe you engaged private sessions for her on a Sunday. You know without rest her headaches will get worse again.”

“My dear, I'm only doing what's necessary. We're stuck in this dreary town until we have enough funds to take us to Nell's engagement in New York City. That journey will not be inexpensive. Talk of war is filling coaches and inns.”

I moved closer to the door so I wouldn't miss a thing.

“Why can't we remain here a while?” Nell was pleading. “I could do one session each day instead of four. That way I could rest as well as support us.”

“We can charge three times as much for your services in a city like New York. Not to mention that in a small town like this one, you'll quickly run out of customers. Curiosity seekers will disappear. New clients are easier to find in a city.”