Chapter 13

Several days passed during which I did little but sit near the phone, waiting. My specter did not appear. Now, in addition to scaring me half to death when she showed up, in a strange way her lack of appearing worried me. Neither were there any dreams of my demise, which I counted as a blessing.

I spoke to Jackie each day, in the evening, to keep her current on developments among other things.

"So you're thinking about starting back to work?" she asked.

"Thinking about it. I've got to do something. The bank account is getting low."

"But you don't want to until you hear about the town."

"No. All I've done for the past three days is to hover near the phone."

"When do you think you'll hear?" she asked.

"Today is Thursday, I think. I'm guessing probably sometime next week."

She was silent for a few seconds.

"I miss you," she said.

"I miss you too. And when this is over, I really am thinking about relocating up there."

"I'll keep you from exploring strange towns," she said, ending with a chuckle.

"I wish I'd known you a month ago."

"Frank.” She changed the subject. Her voice lowered. "I'm sitting at home. Alone. Let's talk about something else."

"Pick a subject.” My dilemma had so taken hold of me that I had forgotten there were other things happening in the world.

"How about," she said, voice lowering even more, "what we'd like to do to each other if we were together."

We spent a full forty-five minutes on the phone. When we hung up, I was more convinced than ever that I needed to be in Woodstock, Vermont.

***

I was up before eight the next morning, a Friday. The phone rang at nine, just as I was settling down to a modest breakfast of toast with peanut butter and my important third cup of coffee.

"Mr. Jackson?" the caller asked. I recognized the as being Pamela, from the State Archives.

"That's me," I said. "Did you find anything?"

"I have a few references to the town. There's nothing about its location, but I think you can get a general idea from this information."

"I'll be there before noon," I told her. She said she would have it ready to go when I arrived.

At eleven-thirty I parked and hurried into the building. Pamela met me a minute later.

"There isn't much." She handed me a thin manila folder. "The references all come from the same area, however. I assume the town was nearby."

"Thank you for all your help.” I opened the folder and peered inside.

"That's why we're here," she replied. "The towns mentioned, other than yours, are all still in existence. That should help you gain some sort of idea where to look."

I left a minute later, eager to see what she had found. As she had told me, there wasn't much. What she gave me did help me pin Danielsford down to an area on the North Shore. The mention of the nearby towns gave me a better idea.

When I got home, I fired up my computer and decided the logical next step was to see if I could find anything on Google Earth. The program gave me a decent view of the entire area around the towns, including the forests. If any part of Danielsford survived, or if any of the land had once been cleared for farming, there might still, even after three hundred years, be evidence of some kind.

Three hundred years is a long time, especially in New England with its rain, snow and humidity. Trees grow and reach maturity, and they die. As I poured over the aerial photos provided by Google Earth, it was pretty obvious I was once again chasing a dead end. I would have to go there and search. At least I knew the type of terrain with which I would be dealing.

Looking for a ghost town that once upon a time sat somewhere near three other places wouldn't be easy. I faced the fact that there might not be much to find. There could be foundations, if they built their homes on foundations in Danielsford, but even finding those would be a stretch. After more than three centuries, the foundations could be under a foot or two of dirt.

Taking into consideration the growth along the North Shore, the remains of Danielsford might sit under a shopping mall. I wouldn't know until I went. I had planned the trip for the following day, except the following day was a Saturday. Town offices were closed. I thought visiting them could prove helpful.

"So I wait until Monday," I said to myself.

***

I spent the rest of the day scouring maps of the eastern shore of Massachusetts north of Boston. Having a general location was comforting. It was a starting point. Danielsford could be a day's walk distant from any of the towns. What was a day's walk in 1693? Did people travel a couple of miles, or five miles? I didn't know and doubted anyone today could tell me. Still, I felt a surge of satisfaction. At least I was making progress.

I reviewed the papers again. One was from the town of Wenham. It was a receipt of some kind, difficult to read, with archaic language and spelling. The ink had faded to the point of being nearly illegible. I deciphered it with a lot of difficulty. A resident from Danielsford had purchased an item from someone. I couldn't tell what he had bought.

Another was a letter. In it was mentioned that the writer, Elijah Knowles, had sold two pigs to a Danielsford resident and received payment. The letter talked about his health, the coming winter and his crop which, due to lack of rain, wasn't as bountiful as he hoped. I perked up when I saw Mary Bradbury's name mentioned.

“Barely will we have sustenance for our own selves during the coming frost. Nyther shall I bee able to sell mine goods. They be needed for my self and familie. It does be a hardship. There be troubles again in Danielsford which you knowe sits near to us. They did hang young Mary Bradeburie the day past her being acussed of sorcerie of a most horrible kind.

She did I am told lay on them an evil curse, it afrighting the town fearsomely so angrily she spake and the spell she then put on them.”

***

There were two more documents, both of which I could use as a reference. I returned to the Elijah Knowles letter and his comment about not only Mary but the fact that Danielsford was located nearby. It provided the best evidence and a good place to begin my hunt. Knowles had lived in Beverly, I assumed on a farm.

The remaining documents were from Manchester, now known as Manchester by the Sea. The towns sat north of Salem. Beverly was fairly well developed. I hadn't been to Wenham or Manchester in a long time. Forest separated the two places, and they managed to avoid the congestion of their neighbors to the south. Both towns wanted to try and keep their small town look and feel, rather than suffer the overcrowding of places like Beverly and Danvers.

I poured myself coffee and stared at the copies of the old documents, wondering for a minute or two why Elijah sold two pigs if his crops hadn't come in. He said in the letter he couldn't sell produce or goods, but he had. Then, I wondered why I wondered.

The ringing of my telephone brought me out of the past. I picked it up and heard the voice of Mrs. Putnam.

"I think I've found the person looking for the town," she said.

She explained how she had mentioned the name in a store. A man of about sixty approached her. They spoke for a few minutes as he told her about his search. He lived in the village but had been out of town when the change occurred. Returning home, he drove into Danielsford much as I had. Since then, he devoted a lot of his spare time to finding the old town again.

"I gave him your number," she finished. "He said he would call."

She listened as I told her what I had discovered from the Archives.

"I am familiar with the area," she said. "Well, not exactly familiar but we lived for a time in Wenham."

"I guess Danielsford never came up," I said.

"No," she said. "I had never heard of it before it happened here."

She was silent for a second. I sensed that she wanted to say more.

"I'd better let you go. The man's name is George Masters. He said he'd call you sometime today."

“Was there something else?”

“No. I should go in case he’s trying to call.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Putnam,” I said. And I meant it. “You’ve been a huge help.”

“My first name is Marjorie,” she said. “I think we’ve talked enough to be on a first name basis. You’re Frank and I’m Marjorie from now on.”

“Okay,” I said. “It’s a deal.”