Chapter 19

On Monday morning I was up at five, beating the sun. It felt good, even having shorted myself on sleep. Five was my normal time to rise in those days of yore when my life was normal.

I showered and shaved, then cleaned and carefully covered the blister with two fresh bandages. I put on an old shirt and squeezed myself into the jeans. A moment later I pulled them off and found a worn pair of slacks that fit. They weren't exactly suited to the job ahead, and I didn't care.

Breakfast followed. I lingered over a couple of cups of coffee, thinking about the day to come and my dream from a couple of nights ago. How accurate would it be?

By six-thirty I was off. Escaping Boston always proved only slightly easier than entering during rush hour. I made good if not great time, even with a stop for a large Dunkin' Donuts coffee and a jelly donut. I lingered at a table there for a few minutes before hitting the road again. Later, I stopped for another coffee and a donut. The two hot coffees would give me the extra shots of caffeine I needed to be ready for the day ahead. I figured the sugar in the donuts would provide the energy I knew I was going to need.

***

It took me only a few minutes in Wenham to find the address George Masters mentioned. I was more than an hour and a half early. Rather than occupy a table just to drink more coffee, I strolled around the town. Wenham is an attractive, quiet little place, but I was mostly killing time rather than sightseeing and my mind focused on the upcoming search. Much of what I saw during my short walk through the downtown area didn't register. My blister seemed to be okay, but I was still careful to favor the foot.

By 9:45 I was back at my car. I went into the Wenham Tea Room. There was only one patron, a man. He watched me as I glanced around the room and then gestured to me.

"George Masters?" I asked, walking up to him.

He nodded. "You must be Frank."

George Masters looked younger than his sixty years. His dark hair showed no gray. He was slightly above average height, trim and thick through the shoulders, with blue eyes that flashed with intelligence.

We shook hands as I took a seat. He lifted a briefcase from the floor and laid it on the table, off to one side.

"I've got the maps," he said, opening the case.

"North of here," I told him. "There was a road going to Danielsford."

He hesitated. "A road?"

"Probably a wagon road. Dirt of course. There could be a trace left if it was used much."

He nodded and looked into my eyes. "I think I know where it is."

George pulled several maps from the case and began looking at them. When he found the one he was after, he folded the others and returned them to the briefcase.

"Here," he said after scanning the large map that covered much of the table. He pointed to a location. "I'm pretty sure it's someplace in this area. I could be wrong."

I looked at the map and checked the direction. An arrow in one corner showed which way was north. We were in the right place. It all seemed to fit.

"Not much left, huh?" I said, or asked.

"After three hundred years? No."

"I've got a tape you should hear," I said.

"A tape?"

"Mrs. Putnam filled you in on Mary Bradbury."

"Not really," he replied. "Mostly that you were looking for the town, same as me."

I spent a few minutes telling him about my situation. He looked dubious, which didn't surprise me, and nodded occasionally.

"Pretty farfetched," he replied when I finished. "But I guess no worse than driving into that town."

"Mary told me about the road from Wenham," I said.

He nodded slowly and took a sip of his coffee, eyes on the map.

"Well, something was there once." He thought for a second. "You mentioned getting her a funeral."

"Right."

"Assuming we find the place, where it used to be I mean. I’m really curious how you plan to go about it?"

"I'll have to get a preacher to perform the funeral," I said.

"Just like that?"

"I didn't figure it to be easy," I answered.

"What about the ghost?" he asked. "Will she be there?"

"She wants it done," I said. "I think she'll show when we're ready."

"And the other one?"

I hesitated for a second. "I don't know. I don't even know who she is or how she's connected. I'm hoping it will all end with the funeral."

He sat back, thinking. "What's the relationship between them, Mary and this other one?"

I shook my head. "Haven't got a clue.”

He made a face. "You do realize how crazy it sounds."

I nodded and reminded him, "As crazy as a 17th Century town appearing where it isn't supposed to be?"

"Almost," he said. "Let's get going. I want to hear the tape too."

We paid and walked out to my car where George listened as I played the tape. When Mary spoke, his eyes narrowed.

"That's the ghost?" he asked.

"I don't think she's a ghost, but yeah, it's her."

"Very archaic style of speaking," he mused. "Can I hear it again?"

I played the recording one more time. He listened carefully and shook his head at the end.

"She'll be at this funeral?"

"I think so," I replied. "It's for her."

He thought about it for a moment. "I guess we should get started."

I agreed.

As I shoved the recorder into my pocket, he said. "We can take my car. I know where we're going."

***

We didn't have to go far. He parked a few minutes later. We got out and faced a wall of forest and low bushes.

"If I remember," he said, pointing to an area of jungle like trees and brush, "the road is over there. I won't swear we're in the right place and, like I said, I'm not sure what I found was the remains of a road."

"Let's have a look," I answered, staring at the woods uncertainly.

I do not claim to be an outdoorsman. I have never hunted or fished, didn't own a gun or want one and I have never camped or hiked in the wilds. George headed for the trees without hesitation, looking confident and at home. After a moment of hesitation, I followed with much less confidence and feeling not at all at home.

He pushed branches aside and marched in. I kept up, a couple of steps behind him. Within a few feet we had lost sight of the car. The trees and bushes were thick, and, by all appearances, we could have been miles from civilization.

George continued with me trailing close behind. He held a steady pace for what I guessed was several hundred yards and then stopped. After glancing around, he nodded and angled slightly to the left.

"It's over this way," he said. "Not far as I recollect."

So far my blister hadn't caused me a problem. I was pleased with my first aid work. I'm not sure how I would have dealt with it had it been hurting me.

Then I was struck by the realization that the blister was the least of my problems. I tried to look for markers. If anything happened to George, I needed something I could use to find my way back to the car. Everything looked the same to me.

He slowed his pace and began spending more time scouring the forest floor. I guessed we were close to where he thought he found the road.

"It's somewhere around here," he said, then nodded and pointed. "There."

I looked and tried to see what he looked at. The area he pointed toward to me appeared no different than the rest of the woods.

"Look closely," he said and walked to the spot, spread his arms and stood, moving them forward and back. "Right here. See? It ran to Wenham that way and I suppose Danielsford this way."

I walked up beside him and looked. Maybe there was a slight difference in the forest, but I couldn't see it. I shook my head.

"I'm no woodsman," I said.

"You don't have to be. Look at the ground, the trees."

I looked. Whatever he saw was lost on me. "I'll take your word for it. So Danielsford is that way?"

George nodded. "It's probably a straight shot. What do you suggest?"

I checked the time. It was just past eleven in the morning. We had all day.

"I'm game," I said. "If we don't find it by, say, three or four, we can try tomorrow if you're free."

"Nothing but time," he said. "Tomorrow will work for me if we don't score today. Let's get going."

He began marching deeper into what, to me, for all intents and purposes was a wilderness. What direction we were moving was a guess on my part. I couldn't tell whether we were going in or headed out. It had already occurred to me that, if I was on my own, I could never have done it.

Stopping periodically to look, he would nod and start again. Trusting his judgment, I followed.

"It fades out here and there, but so far it's almost dead straight," he said.

We pressed on, deeper into the thick brush and trees of the forest. I was beginning to perspire heavily. I wondered what people saw in camping or other outdoor sports.

Less than an hour later, we came to a stream.