Chapter 14

I put on another pot of coffee and read the few pages again, looking for any word or phrase that might give me a better idea of the town's location. Just as I was pouring a fresh cup, the phone rang. I reached across the counter and plucked it from its wall holder.

"Mr. Jackson?" a deep voice asked.

I identified myself.

"George Masters," he said. "I spoke with Mrs. Putnam earlier today. You found Danielsford."

"And lost it," I said.

"She briefed me on your situation. You know where the town was originally located?"

"I got the information from the State Archives." I told him what I found.

"I've been to the area at least a half dozen times in the past three years," he replied. "There's nothing, and nobody I've spoken with is familiar with the name."

I felt my heart start sinking. "You've been to the town offices?"

"Yes and talked to every person who ought to know, from surveyors to engineers to town officials."

"Mrs. Putnam mentioned Mary Bradbury?" I asked.

"She did. I never went into a church or even recall seeing one."

I described the church and told him it was Putnam's, and somehow a mirror of it remained with Danielsford when the town disappeared from the present.

"Then I wouldn’t have paid attention. His church would be the one normal thing in the town."

"It, or some replication of it is part of Danielsford now," I said.

He was quiet for a second. "How can I help you?”

"I don't know," I said. "I'm trying to find the town."

I spent another minute explaining my theory for getting Mary a proper burial.

"Yeah," he said. "I haven't had any luck, but there's a lot of ground to search over there. It could be sitting under more recent construction now."

"That crossed my mind.” He was right. Looking at the area from above, in Google Earth, showed me just how much area there was to search.

I asked him about the woman I saw on the Common. As I described her, he cut me off.

"Yes, by God. I drove right past her. She was just staring at the church. Hell, I’m sorry. The church building was in the town. The modern church, I mean, so it didn’t click. Then, when I went by, she glared at my car. I watched her in the rear-view mirror, just giving me the evil eye until I was out of sight. She was something, all right."

"Did you notice anything strange, or odd?" I asked.

"Mr. Jackson, I drove into my hometown, and it was gone," he said. "I was in a place that shouldn't have been there. How much stranger could it get?"

"I mean about her."

He was silent for a couple of seconds. I assumed he was thinking.

"Just the way she was dressed, I guess," he said. "Everybody dressed old fashioned, but she stood out. She looked ragged, unkempt. How else can I say it? Even with the others looking like they did, she was noticeable. Think about it though. I'd just come home from a trip and home was gone. I was in, what, some distress to put it mildly."

"The people from your town were still around.”

"No, none of them were, other than Reverend Putnam and his wife. I saw him every day. I didn't know him, but we spoke. We were both in shock. He was taking it better than me."

"You spoke to him?" I asked. There had been no mention of the meeting in the journals. Apparently Putnam hadn't put everything in, or maybe he was focused strictly on the appearance of the strange town.

"Every day until the town went away. We were the only modern people in the place, along with his wife. I didn't see her though."

I mentioned Sherburne Center and the men I had talked with.

"Nobody here remembers," he said. "Somebody would have said something. Could be it acts differently every time it shows up? I don't know, Mr. Jackson. I think I do because I came in from outside. Not sure why the Putnams remember it.”

I muttered a soft curse. George Masters had been in the town and had spent the last few years looking for it. At the moment it didn't sound like he could help.

"Can I ask why you want to find Danielsford again?" I asked.

“It's trapped in some strange between worlds thing, if that makes sense," he said. "I want to help them."

"How?" I asked.

"Not a clue," he said. "I thought if I could find out about the town, I might figure that out."

"I think the answer is the curse. Mary Bradbury needs to be buried. Giving her a proper burial might take the curse off."

"You think it would end the reappearances?"

“I think so. We won't know until it's done." I told him what the two men at Sherburne Center had said and added how it seemed as if Mary became trapped by her own curse. Of course, it assumed I had all the facts straight.

"When are you going?"

"Monday," I told him why.

"I've been to the Town Halls. None of them have anything on Danielsford."

"That saves me a lot of time," I answered, disappointed but not surprised.

The village continued to be elusive. What I had seen wasn't a large town, but it was big enough that it ought to have left something to tell the world it once existed. Instead it seems to have come and gone, leaving nothing to say it had ever been.

"Tell you what," Masters said. "I can meet you there, say in Wenham. I know where I've looked, and I've got a topographic map of the place with my search areas marked off. It’ll save you going back over them."

He mentioned the name of a coffee shop. "How about ten o'clock?"

"I can be there," I said. "Ten o'clock in Wenham."

I wrote the place and time in my notebook. His research would save me days of looking. After refilling my cup, I went back to the computer and returned to Google Earth. This time I tried to guess the areas he had searched. The logical places would be nearest the towns.

I retrieved the papers and used them, trying to plot a likely section. When I finished, I had a spot roughly halfway between Wenham and Manchester by the Sea, on the border separating the two towns.

It was another educated guess, for whatever it was worth. I hadn't been doing very well, reminding myself that I was batting zero with my guesses. Danielsford could as easily be in Essex or Hamilton. All I knew of was it once sat somewhere in the eastern part of the state.