Chapter 20

It was not a surging torrent of water. The river was only a few feet wide, relatively clean looking although I wouldn't chance drinking from it and not very deep where we stood.

"This could be a ford," George said. His eyes were bright with excitement. He glanced at me and smiled. "I admit I wasn't sure whether to believe the tape recording. Now, I'm damned if I don't think it's real."

"It's real," I said. "No evidence of a town here though."

"There isn’t any I can see right now. That doesn’t mean anything. Remember, it’s been a lot of years. If it's here, it's hiding in there."

He waved his hand toward the trees and thick underbrush.

I followed his gesture, wondering how we could find anything. "What could be left? I mean, I'm a city boy. I don't know anything about this stuff."

He glanced toward me. I saw a twinkle in his eyes. "I'd never have guessed. What we do is go through the undergrowth looking for remains, like boards, timber, cellar holes."

"Something telling us a town was here. It might be under a foot of dirt," I said.

"Might, might not. We won't know 'til we look." He hesitated. "Your ghost or whatever you say she is said there was a road that ran to the town. We followed what I think used to be a road. Lots of it was gone, but here and there, enough to keep us on track."

"Right," I said.

"It brought us here." He pointed to the river. "This spot could have been a crossing, and the road led right to it."

I nodded, beginning to lose the self-doubt. We seemed to be where we were supposed to be. I felt a surge of hope begin to well up within me. What we needed now was confirmation.

"Let's get busy," he said.

I looked around. "Just in case, where are we?"

"It's a wildlife sanctuary," he replied with a chuckle. "You can't get lost. Walk in any direction and you'll find streets and homes. It's built up all around. Let's see what we can find."

We began searching. It took only half an hour before I found a crumbling, rotted, moss covered board half buried in the ground. To my untrained eye it looked old. But in the damp, humid forest anything would look old within a year or two. I called George.

He knelt and looked at the board. "It's old. No doubt about it. I should have thought to bring a shovel. Let's see if we can find anything else."

Before an hour had passed, we found other remains scattered here and there, separate from my initial discovery. George seemed pleased.

"I think we got it," he said. "We can keep looking if you want. I bet there's more."

"Do we have enough to say a town was once here?" I asked.

He nodded and shrugged. "In my opinion."

"With the road leading here, would you say we've got it?" I asked.

"That's my guess." He cocked his head to the right and watched me.

I looked around, at the thick growth of trees, the low bushes, the intense green of the area and tried to imagine Danielsford as it must have looked. I couldn't place the town I saw in Vermont with the ruins at the river crossing. The Vermont town had no river. Given all the other clues and George's confidence, I felt certain we were there.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Now," I mused, "I need to find a preacher who will come out here and conduct a funeral."

"That could be tougher than finding this town."

"I know one," I said. I wasn't sure that Reverend Conant would agree, or if he was fit enough for the hike if he did. If he couldn't do it, I hoped he knew someone who would.

"There's the minister from the church in my town," George said.

"He's away for an extended time," I answered. "I think he’d want to do it if he was available."

We heard a rustling sound behind us. We both turned and saw Mary standing a few feet away.

"Jesus Christ," George blurted. His eyes were like saucers, and he backed up a step or two.

"Yeah," I answered.

"This be my home," she said. "It is where I am to rest."

She glanced around the forest. After several seconds, she pointed to our left. "My shop did once sit there."

"I can hear you," I said as the realization hit me.

She looked at me. "Now you must end it."

She turned to George as if seeing him for the first time.

"Good sir, I thank you. You have been most helpful."

He nodded, staring intently at the woman. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I have to find a minister," I told her.

"Make haste," she replied. "She is close. You must finish it. I cannot much longer protect you, Frank Jackson.”

Then, as every other time, she faded into nothing.

George stayed focused on the spot for a couple of seconds. Twice, he tried to speak but no words came out. He swallowed.

"She's just a young girl," he croaked and turned to me. "Remind me not to doubt you again."

"We've got to get this done."

"The other one is close. The other one is the killer?"

"I guess," I said. "I've only seen her in the dreams."

"Let's get the hell out of here. I think I need a drink." He shot a nervous glance at where Mary stood moments before. "Several drinks. Did I really see what I think I saw?"

"You did," I said and told him again about Mary and how I had been terrified the first few times she appeared.

He nodded. "I damned near wet my pants."

***

In Wenham, we stopped for a quick meal. My clothing was soaked with sweat, and the cool interior of the restaurant felt cold. George was more relaxed now. Mary was still in his memory, but the fear had faded during the exertion of hiking back to the car.

"You don't get outside much," George observed, stirring a sugar into his coffee.

"No," I admitted, shivering slightly. "It's a whole different world from what I'm used to."

"Where does this minister live?" he asked.

"In Boston. I'll call him this evening and see what he says."

George nodded. "I'll get a room someplace. I'm in it to the end. You couldn't pay me to quit now."

"I appreciate that," I said.

"I kind of feel sorry for the girl."

"Me too."

He sipped coffee, and the twinkle came back into his eyes. "She's pretty, or she would be if she was cleaned up."

That made me laugh. "Somebody else said that not long ago."

"It's true." He shook his head. "You said they hung her?"

"For witchcraft. Maybe tortured her before the hanging. I don't know."

He shook his head sadly. "She mentioned her shop. What kind?"

"From what I saw," I told him, "she sold some kind of potions or remedies. I don't know what they were. It was in a white building. The only white one besides the church"

He nodded and shook his head again. "I think I remember seeing it. There was a single white building right near the Common.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was on the Common.”

“The Puritans were pretty superstitious. They were suspicious of everything,” he continued. “A frog croaking at dusk was like a warning of demons being near. Something like that. She grew up with those beliefs. She had to know selling the stuff was like admitting she was a witch. It was asking to die."

I shrugged. "I don't know. I saw the shop and the bottles."

"Up in Vermont," he said, nodding. “So it really does pop up all over.”

I visualized the town again and remembered what Mary said. "Based on where she told us her shop was, we were standing close to the church."

"Does that have some significance?"

"Maybe. I don't know. If I can get a preacher to go, he can hold the ceremony on the church site. If it was a church once it can be one again, a last time."

He stared out the window, looking lost in thought. I sipped coffee and waited.

"There must be a cemetery somewhere near the town," he said.

"Maybe. Do you think we should find it?"

"Almost impossible," he said, shaking his head. "We barely found any remains of the town. A cemetery abandoned for three hundred years out there? I'd say, no chance of locating it. A lot of land around where the town used to be has become swamp."

When I put Mary to her rest, as she described it, I assumed that is where she would go. All trace of her, along with the others who lay there, would be gone forever as if she and they never existed. I felt a sadness creep over me at the thought.

"I know," he agreed when I mentioned it. "A town nobody ever heard of and the names of everybody who lived there lost forever, as if they never existed.”

I made a silent vow that it would not happen to her. I had an idea. It was something I could do to assure the girl wouldn't be forgotten, at least for as long as I lived and was able to get back to the site of the town.

George drained his cup. "I'm done. I've got to track down a motel or something."

"I've got an extra room," I said.

He shook his head. "Thanks. I'll grab a place somewhere."

We walked out into the afternoon sun. It was still hot and humid, and now clouds were gathering in the east.

"What time tomorrow?" he asked, looking at the sky. "Assuming of course the weather holds."

"You've got my number. Let me know where you are. I'll call back when I get something confirmed."

I walked to my car and got in. I waved as he drove by and then pulled away from the curb, heading for home. This time I faced the evening traffic through the various towns and cities between Wenham and Boston. By the time I arrived, I longed for the slow-paced lifestyle I had experienced in Woodstock, Vermont, and even in Wenham.

***

Reverend Conant listened patiently as I told my story. I went through the entire event from my nightmares in the beginning to our discovery of the town, including the appearances by Mary Bradbury.

"You're asking if I am willing to go with you and conduct a funeral in the middle of a wildlife refuge for a woman who died over three hundred years ago," he said in a calm, matter-of-fact voice.

"On the site of Danielsford," I added. I reminded him she had been unjustly hanged.

"I'm aware of the town," he said, "and Reverend Putnam's incident. I also recall your visit. This is the spirit or entity who was trying to kill you."

"That's what I thought. It isn't her. Giving Mary a Christian burial will stop all of it from happening again."

"Another one from then wants to kill you," he repeated.

"I don't know who or what her connection is. I mean, I know what she looks like, but not who she is," I admitted.

"Mary Bradbury hasn't told you."

"No, only that she can't keep her away much longer."

He sighed loudly. "I regret I cannot assist you. I, wait just a moment." I heard him shuffling through papers. "Let me make some calls. I know a couple of ministers who might agree to this unusual request. If either or both do, I'll call you back. I've got your number on caller ID. I assume she doesn't require a specific faith."

"Christian," I said.

"Again, Mr. Jackson," he said. "Were it not for Reverend Putnam's event several years ago, I wouldn't believe a word you have said. Also, Mrs. Putnam mentioned seeing the woman. We talked a week ago."

"Across the street from the parsonage," I said.

"I will make the calls and be in touch in an hour. I can't promise anything, but I will try."

I thanked Reverend Conant and told him I would be by the phone. He had not asked to hear the tape, which I thought strange. Maybe he had missed my mentioning it or been shocked at my asking him to accompany us on a hike through a tick-infested forest to the site of a long-gone Puritan village.