Summer of Lost and Found (12 page)

She smiled at me, like she was really happy to hear that. “Sure, crawl in.” She pulled back the sheets for me to slide inside. I hopped into her big bed and curled up next to her. Mom put her arm around me and kissed my forehead. “My little sprout,” she said. “Sleep tight.”

I tried not to think about how lonely she must feel most nights, in a big bed in a cottage not her own, on a strange island far from home. More important, though, being alone after all those years of always having my dad snoring next to her and accidentally kicking her with his restless legs.

When I woke up the next morning, I could hear Mom puttering around the kitchen. I slipped out of her bed and padded into my room. It looked as fresh and friendly as it did every morning, and I felt extra silly for acting like such a baby the night before. I grabbed my book and flashlight off the tangle of sheets and set them on my vanity. That's when I noticed it.

The door to the bottom cabinet was hanging slightly ajar—the compartment keeping the flask safe.

My heart fluttered. That door had those magnet thingies in the closure, so it would make that slight
click
when you opened or shut it. I hadn't left it open the day before—especially not after I put the flask inside.

I yanked the door fully open. The crumpled dishcloths were still there, but the rest of the cabinet was empty.

I sank down onto my heels, head in my hands.
I know I made sure it was safely inside.
The dishcloths proved it. There was no way I had done something else with the flask. And my mom definitely wouldn't have gone into my room and taken it without talking to me. I thought of hearing the
click
noise last night, and I shuddered. Had somebody been in my room that whole time? Stealing the flask? But who would know about it, or care?

But wait: Maybe the noise had been the door popping back open, or fully shut, because
someone hadn't closed it properly earlier.
I remembered Lila's long trip to the bathroom during dinner. How she seemed a little rattled when she came back to the table—or perhaps guilty! Maybe, after I told her that I was investigating too, and that I had found a clue, she went into my room and poked around. My hand clenched the dishcloths. Lila probably found the flask. If anyone could recognize an artifact, it would be her—and I would not put it past her to steal my discovery.

It was the only explanation. I wanted to kick myself for not checking my room last night after she went to the bathroom. Also for bragging about my find—I should've kept that secret to myself. But it was too late, and the flask was gone. I wanted to cry.
How am I ever going to tell Ambrose about this?

“Nell! Breakfast! We've got to get to the site by nine thirty,” my mom called from the kitchen. I wanted to tell her what was going on—that Lila was a thief and had stolen something precious from my room while we were hosting her for dinner. But then my mom would want to know what she'd taken, and I'd have to tell her about the flask. She'd probably be mad that I hadn't told anyone official about it yet. So instead I sat down for some whole-grain toast and kept my mouth shut. The only thing that got me through it was picturing Ambrose and me eventually finding the site of the lost colony, and then getting to watch Lila's horror at not having done it first.

After George's murder, on the eighth of August, Governor White called for a meeting among all the local chiefs, whom the Croatoans promised to bring. 'Twas his aim to enter parley with them. But the werowances of Pomeiooc, Aquascogoc, Secoton, and Dasemunkepeuc ne'er responded. It riled the men of our group, and although some—including my father—urged against it, they became set on revenge. The next day, a secret attack White did lead on their dwelling place to avenge poor George. The miserable souls fled into the reeds, but our men followed.

'Twas a tragedy, a mistake most wretched. One that weighs my heart heavy with guilt and shame. Those our men killed in the village—including womenfolk!—were none of the tribe that murdered George. Instead, by a cruel twist of Fate, those we slaughtered were Croatoans—Manteo's people, the very tribe that had offered guidance since our arrival. They had gone yonder to gather corn and fruit, which our enemies had left when they fled. Mother cried for days when she heard of the cruelty we had done.

Fortune repaid us in kind. A drought most terrible befell the island, and even those who had lived thither for ages upon ages scrounged for food. After the attack, the Croatoans did refuse to help us gather more. We lacked sufficient supplies. The wicked drought made even this most goodly soil inhospitable. Aside from the luscious grapes, we struggled to gather plenty to eat. The sea still provided: fish and crabs. Yet catching enough to feed 116 hungry bellies morning, noon, and night was a challenge.

Fearful of being found by enemies, we did choose to raise new cottages to the west, and south, of the last colony's fort, which was on the northern tip of the island. We could follow a creek down to the bay; our homes nestled between it and the sea. They had two stories, built of wood, and grass-thatched roofs. O, the joy and comfort I did feel—once again having a roof o'er my head.

Father and I walked to the water e'ry morn, to watch the sun rise over the waves. We kept watch for Spanish ships that perchance might have found us, despite being hidden from the open sea—the shallow water surrounding the island, rife with shoals, does make it impassable for large ships. As we fished, Father did spin tales of our life hither years from now—when our colony would bustle like those in the Caribbean. “Lords of Virginia,” we were to be. Better than being poor Londoners. Father had so much hope for our new life. But I dreamt often of mine in London, and my heart ached for its comforts. My shoes were worn near to shreds. We were desperate for more supplies—food, clothing, and building materials. Some of the planters did think Governor White ought to sail back to England before winter seas would make the voyage impossible. Yet he would not leave before he could see his grandchild born, the baby Dare.

I
had to wait for five whole days to see Ambrose again. I helped my mom, and I spent some of my earnings on another book about the lost colony and one with Shakespeare quotations. Maybe I'd start sending them to Dad. But the first one I opened it to was “We have seen better days” from
As You Like It
, and that was a little too on the nose.

I'd sworn to be on time to meet Ambrose at Fort Raleigh; the only problem was, we hadn't actually
set
a specific time. If only I had Ambrose's phone number, or even his e-mail address. Instead, I biked to the Festival Park around closing on Sunday evening. Maybe I'd run into Ambrose, or at least his mom. But even though I sat in the grass next to my bike and watched all the visitors and employees shuffle out to their cars and head home, neither emerged. I
did
see Lila walk Sir Walter across the bridge to the park, kind of conspicuously, although she pretended not to see me. Was she actually following me now? That was the last thing I needed: Lila becoming my shadow.

Birds had barely started to chirp when Mom got up on Monday. We had been waking extra early to make the most of the cool morning hours. “Nell, are you sure you don't want to come with me today? It would mean more allowance for books.” Mom stood in the doorway of my room. I was still in my bed, in pajamas. I didn't want her to know that I had someplace to be. I sort of hadn't mentioned Ambrose to her yet, and I didn't know how she'd feel about me running around Roanoke with a local boy she'd never met. I could guess that she would not exactly be thrilled. I decided to wait until she could meet him—better yet, with his mom. I'd ask Ambrose if they wanted to stop by our cottage sometime soon.
I should probably remind him to wear shoes
, I thought, since he hadn't at the gardens.

Mom continued, “I need to estimate the number of fruit on the vine. Yesterday, I noticed that in one area, it looks sparse. I could kick myself for not calculating earlier how many grapes were on it, because now I can't tell if it's losing them at an abnormal rate.”

“Maybe a deer got hungry?”

“Or an alligator,” she said offhandedly.

“What?”

Mom gave me a
duh
look. “Didn't you know we're right across the water from the Alligator River wildlife refuge? It's not like the Everglades—but they're here.”

Great—another thing to worry about while tramping around in search of clues.

Mom shrugged. “Anyway, somebody—or some
thing
—had a scuppernong feast. I could use your help counting.”

“No, thanks. Threat of alligators aside, I'm kinda tired. Maybe I got too much sun yesterday.” We had gone to the beach again on Sunday morning. This time we saw a few horses, and I took pictures and sent them to Dad, along with one of Mom finally dipping her toes in the Atlantic. I wrote,
This is what you are missing across the pond.
He replied:
“I like [that] place and willingly could waste my time in it.” (
As You Like It
)
—plus a smiley face. It made me so happy to read that—maybe I
was
convincing him to come back. I also sent him an e-mail with my Roanoke clues so far, and he replied to say that he was really intrigued.

Mom put her hand on my forehead to check my temp. Satisfied that I wasn't burning up, she shouldered her tote bag. “Suit yourself. If you're feeling peaked, hydrate well today, and stay in the air-conditioning. Maybe you should call Lila and meet her at the bookstore.”

I pulled the sheet up and over my mouth. “Maybe. Bye.”

“Later, gator.” Mom halfway shut my door. I waited to hear the Jeep's slam, then I hopped up out of bed immediately and threw on some clean shorts and a T-shirt. I had a brand-new pair of outdoorsy hiking sandals to wear, thank goodness. The blisters I'd gotten the first week still hadn't fully healed.

After checking the chain and the tires on my bike, I took a circuitous route out of Manteo to avoid any known Lila hangouts. Last thing I wanted was her tagging along and spoiling my day with Ambrose, or stealing any more artifacts. Rather than demanding she unhand the flask, I decided it would be better to act like I didn't know that she'd snatched it, until I could figure out how to get it back. You know, keep under the Lila radar.

As I biked, I realized how used to this very different island I'd gotten in the twelve days I'd been on Roanoke. At home I almost always woke up to street noise, like the shrieks and groans of trash trucks, or cabbies honking at people double-parked in front of the school across the street. The quieter sounds of Manteo had become normal to me. Sometimes the loudest thing was the strong breeze rustling the trees. This was probably the longest I'd ever gone without taking the subway, in my whole life. And the most bike riding I'd ever done, since Mom and Dad will only let me ride in Central Park on the weekends, and I don't even do that very often because it's a lot of effort to haul my bike up from the storage room. The tires have a magical ability to be low on air every single time I try to take it out.

One particular adaptation bothered me, though: How I was getting used to life without my dad. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I didn't expect him to wake me up in the morning anymore; I didn't look for his toothbrush in the holder. I didn't check to make sure I wasn't going to trip over his laptop cord when walking around, or expect to clear a slew of notebooks and pens off the couch cushions. Maybe it was simply because I was adjusting to a new space, one he'd never shared with Mom and me. But part of me worried that we were moving on from his being a part of our home. It made me feel both insanely angry at him for running off to London and creating this situation, and incredibly ashamed with myself for not missing him all the time. Was I letting him down by allowing life to move along? I didn't understand how my mom could forge ahead like we weren't hurting.

I pushed that out of my mind and focused on the scenery along the winding road. The trees were tall and mysterious. Lila's theory about using ghostly energy as a way to find the lost colony made sense—if you believed in ghosts. I'd never thought about them too much, other than on Halloween and when Jade and I sneaked scary movies on her computer. But why would a ghost want to stay where he or she got stranded? Couldn't a ghost decide to go haunt the place he or she liked best in life? That made more sense—or haunting where a ghost's loved ones still were. If I weren't locked into a feud with Lila, I'd talk to her about that.

Fort Raleigh was on the same land as the Elizabethan Gardens, but I hadn't seen it the week before. After the fork in their shared road, I came upon a woodsy area with a visitor center and a bunch of administrative and research buildings. I had expected a big military-looking thing, like a medieval fortress, but Fort Raleigh looked like a state park. A sign showed where people could park for
The Lost Colony
drama, which was performed in something called the Waterside Theatre. I'd forgotten about Lila's audition debacle. I decided that watching the play would be my next weekend tourist excursion with Mom.