Uncertain Glory (10 page)

“I'll bet he's taking him to the old jail on Federal Street,” Charlie said.

“Likely,” I nodded. The old granite building had been there since the War of 1812. It wasn't a place anyone wanted to spend a single
night, let alone a longer stay. Still, it was the Lincoln County Jail, and jail wasn't supposed to be a place you looked forward to visiting.

Gradually the crowd broke up, as there didn't seem to be any more excitement at hand. Charlie and I started back toward the
Herald
's office.

“Guess I've got the first story for my next issue,” I said. “I didn't think I'd have a new story so fast.”

“Have you thought of any questions for Nell?” Charlie asked. “Our interview's at one o'clock.”

“I have a few,” I told him. “Not many.”

I wasn't looking forward to seeing Nell again, after what had happened Saturday night. It hadn't been the right place to ask my question, and with what the Belfast mariner had told us, I was more confused than ever about Nell and her voices.

“Let's get a list of questions together,” said Charlie. “We should stop in at the telegraph office first, though.”

Others had had the same idea. A crowd had gathered by the time we got there. Mr. Johnston was standing outside his store, delivering the news.

“President Lincoln has called upon the various states of the Union to contribute a total of seventy-five thousand volunteer members from the various state militias to suppress the Southern insurrection, such volunteer state militia to be dispersed within ninety days.”

“Only ninety days, Joe! He thinks it's all going to be over in ninety days,” said Charlie. “That's barely time for troops to rally and be trained.”

“Who among us is going to be patriotic and save the Union?” someone in the crowd yelled.

No one answered.

“What's going to happen next?” I said quietly, more to myself than to Charlie. I knew one thing for sure: I had another bulletin to get out. If I didn't sleep, and if Charlie and Owen kept helping me, maybe I'd still be able to make Mr. Shuttersworth's deadline.

“I'm not sure,” said Charlie. “I suspect there'll be a lot of talking and drinking in statehouses. Does Maine even have a militia? I'll bet Governor Washburn is figuring that out right now.” He grinned and slapped me on the shoulder. “C'mon. We have to talk with your Miss Gramercy before the world changes again. She says she can see the future; maybe she knows what will happen next.”

Chapter 19

Monday, April 15, 1:00 p.m.

“Miss Gramercy and Mrs. Allen are awaiting your arrival in the blue parlor,” said old Mr. Turner. He owned the Mansion House, and had presided over the lobby there for as long as I could remember. I detected a twinkle of amusement in his dignified words, and I swear he winked at me as I passed him on my way up the wide front staircase.

No matter. The important thing was that Charlie and I were going to talk to Nell.

The blue parlor was the room in back of the ballroom—where the Allens and Nell had been Saturday night. We stood outside its door for a moment. Charlie spit on his hand and smoothed down his cowlick. I took a deep breath and tried not to be nervous.

Nell Gramercy was just a girl, wasn't she? She'd seemed normal enough when we'd talked on the street. I was more nervous at seeing her aunt than I was at seeing her. What if I said something wrong—or insulted her by asking the wrong question? What if her aunt said we had to leave, the way her uncle had called off her session Saturday night?

I told myself I wasn't nervous at all about talking to Nell Gramercy. Even if she was a girl who talked to dead people.

I screwed up my courage and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Mrs. Allen called.

Nell was sitting on a love seat in front of the fireplace, dressed in her usual white, although today her shoulders were wrapped in a pale blue lace shawl.

Her aunt, a grand woman in every sense of the word, sat in the chair closest to the love seat. Her hooped skirt was made of brown watered silk. That silk was expensive. Ma only ordered it when one of the women up on High Street or their dressmakers requested it. Mrs. Allen indicated that Charlie and I were to sit on the two chairs opposite them.

“My uncle tells me you publish a newspaper here in Wiscasset,” said Nell. Her eyes were very clear and blue. I hadn't noticed that before. She didn't look as though she had a headache today. While I hoped she'd say something about meeting me earlier, I knew she couldn't. Her aunt and uncle couldn't find out that she'd left the inn by herself.

“Yes,” I answered. “I own a print shop, and publish the
Wiscasset Herald,
a weekly newspaper, as well as special editions when there's important news.”

“You must be very busy now, with news of the war coming in at all hours,” said Nell.

“Indeed,” Charlie said. “We just heard that Lincoln has called for seventy-five thousand volunteers. And this morning there was a scuffle down at the Custom House. The local customs agent didn't want to raise the Stars and Stripes because he didn't support the president's position on states' rights.”

“And yet you're taking the time to speak with me.”

“Your story is of great interest to our readers,” I said. “No one of your . . . sensitivities . . . has ever visited Wiscasset before. Can you
tell us how long you've been in touch with spirits who've . . . passed over?”

“All my life, I think,” said Nell. “Even as a very young child I remember hearing voices of people who were not physically in the room, and sometimes seeing visions that others did not. I learned not to mention these things, for fear others would think me mad.”

“And what brought you to believe you were not?” asked Charlie.

“When I was six, my older brother Luke went skating on a nearby pond with some of his friends. I was helping Mother in the kitchen, and suddenly I had a vision that Luke and one of his friends were skating near ice that I somehow knew would not hold them. I screamed as I saw them break through the ice and flounder, and then, not come up. Of course, my mother was alarmed that I was so distraught. As soon as I'd calmed down, she listened, and sent one of my older sisters—for I was one of seven children—to bring Luke home, so I could see that all was well.

“My sister was gone longer than she should have been, so all at home were anxious. She brought Luke's body home on a board, along with the body of his friend. Both had drowned.”

Charlie and I sat, horrified. And fascinated.

“After that, I was afraid when I saw things that hadn't happened yet, or were about to happen. And soon I began to hear from those who'd passed over. Many people were afraid of my gift. Others saw it as a blessing. My dear aunt and uncle, with whom I now travel, taught me to see it as a way of helping people on this side to understand their grief. To free themselves of guilt and sadness. To live full lives, until it's their turn to go to the other side.”

As you can imagine, I was wondering what Nell's uncle had done to support himself and his wife before Nell had come to live with them. Did they even have a home? She hadn't mentioned one, other than the house she'd shared with her parents and brothers and sisters. She said one brother had died, but where were her other siblings? From all I'd seen and heard, it seemed that she and her aunt and uncle traveled all over the country, their lives revolving around Nell and her voices—and those who would pay for her services.

But Charlie and I weren't here to talk about her aunt and uncle.

“Can you see the future?” I asked.

“Sometimes I can; sometimes not. My gift is not one that can be depended upon. I've had gamblers beg for the results of horse races, or politicians, the results of elections. My gift does not answer those sorts of questions.”

“What does it tell you about this war we're entering into?” asked Charlie, leaning forward.

“It says little,” said Nell, looking at him sadly. “But I see a long tunnel, and much darkness.”

“That proves your gift is not perfect,” said Charlie, almost triumphantly. “President Lincoln has only called up the militia for ninety days. No one thinks it will take long to defeat the Confederates.”

“Only time will prove anyone right,” said Nell. “Whether they be spirits or presidents.”

“And now,” Mrs. Allen said, “I think we've tired Miss Gramercy enough. You boys should be able to write something up with what she's told you, and you have all that news about the war to write up, too.
Miss Gramercy has to rest. Communicating with spirits is exhausting, you know. Very exhausting.”

As she spoke, Mrs. Allen rose and shooed Charlie and I out of the parlor before we could ask any more questions. I looked back as Mrs. Allen closed the door. Nell smiled and raised her hand to wave good-bye.

Charlie and I ran back down the main stairs, nearly crashing into a dignified couple walking up. We didn't stop until we were out on Main Street, causing several frowns from gentlemen and ladies in the lobby.

“We didn't ask anything about her family,” Charlie said suddenly, as we slowed down.

“It said in the Boston newspaper that she was an orphan. Her parents must have died,” I reminded him. “And when we were walking the other night, she said she'd
had
brothers—as though she didn't anymore.”

“I guess she's lucky her aunt and uncle are taking care of her.” Charlie shook his head. “You and I have both had people die in our families, but you still have your ma and pa, and I still have my father.” He walked a few steps further. “And we didn't ask how she performs her tricks.”

“She's very convincing, isn't she?” I asked, looking back at the Mansion House and wondering if Nell was looking down at us.

I was glad Charlie hadn't asked her about tricks. I remembered what she'd said at that first session—that you had to believe in them for spirits to come. I had a feeling her voices wouldn't have wanted their existence questioned.

“I guess she did give us enough to write up our interview,” Charlie said begrudgingly, as we stood on the street.

That was when we noticed something happening up near the Village Green.

Chapter 20

Monday, April 15, mid-afternoon

Old Major Ben Bailey, whose tavern we'd visited Saturday night, and who'd fought in the Mexican War back in the 1840s, had set an old, red-painted pine table plumb at the very bottom of the Village Green. On either side of the table he'd planted poles firmly in the mud, and the Stars and Stripes waved from each one.

On the front of the table hung a large, crudely lettered sign:

ARE YOU A PATRIOT OR A COWARD?

SOLDIERS, SIGN UP HERE!

“C'mon!” said Charlie, heading up to the table, along with eight or nine other people who'd also been watching. What was Major Bailey doing? Was this an enlistment station? It didn't look likely.

“Stand back, men! I can only take one at a time!” Bailey said, grinning at the men crowding around his table. “I'm proud to see all my fellow Wiscasset citizens respondin' to our president's call to arms!”

“Hey, Ben,” called Mr. Irons, over the hubbub. “What're you doing? We've received no directions for enlistments. I've heard Maine has no money to pay a militia, neither.”

“True enough, Archie,” answered the major. “But mark my words, we'll have all the answers we need any day now. And the sooner we start thinkin' about it all, and men start markin' their name on a piece of paper”—he waved a blank sheet in the air to demonstrate—“the sooner we'll have our marchin' orders.”

“How many men do you think they'll be wanting from Wiscasset?” Charlie asked.

“As many as wants to go, I reckon,” said old Mr. Ames from over to Union Street. “Wars gobble up young men, and too many don't come home.” He shook his head. “Don't none of you be signing no papers, for Ben or nobody else, 'til you thinks it through and talks with yer families.” He stomped off down the hill, muttering to himself.

“Don't be believin' what Mr. Ames said right off,” said Major Bailey. “Mr. Lincoln's talkin' ninety days. That's barely enough time to get men enlisted and armed and move 'em south, much less get 'em to any battles. And battles is where war is fought, ain't it men?”

I looked from one excited man to another. Most were nodding in agreement, Charlie with them. War was battles, wasn't it? That's what history books said. Battle after battle after battle. And for every victory in battle, someone was defeated. History books said that, too. We'd already lost the first battle, at Fort Sumter.

“To be a part of them battles, you got to be one of the first on the list. It's true, what Archie said,” Major Bailey said. “We got no directions as to how to do this thing, and we got no money to pay anyone. But who needs to be paid to be a patriot? We know our president says he needs seventy-five thousand men, and he needs 'em now. Our governor and representatives up to Augusta are prob'ly trying to figure it all out right this very minute. We can get a head start by havin' a list ready for 'em of all those men ready, willin', and able, right here in Wiscasset. Ready to go march just as soon as we know where to send 'em.”

“The major's a character, for sure,” a man in back of me said, “but he's making more sense than most I've heard today.”

“Maybe,” said a second voice. “But I'm not signing any piece of paper that takes me away from home without talking it over with my wife, that's for certain. If I did that, I'd have no home to come back to!”

“Good point!” said the first, and the two men walked away.

“So, who's goin' to be the first patriot to sign his name?” said Major Bailey. “Who'll it be?”