I remembered a question that had gotten lost in my anger. “Oh! I forgot to ask—why did you tell Mr. Midgett that you were in that play? Are you in it?”
“That’s a long story. I was in The Lost Colony,” Ambrose said, “but some stuff came up.”
“Like working at the Festival Park?”
Ambrose nodded. “It’s okay, though. Now I get to hang out with you.”
I blushed for the millionth time. “Lila auditioned for that.” I thought for a minute. “Wait, why don’t you know her? This is a small town, after all. I looked it up, and there’s only one middle school in Manteo.”
He shook his head. “I do school at home. My mother teaches me.”
That could explain a lot about Ambrose’s weird vocabulary, if his British mom was his teacher. “I have some friends who are homeschooled, and they like it. But I think I might get lonely.”
“Sometimes I do.” After a minute, he added, “Less so now that you’re here.”
My heart just about stopped beating. Come on, Nell, it’s not like Ambrose said he liked you or something. You’re friends. Be cool. I plucked a leaf from a bush and twirled the stem between my thumb and forefinger to distract my nerves.
“My mom says we might leave pretty soon,” I blurted out.
“What? I thought you were here to stay.” Ambrose stopped walking.
I turned to face him, shading my eyes from the now-afternoon sun. “No, we’re only here for this month. Didn’t I tell you that?”
Ambrose shook his head. “It must’ve been wishful thinking on my part. How much time do you have left?” There was an urgency in his voice that I found unsettling, but also kind of . . . exciting? Flattering, maybe? Even my best friend, when I’d told her I was going away for a huge chunk of the summer, responded by lining up a reserve friend via text. Ambrose sounded like my leaving was going to be a terrible thing for him.
“Mom is finishing her research this week, and then it’s a matter of whether we want to spend the rest of the month here as a vacation.”
“This means we must hurry if we want to find answers to Roanoke’s mysteries,” Ambrose said. He met up with me in two silent strides. “If I had known . . .” He trailed off. Oh. So it was all about the mystery, not me.
“I was thinking it would be a good idea to search along the coastline to look for clues. Based on some stuff that Lila’s dad told me at the museum.”
“I know a way to get onto the water,” Ambrose said. “Remember where we found the flask?”
I winced. Maybe part of why I wasn’t holding a grudge with Ambrose was because I knew that I held a big, fat secret: that I’d lost our super important artifact. “Um, yes?”
“There was a boat, tied up to a dock. Only a skiff, but it was big enough for the two of us. We could paddle around the island, make a day of it.”
Going out in a boat with Ambrose sounded really fun, but also hard. “Do you know a lot about looking for clues underwater? I doubt we can get fancy tools, like sonar.” What we really needed was a metal detector.
“I can dive under the sea and look.”
“You have all the gear?” I asked, skeptical. If Ambrose didn’t have a cell phone and always wore his work uniform for regular clothes, how would he have the money for an expensive hobby like scuba diving? Or even snorkeling?
He shook his head. “I’ll dive by myself—I don’t need tools.”
“Like free diving.” I’d seen a documentary on that once—these people can take a deep breath and dive practically to the bottom of the ocean.
“Sure. The ocean in these parts is very shallow, especially near the shoreline. There are lots of shoals—sandbars.”
“Okay.” I had another idea then. A mischievous one, maybe, but it was too perfect to pass up.
“We could use your telephone’s compass,” Ambrose suggested.
That was true, but not quite what I was thinking. “Sure. But I could get some shipwreck-hunting gear to help us. Perhaps from Lila.”
Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “Your sworn frenemy?”
“I have a plan.” By now the trees were thinning out, and I saw the road ahead. My mother would be over at the Grandmother Vine, a few hundred feet away through the trees. “Looks like we’re almost back. Do you want to finally meet my mom?” If I squinted, I could see her sitting in the distance, scribbling something in her field notebook.
“No!” Ambrose stopped me before I started waving and calling for her attention. “Beg pardon, it’s that— Do you have the time?”
I refreshed my phone. Still no bars, but the clock worked. “A little past three.” I couldn’t believe it had gotten so late.
“Zounds!” Ambrose said. “I have to get home immediately. My mother will be worried sick.”
“Let us drive you,” I said. “Anywhere on the island takes minutes in the Jeep. It’s not a problem.”
“I couldn’t ask that of you. Plus, I know a shortcut that will be faster. Another time I’ll meet your mother.” Ambrose gave me a sheepish grin. “Friday, shall we say? That gives you a chance to snag whatever tools we need.”
I nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll meet you at the Elizabethan Gardens, at the part by the sound. The Watergate, I think it’s called.” Ambrose was already dashing off through the woods. I called after him, “I’ll be there at eight thirty!” Maybe for once, I’d be on time.
Ambrose turned to give me a thumbs-up but kept running away. I watched flashes of him fade through the trees.
I looked to the vine and saw my mom stand up and wave. I started to jog to her, but I was too exhausted to run. I’d been out in the hot woods for hours, and I hadn’t been drinking water. Another survival fail, I guess.
“Nell! Were you calling for me?” Mom asked as I practically collapsed at her feet.
I shook my head. “Nope.” I didn’t know how she’d react if I told her I’d been talking to Ambrose. What if she got mad that I was hanging out in the woods with a boy, and then forbade me to spend time alone with him? If I didn’t give her that chance, going out in the boat with Ambrose wouldn’t be disobeying her. It would simply be a little omission. Plus, I felt bad that Ambrose hadn’t wanted to meet her today.
Mom frowned. “Hmm. I could’ve sworn I heard you yelling. That’s why I looked up and saw you flailing through the trees. And thank goodness, because I was getting ready to call a search party.” She held out her water bottle for me, and I chugged from it. “Have you not eaten or had anything to drink this whole time?”
“I was taking a nice walk. I got turned around, though. The compass on my phone went on the fritz.”
She tsked. “You need to be more careful, sprout. Let’s get you into some air-conditioning.”
I inhaled a granola bar before helping her pack up her things. I must’ve been near heat-exhausted because while driving home, I fought sleep, despite the bumps of the road. Each time my eyes almost closed, I pictured Ambrose leaning against the trees, smiling at me.
A blessed arrival and a bittersweet departure from our struggling colony. First the arrival: a child, born on the eighteenth of August. Ananias and Eleanor Dare did name their daughter Virginia, after the place of her birth, and she holds the distinction of being the very first English child born in the New World. (I dare say the green-eyed monster did bite Margery Harvie—her child was born thereafter.) Virginia was a healthy and bright babe. Her birth gave new hope to the whole company. ’Twas a difficult summer in the Roanoke colony—the drought worsened day by day, and our food stores became perilously low. We did not enter parley, and relations with the Roanoke people did sour like the rotten grapes that hath fallen from the vine. Even our few allies offered bare assistance as we struggled to stay fed. With autumn and winter looming, we were all most afeard. With so few crops planted, what would we harvest?
That leads to the afore-written departure of John White. The governor stayed for the wee babe’s baptism the Sunday following her birth. But on the twenty-seventh of August, he s
et sail for England. The planters and assistants determined that although we may survive the winter with what little we possess, we would need supplies by spring’s end. With one voice, they requested his departure. At first, White refused. He fretted it would be abandonment of his colony, and he would be slandered. He would be leaving all his things, he said, such as his decorations for the future governor’s manse, and his pieces of armor. He could not expect for them to be kept for his return if we ventured into the main.
The next day, all the planters and assistants made the request of him again. This time, the women begged him too—including his own daughter, Eleanor. Verily, she told her father ’twas his duty to go. What hope for survival could sweet little Virginia have, if he did not procure the help our company so desperately needed? Standing near to them, I overheard him say again that his duty was hither, with the colony of which he is governor. But Eleanor persisted. “Prithee, do not let England forget us.” We, the company, delivered him a testimony to prove our wishes. Eventually, White was convinced.
We all stood on the shore as he departed. Eleanor, cradling baby Virginia in her arms, did shed salty tears as he boarded the boat. “Fear thou not,” he called to her. “I shall return, bearing goods for the company and gifts for my Virginia.” Yea, we did hope for his safe return. Yet as I watched the boat fade into the horizon, I did wonder when e’er we would lay eyes on him again. Or if. Our voyage hither was rife with dangers. ’Twas a miracle we found this island, and ’twould be a miracle if our colony was joined by its governor once again. Until then, we faded back into the darkness of the forest, and we did wait.
CHAPTER NINE
I first heard about the storm on Wednesday night. While drying the dishes, I asked Mom if I could have a reduction in my hours. “I wouldn’t mind going back to the gardens or the Festival Park. You said we might be leaving next week. This is my last chance.”
Mom pursed her lips, thinking it over. “I guess that’s fine. Honestly, I’m running out of research-assistant work for you to do.” She rinsed a plate and handed it to me. “But don’t forget our ground rules, sprout. You check in on your phone whenever you leave the cottage.”
“I know, I know.”
“Especially if you go near the water. Only swim where there are lifeguards. That’s important this week: The first big storm of the season is brewing off the coast. It’s early for it.”
“We’re getting hit by a hurricane?” I asked. “Won’t we need to evacuate?” When I was little, hurricanes didn’t scare me at all. They were something that happened far away, to people who lived in oceanfront houses. New York City doesn’t exactly feel like a beach town. But then we had our hurricanes, and now they terrify me. My parents, too—tucked in the back of our hall closet is a huge plastic tub filled with emergency water, food that won’t spoil, flashlights and batteries, and a wireless radio. Mom bought Dad a cell phone charger that you crank by hand, which I thought was really funny. “It’s for the new olden times,” she said. “Thank you, climate change. NOT.” A classic example of Mom’s “NOT” jokes.
“More like an out-of-season nor’easter, according to the weather guy,” she said, handing me another plate to dry. I missed our dishwasher. “Don’t worry—it should stay out at sea. But it might bring rain.”
That was a relief. If we got hit by a hurricane, there would be no way that Ambrose and I could sneak off on a skiff. But a faraway storm wouldn’t stop us. The bay was calm as a bathtub, anyway. Except for the wind.
After Mom headed out on Thursday morning, I had the whole day to take care of business. The cottage’s old-fashioned rotary phone sat on a little chest in the front hall, and tucked into one of the drawers was the Outer Banks/Albemarle Area phone book. I could hardly believe that the numbers and addresses for all the people and places on Roanoke and the surrounding area were contained in the slim volume. The Manhattan phone book was so thick, I used it as a booster seat when I was little. Roanoke’s was so small in comparison that I almost felt like I could count the residents on my fingers and toes. First, I flipped to V for “Viccars,” but Ambrose and his mom were unlisted. Then I looked up the entry for Lila’s family: “Midgett, Luke and Kate.” Their address was helpfully printed next to the number. They lived outside of town in the Mother Vineyard neighborhood—close to the water and the actual Mother Vine. It would be a short trip on my bike, once I made sure that Lila wasn’t home.
If I borrowed her metal detector, Lila and her parents probably wouldn’t even notice, right? All I had to do was return it first thing on Saturday, or even slip it into the garage late tomorrow, after Ambrose and I got back. The Midgetts would never know the difference. Asking them for permission wasn’t an option—not if I didn’t want Lila to know what I was up to. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Slowly circling past the bookstore on my bike, I saw the familiar reddish-yellow fur of Sir Walter Raleigh, collapsed in a lazy heap on the porch. Excellent. Lila must be inside, chatting up Renée or doing research. This was my chance.
I pedaled as fast as I could to the Midgetts’ address, arriving at a cheerful white house with bright green shutters and a tidy yard. I had expected their home to look a little ramshackle or something, maybe because Lila’s dad was busy with his artifacts and her mom didn’t seem like the landscaping type. But like all the other houses on Mother Vineyard Road, the Midgett house was nice-looking. There weren’t any cars in the driveway and inside the windows, everything looked still. I hid my bike in some bushes near the road and tiptoed across the yard, glancing behind me every two seconds like a truly paranoid person. I hurried around the house to the garage, which was a barnlike structure. The water of the sound glistened right behind it.
A few boats leaned against the side of the garage: a dingy yellow kayak, a shiny red rowboat, and a tattered Sunfish sailboat. I peered into the belly of the rowboat. I’m not even sure what I was looking for—something for shipwreck hunting, I guess. Sonar equipment? Magnetometer? I didn’t even know what the tools I needed looked like, other than the Ping-Pong paddles Luke had said maritime archaeologists use to brush sand away from objects buried underwater. Maybe this was kind of a dumb plan, hunting through Lila’s stuff without a clear idea of what I wanted to find. Anyway, wouldn’t all their special equipment be on her mom’s big fishing boat?
The door to the garage was slightly ajar. As I pushed it wider to let me into the darkened space, something fell over with a loud clatter. “Jeez!” I exclaimed, tripping all over myself. I bent down to pick up whatever I’d knocked over, and that’s when I realized what it was: a metal detector. Judging from the label, it could be used in the water.
I’d seen people using them at the beach when Mom and I went—a potbellied old man slowly scanning the bleeping wand over white mounds of sand. I watched him for a while, until I realized that steady noise of pings didn’t lead him to any treasure. But if that detector could find metal buried deep under the sand, couldn’t it find metal buried in the shallow water along the shore? Wherever the colonists had made their village, there had to be some metal artifacts: silverware, drinking cups, tools. Even if they took almost everything with them when they vanished, surely some things got left behind and buried by time. This was what Ambrose and I needed to find them.
I grabbed the metal detector, sneaked out of the garage, and hurried down the gravel path back to the street—the detector was compact but cumbersome, so I couldn’t hustle that fast. Now, this is dangerous, I thought. It was one thing to trespass on the Midgetts’ property to poke around. It was another to steal, I mean borrow, something of theirs. Lila and Sir Walter could come ambling up the path at any moment. I couldn’t wait to be safe on Budleigh Street.
That’s when I heard painfully off-key singing. It sounded like it was coming down Mother Vineyard Road. And getting closer.
I stopped in the middle of the yard, wondering what to do. That warbling might not be Lila—but then again, she did have an “audition debacle.” My s
tomach dropped when I heard Sir Walter’s bark through the trees. He was yowling at something, maybe a squirrel. Perhaps he didn’t like Lila’s singing. Or maybe he could sense me, terrified and standing as still as that deer in the Grandmother Vine woods.
I took off running as fast as my battered-from-the-forest-floor feet would allow and while clutching the clunky detector. I sped toward the dense brush bordering the Midgetts’ yard and threw myself into it. Brambles and leaves tugged at my hair and my exposed skin, but I plunged in as deep as I could to hide myself. I crouched low to the ground, panting, hoping that I’d made it to safety before Lila and Sir Walter had rounded the corner.
Lila trotted up the walkway to her house. She was reading a book, singing, and walking simultaneously, so Sir Walter nudged her back to the center of the path whenever she drifted. I started to breathe easier. I watched her stop halfway to the front door and slowly turn a page. All I needed was for her to go into the house, and then I could make a mad dash to my bike. Home free.
Doot doot-doot-doot doot-doot-dah! That’s when my phone decided to play backup for Lila. It blared the British-sounding fanfare music that I’d assigned to be the special ringtone for my dad’s calls. Of all the times for him to make himself unlost to me.
I fumbled to hit silent, but it was too late: Lila had stopped in her tracks. The hand holding her book fell to her side, the pages fanning out as they moved through the air. She quit singing, and her eyes narrowed to a squint. I could see the concentration on her face as she listened, trying to pinpoint where the sound had come from. She slowly turned around and around, scanning the edges of her yard. My heart pounded; the sound of blood pumping through my ears was deafening. I didn’t dare breathe. I clasped the cold metal of the detector, and prayed that she wouldn’t look over to these bushes and see part of me sticking out.
Sir Walter barked in my direction, his tail wagging happily. “Shush.” Lila pressed a finger to his wet nose. “Be quiet,” she said softly. She took a few tentative, tiptoeing steps in my direction. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t bear to see her approach me, knowing with each step the very deep depth of the trouble I was in. My sweaty hands struggled to hold tight to the detector.
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