Summer of Lost and Found

by Rebecca Behrens

  I promised I would try, and I meant it. She sat down in front of the vine, cross-legged, and holding her EMF detector on her lap. The meter was already waving around, like there was a lot of energy in the woodsy air—further convincing me that was why my phone had always acted so strangely in the area, like the compass spinning.

  I hurried into the trees. Once I could no longer see Lila when I looked toward the vine and the road, just a curtain of loblolly pines and live oaks, I started calling his name.

  “Ambrose? Are you here?” Silence; my voice had quieted even the birds. Sunlight dappled the forest floor around me, and a cool breeze tickled my arms. “Ambrose, please—I want to see you.” Then I added, “I’m not mad.”

  I felt the eyes of the forest on me again, and I knew he was near. I turned to see Ambrose emerging from deep in the woods. Not much worse for wear from our misadventures, but that was understandable—nothing at sea could’ve hurt him. Ambrose carried something behind his back.

  “Good morrow, Nell.” He smiled at me, a little shyly.

  “Hi, Ambrose.” It made me sad to say hello, like this might be the last time. I tried to memorize how he looked gliding across the pine needles. His hair was crazy messy as always, his white shirt oddly crisp for something he’d been wearing for more than four hundred years. Dirty bare feet and pale skin. Those sad but sparkling eyes.

  “I’m so happy that you are well,” he said. “And I fear that I did make a grave mistake.”

  “How so?”

  Now his twenty-first-century American speech was peppered with more Elizabethan words. “Aye, many things.” He sighed. “Convincing you to go out in that mutinous storm. Lying to you about who I am, verily, and why I wanted to wander the island with you.”

  “Why did you want to spend time with me? You knew what happened to the lost colony. Because you’re . . . a ghost.”

  “’Tis true. But I knew only what happened to my mother and me. Prithee take a walk with me, and I’ll explain in good time?”

  I fell into step with him as he led me deeper into the woods. “When I was alive—when all the colonists were—there was trouble on this island. The men in the 1585 colony were arrogant. Their violence ruined any chance of harmony with many of the tribes in the area. Verily, our company lacked the things to survive on this land, much less during a year of drought. After John White left, things became desperate, and with haste.

  “Some of the men decided to sail away to finish our journey, settling at the mouth of the Chesapeake, as we had planned. My father was one of those who left on the pinnace. But my mother and I, like all the other women and children, stayed. Father promised that no matter what, he would come back for us. He swore that the words he used to say farewell would not be the last I’d hear from him.”

  I thought about the shipwreck we’d found, and a lump formed in my throat.

  “But they didn’t come back. A bad storm had arisen shortly after they set sail, and we feared the worst. Our group decided that if we were to survive, we must abandon the settlement. The Croatoan showed great compassion—they would let us live with them, in Manteo’s village. So the remaining colonists dismantled our settlement, and we all prepared to leave. CRO  was carved into the trees, so those who had left—like John White—would know where to find us. Yet by then most had given up hope for the group who had gone on the pinnace.

  “Not I. By my troth, my father was always true to his word. My mother fell ill the day before our colony moved to Croatoan. She was in no shape to make the journey. I decided we should stay and wait for my father, where he left us. We watched as the others left the island in hopes of life on another. Then we waited.”

  “But nobody came back,” I whispered.

  “With every day we grew weaker. My mother’s condition improved, but only slightly. We had the round grapes of these vines to sustain us, and what crabs I could catch in the marsh. I would walk yonder, to the edge of the sound, e’ry morn and wait to see white sails on the horizon. Alas, I knew that nothing in life would stop my father. Any day, certes, he would be back to take us to our new home. But what I ne’er knew was that a wreck had already taken him from this world. In time, not even the grapes were sustenance enough, and hunger and fever took my mother. Then me as well. Even after death, we have stayed here, keeping our vigil. Our souls have ne’er been at peace, not knowing what befell my father.”

  Ambrose stopped in front of a few tall trees. I cleared my throat, which ached with sadness. “I’m so sorry, Ambrose.” Tears trickled down my cheeks.

  “Grammercy, Nell.” He revealed what he’d been hiding behind his back—a familiar round shape. The flask! “But because of what you and I found, we are no longer lost.” Maybe it was my imagination, but his fingertips and the rest of his hands looked like the color was slowly draining out of them from holding it.

  “Where did you get that—”

  “Aye, I am the filch who stole it. I took it only to show my mother. But I owe that lass an apology, for letting the arrows of your accusation pierce her.” He handed the flask to me. “’Twas my father’s. I recognized it the moment you pulled it from the shore. I thought mayhap it meant that he had made his way back to Roanoke at some point in time. But the markings told me of what befell the ship in the storm. He scratched out those words as they took on water, and he threw this into sea, in hopes that it would reach my mother and me. Thusly, I knew I must leave the island to find his resting place and reunite. But for that, I needed your help.”

  “I’m happy I could help,” I said slowly. “Even if, well, it almost killed me.” Ambrose shook his head with shame. I could tell he felt bad for putting me at risk. Although that would never be okay, I understood his desperation because I’d felt something similar. “Are you going to be okay now that you know the truth?”

  Ambrose smiled. “It hath brought the peace for which my mother and I have been waiting for centuries. We are forever grateful. Now I want to help you discover the truth you have been seeking.”

  I gave him a questioning look. “What do you mean?”

  “Aye, look up.” He pointed to one of the oldest, tallest trees. It was as broad and tall as that ancient live oak at the Elizabethan Gardens. As I gazed up its trunk, I saw it. Carved faintly into the bark, very high above my head, were three letters. C-R-O.

  I gasped. “This! This was where you all lived?”

  Ambrose nodded. “Our village was in these woods, and over yonder is where my mother and I have remained for these years, tethered to this land. The grapes of that vine did help sustain us, so all this time I’ve looked after it—through storms and droughts and pestilence.”

  My mother would really freak out if she knew what had helped her special scuppernong live so long. Well, if she believed it.

  “Verily, I saw you here for the first time, Nell. You were walking in these woods. Mother and I had stayed hidden from people until then—except that one man at Fort Raleigh. I watched him from time to time—I liked seeing what he did to preserve my history. A few times, I let him catch sight of me.”

  “But then why did I meet you at the Festival Park?”

  “I do spend many a day there—the Elizabeth II is like the ship that ferried us from England, where I spent some of the last days with my father. But also, you’d have been afeard if I came out of these woods when I first saw you here. What’s more,” Ambrose added, “I could explain with ease my mother’s and my clothing at the park.”

  “That’s pretty smart.” He was right—if an oddly dressed boy had jumped out from behind a tree that first day, that would have seriously weirded me out.

  I remembered Lila, waiting for us up by the vine. “I’m not the only person you’ve come across. So why did you start talking to me?”

  “You seemed familiar to me that day in the woods. ’Tis because you are a Dare. My mother said if I could trust anyone, certes would be you.”

  “Wow” was all I could say.

  Ambrose gestured to t
he flask. “The longer I hold it, the more I fade.” I gave him a questioning look. “Interacting with the living world—touching things, like this flask, or opening doors and rowing oars—it makes me less solid. Rest and scuppernongs help me regain myself.”

  “Is that why you made me do all the work?” I looked closer, and now Ambrose’s arms up past his elbows were pale as snow and fuzzy-looking.

  He nodded, kind of bashfully. “I beg your pardon for that, too.”

  “Apology accepted.” Most of my questions were answered, so it was time to ask for a favor. “Do you think you could meet someone else? Because Lila—my friend—would love to meet you too.”

  “Friend?” It was Ambrose’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Nay, not a frenemy?”

  “She pretty much saved my life yesterday. She’s officially a friend now.”

  He nodded. “In truth, I had seen that lass before—she has come closer to discovering me, and this place, than anyone else on the island in four hundred years. But that beast was always with her.” He shuddered.

  Beast?  “Her dog?” Ambrose nodded. “Wait, are you afraid of dogs?” I thought about how the only times I’d ever seen sleepy, friendly Sir Walter growl and bare his teeth were when Ambrose had been with me or nearby.

  He nodded. “Most lily-livered. They can sense us better than any person can.”

  The irony of Lila’s constant companion being the reason why she could never find a ghost was too funny. “Wait until I tell her that. But Sir Walter Raleigh’s not around today. I promise.” When he gave me an odd look, I added, “That’s what she named her dog.” Ambrose rolled his eyes. I guess some facial expressions are timeless.

  We hurried through the forest, back to the vine. Once Lila was in view, I called her name. She shaded her eyes, looking in our direction. Her mouth dropped open, and then she jumped up, waving the EMF detector.

  She was speechless when Ambrose and I reached her. “Lila, I’d like you to meet Ambrose. Ambrose, this is Lila.”

  “How now, good Lila,” he said, giving her a shy smile.

  Lila’s mouth hung open, still.

  “You can say hello back,” I suggested.

  “Hello!” she squeaked.

  “Wait until you see what we have to show you.” I grabbed her hand and turned to Ambrose. “Let’s take her to see your home.” The three of us headed back into the woods, the sunlight casting two long shadows behind as we raced toward the lost colony, found.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After we showed Lila the carved tree, she hurried back to the road (and away from all that ghostly energy) to call her dad at Fort Raleigh and tell him to come over right away. But I think she also knew that I needed a minute alone with Ambrose. To say good-bye.

  “So what happens next? Where will you go?” Ambrose and I were sitting in the shade of the vine. He looked less fully human than ever before. Helping save me in the water had taken a lot out of him. Apparently, he’d also been the one to bring my bike back to the cottage. I loved thinking of a ghost riding my bike along Mother Vineyard Road, in the dead of night.

  “Mother and I shall venture out to the wreck, once we have enough strength.” Ambrose plucked one of the scuppernong grapes and popped it into his mouth. He looked maybe one smidge more solid as he chewed. Those grapes were the only thing he’d eaten in hundreds of years. How would people feel if they knew that the scuppernong jelly they ate was essentially made out of ghost food? He ate another, slowly, savoring it. “My father’s spirit is there—I felt it in the air—just as my mother and I are here, in this ghostly form. Once we three are reunited, we won’t need to be tethered to Roanoke anymore. In a way, my family will be going home. At long last.” Ambrose smiled.

  I swallowed hard. I wanted Ambrose to be happy, and to be “home,” but I also didn’t want to lose him. “Will I see you again?”

  “Nay, I reckon not,” he said, turning to face me. I stared into his bright eyes, and I felt tears well up in my own.

  “Nell, sweet Nell, don’t cry,” he said. “Verily, you’ve helped me more than you can possibly know. ’Tis because of you that what was lost is found. For the first time in centuries, I am content.”

  I could see that he was right. His eyes weren’t so sad, and there was a peacefulness in his face that I’d never seen before. “I’m happy about that. I’ll just miss you as a friend.” I wiped at the trail of a tear on my cheek and sniffed. I hated good-byes so much. I wondered, Is it worse knowing that you will never see someone again? Or not knowing if you can?

  Ambrose took one last grape. “And I will miss thee terribly too.” He sighed. “Mayhap ’tis time for us to head our separate ways.” Slowly, he stood. He wiped his hazy right hand on his pants, and then he held it out to help me up.

  I reached for him, trembling a little. He grasped my hand. Ambrose was stronger than I’d expected—especially for a ghost—but his palm was cold as ice, colder than any person should ever feel. I guess that’s another reason why he always avoided contact with me. It was a dead giveaway. Ha.

  Once I was standing up, he took a deep breath and then pulled me into a tight hug. I wrapped my arms around his freezing body and squeezed, shivering. “Thank you,” I whispered in his ear. “Thank you for being my friend.”

  “’Twas my pleasure,” he whispered back. He kissed my cheek, and my face flushed under his icy lips. Then he let me go.

  “Anon, Nell. Tell the world what happened here.” Hugging me had taken even more of him away. I could almost see the live oaks through his white shirt, the patterns of afternoon sunlight on grass through his feet. I realized this was my last chance for a picture—but I didn’t need to take it. I’d remember that messy hair, those bright eyes, and that sad smile forever.

  “I promise I will, Ambrose. Certes.” Then he was off, gliding away through the forest. I shook with sobs, overcome by the sadness of his story and the grief of losing a friend. But I felt relief, too, knowing that he’d finally gotten the answers he’d longed for. And so had I.

  Lila walked over and put her arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a half hug. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve still got me, and Sir Walter.”

  I took a deep breath. The thing about being alive is that you have to keep moving forward, right? Even when you’re unsure about what’s ahead. “About that—Ambrose told me something pretty interesting. You might want to rethink taking Sir Walter along on your ghost hunts.” While we waited for our parents to arrive, I filled her in.

  • • •

  After four hundred years of quiet mystery, a lot happened very fast on Roanoke once we found the lost colony. The construction company happily went to plan B for their golf course. Even they didn’t want to disrupt history—and Elizabethan Links’ new spot on the mainland had a sweet view from across the water of where some actual Elizabethans had once lived. A new excavation project, led by Lila’s dad, started the day after we showed him the site. Amazingly, within the first few hours, the crew had uncovered artifacts buried deep below the piney forest floor—including a chest that never made it to Croatoan or on board the ill-fated pinnace. As soon as I heard that they’d found it, I knew exactly whose it must be—Ambrose’s family’s, since they were the last to stay on the island. Sure enough, it held a well-preserved Bible that had “Ambrose Viccars the Elder” inscribed on the inside cover, in the same script with Gothic letters that I hadn’t been able to read when we’d found the flask. But the most amazing thing was tucked under the Bible: twelve loose pages, on which my Ambrose had recorded his story—just in case it was ever found. The scientists said it was a miracle they were so well preserved. But I knew better. When Ambrose had said to tell the world his story, I didn’t know he would be helping me.

  That was when Lila and I decided to tell her dad the truth about Ambrose. He had a hard time believing us until I got to the part about Ambrose being at Fort Raleigh that day. Luke’s face turned white as, well, a ghost. “That villager boy! I—I knew there was something diff
erent about him, but I thought he was just doing some kind of method acting.” He stared out the window of his office. “I once caught him spying on me while I worked. When I tried to talk to him, he scurried away . . . wow.” He shook his head. “Lila, if only I’d given your theories a little more consideration.” For a second, she looked shocked, almost like she might burst into happy tears—and then she started to pester her dad about incorporating ghost-hunting methods into his archaeological work.

  “Nell—knowing what these pages mean to you now, would you like to read them?” Luke opened a box on his desk, and took out a small stack of fragile-looking paper. I walked over to him, and he placed the pages in my hands. “Take your time,” he added. “Lila, come here and tell me more about where you’ve gotten interesting readings with your EMF detector.”

  It was hard to read about the hopeful start of Ambrose’s colony, knowing all that happened after—and because my eyes blurred as I slowly turned the pages. I squeezed them shut for a minute. Hold it together, Nell. I was afraid my tears would mar the writing. But as I kept reading, I realized that the fact that I was holding Ambrose’s words in my hands was a joyful thing, too—his story needed to be known. As soon as the experts finished transcribing, people could read every word of it.

  Finding the village site and the colonist shipwreck had turned Roanoke into major news. LOST COLONY FOUND! blared the headlines. GIRL DARE-D TO FIND THE TRUTH! People seemed especially excited about two things: that my dad wrote historical mysteries, and that I shared a lineage with the first English child born in America. It didn’t seem fair that the articles focused on me, a New Yorker who hardly deserved full credit. So in every interview I did in the frenzy afterward, I pointed out that I couldn’t have found any truths if a very determined local girl—my friend Lila—hadn’t saved my life.

  Apparently, super-old tree carvings—like the letters C-R-O that the colonists had left behind—are a thing people like Lila’s dad and my mom study; they’re called arborglyphs. Smithsonian magazine heard the news and asked my mom to write a special article about the bioarchaeology work she was doing at the site. Then my mom’s museum decided that it wanted to put together an exhibit on both the lost colony artifacts and arborglyphs. She managed to convince them to do a joint exhibition with the Fort Raleigh visitor center, which meant that she’d be visiting the island and Lila’s dad would be visiting New York City to put it all together. That meant lots of opportunities for me to see Lila again—about which I actually was thrilled. Who would have thought I would feel that way after our rocky start? Plus, there were still mysteries to solve—like what had happened to the colonists who’d traveled to Croatoan.