Before Nan Gidding could respond, another man raised his hand to speak. It was Mr. Abram Ward, whom Adam recognized as one of the elders from the church. The people standing around him apparently recognized him, too, because they immediately turned towards him and were silent so that he could speak.
“If I may,” he began, “I would like to ask a question. As you all know, this is the Lord’s Day. Has anyone in this room who has been out to the gypsy camp bothered to share the Gospel with these people?”
There were some wrinkled eyebrows and sour expressions.
Mr. Ward continued. “Shouldn’t we be reminded ‘Thou shalt neither vex a stranger, nor oppress him: for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt’?”
After he seemed to wait a moment for everyone to consider what he had said, he continued. “Wouldn’t you all agree that Christian charity demands we show compassion to these strangers? There isn’t a person in this room who doesn’t understand how these people work. They travel from place to place, plying their various trades, some of which are more dubious than others, such as fortune-telling, and then they move on to the next town. The only real harm they can effect comes when those of you who ought to know better get caught up in these things like divination and so forth. To know how these people do business, and then to get angry and blame them for duplicitous dealings, makes about as much sense as it would to find fault with Mr. Defoe upon discovering his stories are only fiction.”
Adam liked that Mr. Ward referenced Daniel Defoe, the author of his favorite book, Robinson Crusoe.
Valentine nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Ward. Is there anyone else who would like to say anything?”
Bob Porter said, “I think right now the only two things we need to concern ourselves with in this town are to find out who disturbed that little girl’s grave and what is causing this terrible sickness that’s goin around.”
Many in the crowd nodded in agreement.
The man named Cornelius who had gotten angry earlier piped up. “This just ain’t going to work. I didn’t come across town to this meeting tonight for nothing to get accomplished. It’s Sunday. I say if those no-good transients aren’t gone by the end of the week—Friday to be clear—we need to help ’em pack up and move along, and if some of you are either too lazy or too lily-livered to help, well, don’t you worry. I think we can round up enough folks to get the job done.”
Nan Gidding nodded firmly in agreement. “Thank you, Mr. Suggs!”
A large group of attendees voiced support for that idea, while another group of about equal size voiced their displeasure.
Valentine raised his hand and shouted, “Oy! Listen up! Sounds to me like some of you don’t care much for holding an honest vote, so I’m ending this meeting right now. If you ain’t ordering nothing, it’s time for you to clear on out.”
Cornelius Suggs abruptly pushed his way out of the crowd and then left the tavern. Several folks, including Nan Gidding, followed him out, but many more stayed and were in apparent agreement about leaving the gypsies alone.
It concerned Adam that there were hotheads in town who might actually try and do violence against the people out at Town Creek. He still didn’t like Madame Endora very much, but he would never support the idea of a group of renegades trying to force her and the others at the camp out of town with violence. It would have been different if they were actually doing violence or engaging in something dangerously illegal, but as it was, their brand of mischief appeared limited to fortune-telling and potion hoaxes. He thought that he should warn them, but for now he needed to get the medicine to Martin that Madame Endora had given him.
He went back into the kitchen to see if Aunt Franny had any chicken stock and rice that he could put in a crock to take to his friend. Never one to disappoint, she had both. She also insisted he take some peach cobbler with him, even though he told her that Martin probably wouldn’t be up for eating anything like that just yet.
“Well, you just go on an’ take it case he gets to feelin fo’ somethin sweet later on—or case you do, child.”
Adam knew better than to argue. “Thank you, Aunt Franny,” he said, then left through the tavern’s rear door at the back of the kitchen.
SOON ADAM WAS ON HIS way back to Martin’s house in his grandfather’s horse cart.
It’s so much easier when you have wheels, thought Adam.
When he arrived, he took the crock of chicken and rice soup inside, but he left the peach cobbler wrapped up out under the seat of the horse cart. He knew Martin wouldn’t care about that. And anyway, he wanted it later for himself.
“What took you so long, mate?” asked Jones.
Adam set the crock on the table. “Sorry, couldn’t help it. By the time I left Town Creek, I knew I better head on over to the tavern so I wouldn’t miss the meeting.”
“Oh, how’d it go?”
“Waste of time, really. I get the impression it was something Nan Gidding cooked up. Moses Heath was supposed to represent the other side of the issue, but he wasn’t there, so Bob Porter stood in his place.”
“What was the issue?” asked Jones.
“Nan Gidding and a man named Cornelius Suggs have a crowd all worked up about running the gypsies out of town whatever it takes, and they’ve said if they’re not gone by the end of the week they’ll drive them out by force. But Bob Porter said that they’ll be moving along soon anyway, since that’s just what they do, and it’s best to leave them alone, that they’re not really hurting anybody.”
He held the bottle of medicine Madame Endora had given him and stood at the entryway to Martin’s room. He looked in on his friend, who was pitifully sprawled out on his bed, stomach down, his pillow shoved off to the side of his head, bucket on the floor nearby.
“How’s he been?” he asked Jones.
Jones shrugged. “Eh, sick a couple more times, but then he fell asleep.”
“I wonder if I should wake him up to tell him I got this medicine.”
“Nah, I’d let him sleep. It may be he’s gettin past the worst of it. Reckon once he gets some rest he’ll start feelin better.”
Adam nodded. “You’re probably right.”
“I need to go, mate. Got plans tonight. I figure he’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I’ve gotta leave soon, too. I’ll just leave this medicine here next to his bed, but I need to write down the instructions.”
“Better get to it then,” said Jones.
He bade Adam farewell and left the residence.
Adam went into the sitting room and rummaged through the drawer of an old desk. He guessed the thing was probably close to a hundred years old, something that no doubt had come from Martin’s mother’s family, since they were well-to-do, whereas Martin’s father had been a humble cooper. He found a scrap of parchment—one that looked like it had already been used for scribbled notes—and he wrote down the woman’s instructions to take a little bit as needed until he felt better, then stop. He also wrote down that Martin might want to take the medicine with something.
He took the note and bottle into Martin’s room and placed them both on his bedside table so he would see them when he woke up. Just as he was about to walk out of the room and leave the house, Martin began to stir.
“That you, Fletcher?” he mumbled.
“Yep,” said Adam. “I’m back.”
“Back from where?”
Martin was hard to understand with his face mostly smushed into the mattress.
“Don’t you remember?” said Adam. “I went back to the gypsy camp.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
“Madame Endora sent this to you,” Adam said, holding up the tall, dark-colored bottle that was jammed closed with a cork. “She said it was a gift. Said she feels bad about the things that have happened in town lately. Maybe she’s feeling guilty for all those curses.”
“Prob’ly cursed me after she saw me with her daughter.”
Knowing Martin, A
dam didn’t think that possibility seemed too unlikely. “Ha-ha. Well, if that’s true, then maybe you ought not take what’s in that bottle.”
Martin raised his head from the bed only so he could roll his eyes at Adam.
Adam said, “She looked real different in the light of day, you know.”
“Yeah,” said Martin, dropping his head back down. “It can be like that with women.”
“Alright, my friend, I can see you’re real tired, so I’m just going to leave you here to rest. Just be sure and read that note before you take that medicine. She said just a little, and stop when you’re feeling better.”
“Wait,” said Martin. “What time is it?”
Adam checked his pocket watch. “It’s about half past seven.”
“That late?” said Martin, shocked.
“It’s not a bad thing that you’ve slept so long,” said Adam. “Prob’ly the best thing for you right now.”
“Yeah.”
“You might not even need that ol’ nasty medicine,” said Adam. “The old woman said for you to stop taking it when you’re feeling better.”
Martin shook his head. “Nah, I’m gonna go ahead and take it, just to make sure that I can get all the way better from this thing.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I’ll tell you, Fletcher, I wouldn’t wish this damned thing on anybody.” He gave a weak grin. “Well, maybe just Hardy Greene.”
“You better be careful about that. I already told you, you’re going to have to answer one of these days for messing around with Jenny.”
“I know. Hey, one more thing. Aunt Franny sent you a crock of chicken broth with some rice. I’ve got it over here on your dining table. You up for some now, or do you want to wait?”
Martin looked like he was trying to decide. “I think I’ll wait awhile. I’m still not up for eatin anything.”
“Fair enough,” said Adam. “Well, I need to get on back to the warehouse, unless you think you need someone to stay here with you tonight.”
“Nah,” mumbled Martin. “I’m just gon’ sleep.”
“Is there anything else you need?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Alright. I’ll be back to check on you in the morning.”
Martin gave him a weak wave.
Adam then left the house. He was relieved to not have to go too near Martin or touch anything that had come in contact with his sickness.
Chapter Fifteen
WHEN ADAM RETURNED TO THE living quarters at the warehouse, Charlie Phillips and Fred Canady were there sitting at the table, talking to Emmanuel and Boaz.
“Hey, y’all,” said Adam, surprised.
“Good. I’m glad you’re here,” said Emmanuel. “Mr. Phillips and Mr. Canady were just here telling us more about their recent trip and some of the troubles they’d run into.”
“Oh, is that right?” said Adam. He went over to the table and took the chair next to Canady. “Yeah, I guess we didn’t get to talk much about that when y’all arrived, since y’all were so sick.”
“Everything started out fine,” said straw-haired Canady in that distinctly twangy voice, “but it all went right straight to hell on the journey back.”
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “We were just telling your grandfather that my brother thinks there must’ve been somethin wrong with a barrel of pork we had on board that we’d picked up in Nassau.”
“Pork?” Adam asked, astonished.
Canady nodded in agreement.
Charlie continued. “It’s a long story—you can get your grandfather to tell it to you—but we’ve thought about all the other things it coulda been, but that right there just makes the most sense.”
“Well, if that’s true,” said Adam, “then why is Martin sick?”
“That’s what we’re wonderin,” said Canady. “We wasn’t sick anymore when we all went out Wednesday night. In fact, we were all startin to feel more like ourselves by Monday evenin.”
“I was just telling the lads here that it must be something else going around Beaufort.” Emmanuel counted off on his fingers as he named the sick. “There’s Martin, of course… Everett Bell, and that boy who lives near Dr. Taylor.”
“And now you can add Jackson Willis to that list.”
“The lad who waits tables at the Topsail?” asked Emmanuel.
“Yep,” said Adam. “That’s the one. And there’s at least twenty or so other folks sick that I heard about in town.”
“I wonder if there’s anything common between the ones who’ve come down with it,” Emmanuel mused.
Adam thought about something that old fisherman Ebenezer Gaskins had said back at the tavern.
“You know,” he said, “I went to that meeting this afternoon. There’s a group of folks hell-bent on driving those gypsies out of town, blaming ’em for casting curses and all, but anyway, there was one old man there who said something—prob’ly just as a joke—but he mentioned bad oysters. Martin had oysters when we ate at the tavern the other night. It’s such a simple answer, but I guess it’s possible.”
Emmanuel’s eyes widened. “Of course it is. But wouldn’t you think people have already considered that? It isn’t as if that’s some exotic disease for goodness’ sake.”
“But if folks has got their minds fixed on some gypsy’s curse causing the sickness, they ain’t gonna be thinkin right,” Boaz suggested.
“That’s certainly true,” said Emmanuel. He looked around the table at Adam, Charlie, Boaz, and Canady, and said, “Keep your ears open, lads. Ask around. If it is something as simple as bad oysters, we need to figure out where they were harvested and restrict fishing in that area.”
“Will do,” said Canady.
Charlie, Adam, and Boaz also nodded in agreement.
“Well, fellas,” said Adam, “I’m glad to see y’all are here and feeling better, but I’m sleepy myself. I’m going to bed.”
“So early?” asked Emmanuel. “It’s not even eight o’clock yet.”
“Yes, sir,” said Adam. “It’s been a long, long day for me.”
WHEN ADAM FINALLY CLIMBED INTO bed, he opened his journal again to read back over the things he had written down once more.
The 19th of September 1767 Anno Domini, a Saturday.
This is what the gypsy woman said to me:
Someone from far away with dark features like my own who is no more - Could be my father, but how would she know this unless she guessed?
Said I have a fear - Everyone has fears. This is not specific and could be true of anyone—not helpful.
Says I am skeptical—Yes. I am skeptical, but anyone with any sense could have seen that.
Past is key to future, hidden darkness—Vague. This could apply to anybody about anything
Secret thing from past follows me—said it’s like a rate always chasing me (what is that?)—Anyone might have something in their past that stays with them. Everyone has some kind of secret.
Warnings of curse—
SIGN - Danger will come from afar—This could be about that letter I got months ago, or it could be about a message that is still to come, or it could be she just made this up altogether.
SIGN - My livelihood will suffer—??? I don’t think Emmanuel can make me stop being his apprentice, and anyway, I am his grandson. Maybe this is just something she concocted, or maybe this is about something that will affect his business.
SIGN - The town will begin to experience terrible trials No idea???
WARNING - Avoid woman in violet dress. No idea ???
What was that bell on string about? Was it a secret message?—Her daughter might use that to let her know she has someone else waiting for a reading, or maybe she uses it as some kind of signal or code.
Sunday - The Gypsy arrives with sick crew, filthy, some cargo spoiled by mice.
Monday and Tuesday - Sorted through cargo. Prepared deliveries for customers. Destroyed spoiled and ruined items by
burning.
Wednesday - Started working on casks for M. Blount; Some men were talking about seeing ghost of a girl in graveyard - grown men!
Thursday - Delivered merchandise to S. Moore, E. Bell. Visited Craven Street, talked to Mr. Shaw. He believes girl climbed up out of grave. Said gypsy woman told of treasure north of town, gave spell to charm it out. Midgette boys say ghost was a boy. Old woman with bad vision said she only got glimpse of ghost.
He decided to add the things that had transpired since his last entry on Thursday.
Friday - Went to S. Moore’s house. He has broken arm. Wife blames curse. Gypsy warned her same as me - danger from afar. Wonder if other warnings were the same as well. Supper with Martin at tavern, then went out to gypsy camp. Martin stayed there with Stela for party. I left.
Saturday - Chores all day. Martin didn’t come to work—was sick. Went to g. camp at his request to get medicine. Madame Endora gave me bottle as a gift. Meeting at tavern. Gidding and Suggs want to drive g folks out of town. Gave medicine to Martin. Charlie and Canady visited - said pork prob’ly made the crew sick.
Still unknown - Why was the grave disturbed? Who did it?
Who sent that letter? What did it say?
He tossed his journal up onto his dresser and snuffed out his lantern. He turned towards the window and stared out at the moon hanging low over Taylor Creek. Its waning light filtered through the clouds that darkened the sky. He hoped it would rain. Rain always helped him sleep better.
He couldn’t stop thinking about everything that had happened lately, and he knew the only thing that would put his mind to rest was to get any answers that were within his reach. Over the next day or two, provided he didn’t get sick himself he would likely know whether or not oysters were a common factor in all the sicknesses, or if it was something else.
He decided there was one thing he could do—and that he probably should do—on his own, just to satisfy his own curiosity if nothing else. That was, he wanted to talk to Mr. Shaw again—and maybe talk to his nephews—about that poor little girl’s grave. There was just something about that whole situation that profoundly disturbed him. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but he felt like the story that was out there maybe wasn’t the whole truth. And the fact that Mrs. Midgette’s boys seemed to intentionally mislead him and Martin was only half of it. There was something more to it, and he wanted to find out what it was.
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