Grandfatherâs homestead in Australia! There!â She jabbed her finger at the quadrant labeled J-3. âThe spot heâd Xâed. Itâs all the proof we need.â
Walter grinned. âNow all we have to do is . . .â
Marni interrupted him. âIt does appear weâve located the grave. And it will involve a bit of clever-ness in order to unearth what weâre looking for. But still . . .â
âStill what?â I asked.
âIt feels too easy.â
Pru and I exchanged a glance. Every other step in this quest had been riddled with complications. Was it possible our luck was changing?
No sooner did the thought occur to me than a wall of thicker fog pressed in, carrying with it a cold chill.
âThereâll be a lot to plan,â Marni said. âWe canât very well just march over here with a shovel.â
âNo,â Pru said. âWeâll need to come at night. Wait until the moon has waned. A starless night. One of us as a lookout.â
âThereâre supplies weâll need,â Walter added. âShovels. A cart. Rope for hoisting.â
Despite our good fortune I suddenly felt weary. Anxious. The fog pressed in.
âLetâs go back,â I said, and to cover my anxiety, I added, âand make a plan.â
âGood idea,â Pru said. âThis fog gets much thicker and itâll be hard to find our way.â
I glanced out to sea and pushed back a wave of panic. Nothing at all was visible. It was like peering into a cloud. Again I was reminded of the day Mother and Father had been lost at seaâto me, the fog was a dire enemy.
We managed to find the dirt road, and painstakingly began to retrace our steps. It took all my concentration, eyes glued to my feet, to make certain I wouldnât trip and fall.
Suddenly I felt utterly aloneâI had no sense of Walter beside me, or of Marni and Pru behind. âMarni? Aunt Pru? Where are you? Walter?â My voice bounced back and dissipated in the fog. An eerie silence enveloped us. My hands groped before me. Walter, I silently cried. Aunt Pru? Marni? A distant voice answered, pleading from some unreachable place . Plant your feet firmly, darling. Donât move a muscle! Resist! You must!
I knew that voice. Mother? My knees felt suddenly weak. Then, a sudden pressure on my arm.
There now, thatâs my girl. Steady! Steady! Inch your way back.
Father . . . Somehow, their voices empowered me to reinhabit myself, or at least regain some level of control.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! As always, the warning bell of the Lucy P. Simmons roused me, and, with great difficulty, I riveted myself to the spot on which I stood. Slowly, slowly I edged my feet back. As I did, a warm breeze curlicued through the fog, and floating on the welcome stream of air was the faintest hint of colorful glittering mistâthe same that had transformed my home back in Maine and had swirled about the ship when the situation was most dire. As it wafted about me I felt the life force surge once again inside my veins, and at the same time the oppressive fog and acrid smoky vapor began to lift.
Exhausted, I sat down and closed my eyes. I was roused by a snuffling sound and a tugging at my sleeve.
âPugsley!â
I gasped. My little dog was desperately trying to pull me back from the edge of a precipice where I was sprawled, just inches from where the cliff dropped into the sea. Not daring to get up, I scootched myself from the rim of the bluff on my backside, until I was far enough away to safely stand.
âPugsley,â I cried, âI donât see Walter, or Pru. Marni.â Deeply shaken, my eyes scanned the cresting whitecaps, terrified that I might spy a rag doll of a body being cast about. Pugsley tipped his head, sniffed into the wind, and took off. Squinting, I followed him with my eyes and spied three rumpled forms farther up along the headland. I ran until they
Stephanie Hoffman McManus