Giggleswick: The Book of Secrets: Giggleswick, #3

By Matthew Mainster

This book is also available in the Giggleswick Complete Trilogy Collection, which contains all three e-books!

A spellbinding fairy tale ...

The twenty-fifth anniversary of a terrible crime is fast approaching, and it's accompanied by more than its fair share of mysterious occurrences -- ghostly sightings, a stolen book, a hidden diary, an unearthed cave ... But for a nation on the mend after a year of finger-pointing and false accusations, only Elliot Bisby seems willing to believe there could be anything truly sinister afoot. Racing to connect the past with the present, he'll come face to face with every Giggleswickian's worst fear in this heart-pounding conclusion to the Giggleswick trilogy ...

The twenty-fifth anniversary of a terrible crime is fast approaching, and it's accompanied by more than its fair share of mysterious occurrences –– ghostly sightings, a stolen book, a hidden diary, an unearthed cave ... But for a nation on the mend after a year of finger-pointing and false accusations, only Elliot Bisby seems willing to believe there could be anything truly sinister afoot. Racing to connect the past with the present, he'll come face to face with every Giggleswickian's worst fear in this heart-pounding conclusion to the Giggleswick trilogy ...

Wondering what to read after Giggleswick? Check out Matthew Mainster's standalone novel for children, The Periwinkle Turban!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Press
• Release date: Jun 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501461743

Matthew Mainster

A musician by trade, Matthew Mainster began writing Giggleswick on the backs of his piano scores while holed up in practice rooms throughout college. He is a graduate of Lebanon Valley College and Yale University, and splits his time between rural Maryland and a clock tower in Rockport Harbor, Maine. Be the first to hear about new releases! Sign up for Matthew Mainster's New Release Mailing-List here: http://eepurl.com/XntUH COMING SPRING 2015! God's gonna trouble the water in Matthew Mainster's first novel for adults, a murky family drama entitled, Wade in the Water. Then, stay tuned in SUMMER 2015 for a new children's novel set during the second World War (magical realism).

Book preview

The Cave

Tom Gabby leapt to his feet. Dora! he shouted, his heart pounding. His sneakers flattened the tall grass as he streaked toward the water. Not this, he thought. Please, not this. Dawn — find Dad! he panted, hardly able to catch his breath. But his other sister stayed perched at the end of the pier, simply smiling down at the glossy surface below. He charged across the wooden planks, coming to a halt just as he reached the edge — the spot where Dora fell.

Without a second’s thought, he filled his lungs with air and jumped, plunging feet first into the ocean. In an instant, the cool water swallowed him whole, and he thrashed his arms and legs in an attempt to swim. It was only then he dared open his eyes. Blinding rays of sunshine shimmered down from above, illuminating the murky bottom, and great green tufts of seaweed billowed all around him. Tom blinked away the spots from his eyes and whipped his head from side to side, searching for his sister and her pink cotton dress, but she was nowhere to be found.

Tiny bubbles rose out of his nose as the last trace of breath left his body, and he kicked hard with his feet till his head broke the surface. He gasped for air, his chest expanding as he choked and wheezed, but he hadn’t a moment to lose — he had to get back under. Sucking in another breath, he let the water pull him down again, down until he was almost fully submerged, and then … he thought he heard something — high pitched and squeal-y. Girlish laughter …

He popped his head back above water and rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, both sisters — one now completely wet — were staring down at him from the edge of the pier, pointing and giggling.

Anger and relief flooded through him all at once, though at the moment he couldn’t be sure which he felt the most.

Dora! he spat, pulling himself up out of the water. (Anger had won, apparently.) Where were you? My heart nearly pounded through my chest! Just look at me, will you — I’m soaking wet! How the heck d’ya get back up there?

His tone hadn’t fazed her. I swam! she exclaimed proudly. All the way under the pier! Then I climbed up those rocks and—

Did you push her? Tom asked his other sister, his finger dripping as he pointed it at her.

Dawn’s face, fresh from a fit of giggles, now contorted in anger, but before she could protest, Dora gave him a gleeful explanation. I jumped! she said.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he asked, But why? He stood up, shaking the worst of the water out of his hair and clothes. You can’t even swim!

Sure I can! she replied, indignant. Mommy taught us.

Dawn gave a nod of agreement.

"What?— Oh," said Tom, taken aback. He’d no idea.

Mommy. The word stung a bit. It’d been so long since he’d heard it, and even longer since he’d said it. He’d nobody to call that anymore … and neither did they.

He felt angry again, though angry at what, he didn’t know. Look, just cause I’m stuck babysitting the two of you doesn’t mean you can get away with everything. What if you’d drowned?

Haven’t we lost enough? he added to himself.

Come on, Dora, Dawn said, scowling up at her brother. "He’s being grouchy … again. Let’s play hide and seek!"

Dora squealed in agreement, and the two girls dashed off before Tom could barely utter a word of argument.

Don’t forget to count to one hundred! Dawn shouted back at him.

He yanked his sweatshirt up over his head and wrung it between his hands, perhaps more savagely than necessary. Then, pulling it back on, he trudged after them, water squishing between his toes with every step. "Wait up, you two! I’m not counting to a hundred! Play something else instead, will you? Hey! Dad told me to keep an eye—" But he didn’t finish the sentence. It was no use, they were too far gone. Their tiny heads could be seen bobbing up the hill and along the edge of the cliff.

Grumbling, Tom began to run, shivering now from the cool air pressing against his wet clothes. He could barely keep sight of them for all the rocks and dips in the hillside, and he hovered near the edge of the cliff until he finally spotted them again, zig-zagging their way down to the beach, along a patch of sand, then up over a large boulder.

He tripped trying to make his way down to the beach, landing on his hands and knees, and when he looked up, it was to find them hopping onto one rock after the next. Then, righting himself, the last he saw of them was the pink bow atop Dawn’s head as the two girls slipped around a corner and out of sight.

Tom tried to catch up, but the rocks were slippery beneath his sneakers, and it felt like ages before he came upon the same corner from which they’d disappeared. He winded his way around, but at once staggered back as the ground suddenly dropped off right in front of him. His stomach gave a lurch, and his eyes widened, flooded by the sight of the hungry Atlantic churning below, its great waves crashing ferociously against the steep embankment at his feet.

His sisters’ names tumbled past his lips, but were barely audible. Where could they have gone? He drew in a slow breath, but before he’d brought himself to peer over at the rocks below, he spotted a tiny ledge along the edge of the cliff, leading down to a stretch of beach scattered with pebbles and shells. It looked freshly wet, and a dark impression upon the lower half of the cliff foretold a rising of the tide.

Dawn! Dora! Are you alright?! Tom yelled as loudly as he could. But his voice was no match for the roaring sea, and he eased his way along the ledge, grazing his hands upon the sharp rock to steady himself. Come on, you two! Where’d you go? he tried again, slowly nearing the base of the cliff. This time his words echoed off the surrounding water and stone. Quit hiding — I won’t be mad at you, I promise! he called out.

Not yet, he added to himself.

He leapt off the last bit of ledge and tramped across the pebbly beach, calling out their names over and over, but the girls did not appear, nor did their laughter or cheery whispers give them away as was so often the case when hiding from him at home. Even more worrying were the tiny splashing noises he’d begun to hear as he walked, but he could only pray the tide would hold out a bit longer — Dawn and Dora wouldn’t understand about such things … not until it was much too late.

Tom gazed up into the sky. Large boulders loomed ahead of him, casting shadows along the sides of the cliff … He quickened his steps, pulling his damp clothes tightly round him as the wind picked up and the sky darkened … The towering stone seemed an ideal hiding place for two mischievous little girls, he thought, and, acting on the hunch, he wound his way around the curving rock, soon coming upon a little clearing. There, he was confronted, not by his sisters, but by a dark, gaping hole chiseled into the cliffside …

He scrambled closer, examining the jagged opening … How had no one ever—? Surely someone would have—! Was it really — a cave?

He could hear the sound of water dripping from somewhere deep inside, and he stepped forward, passing through the wide opening into the dark confines of what he now saw to be a tunnel.

His footsteps echoed off the surface of the rock, becoming almost disorientating — as if there were several other people walking in front and back of him. Spooked, he opened his mouth to call out, but before he could manage, he heard a yipe, followed by an eerie burst of laughter.

A chill ran up his spine, the laughter ringing in his ears, but then, almost at once, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Up ahead, he’d heard a tiny voice announce: —and this part of the cave dates back to the year three hundred! The primitive peoples used it as a hiding place for their many treasures and relics.

Dawn, thought Tom gratefully. Imagining things, as usual.

"This collection of rat bones you see to your right holds great historical signifigents … the ancient humans believed rat bones brought good luck, and they used them to make beautiful necklaces and bracelets."

—and toothpicks! supplied Dora.

"Ew, gross, Dawn groaned, slipping out of character. Would you pick your teeth with a rat bone?"

If I was an ancient person, I might!

Dawn grumbled reprovingly, but quickly veered from the subject with a lecture on the cave’s many burial chambers.

Tom followed the sound of their voices deeper and deeper into the cave, squinting in an attempt to see by the trickle of sunlight filtered down through the tunnel.

"—it’s said to be home to over fifty mummies," Dawn remarked knowledgeably.

"I don’t see any mummies," argued Dora.

That’s cause they were buried behind the walls, silly — after being wrapped in toilet paper.

Oh — right, Dora replied.

Tom rolled his eyes. He considered calling out to them before they could get much farther, but then thought better of it. He didn’t fancy scouring the dark corners of a cave should they decide to resume their game of hide and seek. That, and he envied them … exploring the ancient underground — carefree, and full of wonder. Free from the sadness, if only for a bit.

He wondered if it was only his imagination, but it seemed — he’d almost swear — like things were growing brighter. The winding tunnel was beginning to feel more spacious and defined, its earth tones warming and rough edges taking shape. Perhaps his eyes had simply adjusted, but that wouldn’t account for the golden glow he now detected flickering up ahead. With no sign of a light source, however, he pressed on, heading straight for a dead end, or what looked like one — only, how could it be? … He could still hear Dawn’s little voice, now pontificating on the mummification process, and yet, she was nowhere to be seen.

The dead end proved just a corner, the tunnel bending to the right, and in turning, Tom suddenly beheld not only the backs of his two sisters just a few feet away, but also the source of the glowing, flickering light. A single wooden torch burned brightly, mounted high upon the wall of the cave. Though what had once been a comfort to him along the cavernous path was now the cause of a frightening question … Who had lit it?

If they were not alone, Tom did not wish to find out, and he ran forward, following his unsuspecting sisters to the left, and—

His jaw dropped and he skidded to a halt as the rocky surroundings opened into a large circular room, the torch illuminating its many contents. He blinked several times in disbelief. There — right in the middle of it all — was something he, nor anybody else, had ever expected to see again.

Dawn and Dora, alight with pleasure, sprinted straight toward it, surely believing themselves come upon the most magnificent treasure trove.

"—GIRLS!" Tom cried.

Startled, they whipped their heads around.

His voice caught in his throat. "G-get away from there! We have to get out — now!"

The Lighthouse

The summer day had begun like almost any other in Giggleswick — a plum horizon, a golden sunrise, and finally a blue sky sprinkled with fluffy white clouds. In many ways, it was the makings of a perfectly ordinary day. Only it wasn’t every day Elliot Bisby and his best friend Eliza Noodle sailed to America. In fact, Eliza’d never stepped a foot off Giggleswick a day in her life. Nor had Elliot, for that matter, since moving to Giggleswick two years prior.

The two fourteen-year olds huddled near the dock, basking in the cool ocean breeze as their suitcases dangled from their hands, swinging back and forth. They were waiting on their chaperones, Eliza’s father Wally and Giggleswick’s trusty sea captain Lefty Scrum, who were still making their way to the boat. The two men had been left with a bit more to carry seeing as a fifth person had recently decided to accompany them in their travels — in particular, a fifth person with more luggage than a touring dance company. The only reason Wally’d even gotten Lefty to agree to transport the extra passenger and his many accouterments was that the gentleman in question would be traveling to America never to return again.

I suppose it’ll be rather quiet on the way over, said Eliza. "I wish he weren’t coming — here it is, my first time through the fog, and he’s bound to make things miserable."

Elliot shrugged. Just ignore him. I mean, you can’t really blame the guy for wanting to go back … not after what happened.

Eliza considered this. True, she said. And I guess we should feel a bit sorry for him. I wonder who they’ve found as his replacement … Must be somebody we already know.

Maybe so, but we’d better not talk about it now — Here they come, he said, nodding his head toward the top of the hill where Lefty and Wally could be seen trudging down the grassy slope beneath piles of suitcases, hat boxes and carpet bags. Behind them, Derek Clappers was looking determinedly toffee-nosed and wearing one of his snappiest outfits, his hands completely empty except for his Yorkshire terrier, Camille, who was perched in the crook of his arm like a tiny bronzed Buddha.

Mr. Clappers had been acting thoroughly put out ever since the end of February when Giggleswickians had unanimously described his self-composed musical as a nails-on-chalkboard experience. Then, to make matters worse, the school board had gotten together at the end of the term to inform him of their decision not to ask him back as drama teacher for the fall. From that point on, he’d holed himself up in his house, only occasionally slipping out to the market or Sappy Maple, and even then, almost always in disguise.

Give us a hand, will you? Lefty grumbled as he and Wally came upon the dock, veins bulging across their foreheads like railroad tracks.

Elliot and Eliza rushed to relieve them of the various pieces of luggage.

—Careful with those, Mr. Clappers shouted coldly, stroking Camille’s wiry coat and nodding in the direction of a box Elliot now held labeled Fragile: Porcelain Figurines!

Elliot forced a polite smile, passed the box to Lefty on the boat, and hopped aboard. The seaman’s prize vessel was looking particularly radiant in the sunlight after the good polish he’d given it. Even its name, Olive Juice, had been reapplied with a fresh coat of red paint.

It’s a good day for it, said Wally brightly, smiling up at the sky as he rubbed at his sore arms and back. Then, looking around, he said, Where’s Evol gone off to?

Lefty heaved a body-bag sized piece of luggage over the side of the boat. ’e’ll be along any minute. Gone off to Felipe Foogerton’s place for a nail trim and feather cleanin’, said Lefty, shaking his head. Wants ter look ’is best, ’e says, what with the big journey and all.

Mr. Clappers gave a significant cough. I still say that bird could be a big star, he told them, situating himself next to Camille on the boat. He pulled a tiny mirror out of a tote bag and checked his bow-tie. —a show every night of the week, and two on Saturdays! They don’t have talking birds in America, you know — not like him. He’d have his choice of parts.

Lefty slammed the last of Mr. Clappers’s bags down onto the floor of the boat with a thud. I told ya already, Clappers — the only way that bird’s leaving Giggleswick s’if I snuff the life outta him me-self. And it ain’t come to that yet, he said, though he turned to Wally and muttered, Some days, though, I tell ya …

Mr. Clappers shrugged with an air of nonchalance. I’m just saying …

"Well yeh can just not say from now on, got it? Lefty grunted, his tone leaving Mr. Clappers batting his eyes and clutching his freshly starched shirt. I don’t want yeh puttin’ ideas in ’is ’ead. God knows ’e thinks enough of ’imself already. Been hitting ’umphrey up to give ’im an official title as it is … And I ’ad to talk ’im outta suggestin’ a parade!"

Elliot and Eliza snickered at the thought of a gigantic Evol-shaped float going down Giggleswick’s main street, but they soon stifled their amusement when a screech was heard overhead.

"Shush, Lefty hissed at them. Not another word — ’ere ’e comes now."

The parrot spread his yellow-tipped tail feathers wide across the sky and descended, coming in for a landing beside Mr. Clappers on the bench at first, and then almost immediately onto the deck of the boat as Camille bared her teeth and snapped in his general direction.

Evol tucked his feathers away and scampered around at their feet. Sheesh! Tough crowd, he squawked. Oughta be checked for rabies, that one.

Don’t mind Camille, said Mr. Clappers, sounding friendlier to Evol than he’d been to anyone else in months. The former drama teacher and the loquacious parrot had formed what could only be called a special bond over the past year, though a more superficial alliance there never was. Evol’d only concerned himself with Mr. Clappers after being promised a role in the school musical, and Mr. Clappers, while in awe of the bird’s natural singing ability, mostly favored Evol out of necessity. After all, Evol was the only person (well, bird) who was even the slightest bit upset at Mr. Clappers’s departure, and was therefore the man’s only friend in Giggleswick, for lack of a better word.

Come on, Lefty said to Evol, beckoning him onto his shoulder. Best get goin’ if we’re ter make it in ’fore nightfall. He cranked the boat’s engine, and it roared to life, sputtering momentarily before settling into a steady purr.

Eliza squirmed in her seat beside Elliot, then leaned toward him and said, "Mr. Clappers or no Mr. Clappers — this is so exciting! To think, all these years hearing about the Wailing Wanda Waters, and I’m finally going to see it! I hope she shows herself — Wanda, that is. Dad swears he’s never spotted her in all his years traveling through the fog, but if you ask me, I don’t think he’s truly looking, know what I mean? — Doesn’t believe in ghosts and things. But I think they—"

Elliot’s attention, as well as everyone else’s, was suddenly severed as a distinct "Yoo-hoo!" rent the air from somewhere back on land. They turned their heads to find Lilly Noodle coming down the hill, waving energetically at them with one hand while trying to maintain her grip on a very heavy looking picnic basket with the other. Elliot’s mother, Nora Bisby, was just a few steps behind, she too with her hands full carrying some sort of pie plate.

Everyone in the boat waved back to them — except Lefty, that is, who checked his wristwatch instead — and they waited for the two women to reach the dock, which they soon did, out of breath but smiling cheerfully.

What’s this? bellowed Wally jovially. He hopped out of the boat, his arms open wide and ready to embrace his approaching wife.

You didn’t think we’d let you go without provisions, did you? said Mrs. Noodle, handing the basket to her husband who nearly toppled under the weight of it. Some sandwiches, apples, veggies and dip, a thermos of soup, and — let’s see … Oh yes! Some bowls and spoons, and a jug of apple cider, she finished, looking quite pleased with herself. And I’ve thrown in a jar of peanut butter and some crackers in case you get peckish later on.

We’re gonna sink, Lefty moaned, but he tipped his hat toward them at any rate, adding a civil Lily — Nora when they greeted him.

Eliza, who by this point had already stuck her head down inside the basket, now dug out a sandwich and bit into it. Then, both remembering her manners and forgetting them at the same time, she thanked her mother with her mouth full.

Mrs. Noodle’s expression, though stern at first, quickly softened into a smile, and she pulled her daughter into a fierce hug. Then, forgetting herself, she moved aside to allow Elliot’s mother through. Nora’s baked the most delicious lemon tart! she told them.

Mrs. Bisby stepped forward and handed the dessert to Mr. Clappers with a particularly warm twinkle in her eye. I do hope you’ll find somewhere really special to share your talents, Derek, she said kindly.

Despite having barely uttered a word over the last four months that wasn’t tinged with a bitter inflection, Mr. Clappers now grew quite misty-eyed, and, offloading the tart to Wally, he flung his arms around Mrs. Bisby’s shoulders. "Dear woman! That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me in a very long time!"

Her pale complexion turned a bit blue as he squeezed her, but she gave Mr. Clappers several comforting pats nonetheless. People can be too spare with kind words, I think, she said wisely once she’d been released.

Mr. Clappers was apparently still inclined to agree with her as far as the other occupants of the boat were concerned, because after several gushy goodbyes and many see you soons, they’d set their sights on the great foggy way, and he was back to propping the sky up with his nose.

The fog loomed ahead of them, its misty tendrils snaking far along the horizon and high into the air — so high, in fact, that one could never tell where it ended and the clouds began. Elliot gazed up at it in wonder, remembering what he’d felt seeing it for the first time just two years ago. Had it only been that long? God, it seemed like ages, he thought. It was strange seeing it from this side now … like he was stepping back through the wardrobe, or waking up from a dream. But it wasn’t just a dream — Giggleswick was his home.

Beside him, Eliza gulped. Is this it? Golly — it’s even bigger than I imagined!

Wally chuckled and gave her an affectionate pat atop the head. Now don’t anybody lose track of your limbs — you won’t be able to see the nose on your face in a minute!

Evol gave a significant squawk, but instead of flying off into the sky as they’d each expected, he stayed perched upon Lefty’s shoulder, looking as though he quite required everyone’s attention.

"Well — go on," barked Lefty, giving the bird a shove.

Evol, however, stood his ground and cleared his throat. Seeing as it is Miss Eliza’s first journey through the fog, he began, and Mr. Clappers’s last … he cleared his throat once more, I’ve composed a new verse.

"New verse? Lefty spat. Verse fer what, may I ask?"

Wally clapped his hands together in delight. Why for the Wailing Wanda Waters song, of course! — Isn’t that right, Evol?

The parrot nodded curtly.

Well, isn’t this wonderful? — What a treat! Wally exclaimed, and indeed Eliza agreed with him, for she was practically bouncing up and down in her seat with excitement. Even Mr. Clappers’s sour disposition appeared to have mellowed, his dimples beginning to show as he watched the bird with rapt attention.

Lefty scowled horribly, but, sensing a lost cause, remained silent, and the bird drew himself up and announced, Well then, I shall begin. And with a shake of his feathers, he puffed out his little yellow chest and sang.

It was much the same song as always, only, as promised, he’d added a rather ill-fitting new verse that ended up sounding more like a political statement than anything resembling a tribute to Wanda. It went like this:

Poor Wanda, yes dear Wailing Wanda,

did die upon her ship.

But she’d not be the only to

draw forth the shorter stick.

Three centuries past and then forsooth,

another paid the due,

when they, done wrong by friends uncouth,

sailed back the ocean blue.

Oh ne’r had one ever did or done

as much as he’d done for thee,

and cursed henceforth, we are because

we shunned him and he fleed!

There was a delayed smattering of applause from everyone on the boat, all except for Derek Clappers who burst into tears upon recognizing the song as an ode to his perceived abysmal treatment by the people of Giggleswick.

Eliza’s enthusiasm seemed to have deflated, however, a reaction Elliot suspected had something to do with her thinking she, too, might have been mentioned in Evol’s song. With a curious expression upon her face, she opened her mouth and proceeded to make a serious error in judgement — that of thinking Evol ever amenable to critique. "Shouldn’t it be fled? she said. I don’t think fleed’s an actual word."

Stupid girl, Evol bristled, ruffling his feathers. Insolent, empty-headed— !

’old yer tongue! growled Lefty. Even Wally, who was ordinarily quite fond of the parrot, gave a distinctly disapproving "Wh-ell!"

Evol clucked his beak at them. "I say! Haven’t any of yeh heard of poetic license?! ‘Fled’ indeed! Go back to kindergarten, child, and learn how to rhyme!" And with that sentiment, he soared off into the sky and out of sight, humming the Wailing Wanda Waters tune in a most begrudging manner.

Don’t mind ’im, Lefty told Eliza, steering the boat forward into the fog. ’e’s just bitter cause ’is friend Clappers ’ere’s leavin’. Thinks it’ll be the end of ’is stage career … he explained. Then, under his breath, he added, and let’s ’ope it is!

Mr. Clappers, still bawling absentmindedly into a silk handkerchief, said, So sweet … so thoughtful.

Elliot watched as they disappeared into the dewy fog bit by bit, soon losing sight of everything but his nose. It was like slipping into a cloud, he thought, and he pulled his sleeves down over his bare arms as the air grew quite cold. He could still hear Mr. Clappers talking to himself a few feet away, probably too misty-eyed to notice anything different.

Almost makes me think I was wrong, the man blubbered. "Maybe I really did make a difference … What’s the old saying? — ‘It only takes one person to change the world’? But no one replied, and a moment later he gave a sniff. You know, I’m not all too sure I should leave after all."

Though startled by this pronouncement, they’d no time to react before Lefty was suddenly heard letting out a deep Argh! followed immediately by a great splashing noise somewhere off the side of the boat.

"Sweet Shirley Temple, what was that?! cried Mr. Clappers in hysterics. Oh, I knew it — he’s jumped! Now I’ll never make it back to America! Oh, what a thing to happen!"

"Relax, said Wally, though Elliot and the others were still quite unable to see him or anyone else. Keep your hair on — it was only the picnic basket! I thought I was putting it on the bench! Hmm … Lilly won’t be happy ’bout that … least we’d each grabbed a couple of sandwiches, and Derek’s still got the tart."

But what about Lefty — he made a noise! said Eliza, not altogether relieved.

Lefty quickly let out several Ehem ehems to assure them of his continued presence. Eh — sorry fer that. Must’a been startled by sump’n, I guess.

Elliot thought he was likely referring to Mr. Clappers’s announcement that perhaps he ought to reconsider leaving Giggleswick. It’d been enough to startle them all.

So much for wanting to change your mind — aye, Derek? said Wally a bit cheekily. Didn’t take you long to change it back the second you thought Lefty’d jumped.

Mr. Clappers mumbled unintelligibly for several moments, finally settling on the explanation: Well … I—

Evol squawked the last of his instructions overhead, and the fog began to clear, at which point Elliot was able to see Wally slapping Mr. Clappers genially on the back. S’alright, mate, he said. "They do say the decisions we make in an instant reflect our true desires … He stuck out his hand for Mr. Clappers to shake, smiling toothily. So I guess it’s really goodbye after all. Well, you’ll be missed! And we wish you well! Don’t we?" he said, looking around for support.

Uh, yeah … definitely! said Elliot, catching on.

"So well," Eliza agreed.

Wally turned his head toward Lefty. The captain, scratching at his chin, refused to break his eye-lock on the horizon, but eventually mumbled a reluctant, Ayuh.

From then on, Mr. Clappers was back to acting put out, even refusing the sandwich Eliza had tried to pass him. It was only later, after his stomach became quite talkative, that he picked up a fork and began picking at Mrs. Bisby’s tart.

Pouting miserably, and wearing the sheen off Camille’s coat with his incessant stroking, he eventually said, Guess you’ll be looking for my replacement while you’re there, won’t you? A new drama teacher? His lips trembled as he spoke.

No, no, my good man, said Wally, all that’s been sorted out. No, we won’t be bringing anybody back with us this year.

Elliot and Eliza already knew why, of course, but Mr. Clappers had been too busy avoiding everybody of late to keep up with such things.

"But I thought it was an annual tradition! argued Derek incredulously. What changed? — Hated me so much you’ve sworn off new people altogether?" He huffed loudly and turned away, his legs crossed and foot spasming in a fit of jitters.

No, of course not! Wally assured him. It all came down to a vote in the end, and the majority decided that it was much too dangerous to bring anybody new over … at least not for a while yet, he explained, sounding forlorn. It pains me to admit, but it’s probably for the best. It’s not like we’d stand a chance of somebody new liking Giggleswick anyhow — not with Kreville breathing down their necks.

But why bother making the trip then? asked Mr. Clappers, a little more curious than angry this time.

"To keep up with the times, of course! Don’t want to fall too far behind — we may not be a world power, but we’re hardly indigenous! Plus, it is an annual tradition, as you say, even if we can’t bring anybody back with us. And Eliza’s never been, so it seemed as good a time as any to give her and Elliot a bit of a treat," he added, winking at the two of them.

Elliot took a bite out of his sandwich, ignoring what had turned into a steady banter of travel plans being made between Wally and his daughter. The excitement in sailing to America had been almost entirely Eliza’s, but Elliot wasn’t without his own curiosity. He wondered if they might happen to see his old house while they were there. Would it still be standing? or would the overflowing sink have long since washed it away? Though he couldn’t see how it mattered, he hoped it had not. The image of his mother’s colorful flower boxes sagging beneath the windows, or the variety of homemade holiday wreaths she’d always hung from the door flashed through his mind. It might not have been the best of times, but he liked the thought that the shell of their memories would still be there, standing as it always had, its shutters a little crooked and paint wearing thin.

The afternoon wore on, the sun having shone on each of their faces at one time or another before drooping lower in the sky, its softened rays a glittering of deep yellows, oranges and pinks upon the ripples of the ocean. Wally had taken to snoring quietly, his chin mashing the once crisp corners of his bow-tie, while Derek, with the metered click of knitting needles, fashioned a new sweater for Camille out of a ball of pink yarn. Meanwhile, Elliot and Eliza played game after game of tic-tac-toe and hangman before finally ditching their pencils and resting their arms on the side of the boat, entranced by the sight of the thin stretch of land now cresting the water off in the distance.

Won’t be long now, Lefty told them, and the deep rumble of his voice stirred Wally from his nap.

The mass of land grew larger and larger before their eyes, its structures and dwellings beginning to take shape until, finally, there it was, cloaked in amber by the setting sun — Camden, Maine, the pretty lit steeple of the Baptist church poking into the sky, spiraling high above the neighboring rooftops like a beacon of welcome to the little town Elliot had once called home.

Elliot woke the next morning snuggled between the cozy sheets and heavy down comforter of a giant, king-sized bed. Light beamed through the nearby window, past the parted curtains, and across his face, and he squinted his eyes until they’d properly adjusted. Propping himself up on his elbows, he turned his head in the direction of the thunderous noises coming from Lefty, still in slumber beside him in the other bed.

Quietly, so as not to wake his roommate, he slipped out from under the covers and padded over to the window, placing his hands upon the glass and gazing out onto the street below. Early risers bustled along the sidewalks, toting coffee-cups and briefcases, cell phones pressed to their ears as they chatted animatedly to people at the other end. Others were taking dogs for their morning walks or carrying shopping bags home from an early attempt at beating the grocery store crowds. It was more beautiful now — perfect almost, thought Elliot — than he’d ever known. No longer a prison, no more a symbol of struggle and misfortune.

A smile pulled at his lips as he viewed the scene from their hotel room three stories high above the street. Directly across from where he stood in the Lord Camden House was the deli his mother had once worked at part-time when Elliot was little, and just behind it was the ocean, a shimmering sapphire beneath the clear blue sky. A memory flashed through his mind — he was watching his mother from his highchair as she wiped tables and prepared various subs and sandwiches, always smiling at him or waving … playing peek-a-boo with him when work was slow. He wasn’t sure if it was even real, he’d been so young, but he suddenly wished she were here with him now, looking down on their past with fondness — the sort that can only be found when remembering, and never before.

With a snort, Lefty sprung up in bed, yawning heavily and rubbing at his baggy eyes, but he flopped back down upon the mattress just as quickly, this time flipping over onto his other side so as to be facing away from the window. As the man fell into a noisy sleep once more, Elliot thought he heard a stirring from within the adjoining room occupied by Wally and Eliza.

The four Giggleswickians had taken to their beds early the night before, tired from their long day’s journey. They’d deposited Mr. Clappers at the bus station as soon as they’d docked, but it had been a lengthier goodbye than any of them had intended. Suddenly quite maudlin, Mr. Clappers had clung to each of them in turn, hugging them desperately and weeping on their shoulders. At one point, Wally’d clearly been so wracked with guilt that he even asked the man if he mightn’t rather stay with them and return to Giggleswick after all, but much to their relief — however shameful that relief was — Mr. Clappers had choked back his tears and adopted a stiff upper lip.

No … no, he’d said with a sniff. "Drama is my life — my calling. A tiny bit of anger had seemed to return as he wrestled internally with his decision. I must go where people most need drama and, and — and theater … I must get back to the stage!" He’d then swung the scarf he’d made himself around his neck, and with Camille dangling perilously under his arm in her matching pink sweater, he’d grabbed up the last of his suitcases not already on the bus and made his exit, sending them all one final wave before ascending the steps of the motor coach and taking his seat, bound for his once and future home of Newport, Rhode Island.

Elliot heard what sounded like water being turned on in the room next door, and moments later Wally was whistling a medley of familiar tunes as he took his morning shower. Elliot pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt, and laced up his shoes, and he was just dragging a comb through his somewhat matted head of dirty brown hair when he heard the latch click from the adjoining bedroom door, and Eliza and her squeaky clean father strolled into the room. They were both dressed for the day, Eliza quite as casually as Elliot, and Wally with another one of his famous bow-ties. The man checked himself in the tiny mirror upon the wall, giving his damp hair a flick and the ends of his bow-tie a tweak.

Well then! said Wally cheerfully. But he turned around, and his eyes fell upon the colossal lump that was Lefty still bundled under the covers in bed. Hey you, he shouted, addressing the lump. He plopped his foot atop the mattress and gave it a bounce or two. Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, or I shall have to give you a kiss!

A snore caught in Lefty’s throat, and at once he sat up in bed, giving his head a shake. He blinked his eyes at them until they came into focus.

What the ruddy—?

Thought that’d do the trick, said Wally happily.

What’cher all standin’ ’bout lookin’ at? spat Lefty. He swung out of bed, placed his feet immediately into their boots, and yanked his rain hat off the bedpost and down over his head. Give a man a second to collect ’imself, why don’t ya — ’ardly got a minute’s sleep las’ night, he slurred.

Elliot stifled a laugh. Not by the sound of it, he whispered to Eliza.

Lefty glared at him.

So, friends — what’s on the agenda? said Wally, rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation of the day. Some coffee, perhaps? I doubt we’ll see the bright side of ol’ Lefty here — if there’s one to be seen — till he’s had some!

I don’t drink coffee, you know tha’! Lefty griped, rubbing a rather tattered hanky under his reddened nose.

Ah — right. That explains it, then, said Wally, grinning. "Well, I could do with a cup, anyhow. I saw this nice little shop across the street — what’s say we pop over? Might do for a spot of breakfast while we’re at it."

There were no complaints other than a bit of wordless grumbling from Lefty as they shuffled out of the hotel room, past the friendly concierge, and across the street to the coffee shop. The smell of home fries and bacon and freshly brewed coffee filled their lungs as soon as they’d stepped through the squeaky wooden door and into the shop.

Wally inhaled deeply. Ahh, that’s the ticket, he said, patting his stomach.

They placed their orders — several plates of eggs and toast, a few side orders of bacon, and a stack of flapjacks for Eliza — and took seats at an empty table for four by the back of the shop where huge panes of glass overlooked the glistening waterfront.

Poor fellow looks over-worked, said Wally straight-away, taking a sip of coffee and tipping his head in the direction of a boy about Elliot and Eliza’s age who had his back turned to them and was busily sweeping the contents of the floor into an overflowing dustbin.

They turned their heads to have a look, but were quickly distracted by the sight of their food being brought out by a curly-haired girl named Meg. With a smile, she said, Anything else you need, just let me—

Hey, Rutledge! yelled a booming voice, and the four of them whipped their heads around to see a beefy man with a greasy forehead poking his head out from behind a Staff Only door.

The boy practically jumped out of his skin, and his broom clattered to the floor. Quickly picking it up, he stammered, Yes? … Um, I mean — yes, sir?

They saw Meg roll her eyes, and then with one last smile at them, she scurried back behind the counter before she, too, could be reproached.

What’d I tell you ’bout wearin’ that dirty apron in front of the customers? he barked, his words spraying out from under his bristly mustache. "Whattaya been doin’ with it? Moppin’ the