Mystic Memories Read Online Free Page A

stowing her things, she paused in the tiny cubicle, feeling the same uneasiness as before. She stood in the narrow space between the wall and the berth, which took up the length of the second mate’s room. If there was anything to sense regarding Andrew’s whereabouts, it wasn’t coming through. Not yet anyway.
    But the uneasiness persisted. Allowing herself to feel the aura of fear, she lightly rubbed her upper arms as if a chill breeze had crept across her skin, even though the musty air was close and warm compared with the cool ocean temperatures topside.
    The fear she felt was not her own. There was no threat to her personal safety. This she knew without question. She also knew she was on the threshold of a breakthrough. Something was different in this cabin. Something unsettling. Off balance. From somewhere in her mind came a solid conviction that she was definitely on the right track.

    At twilight, a one-dish supper of beef stew was served to all except the captain and the adult chaperons, who had been invited to be his guests. Cara had declined, choosing instead to walk around the ship in hopes that her solitude would help her make a psychic connection with Andrew. And yet she had a moment of regret when the captain’s dinner of roast chicken was ceremoniously paraded past the line of hungry sixth graders, reenacting the vast differences between the paltry crew and their superior officers. Cara watched the young faces turn sour at the sight of their own meal of cubed carrots, potatoes, and mystery meat in a pale-gray gravy. She felt the same way as she held out her tin plate.
    After dinner, the children and their parent chaperons gathered in the between decks for a few of the captain’s yarns, told by the light of a single lantern. As Cara headed for her cabin to catch a few hours of sleep before taking her turn on the night watch, she overheard two of the mothers whispering to each another.
    “It gives me the creeps,” said one, “to think of the poor kid who disappeared. I bet I don’t close my eyes all night.”
    “Why did you volunteer to chaperon?”
    “I couldn’t let my daughter come alone.”
    “She’s not alone. She’s with her whole class.”
    “So was that Charles boy.” The fretful mother caught sight of Cara. “Do you know what really happened to that child?”
    As part of this living history experience on the nineteenth-century brig, every person on board—male and female—was regarded as an able-bodied seaman. Staying in character as a crew member, Cara addressed the woman accordingly: “What child might that be, sir?”
    “Andrew Charles,” offered the second one. “His disappearance was in all the papers.”
    Cara affected a swarthy tone. “There warn’t no papers on me last ship, sir. I just made port b’fore signin’ on the Mystic . Can’t say I heard nary one word about a . . . boy, y’say?”
    She stayed her course, playing it to the end. Those were the rules in her training class. The instructor had been adamant. No matter how much a visiting class might tease or pressure the actors to slip out of character, they were expected to maintain the illusion of the adventure at all times.
    The first woman didn’t seem to grasp the concept, however, and patiently explained in detail about the disappearance of Andrew. “I have my own theory that the gravitational alignment of the planets on the winter solstice might have something to do with all this.”
    The other mother spoke up with a skeptical laugh. “You may as well say that kid vanished on a spaceship. Or, better yet, blame it on those offshore earthquake tests! The subterranean explosions might have knocked him overboard.” Cara was more than a little amused and intrigued by the direction of the conversation.
    “There might be some truth to those possibilities,” said the first mother. “What if the explosions disturbed the electromagnetic field?”
    “Excuse me, sir,” interrupted Cara with a waning smile.