at the same time it was nice.
Ambrose and I strolled to the American Indian village. âThe park is very accurate. Itâs almost as though the people who created it had been able to see John Whiteâs drawings. Or speak with Manteo themselves,â Ambrose said.
John White âI remembered that name from Lilaâs lecture on the bookstore porch. âHe was the governor of the colonists, right?â
Ambrose grinned at me. âYes! So you know about him?â
âA little. Iâve started learning the history of this islandâI figured I might as well, if Iâm stuck here for the summer.â
Ambrose nodded. âMe too.â
âI thought you lived here all the time?â
He paused thoughtfully. âWell, I suppose I live here and Iâm stuck.â His voice still had an accent. It wasnât unlike the one Renée at the bookstore had, and other people in the area, too. Maybe that was some kind of Southern drawl, although it sounded more like a brogue. I smiled at him, and we kept walking.
âDoes your dad work here too?â I didnât know why Iâd asked that. I wasnât normally so nosy, and Iâd been trying to keep off the subject of dads as much as possible, so long as mine was MIA. But there was something about Ambroseâhe was easy to talk to. Mellow. The opposite of Lila, who made me feel oddly competitive with someone Iâd just met and never had to see again.
âMy father left us,â Ambrose said. âBut heâll be back someday.â
I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. I actually stopped midstride, and Ambrose took two steps ahead of me before he realized that I was standing still. âNell?â he asked. âAre you all right?â
âSorry,â I said, a little dazed. Hearing Ambrose talk so matter-of-factly about his own dad leaving was a shock. I still hadnât even told Jade what was really going on with mine. âItâs that, well, my dad is gone too, and I donât know when heâs coming home.â It felt good to say that out loud to someone. I let out a deep breath.
Ambroseâs smile showed so much sympathy that I thought I might cry. âHome to Roanoke?â Ambrose stood next to me, so close our arms were almost touching. It felt like we both wanted to reach out and give each other a hug, but neither of us had the guts to do it.
I shook my head. âNew York City. Where Iâm from. Apparently he went to London.â
âLondon!â Ambrose said, grinning. âThatâs where Iâm from.â
âI knew it! I could hear it in your voice.â It wasnât just the fake colonial speak, or that local twang, but traces of a British accent that hid in his vowels and certain words, like âoverâ and ânever.â âHow long have you lived here? And whyâd you move?â
He shrugged. âMy parents wanted a new life, I suppose. Weâve been here a few years.â
Weâd walked past the village and were at the edge of the park, close to the shimmering Shallowbag Bay. âSo if you work here, you must know a lot about the lost colonists,â I said.
Ambrose was quiet. I hoped I sounded curious and not like an interrogator, as Lila had, even though Ambrose had brought John White up in the first place. Being near the water reminded me of the scene I had imagined, of the man on the coast with the doll for his granddaughter, Virginia. Even though I had made it up, I couldnât erase it from my brain. It was so painful to think of the friends and family of all those colonists, never knowing what became of them. âI canât get it out of my head. Itâs unbelievable that they still donât know the truth, after all these years.â Right then, I had a thoughtâone that shouldâve occurred to me sooner. This island was the site of a massive, centuries-old mystery. My dad writes about those two very
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