The visitors
"Come in," you call in a whisper, praying it isn't the
headmistress. It isn't...it's Bridget, Rosa, Larken, Mr. Anderson, and
a woman you know is Nurse Johnson because of her cap with the red
cross on it.
"Maria," Mr. Anderson says, "this is my wife, Grace
Johnson Anderson."
"Hello," Grace says. You hear from her accent that she is
not Southern, but that she, like her husband, is American, not British
like most of the other teachers and pupils.
"We brought a quilt," Bridget says, putting it around your
shoulders.
"Your nightgown, too--I found it--that uniform is awfully thin
for this draft," adds Rosa.
After you have slipped into the gown and reentered the main part of
the attic, Mr. Anderson hands you a plate of that night's dinner, as
Nurse Johnson examines you to make sure you don't have a chill.
"She's fine," the nurse says.
"Thank goodness...Maria, honey, you OK?" Mr. Anderson asks.
You nod.
"Well, eat...you can't think of how to stop this nonsense--and
you know what I mean--on an empty stomach, even if I can."
"Mr. Anderson," you gasp, "this isn't your..."
"It is, honey, and as such, I can do what I want with it. No, you
need it more than I do. That's a perk of being a teacher...Matilda
can't starve me. Enough of that, though...I know that you, Rosa,
Bridget, and Larken want to figure out the fishy business that's been
going on here at Ellen Brown. Well, if you need some adult help,
gals...I'm in."
"You are? You will? Oh, Mr. Anderson, thank you!" exclaims
Bridget.
"And we can trust you?" Rosa asks. "You won't sneak on
us, telling Ms. Fishburn what we're doing so that we get in hot
water?"
"I swear never to tell," Mr. Anderson says, right palm up.
"So do I," Nurse Johnson adds.
"OK, so we're in this together?" you ask.
"You bet," answers Bridget.
"Great--so what should our course of action be?" you ask.
But before anyone can say anything...
A little later, at ten PM, you are in the attic when you hear someone
knocking.
