“This could take some time,” I sigh in defeat. “I’m not even sure what I’d be looking for.”

“No worries. It’ll be in the public records, which I think Kingsbrook has online. What we can do is run a scope through the walls, along the pipes, and see where it’s coming from …”

He continues laying out his plan while I continue scrolling. This is going to be an ordeal. He’s asking something about how attached I am to the hardwood floors. I try to find older articles, hoping to get lucky. There’s a society piece from the Kingsbrook Herald that’s dated 1900, announcing the arrival of the Carringtons at the Nightingale House for the summer holidays. I recognize the names from our tour of the Kingsbrook Historical Society.

I distractedly click on the link.

The page loads.

Suddenly, I’m not breathing.

“Mr. Price?” the plumber asks. “You still there?”

“Yeah … yes … sorry. I’m going to have to call you back.” I hang up the phone before he has a chance to answer.

A photo accompanies the article on the screen—a photo of the Carrington family. The caption below reads:

Thomas and Abigail Carrington and their daughter, Katherine.

June 17th, 1900

Every morning, I’ve been waking and getting to the pharmacy early, hoping that it will be the day that Thomas places another order, and today, just like my wish to see him, I was finally rewarded!

When I went out to the kitchen for breakfast, I found Father sleeping on the sofa in the parlor. I tried to be quiet but he awoke. He made some excuse about staying up too late and accidentally falling asleep on the sofa, as if I don’t know what’s going on with him and Carol. They hardly ever talk anymore, and I think Father has started drinking.

Working at the pharmacy has become somewhat of an escape for me. I can’t stand to be around either Father or Carol. It isn’t much of an escape, but at least I’m away from the house. I’m incredibly lonely but there’s always the hope of a letter from Thomas.

This morning, I opened the pharmacy a full hour before our posted time. There wasn’t much to do, so I took one of the local newspapers and read for a while. Father arrived at the normal hour. He tried to sound upbeat, as he always does, but the bags under his eyes proved too heavy. Father went to the back to do the bookkeeping. I dusted the shelves and bottles, just as I had done yesterday while keeping an eye on the front door. I couldn’t help myself, and multiple times, I went out to the street to see if the courier was approaching.