The gentle May air of Milwaukee was bright and fresh, but Peggy barely noticed. She stood outside the intercity bus depot, the worn canvas backpack containing everything for the trip, including Ethan’s envelope, slung over her shoulder. Amy and Russel flanked her, two steadfast pillars of worry in the early morning light. Their support felt like both a lifeline and an anchor of guilt.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you at least to Madison?” Amy pleaded, adjusting the lightweight cardigan she wore. “It would shave two hours off the bus ride.”
“No, Ames. I’m fine,” Peggy insisted, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “You need the gas, and you both need to focus on finals. I’ll be fine. Black River Falls is the key. Once I’m there, I’ll figure the rest out.”
Russel silently pressed a wad of bills into her hand. All their combined cash reserves, tightly folded. “This has to last, Peg. Get a room if you have to, but don’t spend it on anyone trying to fleece a college kid. Promise us you’ll call.”
Peggy’s throat tightened. She looked at their earnest, worried faces, recognizing the enormous sacrifice they were making for her singular, all consuming quest. “I promise. I will call. And I will find him.”
A moment of profound, silent sorrow passed between the three of them. They knew this was reckless, but they also understood the alternative. Watching Peggy slowly dissolve under the weight of her grief and curiosity was worse.
“Be safe. Don’t take any risks you don’t have to,” Russel finally said, giving her a brief, awkward hug.
Amy embraced her tightly. “Bring him home, Peg.”
Peggy watched them drive away, the headlights of Amy’s beat-up Honda Civic disappearing into the Milwaukee sunrise. Then, she turned, clutching the backpack and walked into the sterile, diesel-scented cavern of the depot. She was on her own now.
Peggy’s only real lead was found in the envelope marked “For Ethan’s Eyes Only.” The envelope Ethan’s grandmother opened. Looking through the contents, she found a single, garish flyer: Tommy Melk and the Melk Duds playing at the Oakhaven VFW.
Oakhaven was the clue. Spreading out her map, she located Royal. She then located Oakhaven and felt a jolt of pure adrenaline: it was the closest town to Royal she could find. The flyer was not an invitation, but a cryptic destination. Her path was clear. She would take the bus to Black River Falls, the nearest stop, and from there find transport to Oakhaven.
The bus ride was a warm, rattling blur. Peggy sat by the window, letting the bright, green landscape of Wisconsin roll past, her mind replaying the story of Ethan’s grandfather, of Grace, and the secret love the two shared. The town of Royal, the measles quarantine in 1959. It was all coming into focus, but the image was heartbreakingly tragic.
When the bus finally pulled into the Black River Falls depot, it was mid-morning. The small station smelled faintly of cigarettes and coffee. Peggy checked her watch: 10:30 AM. She had made it. But the next hurdle was upon her. How to cover the remaining twenty miles to Oakhaven, the town neighboring Royal.
She walked out to the parking area, her eyes scanning for any sign of opportunity. A couple of battered cars were parked near the entrance, drivers leaning against them, waiting for passengers. She approached the first man, who quoted a price that would take nearly half of Amy and Russel’s cash. Peggy shook her head and moved on. The second driver was equally expensive. She stood for a long minute, feeling the familiar spiral of panic begin to choke her. “Recognize what is in front of your face,” Peggy whispered to herself.
She turned back to the depot entrance and spotted a third car, an ancient, faded station wagon with a hand-painted sign duct-taped to the windshield that read, simply TAXI. The driver, a woman with kind eyes and a sensible, wool coat, was just settling behind the wheel smoking a cigarette.
Peggy walked up and leaned down to the open window. “Ma’am, I need to get to Oakhaven. It’s about twenty miles south on Highway 139. I don’t have much money.” Peggy quickly named a price she could afford, a fraction of the others’ quotes and held up the crumpled bills.
The woman, whose name tag read ‘Eleanor,’ considered her for a moment. “Oakhaven? Nothing much out there but woods and a VFW hall,” she observed. She looked at Peggy’s earnest face. “Well, you look like you’re on a mighty important mission, dear. Hop in. I can’t promise you a ride back, but I’ll take you the twenty miles for that. Just promise me you won’t stand out there alone hitchhiking.”
Peggy’s relief was immediate and overwhelming. “Thank you, Eleanor. Thank you so much.”
The ride was surprisingly pleasant. Eleanor wasn’t one for chitchat, but the silence was a welcome change from the bus ride. As they drove south, Peggy kept her eyes glued to the scenery, looking for any clue, any hint of the landscape she’d seen in the grainy 1959 newspaper photo.
“Whereabouts in Oakhaven you headed?” Eleanor asked, pulling the station wagon onto the quieter, two-lane Highway 139.
“The VFW Hall,” Peggy answered immediately. She pulled out the blurry photo of the roadblock. “Do you know anything about a town called Royal? It was just a few miles from Oakhaven, years ago.”
Eleanor squinted at the photo, then chuckled, a dry, rusty sound. “Royal, huh? That’s a name I haven’t heard in years. My folks used to drive out there for dances when I was a kid. Why, Royal’s been nothing but timberland for ages now. The road’s gone, folks moved out.”
“But it was still there in ’59?” Peggy pressed.
“Oh, sure. Just before that big measles thing,” Eleanor nodded. “Everyone in the whole county was terrified. Whole place was locked up tight as a drum. Folks just kind of… never came back after that. Not much reason to, I suppose.”
Eleanor pulled over onto a narrow, paved road. The sun was fully up now, illuminating a small, sleepy collection of utility poles, a gas station that looked half-dead, and a single, faded sign reading: Welcome to Oakhaven—Established 1898. Just ahead, a squat, concrete block structure stood: the Oakhaven VFW Hall.
“This is it, dear,” Eleanor said, pulling out a cigarette from her purse. “Good luck with your mission.”
Peggy paid her, thanked her and stepped out onto the warm asphalt. She stood for a long moment, watching the station wagon pull away, her solitude absolute. Clutched in her hands were the envelope, the map, and the faint hope that someone inside that concrete hall remembered a dance, a band, a man with an accordion, and a lost town called Royal.
The VFW Hall looked closed, dark, and utterly impenetrable. She walked toward the front door, the heavy brass knob cold beneath her fingers.“Recognize what is in front of your face,” Peggy whispered to herself.
The door was locked.
Peggy walked around the side of the building, her shoes crunching on the gravel. Beside a loading dock, a small, unmarked door was ajar, a faint line of golden light spilling out, along with the distinct aroma of coffee and tobacco.
Taking a deep breath, Peggy pulled the door open and stepped inside.
