Nevermore: A Novel of Love, Loss, & Edgar Allan Poe Read Free

and nodded.   "His name is Abraham Thigpen.   He died about a year ago but I remember it like today…"
    Lenore listened, and worked, rearranging branches, shifting the wood slightly, picking the strong woman's face to release from the pattern first.   Anita's voice droned in the background – and she faded into the story, letting it draw her back across the years as she carefully disassembled her drawing, working the faces free.

Chapter T wo
     
    T he carriage pulled away, heading back to the main road and on into the plantations of southern Virginia.   Edgar watched it for a moment, wishing he were continuing on, and then turned toward the main door of the Halfway House.   He'd written ahead for a room, but had not been in Raleigh long enough to wait for a reply.   Besides, the Lake Drummond Hotel was not the sort of place that catered to amenities such as reservations.   You could let them know you were coming, but there was literally no way of knowing what you'd walk into when you arrived.
    The tavern was nearly empty when he stepped inside.   There was a young boy sweeping the floor, and behind the bar, an older man with well-combed gray hair and a silver mustache who was placing dried and polished glasses on the shelves.   The man turned as Edgar entered.
    "We're closed, I'm afraid," he said.
    "I'm here for a room?" Edgar said.   He stepped forward.   "I wrote ahead.   I'm hoping you aren't full, as I need to remain for several days, if possible."
    The bartender dropped his towel on the bar and smiled.
    "Ah," he said.   "Mr. Poe.   We were expecting you, but I thought you'd arrive tomorrow in the day.   We held a room for you, the last empty room available.   I was beginning to regret not renting it."
    Edgar let out a breath.   "Thank you for holding it," he said.   "I'm afraid I don't have any way to leave, so I took something of a chance."
    "Tom," the bartender called to the boy with the broom. "Show Mr. Poe to his room – it's the one right next to the corner, beside Miss MacReady's quarters.   And mind you, don't make too much noise.   The hour is late, and I imagine she's gone off to sleep."
    "Not that one," the boy said.   He grinned.   "She's up all hours – seen the light from her window on my way home a couple'a times."
    The bartender frowned.   "Never you mind that," the man said.   "Do as you're told.   And speaking of home, run off when you're done.   I don't want you missing an hour's sleep and playing the slacker come tomorrow."
    "Yessir," the boy replied.   "Come on, Mister."
    He turned on his heel and hurried toward the door, as if afraid he'd be summoned back after all to wash another pile of dirty dishes, or mop the floor a second time.   Edgar nodded to the bartender and followed Tom out into the darkness.   As he stepped outside he heard the soft rustle of feathers, and he smiled.   He did not look up, but instead turned down the porch.
    Tom had grabbed a key on his way out of the tavern.   He unlocked the door to the room, and then handed it over.   "There's a lantern in there," he said.   "Should be a coal in the fire too, if you poke at it."
    "Thank you, Tom," Edgar said.   "Am I to understand that you live on a farm?"
    The boy nodded.   "I got four brothers and two sisters, all older.   They do most of the farming.   Pa hired me on here to do odd jobs and clean up.   Said I was always 'underfoot'."
    "I wonder if you might do me a favor, then," Edgar said.   He reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper penny.   "I wonder if you might bring me a bit of corn."
    The boy stared at the penny, then glanced up at Edgar as if certain he was talking to a crazy man.
    "Corn?" he asked.
    "Corn," Edgar affirmed.   "I am partial to birds, you see.   I like to feed them, and I find that if I drop a handful of corn outside my window they gather very regularly.   Can you do this for me?"
    Tom snatched the coin and grinned.
    "You bet," he said.  
    "I thank you,"