"It's as if the town died. There were so many people and cars. Now it's a ghost town." He pointed. "Whatever was between those buildings must have burned down. It was where the barber shop used to be located. The place next to it that's still standing was McGuire's Dress shop. It's even painted the same color and I recognize the molding and cornices." The store front he pointed out was boarded up. Next to it was a bar. "It's changed a lot; almost completely, but I'm a hundred percent certain I visited Brockville."
"You're sure." My statement sounded enough like a question to earn me a frown from both.
"Yes. I'm sorry so many buildings are gone but that one block is enough. I was walking from the opposite direction so everything looked backwards at first glance."
A red brick municipal building stood at the far end of the street ahead of us. "You don't remember that place," I said, pointing it out.
"No, I don't remember it but it would have been behind me."
Betsy pulled a small tape recorder from her purse. "I forgot this! I should have recorded your first reaction." She switched it on and asked Howie to repeat what he'd said about the buildings he recognized. He did so, and then pointed out the location of where he'd seen people, cars, the two horses and the wagon.
"There was a hand rail along the sidewalk here," he said. "It's where I tried to grab it and my hand passed right through it." He stopped and breathed deeply. "All those folks were going about their business and now they're dead."
"Let's see if the brick building has a museum or historical collection of some kind," Betsy said as we approached the building.
"It looks closed, like the rest of the town," I said. As if on cue, an old car with more rust than clear metal chugged to a stop at the dollar store. An elderly man in bib overhauls alighted and went in the building. Just then, an elderly woman emerged from the back of the red brick structure. Betsy called to her and she stopped and smiled as Betsy introduced us as interested tourists.
The woman introduced herself as Annie Mae Wilkie and informed us she was the treasurer of Brockville, in addition to holding several other positions. She was eager to answer our questions and invited us into the building.
"Did you have kin from here?" she asked as she unlocked the building and guided us into a large office that smelled of cigars and dust.
"No," Betsy answered, "We just heard stories from a friend. I wanted to stop and see it for myself."