The Ghosts of Aquinnah (10 page)

“
I need to go wind the clock,” her husband said. “If you'll all excuse me.”

Mr. Mayhew and his assistant keeper needed to wind the “clock” that kept the lighthouse beacon rotating every 90 minutes in order to maintain the rotation. It was a grueling job that required constant vigilance even during the overnight hours. Remembering the night he had spent watching the rotating light after the
Columbus
had gone down made Christopher anxious to help with this task, but Mr. Mayhew had forbade it. Only appointed keepers were charged with the maintenance of the beacon.

The Winslows nodded and took seats next to each other at the large oak table, while Christopher sat down across from them. Josiah stood up again almost immediately.

“
Let's see the arm,” he said, walking to Christopher's side.

Christopher edged his chair out and presented his arm to Josiah, who quickly untied the sling. Christopher felt a dull ache as soon as his arm lost the tight stability of the sling.

“
Can you roll your sleeve up?” Josiah asked.

“
I can, yes.”

Christopher gritted his teeth against the pain as he straightened out his arm and did as Josiah asked.

Josiah nodded his approval as he looked at Christopher's bare arm.

“
The swelling's almost all gone. Bruising's lightened. Looks good.”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
How's the pain? Are you still taking the laudanum? I've got more for you if you need it.”

“
No, thank you. I'm managing without it.”

Josiah pulled a chair up next to Christopher and sat down. He unwrapped the bandage from his hand to examine the gash.

“
Looks good here, too. The iodine helped ya.”

Christopher stole a glance across the table at Stella. “Thanks to your wife's nursing skills, sir.”

Stella blushed a bright shade of red, and Christopher regretted his comment as soon as he'd made it. He saw Josiah visibly stiffen at the mention of Stella.

“
I've no doubt of that,” he said, his voice now clipped and brittle.

“
The coffee's ready,” Mrs. Mayhew announced, breaking the tension that had once again crept into the room. “If the medical examination's over I'll pour you all a cup.”

Josiah got up from his chair and pushed it underneath the table before he returned to his original seat next to his wife. “All done,” he said.

Mrs. Mayhew set three cups brimming with hot coffee around the table before sitting down in her own chair.

“
So I've asked Christopher what his plans are now that he's recovering,” she said. “Not that William and I want him to leave us, mind.”

“
What are your plans, Mr. Casey?” Stella asked.

Christopher looked directly across the table at Josiah. “I'd like to do something to pay you and your wife for the help you've given me, sir.”

Josiah raised his eyes as he took a sip of coffee. “Is that so?”

“
It is.”

“
You know that's not necessary. I'm a doctor and you were my patient, it’s as simple as that.”

“
But you went above and beyond,” Christopher said, wishing he could say the truth. That it was Stella who had gone above and beyond. He wisely kept that to himself.

“
Well what did you have in mind then?”

“
I'm not sure of that. I don't know this island and I'm surely not trained in your profession. But I'm a good worker..”

“
I can attest to that,” Mrs. Mayhew said.

“
I'll do whatever is needed, sir.” Christopher said.

“
He could help us with the farm, Josiah,” Stella said, surprising everyone around the table.

“
How do you mean, woman?”

“
He could help with the sheep... I could use some help shearing them when the time comes. And he can help take care of Grover.”

“
Grover?” Christopher asked, wondering if the Winslows had a child they hadn’t mentioned.

“
The horse,” Josiah said.

“
He could help you with trips to town too,” Stella said, turning to her husband and trying to keep the sense of pleading out of her voice. “You always say you wish you had someone to get supplies from town for you.”

Josiah shook his head. “We don’t have room for guests at our house.”

“
We have spare rooms,” Stella said.

“
You mean the rooms that are meant for the children we don’t have?”

A wave of pain washed over Stella’s face as she turned red and stared down at the table. Josiah had touched a nerve, and he knew it. Christopher was certain he’d done it intentionally.

“
I could sleep in the barn,” Christopher said.

Josiah let out a bark of laughter. “Used to those sorts of accommodations, are you?”

“
Actually, I’m not.” Christopher steeled his shoulders and met Josiah’s eyes. “But I can make do with whatever accommodations I have. At least until I’ve paid off my debt to you.”

Josiah set down his coffee cup and stared at the insolent young man across from him. If he wanted to work like a slave and sleep with animals, why should Josiah stop him? He could use the free labor.

“
Fine then,” he said. “You can sleep with Grover and the sheep in the barn and we’ll have plenty of work for ya, I’ve no doubt of that.”

“
I’ll look forward to it, sir.”

Christopher took a sip of his own coffee and glanced across the table, his eyes meeting Stella’s. The pain in her face had been replaced by the slightest of smiles, and her green eyes now sparkled with an undisguised delight. Christopher quickly looked away, but not before he felt his heart once again turning somersaults in his chest.

****

2013

H
annah rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock on the library wall. 4:45. The library would be closing in 15 minutes and she hadn’t learned a single thing about Stella Winslow and her husband beyond the fact that they had helped with the rescue of victims of
The City of Columbus
and, according to a Boston Globe article written by a reporter named Chesham, provided care for one of the survivors, an Irish immigrant named Christopher Casey.

Except for the name of the survivor, Hannah already knew this from her visit to the museum. As far as she could tell, none of the information she had gathered from her afternoon spent at the library brought her any closer to learning why Stella Winslow was now haunting the cliffs of Aquinnah and seemingly trying to communicate with Hannah.

Hannah cursed the reels of microfilm that were scattered around the table in front of her. She longed to be able to enter Stella’s name into Google and discover all there was to know about her long ago life. Hannah hadn’t realized until today how spoiled she’d become by the availability of online information. She wondered if she would need a prescription for glasses by the time she finished scanning through the reels of 19
^th
century newspapers.

Gathering up the microfilm, Hannah got up from her station and returned the materials to the librarian. She assured the woman she would be back when the library reopened in the morning and made her way outside, blinking in the harsh glare of the late afternoon sun. She got into her car and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. At just 5:00, she didn’t want to go back to the Hammett House and sit there for the rest of the night. That was a recipe for going stir crazy. But, she had no desire to make a return trip to Aquinnah, either. Not tonight.

Hannah chewed on her lip as she contemplated where to go next. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had not eaten since the morning. Her mind wandered to her favorite restaurant on the island. But she didn’t want to go there. Or did she?

Since she was a child, Hannah had loved going to Sandy’s Restaurant in Oak Bluffs with her parents. Located right on the harbor, the restaurant was a quick walk from the family cottage. And, as far as Hannah was concerned, Sandy’s had the best lobster rolls in the state of Massachusetts.

Her mouth watered at the memory of the rolls, and her stomach responded with a louder growl. Hannah let out a deep breath and turned the ignition in her car. She’d been determined to avoid Oak Bluffs while on the Vineyard but, after finding the old newspaper on her bed the previous night and spending the day trying to learn about a ghost, “up island” wasn’t particularly appealing to her at the moment, either. And it wasn’t as if being away from Oak Bluffs had kept her mind off of her parents. They were everywhere she looked on the island. Maybe it was time for her to face her own ghosts.

30 minutes later, Hannah was seated on the deck of Sandy’s watching the boats come in and out of the harbor. There was something to be said for coming to the island in the off season. The lack of traffic and the nonexistent wait for service at the restaurants was a welcome change from the bustle of the height of summer.

Hannah smiled as the waitress set her lobster rolls in front of her and departed the table. She took a sip of iced tea and bit into one of the rolls. The taste did not disappoint.

Starting to feel relaxed for the first time since she’d come to the island, Hannah leaned back in her chair and looked around at the town where she had spent so many of her summers. The Wesley Hotel stared back at her from its home on Lake Avenue, its huge porch mostly empty now. She knew that in a few short months the rocking chairs would all have occupants.

If she remembered correctly, Hannah thought the hotel had first been built in 1879 when the town was still known as Vineyard Grove, before it had become Cottage City in 1880 and ultimately Oak Bluffs in 1907. She wondered if Stella Winslow had ever been there. It was unlikely, considering how long it would have taken to get across the island in those days.

But maybe she and her family had traveled to the town to ride on the Flying Horses, a national historic landmark which had been moved from Coney Island to the town in 1884, the same year as the wreck of
The City of Columbus
. Hannah remembered the thrill of entering the carousel’s famous red barn and choosing a horse to ride with her father. He had always managed to grab the brass ring for her at least once.

Hannah smiled at the memory, and wondered again if Stella Winslow had ever experienced something similar. It was hard to imagine the same horses that children rode today had once carried 19
^th
century islanders around the same carousel.

The idea brought home to Hannah how little she knew about her friendly, or so she hoped, Aquinnah ghost. Did Stella and her husband have children they could have brought to the carousel? And what of the young man they had cared for after the shipwreck, Christopher Casey? Had they continued to be involved with him? Had he remained on Martha’s Vineyard?

Hannah’s mind wandered back to the photo she had seen in the museum and she wondered why Christopher had not posed with his rescuers. Perhaps he had been too badly injured. Although from the account she had read in the Boston Globe that did not seem to be the case.

Hannah finished her lobster rolls and shivered in the evening sea air. There were definitely some disadvantages to the off season, and the cold temperatures were number one on that list. Hannah felt the sense of restlessness returning to her, and she found herself anxious to pay her bill and head back to Chilmark. The ocean air had made her tired and she longed for her bed and a good night’s rest.

As she walked to her car, her thoughts returned to the Irishman for whom she had a name but no face. She knew that Stella had wanted her to investigate
The City of Columbus
. Since Christopher Casey survived that very wreck, it seemed logical to assume that he was somehow connected to whatever Stella wanted her to discover. She admonished herself for not thinking of it earlier when she’d been at the library.