The Ghosts of Aquinnah (6 page)

Knowing there was only one way to find out, Hannah quickly finished her breakfast and jumped in her car. The beautiful sunshine of the previous day had disappeared and she now found herself driving through a pelting rain. She considered herself lucky to find a parking spot near the museum, as the narrow cobblestone streets of Edgartown could often be a nightmare to navigate.

Hannah pulled the hood of her raincoat over her head and ran as quickly as she could to the museum, noticing the Fresnel lens of the old Gay Head lighthouse in its usual place on the front lawn as she ran past. She tried to recall the last time she’d been to the museum, and couldn’t. It was safe to say it had been a long time.

She walked inside and shook the rain from her jacket as she wiped her shoes dry on the door mat. It was easy to find the shipwreck exhibit, as the museum was small, and a large banner hanging from the ceiling pointed to the display. The museum was crowded, which wasn’t a huge surprise given the rain and nasty weather. There weren’t a great deal of indoor recreational activities available on the Vineyard.

Hannah scanned the room until she found what she was looking for, which didn't take long. As the most deadly shipwreck in the island’s history,
The City of Columbus
took center stage in the exhibit. A door from the ill-fated ship was encased in glass, and Hannah couldn’t help but wonder how many doomed passengers had grabbed hold of that door as they tried in vain to reach safety. A builder’s plate bearing the ship’s name was displayed next to one of the quarterboards from its deck.

She paused at a display of newspaper clippings from the time of the wreck, finding coverage from The Boston Globe and The New York Times as well as the articles from The Vineyard Gazette. Hannah felt slightly lightheaded when she came upon the article that had been left on her bed back at the Hammett House. She didn’t need to read that one to know what it said.

Moving on from the newspapers, Hannah was surprised to find photos and daguerreotypes from the days immediately following the wreck. While she knew from the famous Matthew Brady collection that photography had been available as early as the Civil War, she hadn’t thought about it being used on an island as remote as the Vineyard had been in those days.

She was fascinated by photos of the Wampanoag tribe members who had manned the rescue boats after being informed of the wreck by the lighthouse keeper. They stared at the camera while holding the large oars of the boats in their weather-worn hands. Hannah couldn’t imagine rowing a boat through the huge waves that regularly pounded the shore of Aquinnah, and wondered how the rescuers had managed to survive themselves.

Hannah’s heart began to pound a rhythmic drumbeat in her chest as she came upon another photo, this time of two middle-aged men and a young woman standing in front of one of the boats. Feeling dizzy, she grabbed the railing of the exhibit case to steady herself.

“
That’s her,” she said.

“
Excuse me?”

Hannah jumped, startled to find she had spoken aloud. She looked at the woman next to her and pointed at the photo. “I’m sorry. I just recognized the woman in this photo.”

The woman nodded and moved away. Hannah knew the woman thought she was nuts; something she was starting to get used to at this point. And something that probably wasn’t that far off the mark.

But when she returned her gaze to the photo, she knew that it was the truth and not some crazy delusion. The woman in the photo was the same woman Hannah had seen on the webcam. She even wore the same long white dress and dark cloak.

Hannah looked at the card next to the photo and read the description. According to the card, the people in the photo were the lighthouse keeper who had coordinated rescue efforts and the town doctor and his wife.

Hannah cleared her throat and headed to the front desk of the museum, where an elderly woman dressed in a rose-colored blazer and a gray skirt greeted her.

“
Can I help you with something?”

“
Do you work here?” Hannah asked.

“
I’m a volunteer docent.”

“
Can you tell me who the people are in one of the photos in the shipwreck exhibit? It says on the card they were the town doctor and his wife.”

The woman followed Hannah over to the exhibit and looked at the photo Hannah pointed out.

“
Yes, of course” the woman said. “That’s Josiah Winslow; he was the doctor in Chilmark at the time and came to help with the rescue efforts.”

“
And the woman?”

“
His wife. I believe her name was Stella.”

Hannah stared at the photo and thought of the woman wandering around the cliffs alone at night. Stella Winslow.

She turned abruptly to the docent. “Can you tell me anything else about her?”

The woman looked puzzled. “No, I’m sorry I can’t. What else is it that you want to know?”

Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, knowing full well she sounded like a lunatic. “Do you have newspaper archives here? Or would I need to go to the library for that? I need to find out more about this wreck and these rescuers.”

“
I think you’d do best going to the library. They have all the old papers on microfiche.”

Hannah nodded. “Thank you.”

She got back into her car and considered heading to the Edgartown Library, but changed her mind as she turned the image of Stella Winslow over in her mind. The Winslows were from Chilmark, and the wreck had taken place off the coast of Aquinnah. She had already been in the right place when she’d arrived “up island.”

She drove to the Chilmark Free Public Library and ran through the steady rain into the charming weather-stained wood building. She walked quickly to the reference department, and within a short time she had all the information available on
The City of Columbus
and the people involved in the wreck.

Hannah sat down at a table and ignored the incredulity that rang through her rational mind. How had a 19
^th
century Vineyard resident managed to turn up on a webcam at 21
^st
century Aquinnah? Hannah knew it was impossible, but she didn’t care. She knew now that Stella Winslow had been wandering the cliffs for a reason. And Hannah needed to find out what that reason was.

She spread the documents in front of her on the table and found herself immersed in the Martha’s Vineyard of 1884. Stella Winslow’s Martha’s Vineyard. As Hannah read through the materials surrounding her, she began to piece together a life.

1884

C
hristopher woke to the sound of his heart furiously beating in his chest. He felt an overwhelming sense of panic mixed with a crippling pain in his arm. Where was he and what had happened to him?

He blinked and glanced around at his surroundings. He saw a woman staring out the window of the room where he was lying in bed. Her back was to him, and her long auburn hair hung loosely down her back. Suddenly, he remembered. She and her husband had helped him after the wreck. The man was a doctor…

“
Hello?” Christopher whispered, his throat as dry and parched as dead leaves. He made a painful attempt to swallow and managed to cough instead. “Hello?” he croaked.

Stella jumped and turned around. “You’re awake,” she said, her face brightened by a smile as she came towards the bed. She wore a heavy blue cloak around her shoulders.

Christopher nodded, afraid to speak more and start coughing again. The pain he felt with each cough was more than he could handle.

“
Are you cold?” Stella asked. “Thirsty?”

“
Thirsty,” Christopher gasped. “Please.”

Stella picked up a pitcher of water and a mug from the bedside table and poured Christopher a drink. She sat down next to him on the bed and held the mug up to his lips. “Can you raise your head to drink?” she asked.

Christopher nodded and lifted his head a few inches from his pillow. The slight movement sent a fresh wave of pain down his arm. He gasped and let his head fall back down.

“
I’ll help you,” Stella said.

She leaned over Christopher and gingerly raised his head with her left arm. Supporting his weight, she brought the mug in her right hand back to his lips.

Christopher took several sips, wincing as the water went down his parched throat. He took a larger drink, grateful for the increased ease in swallowing as he drank more water. He took a last sip before motioning for Stella to take the mug away. As she moved her arm out from behind him, he let his head return to the pillow.

Stella put a cool hand onto his forehead. “You don’t feel hot anymore,” she said. “I think your fever broke.”

Christopher tried to shift on the bed, and immediately groaned. “My arm,” he said. “God almighty what happened to it?”

“
You broke it before you were rescued,” Stella said. “Let me give you some laudanum for the pain. You’re due more.”

“
What happened to me?”

“
You don’t remember anything?”

Christopher watched as Stella measured out a dose of laudanum and brought it to his lips. He swallowed gratefully, desperate for relief from the pain.

“
The shipwreck,” he said. “I know I was in a shipwreck. But my arm…”

Christopher had a sudden flash of memory. A searing pain as he slammed into the rescue boat. Sailors pulling him into the boat and rowing towards the shore..

“
I hit my arm on the boat,” he said.

“
The bone cracked,” Stella said. “It’s a bad break, but my husband set it for you. You’ll be good as new soon.”

Christopher glanced up at the woman’s eyes, so green they reminded him of a forest. Or of the beautiful countryside of his homeland. Home. Where was he now, he wondered.

“
Where am I?” he asked.

“
You’re on Martha’s Vineyard. In the town of Gay Head. Your ship went down right off the shore below the lighthouse.”

Christopher’s memory started to return to him. “The lighthouse keeper. You said he helped me, right?”

“
Mr. Mayhew, yes. He and the Gay Headers rescued you and now we’re caring for you in Mr. Mayhew’s house.”

“
You’re Stella. Your husband is Josiah Winslow.”

“
Dr. Winslow, yes. And now that you’ve remembered us, perhaps we can learn about you. What’s your name, sir?”

“
Christopher Casey.”

His Irish brogue became more pronounced as he said his own name.

“
You’re an Irishman, Mr. Casey?”

“
That I am. From Galway. But I came to Boston last year.” Christopher let out a deep breath as he felt the laudanum take effect and the edges of the pain start to slip away.

“
Where were you heading?”

“
Pardon?”

“
On the ship. Where were you heading?”

“
To Savannah,” Christopher said. Boarding the boat now seemed like a lifetime ago. He realized he had no idea how long ago it had been.

“
How long have I been here?” he asked.

“
Two days,” Stella said. “My husband should have returned by now, but the snow’s stopped him no doubt.”

Stella rose from the bed and walked back to the window, where she lifted up the heavy curtains. Christopher stared out at the snowflakes falling and swirling in the shrieking wind.

“
The wind sounds terrible,” he said.

“
It’s breezy,” Stella agreed. “A nor’easter come up the coast.”