Breakwater Beach

by Carole Ann Moleti

  She needed to be alone but she needed to be near him. Yeah, she needed company. “I’d like that, Mike, but I’d rather go to Kate’s.” Much more innocent. Nothing like a date.

  “They don’t even have beer there.”

  “We can go to Paine’s Creek. If the sun ever comes out, we can watch it set.” It seemed fitting to go back there.

  “I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll have plenty of time.”

  “Here’s your sweatshirt.” Liz started to take it off.

  “No, keep that on! And the blanket, too. I’ve already seen more of you than any casual acquaintance should. Remember, I’m an old-fashioned guy.” He seemed more panicked by the thought of seeing her scantily clad than her wacky explanation.

  “They both need to be washed anyway.”

  Mike tipped his hand in salute and went out to his truck. “Morning,” he said to Mae who was getting out of her van.

  “Good morning’ to ya, too,” she replied, looking at him askance. “Come along, lassies, still plenty to do.”

  Mae looked at Liz standing in the doorway wearing Mike’s sweatshirt. Her eyes traveled from Liz’s hair, still damp and caked with mud and sand, all the way down to her bare feet.

  “Ehh . . . a change in plans, girls. We’ll start downstairs today. First, polish the woodwork and then clean all the fixtures. Then upstairs, after the missus has time to get dressed.”

  Mae herded them out of the foyer then followed Liz upstairs, smiling like she was about to solve the crime of the century. “From the looks of ya, that was one wild night on the beach. Now ya best be hoppin’ into the tub after passin’ me the nightie. I’ll soak it and get that mud out before it’s ruined. I’ll freshen the big guy’s sweatshirt, too.”

  “It was nothing like that, Mae.” Liz couldn’t bear the thought of having to explain this to another person she knew from another life.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not passin’ any judgment. To be honest, I’m relieved. Ya took my advice. There’s nothin’ wrong with livin’, Liz.”

  “No there isn’t, Mae.” Liz passed the clothes out and settled into the warm bath. Katherine and Mae are so different. Someday, after an Irish coffee or two, I’ll tell her the story. I think she’ll believe me.

  Liz dressed and went downstairs where a sandy-haired man stood talking to Mae in the hall. His freckled, leathered face lit up with a beaming smile, his eyes twinkled.

  “Why, this must be the Miss Lizzy she’s been chatterin’ about. Kevin Fitzgerald.”

  He extended his hand, and Liz shook it firmly. “I understand you’re considerin’ fillin’ that barn with some ponies. I was a stable boy in Ireland and took a look. It needs some fixin’, but the structure is sound.”

  The work-worn hands, the kind smile, the horses . . . Paul. Her head pounded as the ghost inside her squirmed.

  “Mr. Fitzgerald, I wonder if you have time to fix something today.”

  “Please, call me Kevin. What is it ya need?”

  “The door to the widow’s walk won’t close.”

  “I’ll get my toolbox and have it plumb in no time.”

  “Come see.” Mae showed Liz around while the girls polished wood steps and banisters. The crystal sconces shone brightly.

  “We’re bringin’ the place back to life, Miss Lizzy.”

  Kevin came down the stairs. “All fixed, just needed some screws.”

  It’s going to need more than that to fix this. Liz took an envelope off the lady’s desk in the hallway and gave it to Mae. “That’s the fee we agreed on for the cleaning. I put extra in, for you and the girls to share. Kevin, I’ll need a bill for your work.”

  “I’ll start a tab, Liz. Tomorrow we’ll discuss the stable.”

  “That would be great,” Liz said.

  Mae put her arms around both of them. “Ya see, St. Anthony, please come around, something’s lost and must be found. We all found each other, not exactly what ya prayed for but . . .”

  “The Lord answers all prayers, even if you don’t always like the answer.” Liz had never before believed that.

  “That’s right.” Kevin gave Mae a kiss and left.

  Mae cackled and went back to work.

  Liz went up to her room and kissed Gerry’s picture. “I’m glad we finished our business. I have more than enough to deal with now.”

  She went over to the trunk and read the tag.

  Lady Elisabeth Baxter Barrett

  Liverpool to Boston

  Cunard SS Batavia-First Class

  25 June 1875

  Elisabeth squirmed.

  Liz rummaged in the closet and chose the green silk dress, bustled in the back, with a high neckline and long sleeves. It fit, even without a corset. She buttoned the matching shoes up around her ankles, tucked her hair under the coordinating hat, and stared into the mirror at Mrs. Edward Barrett.

  “Green is your favourite colour, Edward. How do I look?”

  She climbed the steps to the attic and went out the newly repaired door onto the widow’s walk. Whitecaps frothed from the stiff breeze on Cape Cod Bay, accelerating the tide’s rise. Sunbeams poked through the clouds. Liz removed the hat and her hair blew back. The long skirt flapped in the wind. Fragrant sea mist kissed her face and neck. She raised her hand to her face where Edward’s caresses lingered.

  “Rest in peace, my darling. Until we meet again.”

  Chapter 30

  Liz dragged herself back into the present, went downstairs, and hung the dress in the closet. She smoothed the fabric to ensure it hung straight and ran her fingertips over the shoes as she unbuttoned, removed, and replaced them in their muslin sack.

  A faint whiff of lavender still lingered, remnants of that afternoon so many years ago when a grief-stricken Elisabeth had packed her life and hidden it away. Now a grief-stricken Liz had re-opened that Pandora’s Box. Failing Edward manifesting himself, it wasn’t likely the others would ever believe her. She was left to figure out how to, and if it was even worth trying, to explain. The unfinished business was between Elisabeth and Edward, and how Liz fit into his plan would have to play out in the current reality.

  At noon, after a sleepless night, Liz longed to fall into her bed, but Mae and the girls were still calling to each other. She changed clothes and eased a pair of sandals onto her still painful feet. Her head throbbed. Liz hobbled down the steps into the kitchen. An idea came to her as she ate a container of yogurt to soothe an upset stomach.

  Mae perched on a ladder in the dining room, cleaning a Venetian glass chandelier. “Ah, yer all put together, Liz.”

  Not quite, but she was putting on a good show. “I’m going to the library for something to read.”

  “Good, we’ll do the upstairs now and soon be out of yer way.” Mae eased down each rung and tossed a rag into a bowl of ammonia. “Look at the colors in that glass. Priceless, that chandelier is. When you paint . . .”

  Green and gold had been the main color scheme, just one of the things Elisabeth had plucked like an index card out of a file. Mae and Kevin belonged in that cottage.

  “I have some pictures of the house with the original wall paper and will try and duplicate the color scheme and style as best I can. If you finish before I get back, leave the front door unlocked. And stop by with Kevin tomorrow so we can talk about the housekeeper and handyman job. The cottage is vacant, and I want the two of you to come work for me.”

  Mae beamed. “I’m so happy, Liz. I feel like we’ve been friends for a long time and it’s just been two days.”

  You should only know. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She shuffled out to her car, took the saddle out of the trunk, and brought it into the barn. Kevin had already turned a few racks upright, and she rested it over the one nearest Ruddy’s stall. Elisabeth writhed, bu
t Liz couldn’t tell if that meant she was pleased or upset.

  She drove to the library, past the mansard-roofed Captain Howell House Inn and a small colony of cottages where the Vauxhall farm once stood. Elisabeth’s sadness clutched at her. What happened to Bethea, her baby, Addie, Clement?

  Could there be any vestige of the life they’d eked out on that parcel, or had it fallen down or been bulldozed once they were dead and buried, along with the rest of them in an overgrown churchyard?

  The Victorian library was strikingly modern inside, with rows of computers. The air-conditioning was turned up high, and Liz wished she’d brought a jacket. She waited patiently for the librarian to help an elderly gentleman find something on the Internet. There were no card catalogues to browse, another casualty of time.

  “Hello. My name is Liz Levine. I just bought the Barrett house. I need to see anything you have about the property or Captain and Mrs. Barrett.”

  The librarian led her toward the stacks. “There are some books that describe the sea captains in detail. The men who wrote them searched a lot of journals and records that might answer some of your questions. The First Parish Church, which is now Unitarian Universalist, has records dating back to the town’s founding. Many of the captains and their families were members. I’m sure they’ll let you examine them.”

  And see all of our graves. She had often been drawn to wander through that old cemetery and now knew why.

  The musty comfort of old books swathed Liz like a blanket as she perused the shelves. She pored over the journals of several captains, and the wives that had sailed with them. Books filled with pictures of the familiar town and its history offered no new insights. There was no mention of Edward or Elisabeth, the two short-lived British newcomers. The church might have burial records.

  She re-joined the modern age and Googled Elisabeth and Edward Barrett. Thousands of entries, but nothing relevant. Jared Sanders, Massachusetts, netted an excerpt from a fifteen-year-old book entitled Unsolved Mysteries: The Ghosts of Brewster, Massachusetts by Sandra Kensington.

  In March of 1877, Jared Sanders, a Brewster farmer and fisherman married Elisabeth Barrett whose husband, Captain Edward Barrett, disappeared on a voyage. In June of the same year, Elisabeth Barrett Sanders drowned in Paine’s Creek. Sanders was suspected in the death. The motive was thought to be his desire to have full possession of the Barrett estate, a large, well-appointed Victorian on a substantial piece of property.

  At the inquest, attorney Ebenezer Wilcox vouched for him, stating Mrs. Sanders had been emotionally unstable and distraught since Edward Barrett died, and she likely committed suicide. His statements were corroborated by the testimony of servants Paul and Katherine Mays.

  A friend of Elisabeth’s named Bethea Vauxhall testified that Mrs. Sanders had been pressured into marrying Jared. Mrs. Vauxhall believed that Sander’s motive was to obtain control over the considerable assets that the Barrett’s had amassed, the most valuable being the home and property.

  The testimony of Katherine Mays was key to Sanders’ acquittal. Katherine was the last person to see Elisabeth alive and insisted Sanders had already retired for the night. A shawl that Mrs. Mays had given Mrs. Sanders to wear was found on the porch. Katherine surmised Elisabeth dropped it before going down to the beach with the intention of taking her own life.

  She dismissed the allegation that Sanders had killed Elisabeth for her money. The estate had been bankrupted by a liability claim against Captain Barrett. Sanders had rescued Elisabeth from eviction. That was corroborated by Ebenezer Wilcox, resulting in the judgment of innocence.

  Sanders lived in the property on Stony Brook Road until his death at the age of 60 from pneumonia.

  The Mays lived in the house until their deaths, circa 1915. They had no heirs and insufficient funds to maintain the property, which quickly fell into disrepair. A succession of owners failed to renovate the house, which was landmarked in 1990 to prevent its destruction.

  It remains unlived in and speculation abounds it is haunted by the ghosts of Elisabeth Barrett Sanders and Edward Barrett, seeking justice and answers to the mysteries surrounding their deaths.

  Elisabeth twisted inside, and Liz caught her breath as images of she and Edward outside the church, and of Edward standing in front of The Sea Mist, peered out from the computer screen, a watch cap atop his curls, neatly dressed in his coat and ruffled shirt. The caption read:

  Captain Edward Barrett commanded The Sea Mist, a schooner owned by the Somersell Shipping Company, from 1873 until the ship disappeared on a run from Boston to Miami in the fall of 1876. It was believed to have capsized in a storm. When the spines of a ship's hull washed up near Paine’s Creek after storm in the 1920s, a local legend spread that it was the remains of Barrett’s ship, returning for his wife.

  We are not seeking justice, just closure.

  The ghostly narration in her head was disturbing and comforting at the same time. Liz printed the document and went to Amazon.com. There was only one used copy of the book at a shop in Maine. It cost $3.00, and the expedited shipping was $13.00. But she wanted that picture, and any of the others inside, as soon as possible.

  She looked at her watch and leaped to her feet. It was already four-thirty, and Mike was coming at six. She’d have to go to the church tomorrow, find the graves, and search the records.

  Liz applied for a library card and checked out the books. “Thanks. I found what I was looking for. By the way, I’m a history teacher, and my specialty is Victorian art, textiles, and architecture. I’d love to do some programs here.”

  “That would be great,” the librarian said. “And be sure to contact the Brewster Historical Society. Some of the members had great-grandmothers who sailed with their husbands. They have all sorts of interesting anecdotes.”

  I knew their great-grandmothers.

  “I’ll do that,” Liz ignored the intrusion and stepped out into the warmth of late afternoon sunshine.

  Beach traffic was backed up all the way down 6A. By the time she got home, Liz had only a few minutes to change. She took a sweatshirt, remembering how cold it had gotten the night before. It was less than twenty-four hours since she’d discovered the truth. Was it lack of sleep or denial keeping her calm?

  She heard the bell, opened the door, and saw Mike’s blue eyes, his kind smile.

  This is the same ruggedly handsome man I almost kissed that night. The one whose heart I broke and whose I ruined by a foolish mistake. Edward had things to put to rights for my sake, and I have things to put to rights for Jared.

  He wore a collared dress shirt, khaki slacks, and Docksiders, standard New England dress. They were only going to a clam shack, but he was trying to impress her. And she was going to try to make up for all the pain Elisabeth had caused, hoping he didn’t remember and take off running.

  Mike studied the woman before him. Liz Levine was out of his league and acting crazy to boot. What was it about her that made him push all the doubts out of his mind? He knew her from somewhere, but couldn’t figure out where and when their paths could have crossed, unless it was on the checkout line in Shaw’s Market or on the beach.

  She had the same demeanor as that batty Sandra Kensington who ran the health food store in Harwich. She believed in the paranormal and fussed with herbs, crystals, and homeopathic remedies. Mary used to go there for vitamins and crap for nutritional healing.

  He’d always joked that Sandra was the witch of East Harwich, but she was harmless, quite personable, and had even come to Mary’s wake and funeral. And Sandra had listened patiently to the bereft widower, assuring Mike his wife wanted him to go on to live his life. Did she know that from talking to Mary in the desperation of those last months, or was she really psychic?

  Strange coincidence that the day began with those vivid dreams of Mary, and then the compulsion to go to Pai
ne’s Creek. God, he missed her and had always wanted to believe when he dreamed of her she really was communicating with him. Maybe Sandra was on to something. The older you get the easier it was to accept that some things can’t be explained and that everything happened for a reason.

  That had to be what gave him the balls to ask Liz out. That, and desperate loneliness. He knocked.

  Liz had been dragged out of her house, raped on the beach, and was in total denial. And he was going to accept her crazy excuses, take her out for fried clams and ice cream, watch the sunset, and hope for the best. But after a good night’s sleep, and a dose of reality, would either of them want to see each other again?

  “I’m ready, Mike.” Liz stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind her. Tonight her hair was combed, she had makeup on, and tiny gold earrings glinted in her ears. No ring on her left hand, but a diamond band adorned her right. Petite yet curvy in a tee shirt, Capri’s and sandals, her long neckline and substantial décolletage, rounded out by a pendant glittering in the hollow of her throat, was an irresistible package. A whisper of desire ran through him for the first time in years, as if he were coming back to life.

  “I brought wine, a corkscrew, and two glasses,” he said. “After we eat, we’ll go down to the beach. Would you like me to drive?”

  “My feet are killing me, Mike. I normally prefer walking, but not tonight.”

  It was a relief to know she acknowledged some effects from whatever had really happened. “I was really worried about you this morning, but since the housekeeper was here for company I figured you’d be all right.”

  “I’m just tired. Nothing bad happened, really. It was my own stupidity, and I’ll never do anything like that again.” She looked away.