by Jan Fields
Annie nodded, happy for the chance to look back at her own soup. Surely Ian was just as happy with their friendship as she was, wasn’t he? He was a handsome man, and she certainly enjoyed the attention, but she wasn’t ready for more than friendship. Was he looking for more than that?
Annie felt slightly off balance through the rest of lunch and was almost relieved when Ian excused himself to get back to City Hall. She sipped her coffee silently for a while; then she sighed and gave herself a mental shake. She’d been doing too much woolgathering lately, and it was time to stop before she drowned under a mountain of woolly daydreams.
I need to be more like Gram, she thought as she strode toward the diner door. If I were, I wouldn’t have spent the summer flipping back and forth over what I want to do.
In her rush, Annie pushed open the door just as someone pulled from the other side, and she nearly fell into the arms of a tall, bearded man who rocked back awkwardly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Annie said as she leaped back from the stranger.
The man caught his balance with the help of a cane and smiled. He had a heavily weathered face, and Annie wondered if he was a local fisherman. He certainly didn’t look familiar as he nodded to her slightly. “No apology necessary. I never complain about lovely ladies falling on me.”
Annie blushed furiously as she stammered a bit and slipped around the stranger. What was it with the men of Stony Point lately? She was so flustered that she headed back to Grey Gables without picking up the rag doll from A Stitch in Time.
7
The young, dark-haired girl hurries down the sodden gravel road. Rain runs down her nose and chin, and her wet dress clings to her legs as if trying to trip her. She can hear shouts behind her as her sister and her friend call her name, begging her to stop. She isn’t going back, and she isn’t waiting on them. This was a stupid idea. What does it matter if it was her idea? They should have gone home when it got scary. Now they are going to be in big trouble.
She grips her doll close to her chest, hoping the soaking rain doesn’t ruin her. Gravel slips and slides under her new saddle shoes. Her mother is going to be so mad. They won’t be able to hide that they’ve been out in the rain, not when they’re sopping wet and muddy. She sneezes. Her nose and throat are starting to feel raw.
“Jo ought to get in trouble,” she mutters. “I hope she does.” She stomps her feet, spraying herself with more muddy water from the road. Suddenly, the night lights up brightly around her in a flash of lightning. She sees she’s been walking on a diagonal instead of straight down the road. Now she’s too close to the cliff edge. The night is black as pitch in the rain. She tries to shift direction, move more to the middle of the narrow road. Her sudden change in direction throws her off balance, and she falls forward, slamming into the ground with enough force to knock the rag doll out of her hands.
She scrambles forward on her hands and knees, feeling for the doll in the dark. She can’t lose the rag doll. It was the last present she ever got from her grandmother. The sharp-edged gravel tears at her knees and mud clings to her skin as she gropes for the doll. Panic wells up in her as she gropes far forward and her hand falls on nothing …
Fear of falling jerked Annie awake. She reached quickly for the spiral-bound notebook and pen she’d laid on the bedside table and began writing down as many details as she could remember. Already the sharpness of the images were beginning to fade. She needed to hold on to as much as she could. Annie was certain this dream was important. It must be trying to tell her something, or she wouldn’t be having it again and again.
As she finished, she felt the soft thump of Boots landing on the bed. The cat held a bit of paper in her mouth. “What have you gotten into this time?” Annie asked her, reaching out to rub the cat’s head and pull the paper from her mouth. The yellowed slip of paper was marred by stains where the ink from the handwriting had run.
The note was written in a child’s large, careful printing and said, “Best Friends, Best Fun, Wild Jays Forever!”
“Another clue,” Annie said softly. “Now where did you get this?”
Boots just jumped back off the bed with a demanding meow. It was breakfast time and the royal cat expected to be fed.
Later that morning, Annie wandered outside. She told herself she was planning some new plantings for the spring, but her mind wandered back to the dream and the doll and note time after time. She slowly drifted to the edge of the front yard and gazed off toward the lighthouse. She knew now her dream took place on the lighthouse road.
“Oh, there you are!”
Annie turned to see Alice striding across the yard. Her friend wore neatly pressed jeans and a printed blouse in shades of blue and green that set off her auburn hair particularly well. “I walked through the house looking for you,” Alice said, “and here you are. You must not have heard me pull up!”
“I had another nightmare,” Annie replied, running her fingers through her gray-blonde hair absently. “This time I wrote down some parts of it to help me remember. There were children and Butler’s Lighthouse.” Annie pointed at the lighthouse on the end of the peninsula. “It was pouring rain, and one of the children was clutching the rag doll. The one we found.”
“Sounds like your imagination is gluing together things from the last few days,” Alice said and began ticking things off on her fingers as she spoke. “First, we talked about the lighthouse in the attic the other day, remember? How scary it was, and how kids went out in storms to prove they were brave? And then we’ve had so much rain lately, that’s probably why you dreamed about the lighthouse and the rain. The doll came along for the ride because you’ve wondered who might have owned her.”
Annie looked at her friend doubtfully. What she said made sense, but still Annie was sure it was more than that. “Boots brought me this,” she said as she handed the scrap of paper to Alice. “I think it must have been tucked into the doll’s clothes, and Boots has been playing with it ever since she tried to steal the doll.”
Alice smiled at the paper. “Well, that explains that juvenile embroidery. It’s probably supposed to be a blue jay.”
Annie nodded. “It doesn’t explain whose doll it was though.”
“I have an idea,” Alice said. “Why don’t we take a walk to the lighthouse? Since your dream takes place there, maybe it’ll stir up some more memories of it. And it’s a beautiful day for a walk.”
Since Alice’s idea of a great walk tended to involve shopping at the end, Annie was a little surprised by the suggestion of a climb up the steep gravel road to the lighthouse. The fact that Alice was wearing socks and bright white sneakers instead of her usual dressy shoes made Annie doubly suspicious. Alice had definitely come over with a walk in mind. Still, it was a lovely day, and Annie had spent too much time brooding lately. “OK, that sounds like fun.”
The narrow gravel road that led to Butler’s Lighthouse began on the other side of Ocean Drive. It was marked by two rock pillars on either side of a gravel road with a loose chain strung between them after dark. For now, the rusty chain was piled on top of one of the short rock pillars. The pillar also held a small white sign. “Butler’s Lighthouse closes at sunset. Absolutely no admittance after dark.”
Annie gestured toward the sign. “At least someone is trying to get kids to stop sneaking up there.”
Alice laughed sarcastically and rolled her eyes. “Sure! I know that totally would have made me change my ways when I was a teenager.”
The women started up the gravel road. It was a challenging walk and Annie was glad for the cooling breeze as the exertion of the steady uphill grade warmed her. The spring sunshine felt hot on her head and neck, and Annie hoped she didn’t get burned because of Alice’s mysterious need for a walk.
The wind churned the water to thick, white foam where it struck the half-hidden rocks that made this stretch so dangerous to boats. Huge terns soared and dipped over the water. With her back to Grey Gables, this truly looked like a beautiful,
wild place. It was easy to imagine they were stepping into another time.
To their left, a narrow stand of trees separated the lighthouse access road from the steady slope to the beach on the other side. The trees had a stunted look, their limbs twisted by the steady wind off the water. Annie shivered as she imagined how the trees would look after dark. To the right, the gravel road was bordered by a rocky cliff that plummeted to the harbor waters. It was no wonder Gram forbade her to challenge the lighthouse legend.
Finally, they reached the highest point on the peninsula where Butler’s Lighthouse watched over the water beyond. The area around the lighthouse was rocky, but Annie could see someone had been working to create raised flower beds filled with bright pansies and azaleas full of buds. She suspected the hand of the Historical Society, as they looked after the property now.
More surprising than the flower beds was the man who turned to smile at them as they approached. It was the bearded man from The Cup & Saucer. He held a camera and another hung from a strap around his neck. His cane was hooked into the camera strap around his neck to free his hands for taking pictures.
“Hi, Jim!” Alice sang out; her stride had grown positively bouncy.
“Good morning, Alice,” the man said. His voice had an attractive gravelly depth to it. He smiled, and his face settled into deep laugh lines around his light eyes. He turned the warm smile on Annie. “And good morning to you too.”
“Jim Parker, this is my friend and neighbor, Annie Dawson. She lives next door to me, just down there at the base of the hill on Ocean Drive,” Alice said. Annie smiled at her friend’s meticulous directions to her house. Annie managed to replace the smile with an interested look just as Alice turned to her. “Jim is working on a book about New England lighthouses. Photos and stories.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miz Dawson,” Jim said, nodding. A lock of silver hair fell over his eyes. “It’s nice to know your name after bumping into you yesterday.”
Annie felt heat flush her face, but thankfully he teased her no more about it. “When did you meet Mr. Parker?” Annie asked her friend, suspecting she now understood Alice’s special care over her wardrobe today.
“Yesterday at The Cup & Saucer,” Alice said. “I was looking for you since you never came back to A Stitch in Time, and I met Jim instead. He told me about his work on this lighthouse project. It’s fascinating.”
“Alice is being kind about my work,” Jim said, “but I do love these old lighthouses. Not many of them are in actual service anymore. I worry that eventually young people will decide they’re too much trouble to keep, so I want to make a record of their history and their legends. I have to admit, taking pictures has been the easy part.”
“Oh?” Alice said. “I would think there would be lots of stories with old lighthouses.”
“The stories are there,” Jim said, shoving the camera in his hand into a case on his hip, “but I’ve found New England folks aren’t overly eager to share them with a stranger. Don’t get me wrong. Everyone’s been real friendly, just not open to prying questions.”
“I know how that is,” Annie said, thinking back to her chilly reception from some folks in Stony Point when she’d first arrived. “Have you tried the Historical Society? They look after this property, I think.”
“Yup,” he said. “I talked to Liz Booth. She let me read clippings and such since she said they were part of the ‘historical record.’ But she wasn’t interested in talking about the legend at all.”
“You mean the legend about the curse?” Alice asked, surprise clear in her voice. “That’s just silly kid stuff.”
“Maybe,” Jim said. “I’ve learned to keep an open mind. I’ve seen some pretty weird stuff in some of these old lighthouses. Things I couldn’t explain. Plus, according to the ‘historical record’ there have been several deaths of young people connected with this lighthouse and the cliffs around it. One young man was murdered on these cliffs a good many years ago. You ladies were probably kids then.”
“He wasn’t killed by a curse,” Annie said with a shudder since she knew exactly what had killed the dark-eyed young man. That was a story she wasn’t likely to forget. “He was killed by a living, breathing person.”
Jim shrugged. “Before that, a little girl died on the cliffs too, but I found even less on that story than on the boy.”
“A little girl?” Annie said, her voice high. “When? Was she alone?”
“I haven’t been able to track down any details at all yet,” he said, “but I’m looking. Why? Can you ladies tell me more about this lighthouse curse?”
“I can tell you what I know,” Alice said, “but we should sit and get comfortable.” She gestured toward the stone benches near the flower beds, another addition from the Historical Society. Jim slipped his cane from the camera strap and used it to limp heavily to the bench. Alice quickly settled beside him, and Annie perched on the edge of a large rock nearby, smiling at how quickly her friend had snagged the seat next to the handsome photographer.
“Long ago,” Alice said in her best creepy voice, “Hyrum Matthews took up the job of lighthouse keeper. Old Hyrum hated kids, and kids hated him. Wild boys threw rotten fruit when Hyrum stormed into town for supplies. And groups of kids prowled around the lighthouse keeper’s cottage, laughing and scratching at the windows to scare the old man.”
“I can see how that could turn you against kids,” Jim said, dryly.
“Hush!” Alice said, giving his shoulder a playful push. “You’ll break the mood. Anyway, old Hyrum hated those kids, and one night he chased after a bunch of wild boys, waving his lantern and yelling. It was a stormy night … ”
“And dark,” Annie inserted, fighting down a giggle at Alice’s dramatic retelling of the legend. Her nightmare somehow might be tied to the lighthouse, but she didn’t believe in curses, so she doubted that she would believe in this tale of ol’ Hyrum. Alice turned to look at her, and Annie dropped her voice to the same dramatic tone Alice had used. “A dark and stormy night.”
Alice just wrinkled her nose and went on. “The wind roared along the dirt road, and old Hyrum must have gotten confused. He slipped and fell off the cliff. They found him in the morning, near death on the rocks below.”
“Tough old bird to last the night after falling off a cliff,” Jim muttered, and Annie laughed again. Alice continued to ignore them.
“His last words were to gasp out the curse. If any kids came to the lighthouse on a stormy night again and touched a single stone of the building, they would be haunted by a host of cliff ghosts and driven mad by morning.” Alice finished her story solemnly with a glance at her audience.
“And yet,” Annie said, “you survived sneaking up to the lighthouse.”
Jim laughed and nudged Alice. “You tempted the curse?”
“I didn’t actually touch the stones,” Alice said. “I came up with a couple of the guys from around here. It was a dare. I was a sucker for a dare when I was a kid. Anyway, we were caught by the crazy lighthouse keeper who worked here. I thought my folks were going to send me to an all-girls boarding school.” Alice caught Annie’s incredulous look. “Honestly,” she protested, “Mom left boarding-school pamphlets lying around. I tell you, it was psychological warfare. Anyway, sneaking up to the lighthouse on a stormy night has been the thing for teens around here as long as I can remember.”
“It’s funny how many times these legends involve a crazy lighthouse keeper,” Jim said. “I guess the solitude of this kind of work leads to those tales. People assume you have to be crazy to take a job that requires standing alone in a tower during every storm at sea.”
“Well, Hyrum may just have been part of the legend,” Alice said, “but I can vouch for Murdoch being crazy. You should have heard him ranting at me. I was scared half to death.”
Annie smiled at her friend. “Maybe he was worried about you.”
“Or maybe he was trying to figure out where to smack me with an ax or something,” Alice count
ered.
Jim burst out laughing. “Well, I thank you for sharing the story in such a vivid way,” Jim said. Then his voice grew serious. “Now I just have to find out more about the kids who’ve died. I’d like to see if either of their deaths tie to the legend.”
“Well, the boy doesn’t, for sure,” Alice said. “I can tell you the particulars of that story sometime, but you can’t put it in your book. It has nothing to do with the lighthouse, and I know some people who would be very hurt if it turned into a story told for entertainment.”
Jim held up his hands. “I’m not out to hurt anyone. I promise. If you say the boy isn’t related to the legend, I accept that. But I still would like to know more about the little girl.”
“I didn’t know about any little kid dying up here,” Alice said.
“I don’t remember ever hearing anything about her either,” Annie said, “but I may have dreamed about her.”
8
At Jim’s urging, Annie told the bits that she remembered from her dreams. She knew there were children involved, a storm, the lighthouse and the doll. As she struggled to make the shred of memory sound coherent, she decided she just sounded silly. “It’s probably nothing,” she said lamely.
“I don’t know,” Jim said, leaning forward to look at her intently with serious gray eyes. “You may have heard about that girl at some time or other, and your memory is making it into a dream. The human mind is an amazing thing.”
“Maybe,” Annie said doubtfully. “I would rather my memory just made it a memory. The dreams are creepy.”
“Of course, it’s entirely possible that you’re slowly turning into Annie the psychic,” Alice said. “In which case, I’m buying you a crystal ball.”
“Thanks, pal,” Annie said, smiling a little. “Whatever is causing them, I just hope they go away. I can do without the bags under my eyes from lack of sleep.”