He resumed his slow pace around the circle, though his stride was a bit defensive, and he kept glancing at me to make sure I was paying attention.
“I’ve done a good deal of walking and thinking in this room, so naturally it’s taken a toll on the carpeting. Now, where were we?”
“You were saying you stick your nose in everyone’s business.”
He looked at me crossly. “I see you were listening. I admit I tend to meddle. It’s my nature, and like I said, it’s carried down to your father. It’s a cumbersome trait that comes with the Hawthorne name.”
“So what kind of things did you and David talk about?”
“Maybe you’ll just have to drop by some time and find out.”
“Monday afternoon.”
“What?”
“Mother has City Council meetings Monday evenings, so she won’t notice if I get home late. Every other month she has it at our house, so I’d have to skip that week.”
“I see you’ve got this all thought out. Okay, so if you were to visit Monday afternoons, it must be completely on your own accord. You understand your parents would not very much approve?”
“I understand.”
“Very well then,” he concluded, smiling down on me as I imagined grandfathers often do upon their grandchildren.
We spent the rest of the time discussing more lighthearted topics, which apparently didn’t require as much thought, for Grandfather retired from his walking circle to his recliner. As the weeks went by, I would learn that he told jokes and stories of days gone by from the recliner, leaving his walking circle that he refused to acknowledge for more thought-provoking discussions.
“And one more thing, young man,” he said as I was leaving. “I do very much like to fish!”
CHAPTER 4: RHODE ISLAND FOLKLORE
“Why, yaw from all over, aren’t ya, three-seventy-five?” Chet said, examining my mother’s letter from New Hampshire. “So where do ya hang yaw hat?” When I told him I was from New York, he just nodded like he had suspected it all along. “How could I fawget? Musty, from Brooklyn. Ya just got yawself girls stashed all over, don’t ya? They don’t perfume their letters, but ya don’t fool me, three-seventy-five. Ya don’t fool me one bit.”
It hadn’t taken long to learn Chet had a nose like a bloodhound. The fact that he smelled every letter before giving it to its rightful owner became an ongoing joke.
“Nothing quite like the smell of greenbacks,” he would say, which was music to our ears, as it always foretold of money from home.
I crossed the cafeteria and joined Benjamin at our table by the window. Immersed in a comic book, he hardly glanced up. Outside, students trekked through the drizzle that had been nonstop all morning. The lighthouse and clock tower were obscured in fog.
I hesitated before opening Mother’s letter. Despite being the wife of a judge and daughter of a former New York State Senator, Diane Hawthorne hadn’t taken to law or politics. Though she possessed an extensive knowledge on either topic, her true passion lay in rescuing the osprey. Mother became giddy whenever she spoke of the endangered bird. If Father happened to be present, he would grow quiet, often becoming distracted with some trivial task at hand. Though he hadn’t hesitated to finance the Hawthorne Raptor Center, he couldn’t rationalize why his wife persisted on burdening herself in such a fashion. In all their years together, he couldn’t see the ambitious woman striving to achieve something not handed down by birthright or marriage.
The letter began with the details of her trip to White Mountain National Forest, that year’s chosen location for releasing the raptor center’s captive osprey. She was “roughing it in the wild,” which meant staying at a quaint chalet in the mountains. She and her team from the Hawthorne Raptor Center were “hacking,” an ornithological term for placing incubated osprey eggs in nest towers. Once the eggs hatched, the newborn chicks were fed with gloved arms built into the nests. The parentless birds never saw the hand that fed them. “Everything is going along splendidly,” she wrote. “We only lost one egg. The chicks are getting stronger every day. I can’t begin to describe the feeling I get when feeding them. I’m convinced they think I’m their mother. And in a way, I suppose I am. It’s just such an amazing experience.”
She waited until the end to address my insubordination.
I spoke at some length with Mr. Hearst (such a pleasant gentleman!) Of course I was shocked by what he had to say, as I cannot imagine you behaving in such a way. It’s not becoming of you, Jacob. I was relieved to hear that you played only a small part in the incident (though big enough!) I had no idea there were such troublemakers at a prestigious school like Wellington. It makes me wonder how children with such strong upbringings turn out that way. However, I can’t say I’m surprised Governor Forsythe’s son is such a terror. I’ve been hearing outlandish stories concerning his father for years now. Serves him right to have such a devil for a child. He’ll never get my vote. And to think you were up in that clock tower. You mustn’t put yourself in such danger. Oh, how I remember that lovely island—such a treasure. Write soon. Love, Mother.
Mother’s letter brought to light Father’s lack of correspondence. Though we frequently went for weeks without talking, misconduct or mediocre grades were sure to grab his attention. Even though his letter would have been reprimanding, at least it would have been a reassurance that he was still aware of my life.
“A letter from your folks?” Benjamin asked.
“More like a lecture,” I replied, gathering up the pages. “They think I’m hanging out with the wrong crowd.”
“Well if you ask me, that Chris Forsythe is the biggest troublemaker there is.”
“You know him?”
“I don’t need to know him,” Benjamin said, taking a bite of French bread. “I know his type. Arriving here a day late in his daddy’s helicopter so everyone can see what an important person he is. The way he prances around, acting all … hoity-toity. I’d rather not know him.”
I smiled. Unless he got talking about his Aunt Ditty, a woman infamous throughout Providence for doing a great injustice to the Bailey name, Benjamin kept his unfavorable opinions to himself. Though lately, his pessimism was beginning to show. He rarely spoke of the honors program or the debate team, which he had joined to avoid sports. Away from home for the first time, with teachers who weren’t his mother, his world had been turned upside down. He maintained his composure throughout the day, but the moment the lights went out, his homesickness returned. I weathered through it each night, wondering when it would end. The only relief came on the weekends when he boarded the ferry for the brief return home.
“You’d like it in the clock tower,” I said. “You can see the entire island.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Hmmm?”
“My fear of heights?”
“Oh, sorry.”
“No biggie. I’m sure the view is great, but if I had my choice, I’d take the lighthouse any day.”
“What’s the difference?”
Benjamin’s jaw dropped, revealing a mouthful of half-chewed bread. “You mean you don’t know?”
I shook my head.
“Oh man, I can’t believe no one’s ever told you.” He leaned across the table. “Legend has it, Raker Lighthouse is haunted.”
“Haunted? No way.”
“What’s haunted?” someone behind me asked.
It was Chris.
“Mind if we join ya, gents?” he asked as Roland and Derek Mayhew, from across the hall, sat down at our table, their lunch trays full of food.
Benjamin eyed the newcomers warily before looking down at his plate.
“We were just talking about the lighthouse,” I said.
“This lighthouse?” Chris asked. “You think Raker’s haunted?”
Roland and Derek snickered.
“Benjamin knows some Rhode Island folklore,” I said. “It’s nothing, really.” But I knew Chris wouldn’t let it drop. He was
as curious as a cat when it came to anything deviating from the usual conversations.
“You know some folklore, Ben?” he asked.
“It’s hearsay mainly,” Benjamin muttered, his eyes never lifting from his tray.
“Now that you mention it, I’ve been hearing some moaning at night. I just figured it was coming from Ms. Cartwright’s room, but here it’s ghosts in our lighthouse.”
Roland and Derek burst out laughing. I did my best to cover a smile.
“I thought it was coming from your guys’ room,” Derek joked, looking at the roommates. Roland elbowed him in the ribs, and Chris faked like he was going to throw bread at him. Everyone but Benjamin was laughing.
“What can I say? Roland’s mom was in town,” Chris said.
“Sick-o,” Roland said, hitting Chris in the shoulder.
“I didn’t say I believed it was haunted,” Benjamin said, his voice barely audible over the laughter. “Just that it’s rumored to be haunted. That’s all.”
“Hey, have you heard the old wives’ tale that if three people get their picture taken, the one in the middle will be the first to die?” Roland asked. “A guy working on the ferry told me that. He also said something about how this island was named after a pirate.”
“That’s exactly right,” Benjamin said, glancing at Derek and Chris as if fearing another outburst. “Raker and his men would hide in the island’s coves, in the shadow of the lighthouse itself, and wait for ships to sail by.”
“Did he have a hook for a hand?” Derek asked, smiling.
“No, but he was missing his left eye.”
“Oh come on. A pirate with an eye patch?”
“It’s true. Honest. You can look it up at the library in Miskapaug.”
Derek didn’t look convinced.
“So what happened?” Roland asked.
“Raker and his men took over the lighthouse. He was so ruthless at raiding ships, a group of merchants banded together and tried to kill him. But he always escaped. The locals began to whisper of the pirate in the lighthouse, whose one eye watched the horizon.”
“Did they ever catch him?”
“Eventually. They ambushed him right here on the island. Raker made his last stand at the top of the lighthouse, one fighting many while the great light circled round, sending the combatants’ shadows across the night sky.”
Benjamin turned to the cafeteria window. Outside, the fog had started to lift, revealing the peak of the lighthouse.
“His dying words are legendary in Rhode Island.” Benjamin’s voice dropped to a whisper. “‘Hear ye, ya sorry excuses for men. I may die this day, but my spirit shall live on, for there will come a day when my one eye shall once again shine forth from this island, and all men who look upon its hellish light shall meet their demise!’ And in the very place where Raker uttered those words, his bloodstain can be seen to this day.”
“So was anyone cursed?” Chris asked.
“Hard to say. But over the years, the lighthouse keepers reported things they couldn’t explain. Once, on the anniversary of Raker’s death, the lighthouse suddenly went dark, and by the time they got it back on, a ship had crashed ashore.”
“That’s creepy,” Roland said.
“That’s not all. It didn’t take long for rumors of other accidents to circulate. One keeper was struck by lightning. Another committed suicide. Soon everyone knew of Raker’s curse and refused to set foot on the island. Some began calling it Raker Island, and the name stuck.”
“I’m surprised they ever built a hotel here,” I said. The more he talked, the more I felt my instinct to protect Benjamin recede.
“Few Rhode Islanders ever stayed here. In fact, the hotel only heightened their superstitions because they saw Raker’s blind eye in the clock tower that could never be illuminated. And they feared the day when a light would shine from the abandoned lighthouse, when the one-eyed sea pirate would once again keep watch over his island.”
“Bravo my man, Ben,” Chris said, applauding.
“Kick ass,” said Derek.
“Just a little Rhode Island folklore is all,” Benjamin replied. “Every place has a legend of some kind. Raker Island just happens to be ours.” Then he glanced at his watch. “I’d love to stick around, but class is about to start.”
Chris rose from his chair. “I’d like to make a proposition.”
“Oh no,” Roland groaned.
“I don’t know about the rest of you slugs, but after hearing Ben’s story, I’ve got to see if that bloodstain is actually up there.”
“Forget it, Chris,” I said.
“No, hear me out. Just hear me out. We’ve been banging around in that clock tower for so long we need some excitement. We’ll go after lights-out and see for ourselves if Ben’s story is true.”
“Parts of it are definitely true,” Benjamin said. Then he cast a worried glance at his watch.
“How you planning on getting in?” Derek asked Chris.
“I got in the clock tower, didn’t I?”
Benjamin stood up and shifted from foot to foot like he had to pee.
“Okay, okay,” Chris consented. “We’ll talk about it later.”
The following evening I returned to my room to find the door locked. “Unless it’s room service, go away!” someone shouted from inside. Unlocking the door, I was surprised to see Chris and Benjamin seated in the lower bunk.
“Jake, you just missed Ben here spilling the goods on his hometown,” Chris said sweeping a long forelock from his eye. “He’s got the scoop on everyone. In fact, he’s talked me into renouncing my Maryland heritage—that boring, industrial, washed-up, lifelong, strive-for-nothing wasteland. From now on, I’m a born-and-raised Rhode Islander.”
Benjamin sat beside Chris—in the very spot he had cried himself to sleep—like they were old chums. Judging from his smile, his derogatory comments about the governor’s son were long forgotten. Here was Chris, one of Wellington’s most popular upperclassmen, in Benjamin’s very own room, hanging on his every word. For Benjamin, popularity—that elusive, pleasantly talked about concept—lay before him like an unfurled flag, and he wanted nothing more than to pick it up and run down the halls with it streaming out behind him.
“Jacob, you’re not going to believe this,” he said, jumping up from the bed. “They’re climbing the lighthouse tonight! And I’m going with them! Here I’ve lived in Rhode Island my entire life, and I’ve never once set foot in a lighthouse. I’ve seen all kinds of them—”
“—Benjamin—”
“—but I’ve never actually been inside one. Just think, I’ll be climbing the very stairs Pirate Raker climbed—”
“—Benjamin—”
“—and standing where he fought valiantly to his death.” He made stabbing motions at the air. “Oh, but you can’t tell anyone. Chris made me swear to secrecy. I’m going to die if his bloodstain is actually up there—”
“Ben!”
“What?”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe your fear of heights? I mean, come on, you’re scared to sleep in the top bunk. You said so yourself.”
“We’ve thought of a way around that. Actually, it was Chris’ idea. I just can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before.”
“We’re going to club him over the head and drag him up,” Chris said, going to the window.
“Gosh, let’s hope not,” Benjamin said. “What you have to remember is that we’ll be going by flashlight, so I won’t be able to see how high I am. My fear of heights only kicks in when I look down.”
“What if you point your flashlight down?” I asked.
“That won’t happen. I mean, everyone’s agreed not to do that.”
“Everyone?”
“Roland and Derek are coming, too.”
“So what are you going to do when you get up there? Stare at your feet?”
“More or less. I could car
e less about the view, especially at night. The only thing I’m interested in is Raker’s bloodstain. I’ve been spoon-fed that myth since before I could walk, and tonight I’m going to find out if it’s true.”
“So you’re not worried about your fear of heights because you’ll be in a haunted lighthouse? And it’ll be pitch-dark?”
Benjamin hesitated.
“What are you, his mom?” Chris asked, turning from the window. “If the lighthouse is so dangerous, then why does Max go up there?”
“Max isn’t scared of heights.” How could this idiotic idea sound rational to them?
“It’ll be dark. Even if Ben looks down, he won’t see anything.”
“Hey, what do I know,” I said, not wanting to argue. It was just like Chris to use a childish ghost story to his own advantage. Encouraged by his success, Benjamin had even told the story of Pirate Raker in front of Mr. O’Leary’s class. His arm shot up before Mr. O’Leary had finished roll call, becoming the first and only student to volunteer his “history” to the class. With his voice rising to unchartered heights, he was oblivious to his slack-jawed audience.
Benjamin was smiling again. His eyes glistened with excitement.
“You know, Jacob, you should come with us.”
“Wish I could, but I’ve got to cram for that government exam.”
“You’re only fooling yourself, Jake,” Chris said, returning his attention to the window. “You’re in this as much as the rest of us.”
Chris was right—I wanted to go. But the possibility of my father learning of yet another trip to the headmaster’s office strengthened my resolve.
I flipped aimlessly through my government textbook while Chris and Benjamin went over the details of their plan. Benjamin’s voice shivered with excitement, feeding off Chris’ words—few as they were—launching into high-pitched outbursts the moment Chris lapsed into silence. More than once I had to look up to remind myself that it wasn’t a grown man talking to a child.
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