The Ghosts of Aquinnah

by Julie Flanders

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  Midpoint

  The Ghosts of Aquinnah

  By Julie Flanders

  Ink Smith Publishing

  www.ink-smith.com

  Copyright © 2013 Julie Flanders

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Ebook Version

  The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover Image created by: Michael Di Gesu

  ISBN: 978-1-939156-21-1

  Ink Smith Publishing

  P.O Box 1086

  Glendora CA

  For my mom, who taught me at a young age about the magic to be found within the pages of a book. And for my grandfather, who gave me the treasure that is Martha's Vineyard, and my grandmother, whose Irish blood runs deep in my veins.

  January 18, 1884

  The trip had started out so well.

  Christopher Casey had jumped at the chance to move to Savannah, Georgia and leave Boston behind. The brutal New England winter chilled him to his bones and left him longing for his home across the sea in Galway. When he’d heard of the opportunities to work on the Savannah docks loading cotton he hadn’t thought twice about heading south.

  He’d saved his wages and sold his few belongings and finally raised the $15 he needed to buy a steerage ticket on The City of Columbus. That morning, he’d been so excited about the upcoming trip he’d almost forgotten about the cold and fever that had been plaguing him for days.

  “You should wait for another boat, Christopher,” his landlady Mrs. Pitts had insisted as she poured him a cup of hot coffee. “You’re not well enough to make that trip.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll be right as rain as soon as I’m out to sea, sailing under the sunshine…”

  An ill-timed coughing fit had interrupted his declaration.

  “Now doesn’t that prove what I’m trying to tell you,” Mrs. Pitts said. “Listen to yourself, lad. You’ll end up with the consumption long before you ever make it to Georgia.”

  Christopher gulped down his coffee and stood up from his landlady’s table. “Don’t be daft. I’m not going to get the consumption.” He took Mrs. Pitts’ hand in his own and lightly kissed it with his lips. “I do appreciate your concern though, Mrs. Pitts. And I can’t deny I’m going to miss you. And your coffee.”

  The portly woman laughed and momentarily looked 20 years younger than her true age of 50 as her cheeks turned a flaming shade of crimson. “You’ll miss the coffee most of all, I’m sure of that.”

  “You’re surely wrong then.”

  “I can’t convince you to wait? They’ll be plenty of other voyages going south. Come back here tonight and let me take care of you. Get ya well before you head on out to sea.”

  Christopher shook his head. “No, I’m going now. If I let something like a little catarrh stop me I’ll never get anywhere.”

  He’d left Mrs. Pitts’ boarding house for his last day’s work on the Boston docks, then bounded aboard The City of Columbus with a few dollars in his pocket and a spring in his step. When the steamer had departed Boston under a cloudless winter sky he’d dreamed of the southern sunshine he’d heard so much about and started counting the hours until he’d feel warm again.

  He now realized he hadn’t even known what cold was then. But as his ice-encrusted fingers clutched the shrouds that had connected the steamer’s masthead to the sides of the vessel, he knew.

  Christopher had been sleeping in his bunk when he’d heard a loud crunching noise and felt the ship start to list. He’d jumped out of bed and pulled on his boots and grabbed his coat as the room tilted to one side and the floor seemed to slide under his feet. He’d struggled to keep his balance as he’d left the room and stumbled into the hallway, where he’d been greeted by a rush of water that reached his knees.

  As the gushing water rose to his waist, Christopher cursed himself as he dropped his coat and watched as it was instantly carried away from him down the corridor. He ignored the cacophony of terrified screaming around him and made his way for the stairway he knew would lead him to the ship’s deck. What he’d found there had been more horrifying than anything he ever could have imagined.

  Instead of the safe harbor he’d hoped for, the deck had been nothing but terror and chaos. The ship’s crew members haphazardly attempted to cut lifeboats free from their moorings, only to have the boats crash against the hull of the sinking ship and fall into the churning sea. Christopher had watched women clutching their children and men grabbing for lifejackets just as a huge wave engulfed the deck. When the wave receded, everyone and everything in its path had disappeared into the sea.

  The starboard side of the ship was high in the air and Christopher had grasped the railing next to him with a strength he’d never known he had. Within minutes, the ship had started to right itself, and Christopher knew he had only seconds to get to safety before she sank. Having nowhere else to go, he’d leapt into the ship’s rigging and climbed above the rising sea as the rest of The City of Columbus disappeared beneath him.

  That had been hours ago. The screams and cries surrounding him had lessened with each passing hour, as one survivor after another fell into the sea. Christopher was no longer shivering as the wind rocked the mast he clung to and the blowing waves rose and drenched him with frigid water. He simply felt tired and too weak to continue holding on to the shrouds that had saved his life. His thick brown hair had turned to ice on his head, his clothing was frozen to his feverish body, and his hands and arms throbbed with pain.

  But now he watched the sun rise on the opposite side of the island, punctuating the black sky around him with fiery stripes of red and orange. And Christopher realized that he wanted to keep trying. He could now clearly see the rocky shore less than a mile from him, and the keeper’s house next to the red brick lighthouse whose shining beacon had been his only source of hope throughout the pitch dark night. He’d watched the lighthouse and forced himself to count in rhythm along with the flashing lights, an endless cycle of three whites and one red.

  Now, the site of the keeper’s house gave Christopher more hope than the lights ever could. There were people in that house, and probably a town beyond it. And now that the morning had come, help would be coming too. Christopher was sure of it.

  When he saw the boat rowing towards him through the waves, he wondered if he was simply hallucinating. But when he heard the men on the boat yell out for survivors, he knew they were real. And he knew that they were coming for him.

  “Help!” he cried out, his voice croaking. “Over here, help us, please!”

  Knowing he could not be heard above the noise of the wind and the surf, Christopher screamed louder. “Help!”

  His anguished yells gave way to a fierce coughing fit that wracked his body and nearly caused Christopher to lose his hold on the rigging. As the boat moved closer, he could make out the thick coats and heavy life vests that the men aboard it wore and he knew he wouldn’t have to hold on much longer. The man at the front of the boat raised an arm and waved to him.

  “We see you!” he yelled.

  Christopher burst into tears that immediately froze to ice on his pale face. “Help me, please,” he said between violent coughs. “Please!”

  “We can’t get to you, boy,” the man yelled. “We’ll sink.”

  As Christopher looked down at the currents swirling around the submerged deck of the wrecked ship, he
understood why his rescuers could not risk coming into the churning waters. The waves could easily grab their own boat and destroy it within seconds.

  “Come to us!” The man held up a boathook. “We’ll get you!”

  Christopher knew there was nothing to do but let go and fall into the sea. He couldn’t hold on any longer anyway. He stared at the men in the boat and then looked back down at the water. He pried his frozen fingers from the rigging and dropped into the waves below.

  The icy water hit Christopher with the force of a train as the waves sucked him into the ocean. Using his last ounce of strength, he struggled to swim back to the surface. When his head came back above water he opened his mouth to yell to his rescuers just as a wave picked him up and sent him careening into the boat. As the water slammed Christopher into the side of the rescue boat, he felt a sharp pain in his left arm just before he lost consciousness.

  When he came to he was on his back in the boat, stretched out next to the rowing men. He could see another survivor near the front of the boat but didn’t have the strength to sit up and look for others. He noticed he was wrapped in a large blue coat and realized that one of the rescuers had removed their own coat and given it to him. The man glanced down at him now and nodded.

  Christopher wanted to speak, to say thank you, but he was unable to say the words. Each time he opened his mouth, his lungs erupted into coughing fits that merely amplified the blinding pain in his arm. He shivered both from the frigid temperature and icy waters and from the fever that now raged through his body. Christopher’s vision blurred and the sky above him slipped from view as he slipped mercifully back into unconsciousness.

  May, 2013

  Hannah Forrester stared out the window of her Boston apartment and watched the rain drench the street below her. It had been raining steadily for two days now, but it felt more like two hundred. The April showers had extended well into May, and she’d had enough rain to last a lifetime. She couldn’t wait for the summer sunshine.

  Hannah smoothed her long brown curly hair with her hands and tied it into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She had tied and untied her hair at least five times since she’d sat down to work. She had also tied and untied the drawstring on her dark green pajama bottoms, and fastened and unfastened the buttons at the top of her cream-colored Henley shirt. In short, she had done everything besides what she was supposed to be doing, which was researching her book on New England lighthouses. She glanced down at her laptop and her legal pad full of scribbled notes and immediately focused her attention back on the rain.

  “Is there a lighthouse out there I haven’t noticed?”

  Hannah jumped at the sound of the voice behind her. She turned and saw her boyfriend Jon Rodriguez walking into the room.

  “I didn’t even hear you come in,” she said.

  “I’m not surprised. You’re too engrossed in the rain.” He leaned down and kissed the top of Hannah’s head.

  “I thought you had surgery this evening.”

  “I did. It’s finished.” Jon sat down on their king-sized bed and started to remove his shoes. “It’s 10:00, Hannah.”

  Hannah stretched and leaned back in her desk chair, massaging her shoulders with her hands. “I didn’t realize it was that late. Time got away from me tonight.”

  “Tonight and just about every night lately. Are you getting anywhere on that book?”

  “Not really.”

  Jon rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re wasting your time then.”

  “I’m not wasting my time. It’s just a temporary block.”

  Jon got up from the bed and headed for the master bathroom, holding up his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Right, right, I’ve heard that before. I’m taking a shower and then going to bed. One of us actually has to work for a living.”

  Hannah watched him leave the room and bristled at his tone, although she should have been used to it by now. Jon had been making snide remarks ever since she’d left her marketing job in order to focus on her writing full-time. He conveniently ignored the fact that she had enough freelance clients to pay her share of the bills. And that his medical school loans had always been the biggest drain on their income.

  Not for the first time, Hannah wondered why she stayed with Jon. It was mostly out of habit, and the fact that moving out and starting fresh felt too overwhelming. She’d been with Jon almost as long as she’d lived in Massachusetts. She had met him not long after she moved from Indianapolis to Cambridge in order to attend Harvard. Jon had already been planning for medical school then, and excelling in pre-med, and she’d been drawn to his ambition and his confidence, two qualities she’d always lacked in spite of her academic success and admittance to the most prestigious university in the country.

  She heard him turn on the water for the shower and forced herself to focus her attention back on her research. She hadn’t wanted to admit it to Jon, but there was a reason she was having difficulty focusing on her writing.

  It had started once she’d moved on to the Martha’s Vineyard lighthouses. Hannah’s family on her mother’s side had spent summers in the island’s African-American “Inkwell” community in the town of Oak Bluffs since the early part of the 20th century. Hannah loved visiting the island when she was a child, and had many fond memories of escaping the monotonous Indiana landscape and spending summers on the beach with her parents and grandparents.

  Since her parents’ sudden deaths three years earlier, Hannah had not set foot on the island she had once loved. It reminded her too much of her parents and, since the car accident that had claimed both of their lives, that was a door Hannah didn’t want to open.

  But if she wanted to write about the history of New England lighthouses, she could hardly bypass Martha’s Vineyard. And she couldn’t ignore the historic Gay Head light, which stood atop the famous cliffs of Aquinnah and was the oldest lighthouse on the island.

  Hannah had always loved going to Aquinnah. She loved standing at the top of the multicolored clay cliffs and listening to the roaring surf below as the sun sank into the sea. Both her mother and her grandfather had loved the clam chowder sold at one of the small restaurants that lined the walk to the overlook. Hannah had never cared for the clam chowder, but loved the soft serve ice cream her grandfather always made sure to buy her.

  Her family was all gone now. But the cliffs were still there, and the lighthouse continued to shine out over the sea as it had for centuries, warning sailors of the dangers of the cliffs and the rocky coastline.

  Hannah’s writing woes had started once she’d forced herself to delve into the Vineyard’s history and visit the island’s official website, which featured webcams of both the Gay Head light and the beach below it. She’d found memories in every picture and video she’d looked at on the site. Hannah sighed and clicked on the window she had been using to look at the lighthouse webcam earlier that night.

  It was dark at Aquinnah now, and the night sky was lit by nothing but the full moon and the twinkling stars, as well as the lighthouse beacon, which rotated across the screen every ten seconds. A security light outside one of the restaurants cast a glow over the white fence and the stone steps that led up to the lookout area. Hannah stared at the screen and heard the laughter of her parents and grandparents in her head. She looked away.

  As Hannah turned towards the window, a movement on the laptop screen caught her eye. She looked back at the scene beneath the webcam and was surprised to see a small woman wearing a long white dress walking up the steps toward the overlook. She was wrapped in a thick blue cloak and had covered her head with a drawn bonnet. The woman’s dress was buttoned up to her neck and she wore brown laced-up boots. Hannah wondered what she was doing alone at the cliffs at night, hours after the tourists had left and the restaurants had closed. And wondered why she was dressed in such an old-fashioned manner.

  Hannah watched as the woman stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back towards the road and the sandy path that led down
to the sea. She stared out at the surf below her as the wind whipped her dress and cloak around her legs. She raised a thin hand to her head to keep her bonnet from blowing off. Hannah continued to watch as the woman started to walk again, heading up to the overlook and out of the view of the camera.

  Hannah watched for several minutes, expecting to see the woman coming back down the steps and onto the screen in front of her. But the stairs and parking lot remained empty. Hannah wondered what the woman could be doing at the overlook for this length of time. Unless something had changed in the years since she had last been at Gay Head, there were no lights at the overlook and, with the exception of the lighthouse beacon passing over them, the cliffs were pitch black at night. Why would anyone want to stand up there alone in the dark?

  Hannah leaned back in her desk chair as she heard Jon turn the water off. She had almost forgotten he was home. She looked once more at the webcam, but saw nothing but the bright white beacon and the bushes that lined the stone steps. No one was there.

  Hannah tried to imagine who the woman on the webcam was, and why she was dressed so peculiarly. Perhaps there was some sort of historical event taking place at the lighthouse that weekend. But Hannah had not seen anything about any special events on the island’s website.

  She closed her laptop and put her work away before Jon returned to the bedroom. She didn’t want him asking any questions or making any more remarks about her book. Hannah left the bedroom and walked to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the sink as she took a sip.

  Unable to stop thinking about the mystery woman, Hannah tried again to come up with a reason for her dress. Perhaps she belonged to one of those religious groups where women dressed conservatively. But that wouldn’t explain what she was doing alone at the lighthouse in the dark of night.