“I could sleep in the barn,” Christopher said.
Josiah let out a bark of laughter. “Used to those sorts of accommodations, are you?”
“Actually, I’m not.” Christopher steeled his shoulders and met Josiah’s eyes. “But I can make do with whatever accommodations I have. At least until I’ve paid off my debt to you.”
Josiah set down his coffee cup and stared at the insolent young man across from him. If he wanted to work like a slave and sleep with animals, why should Josiah stop him? He could use the free labor.
“Fine then,” he said. “You can sleep with Grover and the sheep in the barn and we’ll have plenty of work for ya, I’ve no doubt of that.”
“I’ll look forward to it, sir.”
Christopher took a sip of his own coffee and glanced across the table, his eyes meeting Stella’s. The pain in her face had been replaced by the slightest of smiles, and her green eyes now sparkled with an undisguised delight. Christopher quickly looked away, but not before he felt his heart once again turning somersaults in his chest.
****
2013
Hannah rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock on the library wall. 4:45. The library would be closing in 15 minutes and she hadn’t learned a single thing about Stella Winslow and her husband beyond the fact that they had helped with the rescue of victims of The City of Columbus and, according to a Boston Globe article written by a reporter named Chesham, provided care for one of the survivors, an Irish immigrant named Christopher Casey.
Except for the name of the survivor, Hannah already knew this from her visit to the museum. As far as she could tell, none of the information she had gathered from her afternoon spent at the library brought her any closer to learning why Stella Winslow was now haunting the cliffs of Aquinnah and seemingly trying to communicate with Hannah.
Hannah cursed the reels of microfilm that were scattered around the table in front of her. She longed to be able to enter Stella’s name into Google and discover all there was to know about her long ago life. Hannah hadn’t realized until today how spoiled she’d become by the availability of online information. She wondered if she would need a prescription for glasses by the time she finished scanning through the reels of 19th century newspapers.
Gathering up the microfilm, Hannah got up from her station and returned the materials to the librarian. She assured the woman she would be back when the library reopened in the morning and made her way outside, blinking in the harsh glare of the late afternoon sun. She got into her car and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. At just 5:00, she didn’t want to go back to the Hammett House and sit there for the rest of the night. That was a recipe for going stir crazy. But, she had no desire to make a return trip to Aquinnah, either. Not tonight.
Hannah chewed on her lip as she contemplated where to go next. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had not eaten since the morning. Her mind wandered to her favorite restaurant on the island. But she didn’t want to go there. Or did she?
Since she was a child, Hannah had loved going to Sandy’s Restaurant in Oak Bluffs with her parents. Located right on the harbor, the restaurant was a quick walk from the family cottage. And, as far as Hannah was concerned, Sandy’s had the best lobster rolls in the state of Massachusetts.
Her mouth watered at the memory of the rolls, and her stomach responded with a louder growl. Hannah let out a deep breath and turned the ignition in her car. She’d been determined to avoid Oak Bluffs while on the Vineyard but, after finding the old newspaper on her bed the previous night and spending the day trying to learn about a ghost, “up island” wasn’t particularly appealing to her at the moment, either. And it wasn’t as if being away from Oak Bluffs had kept her mind off of her parents. They were everywhere she looked on the island. Maybe it was time for her to face her own ghosts.
30 minutes later, Hannah was seated on the deck of Sandy’s watching the boats come in and out of the harbor. There was something to be said for coming to the island in the off season. The lack of traffic and the nonexistent wait for service at the restaurants was a welcome change from the bustle of the height of summer.
Hannah smiled as the waitress set her lobster rolls in front of her and departed the table. She took a sip of iced tea and bit into one of the rolls. The taste did not disappoint.
Starting to feel relaxed for the first time since she’d come to the island, Hannah leaned back in her chair and looked around at the town where she had spent so many of her summers. The Wesley Hotel stared back at her from its home on Lake Avenue, its huge porch mostly empty now. She knew that in a few short months the rocking chairs would all have occupants.
If she remembered correctly, Hannah thought the hotel had first been built in 1879 when the town was still known as Vineyard Grove, before it had become Cottage City in 1880 and ultimately Oak Bluffs in 1907. She wondered if Stella Winslow had ever been there. It was unlikely, considering how long it would have taken to get across the island in those days.
But maybe she and her family had traveled to the town to ride on the Flying Horses, a national historic landmark which had been moved from Coney Island to the town in 1884, the same year as the wreck of The City of Columbus. Hannah remembered the thrill of entering the carousel’s famous red barn and choosing a horse to ride with her father. He had always managed to grab the brass ring for her at least once.
Hannah smiled at the memory, and wondered again if Stella Winslow had ever experienced something similar. It was hard to imagine the same horses that children rode today had once carried 19th century islanders around the same carousel.
The idea brought home to Hannah how little she knew about her friendly, or so she hoped, Aquinnah ghost. Did Stella and her husband have children they could have brought to the carousel? And what of the young man they had cared for after the shipwreck, Christopher Casey? Had they continued to be involved with him? Had he remained on Martha’s Vineyard?
Hannah’s mind wandered back to the photo she had seen in the museum and she wondered why Christopher had not posed with his rescuers. Perhaps he had been too badly injured. Although from the account she had read in the Boston Globe that did not seem to be the case.
Hannah finished her lobster rolls and shivered in the evening sea air. There were definitely some disadvantages to the off season, and the cold temperatures were number one on that list. Hannah felt the sense of restlessness returning to her, and she found herself anxious to pay her bill and head back to Chilmark. The ocean air had made her tired and she longed for her bed and a good night’s rest.
As she walked to her car, her thoughts returned to the Irishman for whom she had a name but no face. She knew that Stella had wanted her to investigate The City of Columbus. Since Christopher Casey survived that very wreck, it seemed logical to assume that he was somehow connected to whatever Stella wanted her to discover. She admonished herself for not thinking of it earlier when she’d been at the library.
She got into the car and drove off towards Chilmark. At least she knew where to begin when she arrived at the library in the morning. She needed to find out what had happened to Christopher Casey.
****
1884
“It looks like we’re here, Grover,” Christopher said as he nudged the horse towards the Cottage City Apothecary on Ocean Avenue.
Although he guided the horse, he had the feeling that Grover knew where he was going much more than Christopher himself did. The horse often looked at Christopher as if he was insulted that a newcomer would presume to know the roads of the island better than he.
In spite of his indignant air, Christopher had come to like Grover a great deal. In fact, he liked the horse significantly more than he did his owner. This morning was the first time Josiah had trusted Christopher to make a trip to town on his own, and he was grateful to be free of the man and explore this unfamiliar island with no company but Grover.
Now, Christopher and his equine companion arrived at the apothecary to pick up the
medicines and supplies Josiah had ordered from the mainland. As Josiah had explained to him, he had previously always picked up his supplies in Vineyard Haven, the most prominent port on the island and part of the town of Tisbury. But following a fire last summer that had destroyed the main street of Vineyard Haven, along with nearly all of its businesses, most steamers now arrived in the neighboring harbor at Cottage City while Vineyard Haven was being rebuilt.
This was fine with Christopher as he loved the strange little town with its gingerbread cottages and religious camp grounds. He looked longingly at the Wesley House hotel with its elegant awnings and huge wooden porch lined with rocking chairs. Josiah had informed him that the luxurious hotel had been built just five years earlier. Christopher wondered what it would be like to have the money to stay in such a resplendent establishment. He had no illusions that he’d ever find out, but even an Irishman could dream.
Christopher hitched Grover up to the pole outside the store and quickly walked inside to gather up Josiah’s purchases. He was happy to see the friendly face of Eliza Luce behind the counter.
“Good day to you, Mrs. Luce.”
“And good day to you, Mr. Casey. Where’s Dr. Winslow today?”
“He’s seeing patients at home today. Sent me to fetch his order.”
“I’ll get it for ya then.”
As the genial shopkeeper disappeared behind a curtain leading to the back room of her store, Christopher glanced at the stacks of newspapers piled on the shop counter. Stella had slipped him a few coins that morning and asked that he bring the latest edition of the Boston Globe back to her. She’d begged him not to say anything to her husband as she read the papers without his knowledge. Christopher didn’t like getting involved in secrets between a man and his wife, but he found it impossible to say no to Stella. It was a problem he’d had since he’d first met her.
He picked up the Globe and set it on the counter just as Mrs. Luce returned with several bundles covered in brown paper.
“Would you like to add the paper to your order? I know Josiah sometimes picks one up for himself.”
“I would please.”
“Did you see that headline about the doctor there in Boston who killed himself?” Mrs. Luce asked, pointing at the front page of the Globe.
“I didn’t, ma’am,” Christopher said. “I’m afraid I can’t read the paper myself.”
“Too busy working to go to school, were ya?”
Christopher smiled. “Something like that.”
From his brief time visiting the apothecary, Christopher knew that Eliza Luce was in the running for the biggest gossip on the island, and there was nothing she loved more than discussing the latest scandals and rumors on both the Vineyard and the mainland. He could sense her disappointment at his inability to trade notes with her about this apparent scandal in Boston.
“Could you tell me what happened though?” he asked. “You said it was something about a doctor taking his own life?”
“Aye,” Mrs. Luce said, with an unmistakable gleam in her eye. “Shot himself right in the head and left behind a wife and four children. With a fifth child on the way! No one can make sense of it. The man was well respected in the community and all of his patients loved him. What would cause a man to do such a thing?”
Christopher shrugged his shoulders. “Impossible to know, I guess.”
“Some are saying it was gambling that did him in. Got himself in too much debt and couldn’t dig his way out.”
“I guess that could do it. A shame, whatever it was.”
Mrs. Luce nodded. “That it is.”
She packed the bundles of medications Josiah had ordered into a large canvas sack and handed it across the counter to Christopher. “Everything Josiah asked for,” she said.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Tell me, is Dr. Winslow feeling okay himself?”
“As far as I know, yes. Why do you ask?”
Mrs. Luce shrugged. “He mentioned needing some pain medication for a problem of his own is all, wondered if he’d injured himself.”
“Not as far as I know,” Christopher answered, admittedly intrigued. Perhaps the doctor had been so surly and disagreeable to him because of an ailment of his own. But Christopher doubted that was the case.
“Well, must not have been anything too serious then,” Mrs. Luce said. “Do give him and that young wife of his my best. I never can remember that one’s name.”
“Stella,” Christopher said.
“Ah yes, that’s it. That little wisp of a thing. I don’t know why I can’t remember her. She’s been here more than once with Josiah. I spose I’ve just never gotten used to the loss of Lillian.”
“Lillian?”
“Josiah’s first wife, may she rest in peace. I never knew a lovelier woman.”
Christopher nodded, but the shopkeeper continued before he could respond.
“We never know why God sees fit to take the good ones, do we?”
“No ma’am, we surely don’t.”
“You best run along now, Christopher. It’s a long trip back to Chilmark.”
“Yes ma’am it is. Good day to you.”
Christopher walked outside with Josiah’s medications and Stella’s newspaper and placed the purchases in the buggy behind Grover. He untied Grover’s reins and maneuvered the horse back to the road before jumping up in the seat and urging Grover forward.
He winced as the buggy bumped along the uneven road. He had been going without the sling for a few days now but he regretted not wearing it for today’s journey, in spite of the fact that he was unsure whether he could drive the buggy with one arm. He wished he had at least tried. His arm had been throbbing almost continuously and he longed to get back to the Winslow home and stabilize it with his sling.
The sun was starting to dip in the sky before Christopher made it back to Chilmark. He was grateful that at least the day was warm for late February. Winter had given the island a break since the blizzard that had left Stella stranded in Gay Head while he recovered.
As Grover turned onto the Winslow property, Christopher saw Stella feeding her sheep in the small field adjacent to the couple’s house. Her shaggy black dog Henry, who seemed to be Stella’s constant companion, was at her side. Christopher didn’t know what kind of dog Henry was, as he was clearly a mix of many breeds, but he did know that Henry served no purpose as a sheep herder. He’d never seen sheep ignore a dog before, but that was exactly what happened whenever Henry tried to throw his weight around in the Hammett field. The collies that herded sheep with military precision back home in Ireland would have treated Henry with total disdain.
But that didn’t seem to bother Stella, as she had only four sheep that she tended to, and she treated them more like pets than livestock. Christopher wondered how she had come to own such a small number of sheep, but he’d never been able to talk with her outside of Josiah’s company since coming to stay in the Hammett barn. And he’d learned quickly that asking questions in Josiah’s company was never a good idea.
He waved to Stella as he led Grover into the barn that also served as his bedroom. After filling Grover’s food bag, Christopher rubbed the horse’s nose and grabbed his sling from the bale of hay near his makeshift bed. He grimaced in pain as he sat down on the bale and smoothed the sling over his knee.
“I knew you shouldn’t have driven all the way down island with your arm free.”
Christopher jumped and nearly fell off the hay at the sound of Stella’s voice. She hadn’t made a sound walking into the barn.
“I didn’t hear you walk in,” he said. “You’ll give me a heart attack to go with my aching arm.”
Stella smiled and sat down next to him on the bale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Christopher’s cheeks turned red and he felt his temperature rise at the nearness of Stella’s body to his own. He edged as far away from her as he could get without falling off the hay.
“I need to get this s
ling back on for a time,” he said. “Stop this throbbing.”
“I’ll help you.”
Stella took the sling from his lap and spread it across her own. She smoothed the white fabric with gloved hands.
Christopher’s breath caught in his throat as her untied hair fell across her shoulders.
“Here,” she said, as she picked the triangle of cloth up from her lap. “Let me tie this around your neck.”
Christopher adjusted his body so that he was facing Stella’s. He could feel her breath on his neck as she leaned in to encase his arm in the sling and tie it tightly to his chest. He wondered if she could hear the sound of his heartbeat.
She patted his arm gently and returned to a straight sitting position. “There,” she said.
“Thank you,” Christopher said, his voice coming out in a croak. His cheeks flamed red again.
Stella smiled and looked straight into his dark brown eyes. “Are you okay now?” she asked.
Christopher nodded, no longer trusting himself to speak.
“How do you like Cottage City?”
Christopher cleared his throat. “I like it just fine,” he said.
“I love it,” Stella said, her tone wistful. “You should see it in the summer. In August they have Illumination Night. Have done now every year since 1869.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a night when they light up all the cottages with paper lanterns from Asia. They’re beautiful.” While Stella stared at the brown wall of her barn, she seemed to suddenly be thousands of miles away.
“My parents took me there one year when Pa was able to get our neighbor Mr. Tilton to watch the farm for the night,” she said. “We stayed in a cottage at the Methodist campground there with a friend of his, a minister who had moved to the town a few years earlier.” Stella let out a deep breath. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It was magical.”
The Ghosts of Aquinnah Page 7