Christopher froze at the gate of Stella’s home. He couldn’t imagine what had happened, but he knew at once that he had made a terrible mistake in coming to the Winslow home. He turned, hoping to run back to the safety of the woods, but he was tackled to the ground before he could move more than a yard.
Zebediah Johnson shoved Christopher from behind and quickly jumped on top of him, pinning his arms behind his back before Christopher could fight him off.
“I’ve got him, Sheriff!” he yelled out.
“What are you doing?” Stella yelled. “Let go of him!”
Christopher struggled under the weight of his captor. “Let me go, man. I’ve done nothing to ye.”
“Nothing to me, no. But plenty to the doc. You dirty Irish son of a bitch.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve not even seen Doctor Winslow in months.”
Stella saw Sheriff Tilton come onto the porch and ran to him. “What on earth is happening here? Tell Mr. Johnson to let Mr. Casey go at once.”
The sheriff stopped short, obviously taken aback by the wounds to Stella’s face. He caught himself, and tipped his hat. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mrs. Winslow.”
“Where is my husband? What’s going on?”
“The doc’s dead,” Jon said. “And that mucker killed him.”
Stella reeled backwards as if she had once again been punched.
“Damn you, Coffin, keep your mouth closed for once,” the sheriff said. He removed his hat and looked at Stella with pity. “I’m afraid it’s true, ma’am. Doctor Winslow’s been murdered. The boys here found him inside this morning.”
“He was dead when we got here,” Jon said. He pointed again at Christopher, who continued to struggle with Zebediah. “Shot in the chest by that Irish bastard.”
Stella shook her head and felt so dizzy she feared she would collapse. “It can’t be true,” she said. “It’s not true.”
Sheriff Tilton turned to Jon and gestured towards the two figures on the ground. “Go help Zebediah rein that one in,” he said. As Jon ran off the porch, Tilton turned his attention back to Stella.
“I’m afraid it is true, ma’am. I’m truly sorry.”
Stella stared up into his eyes. “But you’re not listening to me. It can’t be true. Christopher didn’t shoot Josiah. He couldn’t have.”
“Ma’am, your husband wrote out a note before he passed. He named Mr. Casey there as his killer.”
Stella felt herself slipping, and grabbed onto the railing of her porch for support.
“Oh no,” she cried. “No, please.”
“I’d recommend you not go inside your house. I’m sending another officer out here to help and he’ll take you to a safe place.”
A safe place. She had been safe. She was safe with Christopher, and she’d led him here to this.
“He was with me,” Stella said. “He didn’t shoot Josiah.”
The sheriff looked at her with pity, and walked off the porch towards Christopher, who was now trapped between Jon and Zebediah. The sheriff took a rope from his belt, and tied Christopher’s hands together in front of him. He led him towards the back of the police wagon.
“No!” Stella yelled. “Please listen to me. You’re making a terrible mistake. He was with me!”
Stella ran until she found herself restrained by both Jon and Zebediah.
“Let go of me,” she yelled. “Let go of me!”
Unable to break free, she stood helplessly as Christopher was shackled to the police wagon.
“No, please,” she cried out. “NO!”
2013
“He didn’t do it,” Hannah said. “I’m sure of it.”
“What are you talking about, Hannah?” Sarah asked.
“What do you mean, what am I talking about? Haven’t you been listening to me at all?”
Sarah leaned back in her office chair. She couldn’t deny that she had been paying more attention to the stack of files on her desk than to Hannah’s voice in her ear. She felt bad about it, but that’s how it was.
“I’m sorry, I got distracted. I’m at work, remember?” Sarah let out a deep breath. “But I know it’s about those people you’ve been reading about.”
“Yes, the people I’ve been reading about.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “The people who are going to be the subject of my book! I thought you could pay attention for five minutes at least.”
“I’m paying attention now, okay? I told you I was sorry. Now what is it? Who didn’t do what?”
Hannah sighed and tried to hide her irritation. “Christopher Casey didn’t kill Josiah Winslow. I know now he was arrested for it, but I’m certain he didn’t do it. That has to be what this is all about.”
“What what is all about?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “The reason I’m here! Stella Winslow, the ghost. I know this is what she wants me to find out. This is why she brought me here.”
“Hannah, do you have any idea how crazy you sound?”
“No, Sarah, I don’t. But thanks so much for pointing it out.”
“I’m sorry, but you know it’s the truth. You go all the way to the Vineyard because of some woman on a webcam…”
“All the way to the Vineyard? From Boston? You make it sound like I’ve crossed the world. It’s not exactly a long trip.”
“Whatever. That’s beside the point and you know it. I’m worried about you with this whole situation. It’s like you’ve become obsessed with some wild goose chase.”
“You’re right about one thing. I am obsessed with Stella and her story. I want to find out what happened to her. But it’s not a wild goose chase. It’s a story that’s been waiting for centuries to be told.”
Sarah paused and bit her lip, unsure how to proceed. “Hannah, whatever else is going on here, I’m worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Because you haven’t been yourself since you quit your job. I think spending all of this time on your own has brought up too many bad memories for you.”
“You mean memories of my parents? The accident?”
“I think so, yes. I think that’s why you were so drawn to the Vineyard.”
Hannah let out a deep breath. “I know your concern is genuine and I appreciate that. But may I remind you that you work in marketing? You’re not a psychiatrist. So spare me the analysis, please.”
“Fine, Hannah, fine. I give up. Tell me all about these people from the 1800s you simply have to write about.”
“I’ve already told you. Someone killed Stella Winslow’s husband and Christopher Casey was the one arrested for it. Somebody framed him.”
“So what happened to him after that?”
“I don’t know yet. The damn library keeps closing on me before I can get everything I need. But I’m going back tomorrow.” Hannah paused. “Whatever happened to him, I doubt it was good. An Irish immigrant wouldn’t have had a lot of friends on the Vineyard back in those days. And the doctor was a respected member of the island community.”
“How do you know again that this Irishman was framed?”
“I just know it. That has to be the story Stella is trying to tell me.”
“Oh my God. Back to the ghost.”
“Yes, Sarah, back to the ghost. Scoff at me all you want. I’m telling you the truth.”
“If you say so.”
Hannah scowled and decided to change the subject. “Have you seen Jon?”
“Jon? Why would I see him?”
“I don’t know. Just thought when you were out and about you might run into him.”
“No, I haven’t. Why?”
“No reason. I haven’t spoken with him. He said he thought my trip here was so stupid he didn’t want to hear anything about my lunacy. I told him that was fine because I have no desire to discuss it with him anyway.” Hannah paused. “I really need to just break it off with him once and for all.”
“Well, truer words were never spoken there. You know that’s what I’ve thought for a long ti
me. He’s a jackass, Hannah. I’m sorry, but he is.”
“No, no need to be sorry. You’re right. He is, in fact, a jackass.” Hannah couldn’t keep the smile out of her voice as she talked.
“At least we’re clear on that,” Sarah said, grinning.
Hannah laughed. “Yeah, that’s something most people can agree on.” She let out a breath and scanned the Oak Bluffs harbor where she was again enjoying a lobster roll from Sandy’s.
“I should get back to work,” Sarah said, “I need to have this report finished tonight.”
“Okay, I’ll let you go. I’ll be home soon anyway. I need to get back to Boston to meet with a potential client. He wants me to ghostwrite for him and I think I’m going to take him up on it.”
“You’re really obsessed with ghosts now, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Stella the ghost. Ghostwriting…” Sarah paused. “Okay, it was a lame joke.”
Hannah chuckled. “You’re right, it was.”
“Alright, well, I hope you find what you’re looking for there.”
“Thanks. I do too.”
Hannah closed her phone and slipped it back into her pocket. She tried to ignore Sarah’s feeling that she was nuts for pursuing this story, but it bothered her all the same. To her, what was going on seemed so obvious. Why couldn’t her friend see that?
Or was Sarah right that she wanted to be involved with something on the Vineyard so she could feel connected to her parents? Hannah shook her head. No, that wasn’t it. If she simply wanted to feel connected to her parents, she could travel home to Indianapolis. This was about more than that.
Hannah finished her dinner and paid her check before getting back in her car to once again return to Chilmark and the Hammett House. She felt tired and agitated when she arrived and couldn’t wait to stretch out on her bed and retire for the night. But her room had other plans.
As Hannah walked in the door of her room, she immediately felt a chill. Assuming she had simply left the window open and the evening air had cooled the room, she crossed the room to the window, only to find it already closed. She froze where she stood, suddenly feeling as if there was something else going on in the room. There was a presence there. And it was something way beyond a chill.
Almost certain of what she would find, Hannah slowly turned towards her bed. Sure enough, a sheet of paper had been left up against her pillows. Hannah could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she walked to the bed and picked up the paper with a trembling hand.
It was a Boston Globe article from 1884 about a prominent doctor in the city who had committed suicide by shooting himself in the head. The act had been a total shock to the patients and friends of the man as all had considered him to be an excellent doctor and a stable, happy person. The doctor had left a note apologizing to his wife for his actions. He had apparently been driven to suicide by his gambling debts and addiction to laudanum.
Hannah dropped onto the bed and stared at the paper. She realized she had been holding her breath since entering the room and breathed deeply as she studied the words on the page.
Hannah knew beyond all doubt that Stella was behind this. But why? What did the suicide of a doctor in Boston have to do with her story? Had someone in Stella's life committed suicide? If so, who? Hannah looked up and glanced around the room, suddenly conscious that someone or something else may still be there. But she was alone, and nothing else had been left for her to find.
She stared back at the paper and tried to make sense of the latest clue she had been given. Had Christopher committed suicide after he was arrested? Or perhaps Stella has taken her own life? Hannah shook her head. No, that didn’t make sense. Why would she be so intent on having the story of her own suicide told?
Hannah kicked off her shoes and changed from her clothes into her pajamas. She pulled back the covers of her bed and ducked under them leaving the strange article on her bedside table. All feelings of fatigue and tiredness were gone, and she stared at the ceiling in her now dark room and tried to understand what Stella was trying to tell her.
“Can’t you ever just come and talk to me?” she said into the dark, only half kidding. “I’m right here. You can just come in and tell me what you want me to know.”
Hannah scoffed at herself and knew full well that if a ghost of any sort suddenly appeared and started talking to her she would likely have a heart attack. And then she would commit herself to the psychiatric ward.
No, that wasn’t the answer. She knew Stella was giving her all the help she was able to give. Now it was up to her to return to her research and find out the whole story.
She felt a sense of unease as she contemplated returning to the periodical index and finding the newspaper articles on the arrest and trial of Christopher Casey. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what Stella was trying to tell her now.
She was afraid to find out which player in this long-ago drama had taken his or her own life.
****
1884
The makeshift courtroom in the Tisbury Town Hall bustled with anticipation as the hastily assembled grand jury met to decide whether or not to indict Christopher for the murder of Josiah Winslow. In spite of the fact that Josiah had died in Chilmark, the court proceedings had to be held in Tisbury as Chilmark did not have its own courthouse. Tisbury didn’t either, but was still one up on Chilmark as Chilmark didn’t even have a town hall where the jury could convene.
Spectators filled the town hall and crowded along the walls, jamming the hall to such an extent that some were left to line up outside and strain to hear the goings-on inside the building. Stella had arrived early, well before any crowd had started to assemble, so she could be assured of a front row seat. In fact she had found the courtroom empty when she had arrived which was to her liking. She knew very well how much the typical islander loved any sort of court affair, and any proceeding was liable to be turned into a complete spectacle due to many islanders viewing it as entertainment. She couldn’t deal with being in the thick of the crowd today. And, she wanted to be able to stare straight ahead and see nothing but the court participants. That way, she would not have to see her neighbors staring at her.
The crowd noise dulled to a whisper as the judge entered the court and Christopher was led in, accompanied by a deputy on either side of him. Stella felt as if she had been punched in the stomach when she saw him. He was pale and gaunt, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. He was clearly frightened and, while she desperately wanted to think otherwise, Stella knew perfectly well that he had good reason to be. He had no chance in this folly of a judicial proceeding.
Stella resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the “judge,” who until last week had been no more than a grocer in Vineyard Haven. As this was the first murder case to be considered in Tisbury, his appointment to the bench had been out of necessity. In years past, all island judicial matters had been settled in Edgartown, but the “up islanders” had decided they needed a judicial seat of their own. Stella felt sure that this was merely to make sure that the grand jury was filled with as many of Josiah’s friends as possible.
The judge called the proceedings to order and demanded silence from the crowd. Stella scowled as the prosecuting attorney explained his case against Christopher, citing the testimony of John Coffin and Zebediah Johnson, the note written in Josiah’s hand that named Christopher as the killer, and the statements of Mrs. Poole and others in Menemsha who had seen Stella and Christopher together. The crowd roared when Christopher’s attorney introduced Christopher’s alibi, and Stella’s sworn testimony that he had been with her when Josiah had died and therefore could not be the killer. Stella felt her cheeks burning at the sounds of laughter and guffaws echoing around the hall. Her status as a “hussy” and the islanders’ determination that she was now a loose woman made her testimony useless to Christopher.
The spectacle was over before it began, and the jury came down with an indictment of murder in the first degree. Christo
pher was to remain in the custody of the Tisbury sheriff until such time as he could be transferred to New Bedford where he would stand trial. Stella forced herself to block the crowd’s cheers from her mind and to focus only on Christopher. He looked lost and stunned as the deputy shackled his hands behind his back and led him out of the hall. Stella tried to catch his attention and let him know she would fight for him, but his eyes remained downcast until he disappeared from the room.
Stella remained in her seat until the last spectator had left and she was once again alone in the courtroom. She held her purse in her lap and stared at the now abandoned tables in front of her. She was still unable to see clearly out of her right eye, thanks to Josiah’s punch, and her abdomen still throbbed from his kick. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but she still found herself incredulous that in the aftermath of Josiah’s death not one of her fellow Vineyarders had shown an inkling of concern for her own injuries. She had even heard talk that she had deserved whatever beating she had received due to her affair with Christopher. No one was interested in her side of the story.
But it wasn’t herself that she was worried about now. No matter how much her neighbors now hated her, she wasn’t in any danger. Christopher was the one to be concerned about. In fact, concerned wasn’t nearly a strong enough word. Stella was terrified for him.
Worse, she blamed herself for what had happened and, even if Christopher didn’t hold her responsible, she would always know the truth. It had been her idea to return to her home. If she had listened to Christopher, the two of them would be on the mainland now, and Christopher would have found a job on the docks. She could have found a job cleaning and they would already be saving money to go to Savannah.
If she hadn’t insisted on going home to get her money, none of this would have happened. No matter what happened to Christopher from this point forward, and she couldn’t imagine it would be anything good, she would never forgive herself for that simple fact.
The Ghosts of Aquinnah Page 13