The Ghosts of Aquinnah

by Julie Flanders

  “You're not a burden to us. Not at all.”

  “Not yet, maybe. But I dare say that will change if I wear out my welcome.”

  “That won't happen.”

  Stella took a spoon full of oatmeal and forced herself to swallow it. No, it won't, she thought.

  Mrs. Mayhew got up from the table. “I've got some laundry to do so I'll get to it. There's more oatmeal in the pot. Eat as much as you want, please.”

  “I will, thank you.” Stella glanced out the window at the sun shining over the water. “It looks like a beautiful day. I think I'll take a little walk and get some fresh air after I finish.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. Get outside and get some color back into those cheeks of yours. I dare say you should take Grover and go for a ride. It would be good for both of you.”

  Stella watched Mrs. Mayhew leave the room and felt tears stinging the corner of her eyes. She knew what she had planned would upset both the woman and her husband. But it had to be done. And maybe they would never even know exactly what happened.

  She let out a breath and pushed the uneaten oatmeal away from her. Standing up from the table, she took both the bowl and her cup and returned them to the sink. She cleaned both and put the wet dishes in the drying tray on the sink. Taking a look around the kitchen, she pulled her cape around her shoulders and walked outside to the cliffs.

  The wind hit her immediately and blew her hair back from her face. She pulled up her bonnet, capturing her hair inside it, and tied the strings under her chin. Pulling her cape more tightly around her shoulders, Stella walked to the path that led down to the shore. She tried not to look at the ground as she got to the path, as she knew she would see Christopher's blood spilled all over the sand in spite of the fact that it had been washed away by a torrential rainstorm on the day after the murder. For Stella, it was always there.

  She stopped at the path and glanced back towards the lighthouse, where she could see Mr. Mayhew on a ladder scrubbing the glass of the windows. He wasn't looking in her direction, and she doubted he would have noticed her either way. She blew a kiss towards the house and murmured a special goodbye to Grover. With that, she quickly turned and headed down the path.

  Her feet sunk into the sand of the beach and she could feel drops of water from the high waves splashing her face. She walked down to the shoreline and let the waves hit her, standing perfectly still as they crashed around her and drenched her up to her waist. Stella shivered from the freezing cold water but continued to stand still and stare out at the horizon.

  She pictured Christopher hanging on to the rigging of The City of Columbus as it sunk into the water directly in front of where she was now standing. He had told her how he had looked up at the lighthouse beacon and counted the seconds each time it rotated and appeared again. The beam shining through the darkness had been the one thing that had given him hope through that long and dark January night. He had held on to that beacon.

  For Stella, there was no beacon. Nothing to give her any hope. She knew that was gone, just as her home, her family, her sheep, her dog, and her Christopher were all gone. There was nothing left for her.

  Stella let out a deep and cleansing breath and moved forward on the sand, ignoring the icy water that now splashed up to her shoulders. She wondered if Christopher was waiting for her out in the sea where his dead body had been so ruthlessly tossed. She thought of the day she had taught him how to shear sheep and smiled as she remembered the sound of his laughter when the sheep knocked him to the ground. Perhaps his spirit would be out beyond the waves, there to welcome her to another world, and she would hear that laughter again. The promise and possibility gave her renewed strength to keep going as wave after wave crashed over her and drenched her face and bonnet. The strength of each successive wave threatened to knock her down.

  Stella put her arms out to steady herself. She kept walking.

  ****

  2013

  “So she killed herself?” Tim asked.

  “Yes. She walked into the ocean at Aquinnah and drowned.” Hannah shook her head as she recalled what she had read. “The lighthouse keeper was washing the windows of the lighthouse when she did it. He saw her walking forward into the waves. He ran down the stairs and out of the lighthouse, yelling for her to stop, but by the time he got down to the beach she was long gone. He saw the final wave knock her over and sweep her away as he was running down the trail that led to the beach.”

  “I guess if he hadn't seen her, no one ever would have known what happened to her.”

  “No, I don’t think they would have. Her body was never found. And honestly, there wasn't much coverage of what happened anyway. I think the islanders wanted to put the whole scandal behind them.”

  Tim sat back in his chair at the Skylight restaurant and frowned. “What a terrible story.”

  “Isn't it? And to think she was only 20 years old. Such a waste.”

  “I guess she must have felt like she didn't have anyone left. Or anything.”

  “Which was true, really. Except for the lighthouse keeper and his wife, it seems like the whole island turned on her. And that was the only home she'd ever known.”

  “Shitty world sometimes, isn't it?”

  Hannah nodded. “I guess it always has been.” She took a sip of her wine and leaned back in her chair. “As bad as I feel for Stella though, Christopher is the one I feel most sorry for. Talk about getting screwed left and right.”

  “Yeah, if he came here in the first place, his life in Ireland couldn’t have been anything to write home about. Then he finds himself in a shipwreck. Only to survive and end up murdered for a crime he didn’t commit.” Tim shook his head. “Poor guy couldn’t catch a break.”

  “I think I feel bad too because he’s so anonymous. There’s a picture of Stella and Josiah, and even of the lighthouse keeper. But Christopher’s a complete mystery. We don’t even know what he looked like. He’s just a name known for nothing but supposedly killing Josiah Winslow.”

  “This is a depressing topic for our first official date,” Tim said.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Hannah said with a smile. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I feel like the luckiest guy in Boston being here with you in that dress.”

  Hannah blushed and felt her cheeks burning red. After years with Jon, she was no longer used to compliments in spite of the fact that other men had appreciated her looks for as long as she could remember.

  “Well, if you really want to feel special,” she said, “I can tell you that I bought the dress specifically for this occasion.”

  “See, that proves it. I knew I was a lucky man.”

  Hannah laughed and twirled a strand of linguine around her fork. She had always wanted to try the Skylight, one of the few five star restaurants in Boston, but Jon had always thought it was a waste of money. When Tim suggested it, she couldn’t resist taking him up on it. And she wasn’t lying; she had bought a new dress for their dinner.

  While she hated to admit it, she had been aghast when she’d searched her closet for a decent dress to wear to dinner. She had been away from office work long enough that she had become lazy with her wardrobe. While she loved working at home and wearing sweats and t-shirts, it hadn’t been the best thing for her choices in clothing. She actually couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought a good dress.

  Hannah had found a black lace sheath dress with short sleeves and a jewel neck. A belt emphasized her curves and long waist. Paired with platform black heels, the dress was both flattering and sophisticated. She tied her hair into a flipped bun and finished the look with a pair of sterling silver drop earrings with black rectangles. Hannah knew she looked good, and it felt great to be able to say that.

  Her date’s look had made her smile even more. She had only seen Tim in jeans and a casual shirt, so when he had shown up at her door wearing a wine-colored Versace blazer and black dress pants, his stunning good looks had caught her by surprise.

&
nbsp; Now as she smiled at him across the table, she felt like the luckiest woman in the room as well.

  A familiar figure caught Hannah's attention out of the corner of her eye, interrupting the good mood of the dinner. She turned to see Jon walking towards her table, hand in hand with Becky. Jon wore a grey Dolce & Gabbana suit that Hannah instantly remembered. She had innocently asked him why he had bought such an expensive suit when he hated dressing up. Now she supposed she had her answer. Becky was dressed in a silver cocktail dress that showed off her ample cleavage. Hannah felt her stomach tighten as they approached. The arrogant smirk on Jon's face was something she hadn't missed in the slightest.

  “Hannah,” Jon said as he and his companion came closer to the table she shared with Tim. “How are you?”

  Hannah plastered a smile across her face. “I'm fine, Jon. Good to see you.” She nodded towards the woman beside him. “Becky.”

  “Hi, Hannah.”

  Before Hannah had a chance to introduce him, Becky turned towards Tim, her eyes growing wide. Seeing Jon's frown, Hannah fought to keep herself from laughing. It was abundantly clear that he hadn't even noticed Tim when he was so intent on making his way towards Hannah's table.

  “Oh my gosh,” Becky said. “I think I know you from tv.” She raised a hand to her mouth in an “I can't believe it” gesture. “History's Mysteries, right?”

  Tim's face broke into the drop-dead gorgeous smile that had won him so many female fans during his brief stint on television. He stood up from his chair in gentlemanly fashion.

  “Guilty as charged,” he said. “I'm always so amazed to find anyone who watched the show.”

  “Oh, I loved it,” Becky said. She extended her hand to his. “I'm Becky Sanders.”

  “Nice to meet you, Becky. As you already know, I'm Tim Corcoran.”

  Hannah stood up from her seat, trying hard not to laugh as she was sure she saw steam coming out of Jon's ears.

  “Jon, let me introduce you. This is my friend Tim Corcoran. Tim, Jon Rodriguez.”

  The two men nodded and shook hands.

  “Is there going to be another season of your show?” Becky asked, causing Jon's face to redden.

  “No, I'm afraid not,” Tim said. “You and Hannah here seemed to be the only two people in the country who watched it.”

  “Oh, that's such a shame. They always cancel the good shows.” Becky's eyes hadn't left Tim's face.

  Hannah lowered her gaze towards the ground and bit her lip to keep from bursting out laughing. Even in a city as huge as Boston, she knew it was inevitable she'd run into Jon eventually. She couldn't have scripted this moment any better.

  “Well, we should probably get to our table,” Jon said. “We're here celebrating our engagement.”

  Hannah's stomach lurched into her throat as she took in the words. She knew very well the comment was meant to wound and, for a second, it did. But when she looked at Jon's smirk again she realized she really didn't care. Becky was welcome to him.

  “How wonderful,” she said. “Congratulations to you both.”

  “Thank you,” Jon said.

  Becky had the grace to look embarrassed, and finally took her eyes off Tim.

  “Don't let us keep you,” Hannah said.

  “Right.” Jon nodded again towards Tim. “Nice to meet you, Tim. And good to see you, Hannah.”

  “Nice meeting you both,” Tim said.

  Hannah sat back down and watched as Jon and Becky faded out of sight in the crowded restaurant.

  “So that's the ex?” Tim asked, bringing her attention back to her table and her own date.

  “Yep, that's him. Real prize, isn't he?”

  Tim chuckled. “Seemed kind of full of himself.”

  “You don't know the half of it.”

  “I know something about exes,” Tim said. “That couldn't have been easy.”

  Hannah sighed and took a sip of wine. “You're right, it wasn't.” She grinned across the table. “But it was made remarkably easier by the fact that my dear ex's fiancée only had eyes for you.”

  “Can you blame her?”

  Hannah laughed. She met Tim's eyes across the table. “No,” she said truthfully. “Actually, I can't.”

  Tim smiled. “You're making me blush.”

  “I'm just telling the truth.”

  Tim raised his glass and clinked it against hers. “Here's to being better off without our exes.”

  “Here, here,” Hannah said.

  “Because I can tell you in all honesty that you're better off without that guy. I'm a professional investigator, remember? I know these things.”

  “You investigate skeletons.”

  “Doesn't mean I can't see that guy's an asshole.”

  Hannah laughed again. “It doesn't take an investigator to see that.”

  She finished her wine and refilled her glass. “Listen, I don't want to talk about Jon anymore. He's a boring subject.”

  “That he is. Let's go back to your ghost.”

  “Okay. What about her?”

  “Are you going to write the book? Now that you know how she ended up, I mean.”

  Hannah pondered the question as she took another sip of wine. “I've thought about that, and thought maybe I'd let it go. But I finally decided that wouldn’t be right. I am still going to write it. I think she came to me because she wanted her story to be told.”

  “I think so too,” Tim said. “I'm glad you're writing it.”

  “I owe it to her, really.”

  “Why?”

  Hannah shrugged. “It's kind of weird, but I feel like she saved my life.” She let out a breath. “I feel guilty saying that considering what happened to her, but it's the truth.”

  “Were you in that bad of a situation when you first learned about her?” Tim said, suddenly looking alarmed.

  “No, no,” Hannah said. “I guess saying she saved my life is too dramatic. It's more accurate to say she helped me get moving again. I'd been stuck in neutral ever since I lost my parents.”

  “Maybe she knew that,” Tim said.

  “Maybe so. That would be nice.”

  Tim raised his glass again. “To Stella, then.”

  Hannah smiled and clinked his glass. “To Stella. And to Christopher Casey, too. I think he’s another big reason I want to write the book. I think it’s time someone cleared the poor guy’s name.”

  She grimaced as she somehow heard the sound of Jon's laughter over the noise of the crowded restaurant.

  “You want to get out of here?” Tim asked.

  “Yeah. I really do.”

  “Great. I do too.” He signaled towards their waiter. “I'll take care of it.”

  Tim quickly paid the bill and smiled across the table at Hannah.

  “Let's get going,” he said.

  Hannah returned his smile and stood up from her chair. She ignored the sound of Jon's laughter as she and Tim left the restaurant hand in hand.

  ****

  Hannah knew that when it came to getting her book published, she was lucky to already be working as a writer and to have colleagues in the business. And so it was that, while she didn’t have her book on Stella and Christopher completed yet, she was able to make an appointment to meet with Stephanie Morgan, the owner of an independent press that focused on stories of New England. Simply called New England Press, Hannah had learned of the publisher when she worked with Morgan on an article about the history of the towns of Cape Cod for a regional magazine. Both women shared a love of history and of New England, and Hannah had gambled that Morgan would be interested in her book proposal and decided to contact her.

  Now as they had breakfast together in the Red Sox Café, Hannah knew that her gamble had paid off. As she had given Morgan an outline of her project, including as many details as she could, she had seen her colleague’s interest grow with each word she said.

  “Oh my God, I love it,” Stephanie said as she took a sip of her Earl Grey tea and bit into her buttered English muff
in. “How did you find out about this?”

  As she always did, Hannah kept the detail of Stella’s ghost out of her explanation. “I told you, I came upon the story of the wreck of The City of Columbus when I was researching the Gay Head light for my book on lighthouses. I was on the island looking at the historical society exhibit about the wreck and one thing led to another.”

  Stephanie looked at the muffin in her hand as she listened to Hannah’s account. “God I love the muffins they serve here. What makes them so much different?”

  “I don’t know, but I love them too.”

  Stephanie took another bite and smiled. “I can’t get enough of them. And I can’t get enough of this story of yours either.”

  “So does that mean you’re interested?”

  “Of course I’m interested. What else could I love it and I can’t get enough of it mean?

  Hannah laughed. “I just want to make sure. I know how you publishers can be.”

  “When do you think you can have the manuscript written?”

  “Probably within seven or eight months. I already have most of the story in my head anyway. But I didn’t take any notes while I was researching the story on the Vineyard so I’m going to need to go through my sources again and get all my documentation cited and in order. Plus we need to figure out the logistics of having Tim involved.”

  “Tim Corcoran.” Stephanie laughed as she took another bite of her muffin. “I still can’t believe you have him on board. I loved him on History’s Mysteries.”

  “You and every other woman who watched it. Too bad there weren’t more of us.”

  “I’ll get a contract set up with him once you get the book finished, we should have some funds to pay him as a consultant.”

  Hannah finished her coffee and put down her mug. “What’s the next step?”

  “I’d love to give you a contract with an advance, but we don’t have the money for advances anymore, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, I didn’t expect one. I know how the publishing industry is now.”