“Can I take her today?” Ambrose asked eagerly. Taking the catboat out had been the only way to cheer him in the days and weeks following the tragedy. But he knew this sail had a somber purpose.
“Let’s get her out a ways first and see what the wind has in mind for our lady of the sea.”
There was a nice easy breeze, so Percy relinquished the rudder. “Steady now.” He ruffled the boy’s hair and settled in beside Celeste.
“He’s a natural,” she said, pushing aside strands of auburn locks that had blown loose from her braid.
“That he is.” He took her hand, and she finally met his eyes.
“We don’t have to do this,” Celeste pleaded.
“Where else but the sea should we set free our boys’ spirits? It’s where they loved being most while they were living, and it’s where they’d want to be now they’re gone.”
“But it was the sea that took my boys from me.”
He’d held his tongue and refrained from saying, ‘No, it was Robert Toomey’s curse that took them.’ His wife had shouldered enough guilt for that curse; he didn’t need to be reminding her of it now. Instead, he soothed her. “We’ll be with them every time we take the Femme Celeste out for a sail. We’ll remember them every time we watch the sun setting over the bay.”
“Coming about,” Ambrose shouted, and they ducked their heads. The boy radiated sheer joy. There could be no doubt a kinship with the sea coursed through his Mitchell veins.
“How will we keep him safe?” Celeste wondered aloud.
How indeed? Percy thought.
When the wind died down, he instructed his son to bring down the sail. The boy did as he was told, the earlier joy now clearly doused by the understanding of what was to come next. Ambrose had adored his older brothers and was stricken by their deaths. Edwin and Jerome had been taken by a sudden storm when their fishing boat wrecked into the rock formation from which the town had taken its name.
Percy, Celeste, and Ambrose shared the ritual of releasing Edwin and Jerome Mitchell into Cape Cod Bay, each whispering his or her own private meditations before Percy solemnly repeated The Lord’s Prayer. For a time afterward, Percy let the boat drift, until a stiff wind kicked up and he was forced to raise the sail.
On the way to their private dock at Bluffs Cove, Percy steered the Femme Celeste into Whale Rock Harbor.
“Your mother needs a few things from Patrick’s.” He tied a bowline knot to the cleat.
“I’ll get them for you, Mum,” Ambrose volunteered with enthusiasm.
She eyed him suspiciously. “All right, then. I need a dozen eggs and two pounds each of flour and sugar. Oh, and a bottle of vanilla extract.”
The boy scurried up the dock.
“And come back directly,” she called after her son before he rounded the corner of Main Street.
“What do you suppose that was all about?” Celeste asked.
“I’d say it might have something to do with pretty little Fiona Patrick. She’s always at the store, and I’ve caught her making eyes at young Ambrose.” Percy smiled.
“Oh, Percy. Don’t encourage him. He’s just a boy.”
He was just a boy now, but he would grow to be a man. And Percy prayed to God each night that his Ambrose would be the one to break the curse of Robert Toomey.
~
Present day
“He never knew about the baby?” Ashley asked in a hushed voice.
I shook my head. “But I think we can believe he’d have been happy.” I handed Ashley a yellowed envelope from amongst Granny Fi’s mementos, addressed To Fi, My Love. Ashley slipped out a letter written by the bold and steady hand of my grandfather, its pages diaphanous from age and frequent readings.
After reading aloud Ambrose’s declaration of undying love and vow to return to his one true Fiona, she sighed and took Vince’s hand.
The natural intimacy sent a stab of envy to my gut. Rubbing my bare left ring finger, where my wedding ring had been, I studied the emerald ring on my right hand, a symbol of my grandfather’s promise to return to Granny Fi.
“When my father found out about Ambrose and his family, he made it his quest to claim the Mitchell legacy. Even if paternity testing had existed back then, there was no DNA available for proof, since Percy, Celeste, and all three of their sons ended up buried at sea.”
“Granny Fi told me the people of Whale Rock had willingly accepted Papa as a true descendent. Very little escaped the eyes of small town folk, especially when it involved a forbidden courtship. And while my father’s given name was James Mitchell Patrick, it had been shrewd of Fiona to name Ambrose as the father on the birth record.”
I glanced out the large bay window of the carriage house, to where my home was cast in the rosy glow from the lowering sun.
“It has an eerie beauty, doesn’t it?” Ashley followed my gaze.
“The kind that easily possesses you,” agreed Vince.
I couldn’t help but wonder if they too would come to sense a mystical presence within the bones of Battersea Bluffs.
“How did your father reclaim the house?”
“He had the devious idea of planting a rumor about the house being haunted.”
“So that’s how it all started?” Vince nodded approvingly.
“ ‘From a small seed a mighty trunk will grow.’ ” Another of Fiona’s legendary sayings. “People believe what they want to believe. When the last outsiders tried to sell, the rumors of a haunting had taken root and there weren’t any takers. The value eroded to where my father was finally able to afford it.”
It occurred to me that maybe mere rumors of a haunting weren’t totally to blame for the revolving door of ownership. Maybe, instead, the true unsettling nature within its walls was what sent people packing. I rather liked thinking that Percy and Celeste might’ve had a hand in restoring Battersea Bluffs to its rightful heir.
“Brilliant!” Ashley clasped her hands together delightedly, then asked in mock dread, “Should we be frightened?”
“I’ve lived to tell the story, haven’t I?” I joked, but the question gave me pause. I hoped the otherworldly presence in my home would pay little attention to the new residents.
Vince raised his glass. “Cheers to your father’s happy ending.”
Not wanting to spoil the moment, I kept quiet about whether it could be considered a happy ending, given Papa’s despondency when Mama took ill, how he never recovered from her death and followed her to the grave just three years later. And then, so soon afterward, losing my Granny Fi too.
I busied myself replacing the items we’d taken from Fiona’s box. Ashley returned Ambrose’s letter and said, “You miss her, don’t you?”
“More than anyone.” Tears burned to be released.
“I get it.” Vince’s face clouded. “I miss my grandfather. He was my beacon, and it’s been hard navigating without him.”
Ashley’s sad eyes traveled between us, her mouth working in search of the proper consoling words. She settled on a notion as insightful as it was comforting.
“They are both still with you in the special imprints of themselves within each of you.”
Ashley’s suggestion that Fiona’s essence had somehow transferred to me had me considering the serendipitous way the Jacobsons had happened upon The Bluffs, their eager helpfulness and intuitive concern, how quickly I was drawn in by their compelling aura. My nostrils filled with the comforting scent of caramel. I’d felt Granny Fi’s firm steering hand at my back countless times as I lost my way after her death. And I’d always managed to get back on track … at least until Ethan had derailed me. But with Percy and Celeste vigilantly watching over me, Fiona’s spirit alive within me, and the support from these burgeoning friendships, dare I hope my course would once again be righted?
4
A week later
I was in the barn, sorting through my canvases. Vince had suggested moving my studio out here, and actually, it was a pretty fair space. I’d have to do
something about temperature and humidity control down the road, but the light was excellent.
A car horn sounded in several short toots, bringing me outside to investigate. My heart sank when I saw a familiar powder-blue Mini Cooper convertible.
“Yoo-hoo! Anyone home?” Evelyn Hilliard was on the porch, peeking in through the kitchen door, when I approached from behind.
“Right here.”
She swirled around, holding her hand to her heart. “Why, Cassie, you scared me half to death.”
“Sorry, Ev.”
“Never mind.” She good-naturedly waved the worry away and moved in for one of her famous hugs.
Evelyn and her husband, George, had been high school sweethearts and classmates of Zoe’s. When George’s parents grew tired of inn keeping, he and Ev willingly took over running the Hilliard House, ideally located in the center of the village.
“We missed you at our Memorial Day cookout.” It was their big annual to-do, kicking off the summer season. It was not to be missed. Except, that is, by me.
“I was kind of busy.”
“No worries, Baby Cass.” She patted my cheek as I cringed inwardly at the enduring nickname my sister’s friends had dubbed me when I was just a kid.
“Lord, we had so much food left over.” She reached down to pick up a large basket overflowing with goodies. “So I brought the cookout to you.”
“You are too kind.” I took the basket from her grasp and motioned for her to follow me inside. I began to store the food, glad I now had two tenants with whom to share the bounty. “Can I fix you something? I’ve got some coffee left in the pot.”
“No thanks. I have to hurry back to the inn.” She stood at the window, looking curiously out at the carriage house. “We heard you were going to convert your studio to an apartment.”
My, word traveled fast. “So, you’ve been talking to Zoe?”
“Mm-hmm. Hey, I know that dog.” Evelyn was still peering out the window.
“Who, Whistler?”
“What’s he doing here?” She looked at me askance.
“He belongs to the couple I hired to help with the renovation work.” I sidled up to her, deciding to feign ignorance about Ashley and Vince having stayed at Hilliard House before moving in with me. “Ashley and Vince Jacobson are their names.”
“Yes, I know. They stayed in our cottage for a while.” She was facing me now, arms folded.
“Oh? How were they as guests?”
“Fine. Fine.” She chewed on her lip.
“And they took good care of the cottage?” I returned my attentions to the generously filled basket of food.
“Why, yes. Yes, they did.”
“Good to know. Oh! Your brownies.” I removed one and took a bite. “Yum.”
“Look, Cass, I would never dream of overstepping—”
“Thank you, Evvie.” The perfect opportunity to cut her off. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that. And what a relief to hear they were such good guests at the inn.”
This had the desired effect of leaving her momentarily speechless.
“All this food you’ve brought will be a tremendous help in feeding my new hired hands.” I returned the empty basket. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Well, good. I’m glad it won’t go to waste,” she said as I walked her to the Mini.
“That it won’t.” I looked about, but Whistler was nowhere to be seen. Neither were Ashley and Vince for that matter.
“You know, Baby,” she glanced once more in the direction of the carriage house, “if you ever need anything, anything at all, George and I are only a hop, skip, and a jump away.”
“Duly noted. Means a lot, Ev.”
I waved her off and headed back to the barn. Moments later, Vince rolled in with two more crates atop the dolly. I couldn’t help wondering if he and Ashley had intentionally made themselves scarce while Evelyn was here.
“Where do you want these?” he asked.
“I’m not sure what they are,” I said, picking up a hammer to pry off the tops. “Where did you find these?”
“The crawl space.” He wiped the sweat from his face with a bandanna, then tucked it into his back pocket and helped me open the crate. “Wow.”
Wow, indeed.
“These are”—he stared in fascination—“dark, right?”
I fingered the signature in the lower right corner of the eerily exquisite works: Jacqueline M.
“My mother’s,” I whispered.
“Have you seen these before?”
I shook my head. These were so unlike any of Mama’s other paintings, which had mainly been of quaint seaside villages in the primitive Americana or folk art style. The works before me now were more like Edvard Munch’s famous painting The Scream. There was indeed an ominous nature to the paintings, and the unknown subjects were obviously tormented. Was that why they’d been hidden away? Dark and disturbing as they were, however, these were by far Mama’s best work.
“Can I help you put these somewhere?”
“Your time is more valuable back at the carriage house.” I gestured toward the disarray of boxes and supplies. “Only I can put sense to this mess anyway.”
But more than that, I craved a bit of solitary time with those paintings.
* * *
Sometime later, I was startled from a daze by my cell phone’s ship bell ringtone.
“You comin’ in today or what?” Johnny Hotchkiss sounded irked. “The boats are in.”
I’d been a cruise tour guide, starting as a teenager, back when my father still owned Mitchell Whale Watcher Boat Tours, and even when my father abandoned the business, I’d continued on with Johnny until Ethan arrived on the scene and I’d quit to help with his real estate ventures. When I’d recently gone back to beg Johnny for a job, I’m sure he’d felt obligated to offer me something, considering he’d gotten such a good price for the business way back when. There just wasn’t much available. So he let me help with the unrigging and cleaning of the boats at the end of the day, and occasionally I filled in when they were shorthanded for crew. It was hard work and the pay stank, but I needed every penny I could scrounge together.
“Already?” A quick check of the time had me stunned by how late it was. Had I really been sitting there for three hours? That seemed inconceivable. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I hoisted myself from a cross-legged position in front of my mother’s mesmerizing canvases and forced myself to head out the door before they had the chance to take ahold of me again.
However, when I returned from working at the harbor, exhausted and in desperate need of a shower, instead of heading for the house, I made a direct beeline back to the barn.
* * *
“Come on, Cassie!”
I dreamed that someone was leading me away from a fire. But who? I tried to focus through the smoke.
“Always a fire,” I murmured. The invariable theme, of being caught in a fire and desperately searching for an escape, no doubt had everything to do with the fate of my great-grandparents. I’d learned the story about Percy and Celeste when I was quite young, and the nightmares had persisted ever since.
I still couldn’t see who was tugging me by the arm through the haze, but I blindly followed.
“Wake up,” a soothing male voice coaxed. Then the man said, “Get a blanket. She’s shivering.”
Moments later, my head was gently lifted.
“Just a dream, Cassie.” A woman talking now.
“Zoe?” I finally forced my eyes open to find not my sister, but Ashley tending to me. I must have fallen asleep out in the barn and had one of my recurring nightmares about being trapped in a fire. When fully roused, I covered my face with my hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. We were worried when you didn’t come home,” Ashley scolded kindly, “so we came out here to look for you.”
“That must have been some nightmare.” Vince looked relieved. “You kept moaning about the burnin
g and the smoke. What were you doing out here at this hour?” He helped me to my feet.
“I’d hoped to get some work done.” I glanced about, disappointed to find nothing had changed since Vince brought everything over from the studio. I must have become distracted by my mother’s paintings again.
“Who are these people?” Ashley now had her eyes fixed on my mother’s art.
“They aren’t familiar to me.” But how could I tell with those agonized expressions distorting their features?
“These were some tortured souls.” Ashley couldn’t seem to look away.
Or maybe it was the artist who was tormented? I wondered about the timing of these paintings that had been secreted away. Were they created during the last years of my mother’s life, as the cancer was progressively invading her body? Was it her way of exorcizing the terror of death’s approach?
Vince began to cover my mother’s canvases with a drop cloth. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who found the images intriguingly disturbing.
5
Early June ~ three months before the disappearance
“So what’s this about complete strangers moving in with you?” Zoe’s reproachful words when I called to thank her for coming through with the loan proved the old adage of no good deed going unpunished.
“You’ve been talking to Evelyn?”
“What? No.”
Right.
“Who among your Whale Rock cronies are you going to send out next to spy on me? Lu?” As a bicoastal art dealer, Lu Ketchner’s frequent trips to the West Coast had kept the connection between her and Zoe strong through the years.
“You’re being ridiculous, Cassandra.” My sister proceeded with the interrogation. “What are you thinking? What do you even know about these people?”
“They’re a couple of nice kids having a summer of adventure before they’re forced to settle into the real world of nine-to-five jobs, long commutes, and all the crap I’d probably hate.” I’d become spoiled by my Cape Cod lifestyle.
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