“Your mother would hate that you’re wasting the gift she passed on to you.” Lu clicked her tongue. “What I wouldn’t give to have some more of her work.”
If only Lu knew what I’d uncovered in those long-hidden crates. But I wasn’t ready to share Mama’s mysterious paintings yet, and hoped I never reached such a desperate point to be forced to sell them.
I slipped away after promising Lu a peek at some of my new paintings once they were finished. Who knew? Maybe the new series I was working on would show potential.
At least I’d avoided an encounter with Billy. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could blame long work hours and lack of sleep for my late period. How often these past few weeks I’d wished I hadn’t slept with him that last time—or ever. ‘If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.’ Granny Fi’s oft-spouted rebuke rang through my head.
* * *
Late Saturday afternoon, there came a light knocking on the barn door.
“We have a surprise for you.” Ashley poked her head in, subtly looking past me to where my paintings were set up.
“What kind of surprise?” I quickly turned the easel and walked toward the door, blocking ingress into my private retreat.
“Something we found hidden in the carriage house,” she said in her honeyed voice, and made a playful spinning gesture with her finger. “Now go clean your brushes and then come down to Percy’s Bluffs.”
“Time for a shower?” I held up my paint-smudged arms. “I’m an untidy artist.”
“Genius is often messy.” She gave an impish wink. “Whenever you’re ready.”
I arrived on the bluffs awhile later to find a small makeshift fire pit blazing, to fend off the evening chill. They’d carted over an old folding table, swathed it in white linen, and set upon it fine china, crystal, and silver.
I caressed an antique dish, then held a crystal wine glass so that the lowering sun glinted off its rim.
Ashley was beaming. “They’re Percy and Celeste’s, right?”
“How could I have forgotten about these?” I fingered the initials “PMC” engraved on one of the knives.
Men working the fire had removed some of Celeste’s finer belongings from the house, but with the whole family presumed dead—or so everyone thought until Fiona’s secret was revealed—many of those treasures had disappeared. Over the years, Granny Fi had collected the odd piece here and there until a good portion of the missing sets had been recovered. Before she died, she told me, “Check with Archie from time to time. More might show up.” Archibald Stanfield owned the local antiques store and had been the source of many of her acquisitions. Knowing how hard Fiona had worked to reclaim these family legacies, I’d hidden them years ago when Ethan began to blow through my money.
Tears threatened, and I was glad for my sunglasses.
“May I present the first course?” With dramatic flair, Vince removed the cover from a silver serving dish to reveal a display of colossal shrimp.
“My favorite.” I dipped one into a small crystal bowl of cocktail sauce.
“We couldn’t have picked a better night.” Ashley delighted in the stunning view of Whale Rock Harbor. Typical of this time of year, there seemed as many sailboats coming in after a long day’s sail as those heading out for a sunset cruise.
The offerings were delicious, and when we’d finished, the sun had set, but the sky was still blazing a deep rose to match the blush wine I sipped.
“You must have scrambled to pull this off. I mean, we didn’t even know I was going to have a free weekend until last night.”
“We had help,” Vince admitted. “You’ve heard of La Table over in Wellfleet?”
A sudden heat rushed to my cheeks. There was no way they could have known my history with the caterer who prepared the luscious meal we’d just enjoyed, or that he’d been involved in the breakup of my marriage.
“Yes, the owner, Billy Hughes, is an old friend.” I tried to sound casual. “You didn’t by chance mention where you were staying?”
Ashley shook her head. “Should we have?”
“No!” It came out a panicked croak. Further talk of Billy would put a damper on the evening, so I redirected the conversation. “It’s all lovely.”
“It’s a way to thank you for giving us a place to”—Vince shrugged—“hide out this summer.”
“And for taking a chance on us,” Ashley added. “We’d been nomads searching for a purpose, and you made that happen for us.”
“You never said where this roving journey of yours began.”
“Where haven’t we been?” They shared an elusive smile. It wasn’t my first attempt to get them to open up, but Vince and Ashley persisted in their usual pattern of skirting personal questions.
“How did you end up on the Cape?”
“My college roommate’s family spent time out here every summer,” Ashley said. “She’d go on and on about how wonderful it was.”
“Where did her family summer?” I asked.
“I never thought to ask,” she admitted.
“We’re going to sound like the hayseeds we are,” added Vince, “but we honestly didn’t realize the Cape was so large.”
Ashley made an “Aren’t we silly?” face and nodded her agreement.
“Why don’t you call her and find out? People never give up their Cape rentals. They could be out here now,” I suggested, excited for them at the possibility of reconnecting with a friend. “And maybe not too far away.”
“We’ve lost touch.” Ashley was dismissive, a shadow darkening her face, making me feel I’d overstepped in my eagerness.
“I get that. Life gets busy, and we lose track of people.” I wished to return to the happier mood of the evening. “Thank you again for tonight and for all your hard work on the carriage house.” Except for me selecting the finishes and driving to Hyannis to pick up supplies from the Home Depot, they were handling the entire rehab project. When I wasn’t working at the harbor, I’d cocooned myself in the studio.
I raised my glass, then swallowed the last sip of wine.
“To Battersea Bluffs.” Ashley added her own toast.
“We’re making good progress,” Vince said. “At this rate, you should be able to rent it by early fall.”
“I could draft an ad for you,” offered Ashley.
“Start with this line: ‘Seeking two wandering souls looking to end their nomadic existence to take up permanent residence in prime Cape Cod locale.’ ”
The sky was darkening now, with only the stubs of two candles casting light, and I questioned whether the look that passed between the couple was sad or disturbed, real or imagined.
“Seriously, why don’t you put an end to your roving ways and rent it yourselves? You already know the landlady’s a pushover.”
“We love it here.”
I sensed the hovering rejection to my proposal, and after an awkward hesitation Vince provided it.
“Ashley has an internship that begins in October.”
“That’s great news.” When there was no response, I added, “Right?”
“Yeah, sure, it’s all good,” he said.
It sounded not at all like an endorsement to my ears, but then again, I didn’t want them to go. I’d grown quite fond of and accustomed to having them around.
“I presume this position isn’t within commuting distance?” Probing, but not too aggressively.
“Not by a long shot.” Ashley pouted.
Vince stood and began to gather dishes. “You two relax, and I’ll handle the cleanup,” he said.
“Don’t be silly.” I stood and began to help. I’d put a damper on the magic of the evening and wished for a chance to take back my prying questions. “As Granny Fi used to say, ‘Many hands make for a lighter load.’”
We worked in silence until Vince began pulling the overfilled cart across bumpy terrain, the china and crystal tinkling harmoniously. While passing the wooded boundary to my property, I felt the eerie sensation of eye
s upon us. I pulled my pashmina shawl tighter and began to sing a melody that had calmed me since childhood. “Light is the lighterman’s toil, as his delicate vessel he rows.”
“That’s a pretty tune.”
“Fiona taught it to me. She said my grandfather used to sing it to her when they were courting.” I continued singing, “Yet deem not the lighterman’s heart is as light, as the shallop he steers o’er the severn so bright.”
“What is a lighterman?” Vince asked.
“They captained cargo boats called ‘lighters’ on the Thames River. It was a job for lower-class boys, but it required great skill and an intimate knowledge of tides and currents. Before a lighterman could acquire his own license, he had to apprentice with a master for many years. It’s what Percy did before he left London. There’s an image of a lighter engraved on his grave.”
“How interesting. I’d love to see it sometime,” Ashley said.
“Sure—why don’t I give you a little tour of the Mitchell burial grounds tomorrow?”
“Hey, Ash, more material for your—” Vince began, then broke off.
“For what?” I asked but then remembered Ashley’s journalism degree. “Are you writing something about my family?”
“Just a short story. Loosely based on the tragedy at Percy’s Bluffs.” She was flustered. “I’m not sure if it will develop into anything. I was going to tell you about it.” An awkward moment passed before she added, “But if you’d rather I didn’t …?”
“Let me think about it.” I wasn’t certain how I felt. Deceived? Gratified? Violated? Honored?
We walked on as I finished the song. “For love he has kindled his torch, and lighted the lighterman’s heart, and he owns to the rapturous scorch.”
I’d have to sleep on it.
But sleep was elusive, mostly from anxiety over somebody hanging out in the woods. I should probably mention those campsites to Brooks.
In my wakefulness, a recent conversation with Zoe about Ashley and Vince popped into my head, one I couldn’t seem to banish.
“You want to prove me wrong so badly that you’d put yourself in jeopardy,” she’d accused, and then went on to say, “Have you ever asked them what they’re really doing there, Cassie? You are far too trusting.”
The truth was, I had asked but was never able to pin them down. I hated that my sister’s disapproving attitude was unconsciously influencing my feelings, and I’d answered by directing the blame on her. “You just have a distrustful nature.”
It was the same old argument, only I’d hit closer to the mark than she had. If it weren’t for Zoe and all her friends, particularly Brooks, constantly planting the seeds of doubt, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to Ashley wanting to write a story about my ancestors. She wasn’t the first person to recount the Mitchell family tragedy, nor likely the last.
Unable to shove aside all my misgivings, I tossed off the covers to seek pharmaceutical assistance. The next morning, after a more peaceful sleep than I’d had in months, I made my decision.
I was frying bacon and mixing batter for pancakes when my sleepyhead tenants came down for breakfast. Vince poured two cups of coffee and set one down before his young bride.
“It was the mouthwatering smell of bacon that woke me from my dreams.”
“Speaking of dreams,” I said, offering the platter of crisp bacon, “you have my blessing for the story.”
“That’s awesome!” Ashley sprang from her chair, nearly knocking over her coffee cup, and threw her arms about me, making me feel small for having doubted her motives. “I promise to let you read it before I do anything with it.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.” I flipped a stack of pancakes onto Vince’s plate, and he attacked them with his usual relish. “After breakfast, let’s walk over to the graveyard. I can offer a more personal version of our family history than what you’d dig up at the library.”
“No pun intended?” Ashley laughed.
I was happy for the return of goodwill, even if it was to be short-lived.
* * *
I walked Vince and Ashley over to the graveyard, directing them first to Percy and Celeste’s gravesites. Ashley had brought along some sheets of white paper and a black crayon. “I thought a grave rubbing would give me inspiration.”
“Clever idea for a book jacket,” I suggested.
She rolled her eyes in a self- effacing way. “Let’s see how the short story develops first.”
While Ashley did her rubbing, I began roughing out a line drawing of her in my sketchbook. When I finished, she was no longer working at my great-grandfather’s grave. I glanced about and spied her standing with Vince at the southern corner of the cemetery. When I reached them, they were kneeling and brushing away dirt from one of the stones.
Ashley read the epitaph: “ ‘Thief of life, with burning strife, actions caused for mourning rife.’ ”
Vince pointed to the stone. “Who was R.T.?”
“Robert Toomey.” My nostrils filled with an acrid burning smell, sharper and more intense than ever before. Neither of my friends seemed to notice, so I assumed it was a signal form Percy and Celeste, though I’d never known them to venture so far. Was it a sign of their contempt for the man?
“Was he a relative?” Vince asked.
“No. Actually, he was Percy Mitchell’s worst nightmare.”
“I know who it is.” Ashley stood and dusted the dirt from her hands. “The Englishman who started the fire at The Bluffs.”
“Allegedly. Nobody saw him do it. But he had arrived in Whale Rock that very day, and Robert Toomey is the name Percy damned before rushing into the flames to try to rescue Celeste.”
“How did he end up buried here, in your family plot?”
“He died soon after the fire and before the property had been purchased by the architect who restored the house. A local pastor arranged to have the body buried on the grounds, assuming there’d never again be a Mitchell living there. Fiona wasn’t about to protest, since she hadn’t yet told her parents she was pregnant. At the time, the only markers in the private graveyard were Edwin and Jerome’s. It was my father who later put up the stones for Percy, Celeste, and Ambrose.”
“But why would Toomey do something so horrible?”
“Unrequited love.” I knelt down to inspect the stone. “Celeste’s family had promised her hand in marriage to Robert Toomey, who worked for Celeste’s father, the owner of a fleet of lighters. But she’d spurned Robert’s affections.”
“Because she’d fallen in love with your great-grandfather?”
I nodded. “As the story was told to me by Granny Fi—who I imagine heard it from Ambrose—Percy became enchanted with the young beauty who was always hanging about the London docks. And Celeste was equally charmed by the handsome Percival Mitchell. She also had a strong will, and a heart and mind of her own, with every intention of marrying for love.”
“So this Robert Toomey sought revenge?”
“His pride had been wounded, and he struck out at Celeste by attacking her virtue. Her parents threatened to send her off to a convent to preserve the family honor.”
“Until true love prevailed and Percy came to the rescue?” Vince wore a sardonic grin.
“My husband, the skeptic, doesn’t believe in ‘happily ever after,’ ” Ashley said. I wondered if Vince’s cynicism was the product of a broken home. Divorce can certainly devastate idealistic notions.
“You were the first woman who at least made me optimistic about the prospect of ‘together forever.’ ”
“Good to know.” Ashley gave him a good-natured backhanded smack. “Go on, Cassie.”
“Well, he did come to the rescue. And it was said they were happy, but as you know, the ending was tragic. That should satisfy both the skeptic and the romantic.”
“Did they come to America to escape the wretched Robert Toomey?”
“Yes. But they almost didn’t make it.”
~
Over a cent
ury ago—London, England
“Celeste, m’ love, wake up. Now is the time.”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she gasped when she saw Percy standing over her.
He held a quieting finger to her lips. “We don’t want to wake your mum and da.”
She rubbed her eyes before asking in a hushed tone, “What time is it?”
“Early enough. Do you have your bag packed?”
She pointed under the bed.
Percy tugged the overstuffed satchel from beneath the bed boards. “Are you taking your mother’s silver now?”
She hit him playfully with her pillow, then hissed, “You said one bag. That’s my one bag. And I’m not going without it.”
“If ye say so,” he murmured. “Hurry up now. If I’m to save you from life in the convent, we must be at the shipyard within the hour.”
Percy had managed to secure passage on a merchant steamer sailing from Southampton to Boston. A friend had arranged for a relative who lived in a town called Whale Rock in Massachusetts to sponsor them. To begin the journey, Percy had called in a favor from the owner of a small clipper setting out before daybreak with a cargo shipment.
“What a queer name. How do ya suppose they came up with it?” Percy had asked his pal.
“When the tide is low, there’s this fantastic rock about a half mile from shore, ’tis the spitting image of a blue whale,” Smithy replied. “Me cuz tells me it’s been the cause of a few shipwrecks.”
When Percy told Celeste about the name of their new home, she’d been intrigued. “Are there real whales there?”
“Imagine so.”
“And what will you do there? How will we get by?”
“We’ll be living near the ocean, and I’m a damn good sailor. I’m sure to find work.”
During the short walk to the boatyard, Celeste uttered one small lament. “I guess I’ll never have a house on Lavender Hill, as I’d always dreamed.”
“We’ll have our own Lavender Hill. I’ll build you a fine home, and that’s what we’ll call it.”
“But I’ve already decided on a name for our place.”
“You have? And what might that be, m’ love?”
“We’ll call it Battersea Gardens so we never forget where we came from, and I’ll fill the gardens with lavender instead.”
House of Ashes Page 6