Tear In Time
Page 32
The old man sat down on a rickety wooden chair. He shook his head and repeated to himself as he tried to understand the claims presented to him. “This just isn’t possible. It’s just not possible.”
“Well, sir, are you off to the constable’s?” pushed John.
The innkeeper raised his head and asked, “But, sir, I just don’t know how it could have been Abigail Stanton.”
“Do you doubt our integrity?” asked John with an insulted tone.
“Sir, please do not misunderstand my situation. I am trying to reconcile the facts,” the old man stated, trying to make sense of it all.
“The facts are as we just stated. Abigail Stanton jumped to her death an hour ago, and we need to act fast or her body will be lost forever,” Susan interjected emphatically.
“Ma’am, I can now see that you two are serious about your claim. It is what you saw that I am confused about,” replied the Innkeeper.
“Sir, we are wasting precious time. Shall we go?” John insisted. “Why do you sit and procrastinate over this poor woman’s body?” he added, trying to drive home his point.
“Sir, you could look for a thousand years and would never find her body in the ocean,” replied the old man.
“We could at least try,” Susan added. “We cannot give up so easily. I would not want anyone to take my death so lightly.”
“My dear, I am not giving up, and I understand fully the tragedy of Abigail Stanton,” said the old man, standing up. He walked over to the fireplace, grabbed the poker and rotated the logs slightly to stoke the fire. He began to warm himself as he pondered the situation.
“Sir, this is an outrage! If you will not summon the constable, then direct me to his location and I will do it myself,” John angrily asked.
“He will not come,” was all the old man said, his head bowed slightly.
“Why is that, sir?” Susan cut in before John could speak.
“Because she is dead,” answered the old man.
“Well of course she is dead. She jumped into the water and drowned. This has been our charge all along. Pardon my poor manners, sir, but are you deaf?” John said, exasperated.
The old man turned away from the fire and walked over to where John was standing. He placed his hand on his shoulder and spoke, “Sir, Abigail Stanton is most certainly dead to be sure. I know this to be true because just about a year ago she threw herself off those very same rocks to her death. She is buried in the town cemetery.”
John stumbled back a bit and caught himself. He turned to Susan. She was in shock and only stared at the floor in an effort to hide from the obvious. John tried to reconcile the reality that his mind would not yet let in.
“Sir, are you saying we saw…” John started, and was cut off by the old man.
“Abigail Stanton’s spirit,” the old man said, interrupting John mid-sentence. “Yes, sir: if what you tell me is accurate, then you have just witnessed her ghost. There can be no other explanation for this,” he added with determination.
“My gosh, how did it happen?” Susan asked, accepting their reality.
“My, my, where do I begin? Well, first of all, Abigail was married to a fine young man, a captain of a fishing schooner. I remember him as a boy: very astute and very hard-working. He came from a good family. They were married some fifteen years ago, I believe, and quickly had four children. I remember Abigail back then. She seemed perpetually pregnant. She had three boys and a girl, the girl being the youngest. As the paper reported a year ago, Robert, her husband, had already been employing his two oldest boys on his ship, but thought it would be a good idea to teach his trade to the younger two. Most thought it was the bad luck of bringing his daughter aboard that sank the ship, but I never believed in any of that superstitious nonsense. Anyway, he would take them out for a couple of days at a time. I believe this was as much as Abigail would allow, especially for the young girl. One day while out at sea, a large storm overtook the ship and she sank, claiming the lives of all aboard. Upon hearing the news that her entire family was lost, poor Abigail became ‘touched’. She wouldn’t eat, and barely slept. It was reported that she was convinced that her family was still out at sea and would be back when they had finished their task.”
The old man walked over to the window and pointed to the rocks at the other end of the crescent-shape beach. “Every day, she waited atop those rocks for her family to return. Poor thing. I’d see her day after day, tossing a flower into the sea for each child and her husband. She rarely came down. The town was about to have her committed when a large storm hit and washed her out to sea. The paper said it was suicide, but I know better. She would never throw herself off those rocks. Her faith in God wouldn’t allow it.”
He turned toward the two and continued, “No, I don’t believe that story for one minute. The sea was violent that day. I remember it; not unlike today’s seas. One minute she was there, the next she was gone. You just can’t stand up there in a bad storm. The sea will snatch you right off the rocks like a bullfrog’s tongue to a fly. I tried to explain that to the constable, but no one wanted to believe that version of the truth. Besides, suicide sells papers. So that is how history remembers it,” the old man said with disgust.
He then looked out the window and quickly turned back to John. “I’m curious. Did you actually see her jump? If you did see her ghost jump into the sea, maybe she really did take her life – a phenomenon of the afterlife repeating the last minutes before death.”
“I’m sorry. One minute she was there, the next she was gone, just like you reported.” John said, saddened that he couldn’t be of more help.
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