Spirits of the Pirate House

by Paul Ferrante

  “Where do you live, exactly?” asked T.J.

  “It’s an area called ‘Back of Town’, just outside Hamilton,” Chappy said. T.J. thought he detected a slight grimace as he uttered the words. “Not the nicest area, I’m afraid. We have our share of crime there, unfortunately. It’s the part of the island you never see in the tourism adverts. I hope someday to purchase a small cottage in Somerset or perhaps Flatts Village, near the aquarium. But it’s rather pricey here, and I am putting a child through college. So the cottage will have to wait.”

  It was fairly silent after that, the boys taking in the sights as they wound their way through the island, retracing the route they’d traversed the previous day. No mention was made by either party of Sir William Tarver or the events at Dora’s Corners.

  Finally they reached the airport, which, as usual, was hopping. Chappy parked the minivan and they made their way to the Arrivals Terminal. They weren’t there long when Flight 622 from Philadelphia landed.

  And then, there she was, wearing a sundress adorned with yellow and light blue flowers, oversized sunglasses perched on her flowing mane of blonde hair. LouAnne Darcy was even more beautiful than T.J. remembered her; obviously, she’d filled out a bit more while maintaining her athletic runner’s build. Her blue eyes twinkled as she caught sight of them and gave a little wave with her free hand.

  “Ho-ly moly,” was all T.J. could muster. He started moving toward her.

  “And this is his cousin?” Chappy asked Bortnicker with a raised eyebrow.

  “By adoption,” he answered in a sideways whisper.

  “Ahh.”

  LouAnne dropped her carry-on, and the two embraced for more than a few seconds. Her perfume was intoxicating. “Missed you, Cuz,” she whispered in his ear.

  “Yo, what about me?” cried Bortnicker, throwing his arms open for a theatrical hug that she happily returned.

  “LouAnne, this is Chappy, our driver,” said T.J. as the black man stepped forward.

  “Our driver?” she marveled, shaking his hand daintily. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, yes we can, m’lady,” said Bortnicker, slinging her carry-on over his bony shoulder. “The Adventure Channel is giving us the VIP treatment.”

  “So nice to meet you, Chappy,” she said, batting her eyelashes.

  “And you,” he replied. “The boys have been anticipating your arrival.”

  “Well, I’m glad to be here. Not a big terminal,” she observed.

  “The easier to find your luggage!” said Bortnicker. “Let’s go get it and take you to the hotel. Wait’ll you see it!”

  They plucked her oversized suitcase from the carousel, clicked open the pull handle, and made their way outside. “Palm trees!” the girl cried. “All right!”

  “Cuz, it’s not any hotter than Gettysburg,” noted T.J. “And we have a pool and a beach right across the street!”

  “Wow. Can’t wait.” She shook her head in wonder at the sight of the GGC logo emblazoned on the minivan. They climbed in and Bortnicker reinserted Rubber Soul in the CD player. “In your honor,” he proclaimed gallantly.

  “How was the flight?” asked T.J., sharing the back seat with his cousin.

  “Not bad. It’s been a hectic few days,” she replied. “I had to finish up with finals, and Thursday was the last track meet of the season, County Championships.”

  “How did you do?”

  “I took third in the mile. Not bad for a sophomore. You been running?”

  “Yup, and Chappy showed me a neat route for us to train on for the race next week.”

  “Used to be a railroad bed,” said Bortnicker. “Way cool.”

  “Well,” she said brightly, “I turned in early last night and even slept on the plane coming over, so I’m ready for anything you guys have planned for today.”

  “How about a sightseeing trip to St. George’s?” asked her cousin.

  “That’s on the Eastern end, right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Sounds great!”

  The boys were really getting a kick out of watching LouAnne gawk at the passing scenery. It was as if she wanted to lock every palm tree or pastel-colored house in her mind forever. They both realized that unlike their parents, the Darcys didn’t have much disposable income (LouAnne worked two jobs at home, including nights at a Civil War-era inn where she was a civilian reenactor for the hordes of tourists who flocked to Gettysburg from May through October) and though she never mentioned it, they wondered if she’d ever been anywhere farther from home than Philly. It was ironic to see a person from one of the most touristy places on earth be so taken with another travel mecca.

  They arrived at the Jobson’s Cove Apartments and were warmly greeted by Virginia Maltby, who handed LouAnne a flower for her hair. “Well, now, this completes our party!” she trilled. “And you’re every bit the beauty that Michael Weinstein described.”

  LouAnne blushed.

  “Take care of that precious skin in the sun today!” she sang. “I’m off to the market!”

  “Is everyone here so friendly?” LouAnne asked.

  “‘Fraid so, miss,” answered Chappy, removing her luggage from the minivan. “I’ll let the boys show you to your room. What say we meet back here in a half hour for our day trip?”

  “That’d be super,” said Bortnicker. They hefted LouAnne’s bags and climbed the stairs to the second floor balcony, where she stopped to take in the view.

  “How ... romantic,” she said dreamily as the boys lugged her stuff inside.

  “Ya think?” laughed Bortnicker, setting down her suitcase with a thunk.

  LouAnne was amazed to find her kitchenette refrigerator stocked with all the necessities her father had rattled off to her Uncle Tom, including nonfat milk, protein bars, and Gatorade. She was equally impressed with the queen-sized bed she’d be sleeping on.

  “So, how did yesterday go?” she asked, unzipping her larger suitcase and hanging stuff in the bedroom closet.

  T.J. gave her a full rundown of the incident at Dora’s Corners and their meeting with Jasper Goodwin. He made sure to accentuate their encounter with Ronnie. “I think she has the hots for Bortnicker,” he joked, causing his friend to go a bright red.

  “And why not?” countered LouAnne, shooting him down. “I think he’s a definite hottie, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah, of course,” said T.J. playfully.

  “So when do I get to meet Miss Bermuda?”

  “Actually,” said Bortnicker, “in about 40 minutes. We’re picking her up before we go to St. George’s.”

  “Really. Well, this should be interesting. Now, you two get out of here for a few minutes so I can change into something more touristy. Shoo!”

  They retreated outside to the balcony and could hear LouAnne humming gaily as she got dressed. Minutes later, wearing her Beatles Sgt. Pepper tee shirt, capris, and sandals, she joined them. “Hey, where are Mike Weinstein and your dad, T.J.?” she asked, adjusting her sunglasses.

  “Mike’s out big game fishing, and Dad’s meeting the golf club officials he’s gonna sell his plan to.”

  “How’s Mike been? Is he still as crazy as last year?”

  “Nah. I think we just caught him at a bad time. Plus, he probably just hams it up a lot for the show. He’s actually been pretty serious.”

  “Yeah,” said Bortnicker, “this whole project is on him, and he wants it to succeed.”

  “So, from what you’re telling me, people around here are kinda weirded out about Sir William Tarver?”

  “Well, Chappy and that lady Dora were, not to mention that guy who got in our face. I wouldn’t talk about it in the car today.”

  “Gotcha.”

  As always, Chappy was patiently waiting by the minivan and opened the front passenger door for LouAnne. The boys slid open the side door and jumped into the back seat.

  “I’m glad you could get some time off,” T.J. said to his cousin as Chappy pointed the minivan toward Somerset. �
��Gettysburg must be filling up.”

  “Oh, yeah. But it just so happens that the owner’s niece is visiting for a couple weeks and agreed to stand in for me. I kind of coached her, and she came a couple nights to observe me doing my shtick. I think she’ll handle it okay.”

  “What about that lady you babysit for during the day?”

  “Mrs. Spath? Her family’s actually doing the family road trip thing the next week or so, visiting relatives in Florida. So it all worked out. I’ll just pick it back up when I return. Some of us have to work all summer. Right, Chappy?”

  The driver smiled. “Right-o, Miss Lou.”

  “I almost forgot!” blurted Bortnicker. “Chappy, tell LouAnne about how you knew John Lennon!”

  “No way,” she said. “Really?”

  The driver patiently retold the story, with LouAnne hanging on every word. “That must’ve been some experience,” she said finally.

  “To tell the truth, Miss Lou, it was no more or less than any others I’ve had over the years. I just enjoy meeting people and learning about them. And since most of them are happy to be here and in a good mood, it makes for a pleasant experience. It’s just regrettable that he came to such a tragic end.”

  “But the music lives on,” said John Lennon/Bortnicker, causing the other teens to roll their eyes. “Here’s a good question for all you fans of ours: which of our hit songs did we also record in German? There were two, but you only have to name one.”

  “Too easy, John,” said LouAnne. “’I Want to Hold Your Hand’; which was, I believe, on the Something New album.”

  “I told you to give it up, Bortnicker,” laughed T.J.

  They pulled in to the Blue Lagoon Dive Shop parking lot as the last of the morning charter clients were mounting their mopeds and heading back to their hotels. Some had placed their own masks, snorkels, and flippers in their moped carry baskets. “They look like a bunch of happy campers,” observed LouAnne.

  “Yeah,” said T.J. as they got out of the car. “Are you sure—”

  “Yes, I’m sure I will not be doing anything below the water’s surface,” she snapped, cutting him off.

  “Oh, well, he had to try,” cracked Bortnicker.

  They approached the counter, where Ronnie was ringing up a Dive Bermuda ball cap for a middle-aged customer. “Thanks so much for diving with us, sir,” she purred. “Please come visit again!” Ronnie bagged the hat and he left, smiling at the entering teens.

  “Hi, Ronnie,” said T.J., “this is my cousin LouAnne from Pennsylvania.”

  “She just got here this morning,” added Bortnicker, making an effort to join the conversation.

  The two girls eyed each other warily. T.J. had often noted this kind of interaction at school, especially between females who were obviously attractive.

  “Hi,” the black girl said finally. “Welcome to our dive shop.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I hope you’re as excited about our dive trips as these guys are. It should be fun.”

  “I don’t dive.”

  “Oh.”

  “But I am looking forward to a couple days out on that beautiful water.”

  “It is beautiful.”

  T.J. gave Bortnicker a sideways look as if to say What the heck is going on here? But his friend was too busy staring at Ronnie to notice him. “Well,” T.J. said uncertainly, “is everybody ready to go to St. George’s?”

  “Brilliant!” said Ronnie, brightening. “Let me just run out back a moment and tell my dad we’re off. I’ll meet you out front.”

  T.J., Bortnicker, and LouAnne exited and walked toward the minivan. “Everything ok, Cuz?” he asked nervously.

  “Sure, why not?” she answered sweetly. Chappy again held the front door open for LouAnne, and the boys hopped in the back. Ronnie came bouncing out of the shop and slid in next to Bortnicker. “Hi, Mr. Chapford, wonderful day,” she said in greeting.

  “That it is, Miss Ronnie. On to St. George’s.” He fired up the engine.

  Ronnie turned to Bortnicker, who was being very careful to stay in his own space. “Did you sleep well last night, Bortnicker?” she said amiably. “Those tree frogs can take some getting used to.”

  “No, I, uh, I mean I really slept pretty well,” he managed. “I actually kinda like the sound. It’s, ah ... soothing, you know?”

  From his seat in the back T.J. could see LouAnne’s face in the rearview mirror. She was trying not to laugh at Bortnicker’s obvious discomfort.

  But it was Chappy who came to the young man’s rescue. “Miss Ronnie,” he said, “why don’t you tell our guests about where we’ll be visiting today?”

  She smiled, aware of the driver’s obvious diversion tactic. “Well now, where to begin,” she said. “Let’s see...

  “St. George’s is one of the oldest Northern European cities in the Western Hemisphere. It was actually the capital until the early 1800s, when Hamilton took over.

  “Many of its old stone buildings still stand today, and they were based on English designs. A lot of the houses and properties have been passed down through families over the generations. You’ll find, though, that the majority of residents are African-Bermudian, not European.

  “What’s so cool about St. George’s is that it still has those narrow streets and lanes from the old days, when all you had was horses and carriages. And a lot of those streets have old-timey, funky names.”

  “If I may add some information, Miss Ronnie,” said Chappy. “You’ll notice a cruise ship or two in St. George’s Harbor, so there should be many tourists about. I’d say you’ll need a few hours to really see the sights, which is best done on foot. But Miss Ronnie should serve as an excellent tour guide. I’ll come round about 4:30 to pick you up. Will you be all right for lunch?”

  “I know a few places, Chappy,” assured Ronnie.

  “Of course you do.”

  They filled the rest of the ride with idle chatter, mostly about school and the cost of living on the island. A couple times while making a point, Ronnie laid her hand on Bortnicker’s thigh, inducing a mild panic in the boy. LouAnne seemed to doze for a few minutes in the front seat, but by the time they reached King’s Square at the waterfront, the group was raring to go.

  Chappy handed T.J. his business card with cell phone number and said to call if they were done earlier than agreed upon. “Meantime, I might try to squeeze in a few airport pickups, if you don’t mind.”

  “No problem, Chappy,” said T.J. As the driver pulled away in the minivan, T.J. remarked aloud, “A nice guy.”

  “My dad’s known Mr. Chapford a long time,” said Ronnie. “They grew up together in the Back of Town. He’s good people.”

  “Your family doesn’t live there anymore?” asked Bortnicker.

  “No, we moved closer to the dive shop in Somerset. It’s a small cottage, but we call it home.”

  “You have any brothers or sisters?” asked T.J.

  “No, it’s just me, Dad, and my mum. Maybe you’ll get to meet her during your stay.”

  “That would be nice,” said Bortnicker with what seemed like hopefulness.

  “Would you guys want to eat first or explore a bit?” she asked.

  “Let’s walk a little,” said LouAnne. “I’ve been sitting on my butt all day.”

  “Fair enough,” Ronnie said, grabbing Bortnicker’s hand. “Follow me!” she took off at a brisk clip, and Bortnicker looked back at T.J. and LouAnne as if to say “Help!”

  They started off with the Deliverance, a full scale model of the ship which Sir George Somers rebuilt after his ship Sea Venture was wrecked on the island in 1609. From there it was on to the Bermuda World Heritage Center. The boys, who’d had their fair share of museum-hopping the previous summer in Gettysburg, were interested in the provided overview of the town, its heritage, and historical background. Bortnicker especially enjoyed the dioramas of 1600s city life because they reminded him of the elaborate train setups he’d created back home.

 
From there the teens began winding their way through those charming lanes and alleys with names like Aunt Peggy’s, Featherbed, One Gun, and Needle & Thread. They popped into shops both quaint and touristy. Whenever Ronnie took a break from addressing the group as a whole, she chit-chatted to Bortnicker, who seemed to be stuck somewhere between terror and rapture. Her corkscrew curls bounced as she animatedly pointed here or there. Though the town was flooded with tourists, many of the locals greeted her by name.

  “She seems pretty popular,” said T.J. to his cousin.

  “Ya think? I just wonder what she’s whispering to Bortnicker all the time.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You think she’s pretty, Cuz?”

  T.J. hesitated, wondering what his cousin’s intention was in asking such a loaded question.

  “The truth?” he said, finally.

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s a knockout.”

  LouAnne nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  They stopped for a bite at the George and Dragon in King’s Square, where Bortnicker and Ronnie ordered crab sandwiches while T.J. and LouAnne shared a Shepherd’s Pie.

  Then it was back outside and over to St. Peter’s church, the oldest Anglican church in the Western Hemisphere. T.J. was taken by the many memorials to Bermuda’s seafarers sprinkled throughout the place of worship.

  “You’ll also want to visit Fort St. Catherine on the east end of the island, which Sir William helped design, by the way, but that’s a couple miles walk from here, and I think we’re all a little tired,” said Ronnie finally. “We can hit a few more shops and work our way back to King’s Square.”

  They were clowning around at the ducking pool and prisoner stocks when Chappy pulled up, precisely on time. “Have fun, people?” he asked as the overheated teens luxuriated in the minivan’s air conditioning.

  “It was great,” said Bortnicker. “Ronnie sure knows her way around.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it,” she replied, flashing a winning smile.

  “Has Mike said anything about our schedule for tomorrow, Chappy?” asked T.J.

  “Actually, yes. The three of you have a morning meeting with a representative from the National Heritage Trust regarding the house investigation you’ll be doing ... fact finding and all that. Then, you’ll have the afternoon to yourselves before your first dive on Tuesday.”