by Mute80
I read his headstone aloud. “Briggs. Arthur H., 1865-1931, and Margaret H., 1871-1939.”
“He died on my birthday—October 31, 1931,” Sophia said sadly.
“He died on your birthday?” I said incredulously.
She nodded. “I didn’t find out about his death until many years later, but when I heard the date, I thought maybe it was his subconscious way of showing he was still connected to me. Silly girlish dream, I guess.”
“Wait,” Camille said. “If you die on Halloween, do you automatically become a ghost?”
“Not necessarily. That’s just an old wives tale. You can become a ghost if you die on Halloween, but it isn’t assured.”
“Sophia, this really could mean something. There has to be some sort of connection between you and Arthur that wasn’t completed.” I was starting to get excited.
“I’m starving.” Camille announced as she spread a blanket on the ground in front of Arthur’s grave, sat down, and pulled out a granola bar. She was doing a lot better with Sophia’s news than I expected and in only a couple of hours she’d gone from hating Sophia to acting like an adoring fan.
“Ouch.” I rubbed a spot on my head where an acorn had just landed. “Aaggh!” I was hit again. “I think the squirrels in these trees don’t want us hanging out here.”
“Who are you calling a squirrel?”
Startled by a male voice, I whipped around to see Peter Ashby appear from behind a tall monument a few yards away.
“Peter. Hi. What are you doing here?” I felt my voice go up an octave and I squeaked like a mouse. I could hear Camille snickering on the blanket behind me and I turned around and glared.
“I came to put flowers on my grandparents’ graves.”
“That’s mighty . . . uhh . . . noble . . . of you.” Why do I always sound like such a dork around him?
“My parents usually come on Memorial Day, but they’re on a cruise right now and they made me promise that I’d come out here for them this weekend and leave some flowers. I think they’re afraid my grandparents will haunt them if they don’t make their presence known.” He laughed at his own joke. Camille and I involuntarily glanced at Sophia.
“How about you guys? What are you doing here?” He spied the blanket and basket of food. “Are you having a picnic in a cemetery? Cool.”
Sophia was the first to respond. “Why not picnic in a cemetery? Want to join us?”
Peter seemed to notice Sophia for the first time and he smiled at her before answering. “Sure. I’m Peter, by the way. I’ve seen you around, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
“My name’s Sophia. I’m a ghost.”
Camille began choking on her granola bar and had to spit it out on the ground. I was still standing a few feet away and I’m convinced that my heart stopped beating for a short time. I felt the blood drain from my face and I had to sit down on the ground and put my head between my knees so I wouldn’t faint. How could she? She knows I like him. Now he’s going to think I—we—are crazy.
“A ghost, huh?” Peter chuckled, taking the pronouncement in stride. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. My name’s Peter. I’m a werewolf.” He bowed mockingly and stuck out his hand for Sophia to shake.
I finally got control of myself and caught Sophia’s eye. I glared.
“Sophia? Can I please talk to you for a second—over here?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could.
She dutifully obeyed and followed me behind a nearby tree.
“What are you doing?” I hissed angrily. “He was finally starting to show interest in me and now he’s going to think I’m a lunatic.”
“Calm down, Jamie. You’re helping me so I’m going to help you,” she whispered.
“How could you possibly think this is helping?” I was squeaking again.
“If Peter helps you and me on our little quest, think how much time you’re going to get to spend hanging out with him.”
She had a point. There was a chance he would believe us—after all, Camille did. Of course, Camille could be kind of gullible . . .
“Fine,” I huffed. “But please don’t be obvious about my liking him.”
She winked and returned to the blanket. I followed, probably looking like a lost puppy, and sat next to her. The blanket wasn’t huge and with four people sitting on it we were pretty cozy.
“So, do you picnic here often or is this a new form of entertainment?” Peter was completely oblivious to the elephant in the room.
I cleared my throat loudly. If I was going to make a fool out of myself by telling Peter about Sophia’s secret, I didn’t want to do it sounding like a mouse. “Peter, do you believe in ghosts?”
“Oh . . . I get it. There’s a full moon tonight and you guys came out here to tell ghost stories. This is awesome. No offense, but I didn’t think girls liked to do stuff like this.”
“Peter, I’m serious. Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked sincerely.
He looked at me and then glanced away, picking at the blanket as he answered. “I think so. I don’t claim to have ever seen a ghost, but I’m open to the possibility that they might exist.”
I turned to Sophia. “Now would be a good time to do your thing.”
She smiled and rose to her feet. “This is starting to get kind of fun. I should have started doing it decades ago.”
She turned and addressed Peter. “Now you see me . . .” she disappeared into the night just as the sun sank below the horizon “. . . now you don’t.” I heard her whisper the last part of the sentence into Peter’s ear, but I couldn’t see her. His reaction was priceless.
“Holy—” he screamed, covering his mouth before the entire expletive made its way out. He dove across the blanket and grabbed Camille and I, cradling both of us between his arms at the same time. If it hadn’t been so funny I would have liked to stay there with his arm wrapped around me the entire night, but as it was I let a giggle escape and he relaxed and let go.
“Wait . . . is this a joke? Are you guys pranking me? That’s what Sophia and you were whispering about a minute ago.” I couldn’t tell if Peter was angry as he was yelling or if he thought it was funny. I think he was still in shock.
“It’s true, Peter. Sophia’s a ghost. I found out just a few hours ago. Apparently Jamie here has known for a week and didn’t bother to tell anyone,” Camille said.
Peter looked at me. His mouth was moving slightly, trying to form words for questions he didn’t know how to ask.
“I don’t get it,” he finally said. “Is this really real?”
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” I pointed behind him to where Sophia hovered lazily above Arthur’s headstone.
“Oh geez,” he breathed. “This is crazy. Either I’m dreaming or I’ve completely lost it. Someone wake me up. Please.”
Sophia came back to the blanket, curling her long legs under herself as she sat down gracefully and began to tell her story for the second time that day. By the time she got to the part where she, Camille, and I decided to go to the cemetery, it was completely dark except for the light coming from the full moon Peter had mentioned. We’d eaten most of the snacks we brought and put on our jackets. The nights were bearable, but still cool at that time of year. A breeze rolled in from the ocean and we huddled closer together. The telling of ghost stories while sitting in a cemetery didn’t exactly help to warm us, either.
“Are you overwhelmed?” I asked Peter.
“A little. I kind of feel euphoric, too. Questions that have been asked for hundreds of years can actually be answered. That’s amazing. I wonder how many times I’ve passed a ghost on a sidewalk or in a crowded mall and didn’t even know it.”
“For all you know, there are ghosts that have been following you around for weeks, watching your every move.” I playfully punched Sophia in the arm.
“There is one thing in the story I missed, though. Sophia, you said you died in 1888 after you were taken to live as the daughter of Jeremiah and Elsa, right?”
Peter asked.
She nodded.
“How did you actually die, then? You were so young.”
I couldn’t believe it. I’d been reading and studying and researching everything I could about the disappearance of the Mary Celeste and the Briggs family in the previous week and I had never bothered to ask Sophia how she actually died. My curiosity was piqued.
Sophia didn’t answer Peter immediately, but sat in silence for a while. Judging by the look on her face, her death was a sensitive subject. Finally she spoke. “I guess I better start where I left off before. The beginning of my death sentence actually started about a year and a half before I died.”
CHAPTER 8
Spring and Fall of 1887
Virginia
Sophia Goodwin was a good girl, but those who knew her often felt sorry for her. She was a girl trapped by life’s circumstances—an honest girl born to parents who devoted their lives to trickery and deceit. They treated her as a servant rather than their own flesh and blood. People who knew—or knew of—the family would often ignore the parents and only greet Sophia. She never had nice clothes to wear, but she kept herself clean and always wore the most radiant of smiles. Her polite, gentle way of speaking endeared her to everyone.
Just like she did every morning, Sophia trudged along the path to the well at the back of their parcel of land. It was her duty to collect the day’s water. She was a strong girl, but it was quite a task even for her. She filled the two large buckets, hauling the water up from the hole in the ground like she’d done hundreds of times before. Then she attached the buckets to a yoke which she carried across the back of her shoulders. It was always a long walk back to the house as she strained under the weight.
On that particular morning, Sophia was in an especially pleasant mood. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and the wildflowers were beginning to blossom in an array of colors throughout the meadows. She stopped to pick a bouquet of those flowers and tucked them into the front pocket of her apron before she headed back with the water. She would most likely be lectured for taking too long, but she didn’t care. Spring was her favorite time of year. It held the promise of new beginnings and new possibilities.
Just as she stooped to again pick up the heavy yoke, a young male voice called out. “Let me get that for you, miss.”
Startled, she jumped back, almost knocking one of the buckets over in the process. She looked up and found herself staring into the most beautiful cobalt blue eyes she’d ever seen. The eyes were set into the handsome, chiseled face of a boy who was hovering on the verge of manhood. His beautiful face was attached to a body that was strong and toned, probably from years of hard work.
Sophia’s heart fluttered and her hand involuntarily went to her cheek. She knew she was blushing.
“You startled me, sir,” she said.
He reached up and took his hat off, running his hand through his dark brown hair. “I do apologize, miss. I thought it was better to make my presence known than to continue to lurk in the trees. I didn’t want to interrupt your beautiful singing.”
Sophia hadn’t even realized that she was singing.
“My name’s Nicholas Trenton,” he said, extending a hand to Sophia.
Her hand trembled as she reached out and shook his. She could feel her entire body tingle as soon as their palms touched.
“Sophia Goodwin,” she finally managed to say.
“Are you by any chance related to Jeremiah Goodwin? I was hired as his new apprentice.”
Sophia rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. “He’s my father.”
If there was one thing Sophia knew about her father, it was that he was always in the middle of some elaborate scheme to con someone. It was out of his realm of possibility to try to make an honest living. For as long as she could remember they had moved from place to place, and he had moved from trade to trade, always claiming to be an expert at whatever new thing he started. At first meeting, he was fun and jubilant—a man that people felt they could trust fully. They never saw the con coming until they were slapped in the face by it and Jeremiah and his family were long gone. Two years ago he had purchased a plot of land on the coast of the James River near Newport News, Virginia. The James River led to the Chesapeake Bay and out into the open Atlantic Ocean. Sophia loved it. She had hoped that the purchase by her father meant he had changed his ways and wanted to put down permanent roots. What could he possibly need an apprentice for? The man was a jack-of-all-trades, master of none.
“What will you be doing for my father, Mr. Trenton?” she asked curiously.
“He’ll be teaching me everything he knows about ship building, of course.”
Sophia laughed out loud. The poor young man had no idea what he was getting into. Her father was delusional if he honestly thought he could build a ship. Her father’s father and his father and his father had all been seafaring men. For generations they had been integral in the slave trade industry. By the time Sophia’s great grandfather took over the family business, they owned an entire fleet of ships and would sail them from Africa to the southern United States and all over the Caribbean. The products being shipped had changed in the last century, but the business was still hanging in there when Jeremiah’s father took over. However, within a few years of taking the helm of the business, Jeremiah had completely run it into the ground. The man had no idea what he was doing and wasn’t willing to spend the time it took to properly get anything done correctly. He was selfish and only wanted to participate in activities that would directly benefit him. He lived for instant gratification.
When Sophia was just a little girl, maybe five or six, he lost his last ship, the Aurabelle, when it was taken to pay off old debts. A huge shipyard was under construction in Newport News and the railroad had recently been completed in the area so it was a prime location for an attempt at returning to his old “career.” The sea was in the Goodwin blood and Sophia knew that her father itched to get back into the shipping business, but building his own was ludicrous. Ship building? Really, Pa?
“Follow me and I will take you to my father.” Every fiber of Sophia’s being prodded her to tell Nicholas to run and never look back, but the thought of not getting to look at his beautiful face again made her keep her mouth shut.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, smiling. “You lead my horse and I will carry this load of water for you.”
He was a gentleman, too? He couldn’t be more perfect. “I will take that deal,” Sophia said, smiling back at him.
As they approached the house at the top of the gentle slope, the back door opened and Sophia’s mother came out, yelling about Sophia being lazy and slow before she even looked up. When she finally realized Sophia was not alone, her countenance abruptly changed and she slapped on a phony smile.
In her sickeningly sweet voice she cooed, “Aww . . . you brought company for breakfast, my sweet Sophia.”
“Mother, this is Nicholas Trenton, Father’s new apprentice. He’s here to help Father build his ship.” The words came out roughly and her eyes bored into her mother, asking a million silent questions.
“Oh. Of course. Come on in. I’m Jeremiah’s wife, Elsa. I’m sure he will be delighted to know that you’ve arrived.”
Jeremiah rose from the breakfast table when they entered the room and quickly shook hands with Nicholas. He wasted no time turning on the charm and his new apprentice was soon laughing as Jeremiah recounted tales of life at sea. Sophia didn’t know whether there was even a semblance of truth in any of the stories, but she loved the sound of Nicholas’s laughter so for once she wasn’t embarrassed by her father’s lies. Even Nicholas’s beautiful blue eyes sparkled when he laughed.
Nicholas told of his family and how he came to be looking for an apprenticeship. His father had lost his legs while fighting for the Confederacy during the war. After living as a bedridden invalid for many years, he finally succumbed to his injuries and died when Nicholas was just a baby. Nicholas’s Mother and olde
r sister had recently contracted tuberculosis and had both passed on. He found himself orphaned and alone at the age of seventeen and badly in need of steady work.
At length, Jeremiah pushed his chair away from the table. Sophia knew that it was her cue to begin gathering the breakfast dishes and to get on with the morning chores.
“Come on, Nicholas, my boy, I’ll show you to your living quarters and then we can get in an honest day’s work,” Jeremiah said.
Sophia laughed to herself at that remark. Father didn’t know the meaning of honest, but the part that stood out most was the part about Nicholas staying with them indefinitely. That spring was full of all kinds of possibilities.
*****
Much to Sophia’s relief, it turned out that her father wasn’t intending to build a ship from the ground up. He had somehow managed to buy a small, salvaged ship after it ran aground during a storm. It was in poor condition and her father intended to restore it to its original beauty so that he could return to the sea as a merchant, ferrying cargo up and down the Atlantic Coast. Sophia hadn’t yet figured out what her father’s con was going to be, but she was sure there would be one at some point that involved the new—er, old—ship. Her father, two of the crewmen from his earlier sailing days, and Nicholas made up the team that would attempt to renovate the boat and would eventually sail her.