The Ghosts of Aquinnah Read online

  Christopher stayed next to his chair as the others started to follow the reporter.

  “Aren’t you coming, Casey?” Josiah said.

  “I don’t think so, sir.”

  “Oh, please do, Mr. Casey,” Chesham said, walking back into the kitchen. “My readers will be so curious about you. You’re one of the only survivors of this tragedy.”

  Christopher’s mind flashed back to his night on the rigging and the chatter of his companions in the Mayhew kitchen instantly faded to nothing. The sounds of dying men screaming for help and begging for mercy from the churning waters filled his head.

  “It doesn’t seem right is all, sir,” he said, shaking his head in order to force the screams from his mind. “Seeing as how so many died that night.”

  “Please, Mr. Casey,” Stella said. “I’d like for you to be in our picture too.”

  Christopher could feel the eyes of Josiah Winslow boring into him. He ignored the glares and smiled at Stella.

  “It's hard to refuse a request from my nurse, but I'm afraid I have to. I'd rather just watch you all. And to tell you the truth, I don’t think I have the strength to do it yet. Like Mrs. Mayhew said, I’ve only just managed to get out of bed.”

  “Suit yourself, sir,” Chesham said, rubbing his hands together and once again leading the way outside the house.

  Christopher pulled the coat Mr. Mayhew had given him from the rack in the hallway and draped it over his shoulders as he followed behind the group.

  When they got outside, Stella noticed one of the rescue boats sitting in front of the lighthouse.

  “I’d like for you all to stand in front of the boat,” Chesham said.

  Mr. Mayhew took a spot at the fore of the boat, while Josiah led Stella to the aft.

  Christopher leaned against the doorway of the Mayhew house and watched as Mr. Chesham prepared to take the photo. The Winslows and Mr. Mayhew stood stoically in the wind as Chesham disappeared behind the cape covering his wooden view camera. Stella stole a glance back at Christopher, the hint of a smile on her face. She turned her head and looked directly at the camera just as a bright flash exploded from the box.

  ****

  Stella picked up the container of boiling water from her cast iron stove and poured the water into her wash tub. Droplets of sweat dotted her forehead in spite of the cold temperatures outside. As far as she was concerned, her kitchen always felt like a furnace on laundry day.

  She pulled her hair back into a bun and wiped her brow with her apron as she grabbed the washboard from the table and placed it into the tub. After pouring a small amount of the new soap powder Josiah had purchased on his last trip into Cottage City into the tub, she leaned over it and tossed his trousers into the steaming water.

  It had been 10 days since Josiah had insisted she leave Gay Head and return to their home. She had expected to have more time with the Mayhews and to visit with the reporter and Christopher. But Josiah wanted to leave as soon as Mr. Chesham was done taking their picture. She had barely had a chance to say goodbye.

  That morning she had been startled to see that same picture in the Boston Globe Josiah had brought home from one of his visits to town. It was surreal to see her own image in the newspaper she so loved to read. Stella loved nothing more than turning the pages of the paper and reading about the goings-on in the thriving metropolis of Boston. She imagined what it would be like to be in such a place, and wondered if she’d ever have the chance to visit the city herself.

  Each time she opened a paper, Stella was grateful to her father for teaching her to read and to love the written word. She devoured every word of every paper Josiah brought to their home, in spite of the fact that he forbade it. As far as Josiah was concerned, women had no business reading the news of the world, and he scolded Stella for wanting to waste her time on affairs which were far beyond the capabilities of her sex. Stella pretended to go along with his order, but she stole moments to read the papers whenever Josiah left their home to visit patients or head into town.

  Unsurprisingly, the latest paper was still filled with news of The City of Columbus. Stella read about the commendation Mr. Mayhew would be receiving for his rescue work and the fund the Gazette had set up for islanders to contribute to and show their appreciation for those who had risked their lives to help the ship’s victims. She also read about the controversy swirling around the ship’s captain and wondered if Christopher would agree with the accusations of negligence and incompetence that had been leveled against him. She wished she could bring the paper to Gay Head and discuss it with him.

  And she wished he had agreed to pose for the photograph that now stared at her from the pages of the Globe. If he had, Stella would clip the photo and hide it in the pages of her father’s Bible. It was the only book Josiah allowed her to read, although he never opened it himself. She could have kept the clipped picture as a memento of the young man she’d nursed back to health, and Josiah would have been none the wiser.

  But Christopher wasn’t in the picture, and there was no opportunity to change that now. It was foolish to even think of it. Stella had no time to waste on daydreaming, as she had to hurry and finish her chores before her husband returned home. Her mind wandered as she scrubbed, and, as she so often did, she thought of Christopher. She wondered how his arm and hand were healing, and hoped the infection in his hand hadn't spread. For a minute, her hands were running the warm soapy wash cloth over his bare chest instead of running the trousers along the washboard. Her face burned and her cheeks turned bright red as she remembered washing Christopher's muscular arms and broad shoulders.

  She didn't even hear Josiah walking into the kitchen.

  “You've not finished the washing yet?” he asked.

  Stella jumped, splashing water into a puddle around the tub.

  “I'm nearly done,” she said. “Just finishing your trousers.”

  Josiah stamped his feet on the kitchen floor to shake the snow off his boots.

  “Haven't I asked you to do that outside on the porch?” Stella asked. “I've just cleaned this floor yesterday.”

  “I reckon you'll be cleaning it again tomorrow then.”

  Josiah walked to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “A man can't warm himself up in his own kitchen?” he asked. “I'm trying to warm my feet 'fore I have to go back out and head up to Gay Head.”

  Stella stood up straight, dropping the trousers back into the tub.

  “Gay Head?” she asked. “You're going to check on Mr. Casey, are you?”

  “I am,” Josiah said. “I imagine he'll need more laudanum by now. I've got Grover ready and we'll go up shortly.”

  “I'll come with you.”

  “Why? I don't need a nurse. You've got plenty to do ‘round here.”

  “I never got a chance to thank Mrs. Mayhew for her hospitality when the snow left me stranded.”

  “I'll pass along your thanks.”

  “I'd rather do it myself. You know how I like her...”

  Josiah stared at his wife over the rim of his mug. He did know the lighthouse keeper's wife was almost like a mother for the girl. She seemed to need that.

  “Alright then, you can come with me. But hurry up and finish this here. I don't feel like waiting long.”

  Stella hurried to wring the trousers as Josiah left the kitchen. She tried to think of what baked goods she had that she could bring to the Mayhews. And to Christopher. What she had said to her husband was true, she did want to see Mrs. Mayhew and convey her thanks to the woman. But the person she really wanted to see was Christopher.

  ****

  Christopher used his good arm to wash the windows surrounding the lens of the lighthouse, a chore he was happy to perform. He had grown weary of being treated like an invalid days ago, and wanted to do as much as possible to help Mr. and Mrs. Mayhew and pay them back for the care they had given him. He only wished he had his left arm to steady himself while he scrubbed, as he needed all of his stren
gth to make the windows shine.

  He had tried removing his sling a few days earlier while helping Mrs. Mayhew unload food supplies from the couple's wagon and immediately regretted it. The arm had started to throb almost instantly, and Mrs. Mayhew had tutted at him as she redid the sling and tied his arm close to his chest. He had faithfully kept the sling on since, as the last thing he wanted to do was go back to taking laudanum to manage the pain. He was grateful to be off the medication and free of the disorienting and mind-numbing effects it had started to have on him.

  Christopher stared out at the sea below him and listened to the waves crashing onto the sand at the foot of the cliffs. Growing up in Galway, he had loved going down to the harbor and making friends with the fishermen as they brought in their daily catches. He loved the smell of the sea and always imagined getting on a boat himself one day and sailing away from the poverty and desolation of his homeland.

  In the fantasies of his childhood he had never envisioned that the sea he loved so much would one day nearly take his life. While the ocean below him was calm this afternoon, with the sun sparkling along the crest of its waves, he couldn't look at it now without remembering the night the Columbus went down. He could still hear the screams of passengers and crew members alike as they disappeared beneath the roiling waves. And he could still hear himself praying to God that he would live to see the sunrise as he clung to the rigging in the darkness of the frigid winter night.

  The memory brought a throbbing to Christopher's hand, in spite of the fact that the infected gash was healing well. He opened and closed his fingers, willing the pain to subside. It didn't.

  He shrugged the pain off and returned his attention to the task in front of him. Moving to the other side of the lighthouse, he left the ocean view behind him and stared down at the rolling snow-covered hills and the dirt road that snaked through them, its path stomped out by the horses of the Gay Head Indians as they made their way through the snow. As he scrubbed the window, he noticed a horse and buggy coming along the road towards the cliffs. Surprising, as in the nearly two weeks that Christopher had been recovering at the lighthouse he could count on one hand the number of visitors who had come to Gay Head.

  The buggy came closer and Christopher felt his heart thump in his chest as he recognized both the driver of the buggy and his passenger. Stella. He could see strands of her beautiful auburn hair blowing out from the edge of her bonnet and she wore the thick cloak he had seen when he first woke up from the wreck, frightened and in more pain than he'd ever imagined possible. He'd opened his eyes and seen an angel in a blue cloak standing over him.

  Stella had rarely been out of Christopher's mind since she and her husband had departed the Mayhew home so quickly and unexpectedly following the arrival of the Boston reporter. While he was grateful for the care her husband had given him, he still felt a profound dislike for the man. It had been impossible not to notice the change in Stella's demeanor as soon as her husband had entered the Mayhew kitchen. It was almost as if he could see her spirit dripping out from her body and collecting in a puddle at her feet.

  Christopher finished washing the window as the buggy drove up towards the Mayhew home. He dropped his now grimy washcloth into the bucket at his feet and placed the handle of the bucket at the elbow of his good arm. His wiry build and athletic body had always leant itself well to climbing, but his broken arm made it a challenge now to make his way down the ladder at the top of the lighthouse while carrying his cleaning supplies. He knew it was manageable as long as he concentrated on maintaining his balance, something that he was finding difficult since he suddenly found it impossible to concentrate on anything but Stella Winslow. He was grateful when he reached the bottom of the ladder and was able to switch to the winding staircase that would bring him back to ground level.

  He left the lighthouse just as Stella and Josiah were stepping off the buggy and shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs. Mayhew. Stella caught sight of him and gave him a shy smile, and his heart immediately began to turn somersaults in his chest.

  “Your doctor's here to check on you, Christopher,” Mr. Mayhew said.

  “I see that. Good day to you, Dr. Winslow. Mrs. Winslow,” Christopher said. He extended his good hand towards Josiah, who shook it cordially.

  “How's the arm, Casey?” Josiah said.

  “Much better, sir. Thank you.”

  “I see William's put you to work.”

  “The boy's asked to work,” William Mayhew said. “He's been a great help to us.”

  “Least I can do after all you've done for me,” Christopher said.

  “You know we've been glad to have you with us, Christopher,” Mrs. Mayhew said, with total sincerity. She'd loved having a young man to care for, however temporarily. The keeper's house had felt like a home again.

  “Could we go inside?” Josiah asked. “I'd like to take a look at the arm.”

  “Of course,” William said. “Silly for us to be standing out here in the cold, isn't it?”

  Christopher glanced at Stella as the group walked into the warmth of the Mayhew home.

  “How are you, Mrs. Winslow?” he asked.

  “Fine, Mr. Casey. Thank you.”

  Stella smiled briefly at him but kept her eyes downcast.

  In spite of his genuine affection for the Mayhews, Christopher realized how much he had missed the sound of Stella's voice. His heart turned another somersault as he returned her smile.

  “All of you make yourselves comfortable,” Mrs. Mayhew said. “I'll fix some coffee.”

  “I need to go wind the clock,” her husband said. “If you'll all excuse me.”

  Mr. Mayhew and his assistant keeper needed to wind the “clock” that kept the lighthouse beacon rotating every 90 minutes in order to maintain the rotation. It was a grueling job that required constant vigilance even during the overnight hours. Remembering the night he had spent watching the rotating light after the Columbus had gone down made Christopher anxious to help with this task, but Mr. Mayhew had forbade it. Only appointed keepers were charged with the maintenance of the beacon.

  The Winslows nodded and took seats next to each other at the large oak table, while Christopher sat down across from them. Josiah stood up again almost immediately.

  “Let's see the arm,” he said, walking to Christopher's side.

  Christopher edged his chair out and presented his arm to Josiah, who quickly untied the sling. Christopher felt a dull ache as soon as his arm lost the tight stability of the sling.

  “Can you roll your sleeve up?” Josiah asked.

  “I can, yes.”

  Christopher gritted his teeth against the pain as he straightened out his arm and did as Josiah asked.

  Josiah nodded his approval as he looked at Christopher's bare arm.

  “The swelling's almost all gone. Bruising's lightened. Looks good.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How's the pain? Are you still taking the laudanum? I've got more for you if you need it.”

  “No, thank you. I'm managing without it.”

  Josiah pulled a chair up next to Christopher and sat down. He unwrapped the bandage from his hand to examine the gash.

  “Looks good here, too. The iodine helped ya.”

  Christopher stole a glance across the table at Stella. “Thanks to your wife's nursing skills, sir.”

  Stella blushed a bright shade of red, and Christopher regretted his comment as soon as he'd made it. He saw Josiah visibly stiffen at the mention of Stella.

  “I've no doubt of that,” he said, his voice now clipped and brittle.

  “The coffee's ready,” Mrs. Mayhew announced, breaking the tension that had once again crept into the room. “If the medical examination's over I'll pour you all a cup.”

  Josiah got up from his chair and pushed it underneath the table before he returned to his original seat next to his wife. “All done,” he said.

  Mrs. Mayhew set three cups brimming with hot coffee around the table before sittin
g down in her own chair.

  “So I've asked Christopher what his plans are now that he's recovering,” she said. “Not that William and I want him to leave us, mind.”

  “What are your plans, Mr. Casey?” Stella asked.

  Christopher looked directly across the table at Josiah. “I'd like to do something to pay you and your wife for the help you've given me, sir.”

  Josiah raised his eyes as he took a sip of coffee. “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  “You know that's not necessary. I'm a doctor and you were my patient, it’s as simple as that.”

  “But you went above and beyond,” Christopher said, wishing he could say the truth. That it was Stella who had gone above and beyond. He wisely kept that to himself.

  “Well what did you have in mind then?”

  “I'm not sure of that. I don't know this island and I'm surely not trained in your profession. But I'm a good worker..”

  “I can attest to that,” Mrs. Mayhew said.

  “I'll do whatever is needed, sir.” Christopher said.

  “He could help us with the farm, Josiah,” Stella said, surprising everyone around the table.

  “How do you mean, woman?”

  “He could help with the sheep... I could use some help shearing them when the time comes. And he can help take care of Grover.”

  “Grover?” Christopher asked, wondering if the Winslows had a child they hadn’t mentioned.

  “The horse,” Josiah said.

  “He could help you with trips to town too,” Stella said, turning to her husband and trying to keep the sense of pleading out of her voice. “You always say you wish you had someone to get supplies from town for you.”

  Josiah shook his head. “We don’t have room for guests at our house.”

  “We have spare rooms,” Stella said.

  “You mean the rooms that are meant for the children we don’t have?”

  A wave of pain washed over Stella’s face as she turned red and stared down at the table. Josiah had touched a nerve, and he knew it. Christopher was certain he’d done it intentionally.