The Ghosts of Aquinnah (30 page)

Hannah returned to the newspaper desk and asked for the films of the Vineyard Gazette from the latter half of 1884. She took the bundle of microfilm and wearily returned to the reader. She was definitely going to need reading glasses before this was all over. She felt sure overexposure to microfilm could bring on blindness to anyone unfortunate enough to have to read it regularly.

She browsed through the Gazette articles, yawning as she skimmed stories on church dinners, sewing circles, and the abundance of strawberries available that year at the Tisbury Farmer's Market. Just when she was about to give up, she came upon a small article about Stella and another name she recognized, the lighthouse keeper William Mayhew. Hannah remembered that the keeper and his wife had tried to come to Christopher's aid and were seemingly the only people on the island who believed in his innocence.

Hannah rubbed her eyes and sat back to read. She knew she had finally found what she was looking for.

****

1884

S
tella rolled over in the bed and stared with bloodshot eyes at the sun shining through the window. She squinted in the light and pulled the thin blanket over her face to cover her eyes. She had no interest in seeing the dawn of another hopeless day.

She loved being in the bed, anyway. It was the same bed Christopher had lain in while she had cared for him after the shipwreck. Stella felt as if she was somehow still close to him here in this bed. While she knew Mrs. Mayhew had long since washed the bed linens, she still imagined they carried the faint scent of Christopher in their folds.

It was ironic to realize now that Christopher would have been much better off if the sea had simply swept him away from the wreck of
The City of Columbus
and he hadn't survived to find himself on the shores of Martha's Vineyard. It would have been far kinder to the man in the end had he never come to this place. Or more pointedly, never come to her. She had cared for him and dressed his wounds only to bring him right to his death, as surely as if she had held the gun that killed him herself.

Stella rolled over again and faced the wall. She didn't want to think of all that anymore. She couldn't bear to see the torches burning in the night sky or to hear the screams and the deafening blast of the rifle. She longed to banish the stench of blood and gunpowder from her nose.

Mr. and Mrs. Mayhew had been kind enough to allow her to stay with them after the rest of the island had turned on her and branded her a whore and a strumpet. She still flinched when she recalled the looks her neighbors had given her when she had told the truth about Christopher's murder and the vigilante actions of Zebediah Johnson and his gang of monsters. If Mr. and Mrs. Mayhew hadn't intervened, she had no doubt that she would have been sent to the mainland and locked up in a psychiatric asylum after she had screamed and collapsed on the courtroom floor in hysteria when Johnson had been set free.

She was grateful to the Mayhews, but she knew she couldn't stay in their home much longer. She couldn't abuse their hospitality and kindness, although she knew they would never ask her to leave. Regardless, she knew it was time for her to go.

Stella finally sat up and forced her legs off the bed and her feet onto the floor. She stood up and shuffled forward, feeling as if each small step sapped her energy and threatened to pull her down into a heap on the floor. She finally made it to the bureau across from the bed and dressed in her white cotton dress. She tied her bonnet around her neck and let it hang down her back. She would want to put that on later when she was out in the wind, but there was no need to fasten it around her head now. Feeling a chill, she pulled her navy blue cape across her shoulders before heading out of the room and towards the Mayhew kitchen.

Stella hoped to find the kitchen empty when she entered, but instead saw Mrs. Mayhew standing at her stove. She was stirring something in a pot, with her back to Stella. She turned around when she heard Stella's footsteps behind her.

“
Good morning, Stella. Would you like some oatmeal?”

Stella felt sure that she would vomit if she ate anything, but she couldn't let that show. “That would be lovely, Mrs. Mayhew. Thank you.”

“
Take a seat, child. I'll get you some coffee too. You can feel autumn coming in the air today.”

“
Where's Mr. Mayhew this morning?”

“
He's up in the lighthouse cleaning the windows. Got an early start today.”

Mrs. Mayhew brought a cup of steaming hot coffee and a bowl of oatmeal to the table and set both down in front of Stella. She took the seat next to her and sat down herself.

“
Please eat something, Stella.”

Stella nodded. “Of course. I can't resist your cooking, you know that.”

Mrs. Mayhew knew the girl was lying. She had done nothing but push food around on her plate or in her bowl for days now. Her cheeks were gaunt and the bones of her arms were turning into sticks.

“
I'm worried about you, you know that. You've lost too much weight.”

Stella couldn't help but think that she'd lost much more than weight. She'd actually lost everything. And everyone. But she managed a feeble smile.

“
I don't want to worry you,” she said. “I'm fine, I promise.”

Stella took comfort in the fact that she wasn't actually lying to the only woman who had shown her kindness since this whole ordeal had begun. She would be fine soon. She was going to make sure of that.

“
Have you thought about what you're going to do next, child? Not that you're not welcome here, of course. You know you have a home here with us as long as you need it.”

“
I know that, and I'm grateful. But I'll be moving on soon. I don't want to be a burden to you.”

“
You're not a burden to us. Not at all.”

“
Not yet, maybe. But I dare say that will change if I wear out my welcome.”

“
That won't happen.”

Stella took a spoon full of oatmeal and forced herself to swallow it. No, it won't, she thought.

Mrs. Mayhew got up from the table. “I've got some laundry to do so I'll get to it. There's more oatmeal in the pot. Eat as much as you want, please.”

“
I will, thank you.” Stella glanced out the window at the sun shining over the water. “It looks like a beautiful day. I think I'll take a little walk and get some fresh air after I finish.”

“
That sounds like a good idea. Get outside and get some color back into those cheeks of yours. I dare say you should take Grover and go for a ride. It would be good for both of you.”

Stella watched Mrs. Mayhew leave the room and felt tears stinging the corner of her eyes. She knew what she had planned would upset both the woman and her husband. But it had to be done. And maybe they would never even know exactly what happened.

She let out a breath and pushed the uneaten oatmeal away from her. Standing up from the table, she took both the bowl and her cup and returned them to the sink. She cleaned both and put the wet dishes in the drying tray on the sink. Taking a look around the kitchen, she pulled her cape around her shoulders and walked outside to the cliffs.

The wind hit her immediately and blew her hair back from her face. She pulled up her bonnet, capturing her hair inside it, and tied the strings under her chin. Pulling her cape more tightly around her shoulders, Stella walked to the path that led down to the shore. She tried not to look at the ground as she got to the path, as she knew she would see Christopher's blood spilled all over the sand in spite of the fact that it had been washed away by a torrential rainstorm on the day after the murder. For Stella, it was always there.

She stopped at the path and glanced back towards the lighthouse, where she could see Mr. Mayhew on a ladder scrubbing the glass of the windows. He wasn't looking in her direction, and she doubted he would have noticed her either way. She blew a kiss towards the house and murmured a special goodbye to Grover. With that, she quickly turned and headed down the path.

Her feet sunk into the sand of the beach and she could feel drops of water from the high waves splashing her face. She walked down to the shoreline and let the waves hit her, standing perfectly still as they crashed around her and drenched her up to her waist. Stella shivered from the freezing cold water but continued to stand still and stare out at the horizon.

She pictured Christopher hanging on to the rigging of
The City of Columbus
as it sunk into the water directly in front of where she was now standing. He had told her how he had looked up at the lighthouse beacon and counted the seconds each time it rotated and appeared again. The beam shining through the darkness had been the one thing that had given him hope through that long and dark January night. He had held on to that beacon.

For Stella, there was no beacon. Nothing to give her any hope. She knew that was gone, just as her home, her family, her sheep, her dog, and her Christopher were all gone. There was nothing left for her.

Stella let out a deep and cleansing breath and moved forward on the sand, ignoring the icy water that now splashed up to her shoulders. She wondered if Christopher was waiting for her out in the sea where his dead body had been so ruthlessly tossed. She thought of the day she had taught him how to shear sheep and smiled as she remembered the sound of his laughter when the sheep knocked him to the ground. Perhaps his spirit would be out beyond the waves, there to welcome her to another world, and she would hear that laughter again. The promise and possibility gave her renewed strength to keep going as wave after wave crashed over her and drenched her face and bonnet. The strength of each successive wave threatened to knock her down.

Stella put her arms out to steady herself. She kept walking.

****

2013

“
S
o she killed herself?” Tim asked.

“
Yes. She walked into the ocean at Aquinnah and drowned.” Hannah shook her head as she recalled what she had read. “The lighthouse keeper was washing the windows of the lighthouse when she did it. He saw her walking forward into the waves. He ran down the stairs and out of the lighthouse, yelling for her to stop, but by the time he got down to the beach she was long gone. He saw the final wave knock her over and sweep her away as he was running down the trail that led to the beach.”

“
I guess if he hadn't seen her, no one ever would have known what happened to her.”

“
No, I don’t think they would have. Her body was never found. And honestly, there wasn't much coverage of what happened anyway. I think the islanders wanted to put the whole scandal behind them.”

Tim sat back in his chair at the Skylight restaurant and frowned. “What a terrible story.”

“
Isn't it? And to think she was only 20 years old. Such a waste.”

“
I guess she must have felt like she didn't have anyone left. Or anything.”

“
Which was true, really. Except for the lighthouse keeper and his wife, it seems like the whole island turned on her. And that was the only home she'd ever known.”

“
Shitty world sometimes, isn't it?”

Hannah nodded. “I guess it always has been.” She took a sip of her wine and leaned back in her chair. “As bad as I feel for Stella though, Christopher is the one I feel most sorry for. Talk about getting screwed left and right.”

“
Yeah, if he came here in the first place, his life in Ireland couldn’t have been anything to write home about. Then he finds himself in a shipwreck. Only to survive and end up murdered for a crime he didn’t commit.” Tim shook his head. “Poor guy couldn’t catch a break.”

“
I think I feel bad too because he’s so anonymous. There’s a picture of Stella and Josiah, and even of the lighthouse keeper. But Christopher’s a complete mystery. We don’t even know what he looked like. He’s just a name known for nothing but supposedly killing Josiah Winslow.”