The Ghosts of Aquinnah (4 page)

“
No, wait,” Hannah cried out. “Where did you go? Come back, please!”

Hannah slumped back in her chair and shook her head at her own foolishness. Who did she think could hear her? There was no one else in the room.

But there had been someone else at Aquinnah. The woman had been there again. But how had she just disappeared so suddenly? Where had she gone? Hannah was sure she’d been watching the screen the whole time. She didn’t think she had even blinked.

She refreshed the camera page and hoped for a change in the scene in front of her, but there was nothing on the screen but the driving rain and the blowing bushes. Hannah thought back to the moment the woman had stared directly at her and the two had made eye contact. Had that really happened? How could the woman have known that someone was watching her?

Hannah wondered if Jon was right and she really was losing her mind. She didn’t even want to think about the fact that the woman’s face hadn’t looked wet in spite of the pouring rain. And, for that matter, neither had her clothing. It was as if the rain had no effect on her whatsoever. But how could that be possible?

Hannah sighed and let out a deep breath as she got up from her chair and plopped down on her bed. She stretched out on her stomach, rested her chin in her hand, and stared at her computer. She could try to tell herself she was crazy, but she knew she hadn’t imagined anything she had seen on the webcam. She knew the woman had been there and had looked through the camera at her. She had purposely made eye contact with Hannah.

Had she been trying to connect with her? Send some kind of message? It had felt like it, but Hannah couldn’t get away from the fact that there was no way the woman could have known anyone would be watching her. It was impossible.

Hannah rolled over onto her back and watched the ceiling fan slowly rotating above her. The timing of the fan reminded her of the lighthouse beacon rotating around and around, illuminating the ocean and the cliffs throughout the dark night. In her mind, she could see the woman making her way through the darkness and staring out to the sea.

She sat up straight and made a decision. No matter how crazy it seemed, or what Jon or her friends said, she knew what she was going to do. Whoever that woman was, she had made contact with Hannah tonight. Somehow, through the camera, Hannah knew that’s what she had done. She was sure of it.

Hannah had to find out who she was and what she was doing at the lighthouse. She got up from the bed and went back to her computer to check the ferry schedule and make a reservation. She had no intention of wasting any more time. She was going to go back to Martha’s Vineyard and to Aquinnah.

****

1884

S
tella pushed back the green wool curtain and stared out the window of the Mayhew home at the steadily falling snow that had covered the cliffs in a downy blanket of white. Hearing a groan behind her, she let her hand fall and turned back towards the bed in the corner of the room. She walked to the bed and picked up a cloth from a basin of water on the bedside table before sitting down next to her patient.

She squeezed the excess water from the cloth and rested it gently on the young man’s forehead.

“
Mamaí,” he moaned, as his hand clasped sheets soaked with his own sweat. He continued to repeat the word as if it were a prayer, never once opening his eyes.

Stella wondered what he was saying, if anything. Perhaps it was merely the gibberish of a feverish man. But the word sounded a bit like “mammy” or “mommy” to her, and she couldn’t help but think that the man was simply crying out for his mother.

“
Poor thing,” she whispered as she took the now hot cloth from his forehead and soaked it again with cool water. She dabbed at his face and chest before returning the cloth to his forehead. She had no idea what else to do for him.

She got up from the chair and walked back to the window as the sounds of the fierce wind outside the lighthouse mingled with the soft moaning of her patient. The snow was coming down harder and it was now impossible to see the ocean beneath the cliffs through the curtain of white that covered the sky. There was no way Josiah would be making it back to Gay Head today.

The keeper’s brick house, which was damp and chilly even on a warm summer day, was freezing now. The winter cold seeped into the core of the cottage and chilled Stella to her bones. Stella shivered at the chill coming through the old window and picked up her blue shawl from the foot of her patient’s bed. She wrapped it around her tightly, grateful for the warmth it provided.

Stella had knitted the shawl herself but she’d never been able to knit as well as her mother. Her mind drifted back to another shawl of dark blue wool that her mother Alma Hammett had knitted for Stella when she was a child. And to the nor’easter that had swept over the island some years ago and left her family stranded inside their Chilmark farm.

She and her parents had gathered around the fireplace of their home, snuggling as close to each other as possible for warmth. Stella’s dog Maxwell curled at her ankles, warming her feet with his thick fur. She had wrapped her thick shawl around her and leaned against her father’s strong shoulder as he read aloud from the family Bible.

Stella could hear the deep and soothing voice of her father Charles as he read the ancient words of the Old Testament. She could see her mother get up from her chair to make coffee to warm the three of them as the fire crackled in the hearth.

The patter of ice hitting the window of the Mayhew cottage jerked Stella back to the present. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her and returned to the chair next to her patient, who had kicked his blankets off of his body and was now shivering from cold. But he was quiet at least, and appeared to be sleeping.

Stella pulled the blankets back up and tucked them gently around his shoulders. She listened to the howling wind outside and ached for the parents that haunted her memories. She chided herself for dreaming of the past. Her parents were gone and nothing she did could bring them back. She was a Winslow now, not a Hammett. And she was alone.

There was no one to keep her warm in the cold. There was no one to comfort her at all.

****

2013

H
annah leaned against the railing of the Island Home ferry and watched as the town of Vineyard Haven slowly came into view. She wore a navy colored trench coat that she belted tightly over her white jeans in order to shield herself from the wind that was an inevitable presence on the ferry, regardless of the season. She was grateful she had remembered to pull her long brown hair into a pony tail before she left her car on the lower level of the boat and ascended to the upper deck. No hair could withstand the onslaught of the ocean wind during the crossing from the mainland to the island.

She had slipped on her Indianapolis Colts cap for good measure and now pushed a strand of blowing hair from the rim of the hat. No matter how long she lived in Massachusetts, she'd never be a Patriots fan. The Colts were her team, which was yet another bone of contention between her and Jon. She tried to remember the last time they'd had a conversation that didn't involve some sort of argument and drew a blank.

Hannah pulled her cap down lower over her face and pushed all thoughts of Jon from her mind. She'd sworn to herself that she wouldn't think about him or their relationship while she was on the Vineyard and she needed to maintain her resolve. His openly scornful reaction to her trip was enough to set her teeth on edge, and she had better things to think about now. She was going to find out who the mysterious woman on the webcam was and she had no intention of leaving the island until she had an answer.

The ferry moved closer to the island, and Hannah could see the Stop & Shop grocery that greeted visitors as they drove off the boat. The famous Black Dog Tavern came into view, its iconic Labrador manning the docks. Seagulls glided alongside the boat in the hope that a few of the ferry's passengers would toss chunks of bread their way. As the horn sounded to alert motorists to return to their cars in preparation for departing the boat, Hannah took in a deep breath of the salty sea air. It felt good in her lungs.

Hannah buckled herself into her Honda Accord and, within minutes, left the Island Home behind and drove onto dry land. She drove onto Water Street and quickly made the turn onto State Road, heading towards Aquinnah and the Gay Head lighthouse.

Hannah was happy to be moving “up island,” which was actually to the south of Vineyard Haven, because it was as far as she could get from Oak Bluffs and still be on the island. She had no desire to be anywhere near the town that contained far too many memories of her parents. While she'd always loved the Aquinnah area, she wasn't nearly as familiar with it as she was with the towns of Oak Bluffs and neighboring Vineyard Haven. The southern tip of the island was removed from the crowds and noise of the towns and therefore much calmer, which was exactly what Hannah wanted.

Hannah drove along State Road and passed the overlook of beautiful Vineyard Sound. She could hear her father insisting they pull off and take photos of 10 year old Hannah in front of the view. No matter how many times he’d been to the island, he was always the tourist, and drove her mother and grandparents to distraction with his insistence on stopping at every tourist attraction the island had to offer. Hannah could hear her mother chiding him and quickly blocked the voices from her mind.

She considered stopping at Cronig's Market to get some supplies and food for her stay, but changed her mind as soon as she saw the store's crowded parking lot. In spite of the fact that Memorial Day was still a few weeks away, the island was already bustling with visitors in anticipation of the summer season. Hannah wanted no part of it.

Hannah had booked a room at the Hammett House, a bed and breakfast about ten minutes away from Aquinnah in the neighboring town of Chilmark. She had read up on the house before making her reservation, learning that it had originally been built in the early 1800s by the Hammett family, who were sheep farmers. The house had now been restored and painted a beautiful shade of pale yellow. The Hammett House was surrounded by rolling green farmland lined with charming stone walls, and its secluded country setting made it a perfect destination for honeymooners and anyone else looking for peace and quiet. It sounded like heaven to Hannah.

Within a half hour, she had arrived at Hammett House and checked in to her room. She quickly unpacked her bag and hung up her clothing before sinking down onto the four poster antique bed and running her hands over the blue and yellow patchwork quilt that covered it. The room was a perfect combination of past and present, and of 21
^st
century comfort mixed with 19
^th
century charm. Hannah was tempted to curl up on the bed and stay there, but she knew she couldn’t waste time. She hadn’t come here for a vacation.

Hannah splashed some water on her face and removed her cap long enough to run a comb through her windblown hair. She grabbed a bottle of water from the room refrigerator and a granola bar from her backpack, and headed back outside to her car.

She opened her windows and let the cool sea air engulf her car as she drove the winding road up to the cliffs. The sun was just beginning to sink towards the horizon, and Hannah knew she only had a few hours left to search for her mystery woman before nightfall. She hoped to find answers at the Gay Head lighthouse itself.

The parking lot next to the stairs that led to the cliffs overlook was crowded when Hannah arrived, and she considered herself fortunate to take the last empty space. Getting out of her car, she turned and stared at the stairs and the webcam that looked down on them. She wondered if someone was watching her now from the comfort of their home, just as she had watched the mystery woman from her Boston apartment.

Instead of going to the overlook, Hannah bypassed the crowds milling around the restaurants and shops and headed for the red brick lighthouse. She knew the lighthouse was open for tours during the early evening hours, and she hoped to find a tour volunteer to speak with. All of the overlook businesses were closed during the hours she had seen the woman at the cliffs, but she knew that lighthouse volunteers and maintenance workers could be found at the cliffs at odd times. With luck, someone else had seen her mystery woman and knew her identity.