by J A Whiting
“Now?”
“No time like the present. My laptop is in the kitchen.”
“Roger told us there isn’t much information about Captain Samuel Baker,” Viv said.
“Let’s see what we can find.”
The cousins moved to the kitchen island where Lin tapped at the keyboard of her laptop. She clicked on one of the entries that came up. “His name is mentioned in this article, but it doesn’t say much. It says Baker was an important man in town. This idea is supported from seeing his signature on many petitions, land records, and town documents of the time. Hmm. He must have been some sort of town official in addition to being a sea captain.”
Lin clicked on several other articles, but none of them offered any more information. “I have an idea. Let’s go see Anton.”
Anton Wilson, island historian, retired professor, and author was an expert on Nantucket history. A thin, wiry man in his early seventies, Anton was the one to see for answers to questions about the island’s past. He also knew Lin could see ghosts.
Lin, Viv, and Anton sat at the long wooden table in the large kitchen of the man’s antique Cape-style house eating slices of the pie Lin had brought along. Nicky and Queenie sat at the back door’s window looking outside.
Anton got up to place another log on the fire blazing in the hearth.
After Lin reported her experience in Robert Snow’s gallery, Anton became pensive.
“Have you talked to Libby about this?”
“Not yet, but I will,” Lin said.
Libby Hartnett was an older woman who had lived on-island all of her life. A distant cousin of Lin’s and Viv’s, she had paranormal skills of her own and had spent a good amount of time helping Lin understand the world of unusual abilities.
“This is something I’ve not heard about before,” Anton said, and when Lin heard that comment, her heart sank. “Being drawn to a painting is something new to my understanding of paranormal activity.”
With a touch of disappointment in her tone, Lin said, “I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on what I experienced.”
“I’m afraid not. It’s quite interesting.” Anton tapped his chin with his forefinger. “I’m eager to hear what Libby will have to say.” The historian pulled over his laptop. “Let me search my notes to see if I have anything on the sea captain. You said his name is Samuel Baker, correct?”
“That’s what Mr. Snow told us,” Lin confirmed.
“If I can’t find anything here, I’ll do a search on the desktop computer in my office. That’s where the majority of my research notes are kept.” As Anton stared at the screen waiting for something to pop up, he sipped from his teacup. “Ah, here we are.” Leaning closer, he read his notes for a few minutes. “Not much more here than what you already know. A sea captain, town official, landowner, Baker was the owner of several shops in town, purchased several buildings which he rented out. The house Mr. Snow owns now was built in 1805 for Captain Baker. He and his wife sold it in 1810 and the family moved to a larger home at the top of Main Street.” Anton sat back in his chair. “Plenty of money in that man’s bank account.”
Viv sliced another piece of pie and placed it on her plate. “Any idea why this sea captain would be staring out from his portrait at Lin?”
Anton adjusted his eyeglasses before standing up and going to get a heavy history book from the tall shelf at the far end of the kitchen. He brought it to the table and began flipping through the pages. When he found what he wanted, he poked the page with his index finger. “Here’s what I was looking for. The captain was a generous man. He gave money to set up a school and an infirmary on the island. He was known to help families down on their luck by providing them with a temporary apartment and hiring the head of the household to work on his ships, on the farms, or in the stores he owned. Baker was also a patron to the many artists living on the island.”
“That’s a lot more information than we had,” Lin thanked Anton.
Viv sat up. “Who was the artist who painted Captain Baker’s portrait?”
Lin told her the name. “Lincoln Patenaude. He’s a well-known artist of the time. Today his work commands very high prices.”
“Did Patenaude live on Nantucket?” Viv asked.
“I believe he lived on Cape Cod, but I don’t know the details. Maybe he spent some time here on the island.”
“Could the artist be the one who is trying to get your attention?” Viv questioned. “Maybe it isn’t Captain Baker at all who drew you to the painting. Maybe it’s actually the ghost of the artist who needs your help.”
Lin blinked, thinking about the possibility. Things are sure getting complicated.
3
Heaving the box of fresh, green garland out of the back of the truck, Lin hauled it over to the sidewalk in front of the white fence and began carefully removing the rope of greens. Leonard came around from the driver’s seat to help keep the garland from becoming tangled and the two landscapers began arranging it on the fence.
Tall, slender, and muscular with dark hair and a tiny bit of gray at his temples, Leonard Reed was in his mid-sixties. When Lin first met the man, she was certain he was a murderer, when in reality, Leonard was one of the kindest people she’d ever met. He could be gruff at times, but Leonard had a heart of gold, and he and Lin had become close friends. It still bothered her that she once thought such a terrible thing about him.
“It smells good, doesn’t it?” Lin loved the smell of fresh-cut evergreens.
“I can’t tell,” Leonard said. “My nose is all stuffed up.”
“I thought your cold was gone.”
“I thought so, too,” Leonard told his partner as he tugged on his winter hat. “Why is it so cold?”
“You sound like Viv. She doesn’t like the cold either.” Lin fussed with the red ribbon looping through the garland. “I thought the weather never bothered you.”
“The heat and humidity never bother me,” Leonard grumped. “I never said the cold didn’t get to me. I should have stayed in the bookstore with that dog of yours.”
“Nicky wanted to hang out with Queenie today so I let him stay with Viv.” Lin finished placing her end of the rope of greens and walked over to help Leonard attach the final red bow. “Maybe you need to dress warmer or I’ll have to leave you at the bookstore every day.”
“If I add any more layers, when I fall down, I won’t be able to get back up again.”
Lin chuckled at the thought of Leonard stuck on the ground like an overturned beetle.
“I think I need to go somewhere warm after the holidays,” Leonard said.
“That sounds like a good idea.” Lin went back to the truck with her partner to get the big, decorated wreath.
“I’ll never do it, though.”
“Why not? Things get slow for us at that time of year.” Lin fluffed the greenery of the wreath. “It’s a good time to take a vacation.”
Leonard only shrugged. “Tell me more about the sea captain painting.”
“There isn’t a whole lot to tell. We don’t know much about him. Anton is going to do some research for us.”
Leonard used a crate to stand on to fit the hanging wire onto the house’s front door. “I think Viv’s idea is a good one that the ghostly pull on you might be from the artist and not the subject of the painting.”
“I agree. I never thought of that.” Lin held the wreath up for Leonard to attach it to the wire. “It will be a difficult case. No ghost, just an odd sensation from a painting.”
“They’re all difficult cases in their own ways.” Leonard stepped back to get a better look at how the wreath sat against the door.
“It’s true. Each case is unique, and none are ever easy for me.”
“You’ll figure out what’s needed.”
Satisfied with the look of the decorations, Leonard and Lin took shovels out of the truck to clear the sidewalk and the steps of the few inches of snow that had fallen last night. When the work was finished,
they climbed back into the truck and poured mugs of hot tea from the thermos.
Gazing out through the windshield at the old homes lining the road, Lin said, “The town is like a perfect, winter wonderland. Everything looks so beautiful.”
“You really get sentimental around the holidays, don’t you, Coffin.”
Lin sipped from her mug. “I appreciate beauty.”
“I appreciate warm weather.”
“It will be back before you know it,” Lin told the man with a smile. “And when I’m complaining about the humidity, you can remind me about how cold it was this month.”
As Lin took some cookies from her lunch box and shared them with Leonard, the windshield fogged up from their breathing in the closed up truck and Lin used her mitten to clear it away.
Leonard cleared his throat. “I haven’t seen Marguerite for a while.”
Leonard’s wife, Marguerite, had died in a car accident on the mainland years ago. Like Lin, Leonard could see his wife’s ghost, but unlike Lin, Marguerite was the only ghost he had ever seen.
Lin turned quickly to the man and stared at him. “How long is a while?”
“Two days.”
“Has this happened before?”
“No.”
Lin’s heart began to race. “How long after she died did it take for Marguerite to show up?”
“A week … maybe ten days. Two weeks at the most.”
“And you’ve seen her every day since then?” Lin asked.
“Every day.” Leonard kept his eyes forward.
“Well, maybe she’s gone to visit someone else for a bit.”
Leonard gave Lin a look of disbelief. “Really? Who would she go visit?”
“I don’t know,” Lin said softly. “How long has it been since she died?”
“Twenty-one years. Six months. And two weeks.”
Lin’s heart clenched with sadness. “Maybe she’s sick of you.”
Leonard’s eyes widened at the comment, but he couldn’t help but smile. “It took her long enough.”
Reaching over to rest her hand on her partner’s arm, Lin said, “I couldn’t think of anything else to say so I tried to make you smile.”
“It worked.”
“Are you worried? Are you afraid she won’t come back?” Lin asked gently.
“The thought has crossed my mind.” Leonard took in a long breath. “She’s been hanging around with me for a very long time.”
Lin sat quietly, thinking.
“You’re the ghost expert,” Leonard said. “Why do you think Marguerite never crossed over?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know anything about ghosts. I can only see them. They never tell me anything. I don’t know how it works. I don’t know why some spirits cross and some hold back.”
“Can you guess why?” Leonard asked.
“It seems that when something traumatic happens, it can be cause for some ghosts to remain in the earthly plane of existence,” Lin said. “A violent death, an unexpected death, or an issue that remains unresolved seems to keep some spirits from finding peace.”
Leonard said, “And that’s why they come to you. So you can help them rectify the problem.”
Lin nodded.
“Do you have a sense of where they go when they leave?”
“No. I have no idea.”
Leonard’s face seemed to drop in disappointment.
Lin said softly, “But from what I’ve experienced watching the ghosts leave after I’ve helped them … I know where they’re going is good and perfect and full of joy.”
Leonard’s eyes brightened when he heard that. “So I don’t have to be worried about Marguerite? If she doesn’t come back, she’ll be okay?”
“I’m sure she’ll be more than fine.” Lin held Leonard’s eyes. “But will you be okay if she doesn’t come back?”
“Can Marguerite hear what I’m saying to you?”
“I don’t think so. I think the ghost has to be present to hear us talking,” Lin said.
The big, gruff man’s eyes misted over and he looked out the driver’s side window. “For me, if she doesn’t come back, it will be like she died all over again.”
Lin’s heart sank into her stomach and it took a few moments before she could speak with an even voice. “I don’t think she’s gone for good. I bet you’ll see her in a day or two.”
Leonard turned back to Lin. “Why do you think so?”
Not wanting to mention the reason that was bouncing around in her head, she said, “Because Marguerite has never gone off before. She’ll be back, and when she returns, why don’t you ask her where she went.”
Leonard made a face. “You know she doesn’t talk to me, Coffin.”
“Maybe she can mime her answer.”
Leonard sighed and rolled his eyes, but Lin knew he appreciated her lame attempts to make a difficult subject easier.
“It can be hard,” the man said in almost a whisper.
“Not having her around?”
“Well, yes, that. But it can be hard having her in the house, not being able to have a conversation with her, not being able to go anywhere with her, not being able to hold her.”
“Have you always felt that way?” Lin asked.
Leonard scrunched up his forehead in thought. “No. It’s kind of a recent thing, I guess. I love having her in the house with me, but I never realized how sad I feel inside … because I miss the way things used to be with her.”
“It’s understandable,” Lin told him gently.
“Why do you think Marguerite stayed here for so long?” Leonard asked. “Why do you think she didn’t cross over? Was it because of the way she died? Was it because of the car crash? The unexpectedness of it?”
“That could be why,” Lin said, but kept what she thought was the real reason unspoken. It’s because she loves you. It’s because she wants to make sure you’ll be okay without her.
Lin thought back to the way Leonard was when she first met him … which happened to coincide with the anniversary of Marguerite’s death. Unclean, miserable, rude, often drunk. The Nantucket police knew Leonard suffered every year during the month of his wife’s death. They were kind to him, sometimes taking him into custody so he could safely sleep off his overuse of alcohol. When the month had passed, Leonard would clean up and behave himself, but he carried a heaviness inside of him all the year round.
Lin had witnessed a change in the man ever since they’d become business partners. The two had formed a strong bond, not anything romantic, but a deep friendship and caring for one another. Leonard had even sensed several times when Lin was in mortal danger and had rushed to her aid.
He’d had his teeth fixed, he’d taken an interest in baking again, and he’d returned to his old friends and started socializing with them on a regular basis.
Maybe Marguerite sees the changes in her husband. Maybe she senses that Leonard will be okay. Maybe she thinks she can finally let go and cross over.
“We’re losing the light, Coffin. We’d best get to the next client or we’ll be working in the dark.” Leonard started the truck’s engine and pulled away from the curb.
Lin glanced at her friend with a worried expression, afraid of what might become of him should his ghost-wife decide to leave this earthly plane for good.
Oh, Marguerite. I hope you know what you’re doing.
4
The sun was barely up when Lin met Libby Hartnett in the café of Viv’s bookstore to discuss the strange happening with the portrait in Robert Snow’s gallery. Libby had bright blue eyes and silvery-white hair cut short around her face. She was no-nonsense, quick, and intelligent. Lin wasn’t sure how old Libby was and would never ask, but she guessed the woman to be in her late seventies only because Libby talked about events on the island that someone that age would know.
Lin had finished telling her distant relative what had happened when she and Viv were in the gallery the other evening. “It was the oddest sensation. I can only d
escribe it as a mesmerizing pull. I could barely take my eyes off the portrait.”
Libby held her mug between her hands and because her expression was so hard to read, Lin thought the woman might be having a difficult time believing the story.
Lin was about to say something, when Libby began to speak. “This is an interesting happening. Unusual, but not unheard of.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Lin asked, “Am I feeling drawn to the portrait because of Captain Baker or because of the artist, Lincoln Patenaude?”
“In cases like these, I’ve not heard it to be because of the artist. It has always been the subject of the artwork that has been behind the communication.”
“Okay.” Lin considered the woman’s words. “Then we should cross Patenaude of the list. It must be Captain Baker who is reaching out to me.”
“Keep Patenaude in the back of your mind,” Libby said. “Just because I haven’t heard of the artist being the initiator, it doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen. However, I would bet Captain Baker is the cause of your experience.” After taking a sip of her coffee, she asked, “You know there have been many reports of ghost activity in that house?”
Lin’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”
“Some think it’s Captain Baker who wanders the home, but others think it must be the spirit of a different resident because Baker only lived in the place for five years or so,” Libby said.
“Does length of time in a house matter?” Lin questioned. “I thought a ghost lingered for other reasons.”
“How long someone lived in a house can play a role. A ghost often feels more attached to a home if he or she lived in the house for a longer period of time, but it’s only part of the story. One must consider what happened in the house that made the ghost want to remain,” Libby said. “I myself don’t think length of time in a home is a large part of why a spirit doesn’t cross to the other side.”
“What sort of activity has been reported at the Snows’ house?” Lin asked.
“The usual things. I haven’t heard that the ghost is visible, but I don’t know everything about the residents’ experiences. There are inexplicable noises, objects being moved, a chill in the air, the sensation that someone is near, but no one is seen. It goes way back. Anton might know more.”
