by Joyce Lavene
“Maybe so.” I realized he wasn’t empathizing with me so much as wanting my full attention.
“What plans have we for finding the magistrate’s diary?”
“I don’t have any plans right now except to take a hot shower, put on my pajamas and have a cup of hot chocolate. I might even watch some TV.”
We crossed Duck Road together, the pirate floating beside me. Traffic was back to normal—a car honked its horn at me—and not because the driver knew me.
“Throw some rum into that mix and I might join you,” Rafe said with a laugh.
“I don’t think so, but thanks for the offer. This is private time, the kind where you go off and do whatever ghosts do.”
“Have I mentioned that I’m willing to show you where I buried my treasure?”
“No. You still have a treasure?”
“Aye! And a right good bit of booty it is. Enough to keep a girl in geegaws for a long time. Interested?”
Chapter 34
“This is for finding the diary, I guess?” I wondered if he thought a bribe would make a big difference. Of course—he was a pirate—he’d think to grease my palm.
“It is,” he admitted. “Ye don’t seem to be motivated much to the task. I thought my presence was onerous enough, but that hasn’t done it. What about treasure? Aye, that’s the stuff dreams are made of. It means little to me now.”
“I suppose not.” We had reached a bend in the road that was protected from prying eyes by thick bushes. I felt comfortable looking at him as I spoke. “I’m sure anyone would like to have your treasure—and I’m your descendant, so I guess I’m entitled to it. But I can only do what I can do. The world won’t stop turning for me to find the diary in the next five minutes. I’m doing the best I can.”
I realized that I was crying during that last part and started walking faster toward home. I didn’t want anyone to see me this way.
Rafe followed me—there was no getting rid of him. “Women! A man can’t say what’s on his mind without a woman blubbering all over. My own blood relation is a watering pot. And you’re not even angry with me—it’s your lover that’s bothering you. He told you your pa is no good and that hurt your bloody feelings.”
“Go away!”
“I will when you take care of my need.”
“I told you—I’ll handle it tomorrow. Believe me, a treasure is nothing compared to getting rid of you.”
“Stop your bawlin’! How can you be related to me?”
I took out my cell phone as though I were taking out a pistol. “If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the witch. She’ll send you away without the diary.”
“Ye made your point. Good night to you then.” And he was gone.
I sat down on the front stairs leading up to the house and stared at the night that was closing in around me.
I hadn’t wanted to fight with Kevin about Danny. Would he even let him stay at the Blue Whale now? If the universe was trying to show me that it was better to tell the truth than to lie—it was doing a poor job of it.
“Dae?” Gramps called as he opened the door behind me, golden light spilling out into the darkness. “I thought someone was out here. Old Roger was barking up a storm. Are you okay?”
Old Roger was the next-door neighbor’s German shepherd. He’d been faithful in announcing visitors to our home for the last ten years.
“Fine.” I wiped my eyes and tried to stop sniffling. “I thought you were going to be late.”
“I thought so too. But Tim swung by—looking for you—and he offered to help me get the tree out from in front of the garage. I took him up on it. Are you coming inside?”
“Yes. We have to talk, Gramps.”
“Okay. Let me put some coffee on. It sounds bad.”
Over fresh coffee and stale cinnamon rolls, I told him everything, from watching my father at the bar a few times each week to letting him stay at Missing Pieces. I didn’t know what the universe would do to me in this case, but I knew telling Gramps was the right thing to do.
When I was finished and had stopped crying—maybe Rafe was right about me being a watering pot—I waited to hear what Gramps had to say. He was silent for a long time, thinking it over while he chewed and swallowed. His blue eyes didn’t give anything away.
This was how I remembered him from when I was a teenager. My mom would ask him to speak to me about some escapade or another—like the time I went to a beach party I was forbidden to go to.
He’d come home, change his uniform for a T-shirt and old jeans. Then we’d sit at the table until we talked about whatever it was. And we’d all feel better. I hoped we’d all feel better this time too.
“Do you like what you’ve seen so far?” he finally asked after a swallow of coffee (there was no other way to get the dry cinnamon roll down).
“Do I—what?”
“Your father. Now that you’ve met him and talked to him, do you like what you’ve seen of him?”
It was a difficult question to answer, and one I wasn’t expecting. “I don’t really know him that well yet.”
“Come on, Dae. I’ve heard you make decisions about people much faster than this. Don’t bail on me. You’ve told the truth. I thank you for that. Tell me the truth now—do you like him? Do you think he’s a good person?”
“I think he’s had a hard life,” I ventured in my father’s defense.
“He comes from a well-to-do family. Never had to work a day in his life—until they finally disowned him after he’d been in and out of jail a lot. He had a life you could only dream of.”
“Okay. Not a hard life financially, but maybe a hard life in other ways. Money isn’t everything. You taught me that.”
“Dae, I know you love him—or at least you think you do right now. He’s your father and you’ve always felt cheated because you didn’t know him. But he’s not a good person. He’ll only leave you to ruin like he did your mother.”
“You didn’t give him a chance to do anything else,” I accused.
He nodded. “Guilty as charged. I protect the people I love, and I won’t apologize for it.”
“I don’t think I need that kind of protection anymore, Gramps. I can make my own decisions about people.”
“How does Kevin feel about him? I’m assuming he knows the truth. Did you tell Danny yet that he’s your father?”
I got up from the chair and calmly put my cup in the sink. “Kevin feels the same way you do—all based on Danny’s past record. And no, I haven’t told Danny yet that he’s my father. I thought I should get to know him first before I spring it on him.”
“At least you’re trying to use the brains God gave you. I’m glad about that.”
“But you know I’ll have to tell him sometime. I don’t think you and Kevin give him credit for not being the same person he was thirty years ago. You’re both wrong about him, and I’ll prove it to you.”
“Please don’t do anything foolish, honey. You don’t have to prove anything. Don’t get involved in his life. You’ve made a wonderful home for yourself. People like and respect you. Don’t throw all that away on someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
There was nothing more to say here either. For Gramps, as with Kevin, actions would speak louder than words. And yes, I hadn’t come completely clean about my father. I’d left out the part about the makeup case. I had no doubt Kevin would enlighten Gramps, but he wasn’t going to hear it from me.
Maybe by that time, Gramps would begin to see that Danny was just someone struggling through life. He wasn’t a bad person—he had issues that I felt sure time and love would solve.
“I love you, Dae,” Gramps said as he stood up and hugged me. “I hope you know that. We haven’t been so close lately. I miss that. Please don’t shut me out of your life.”
I hugged him back. He was wrong about Danny, but I still loved him too. “I’m sorry it’s been so weird lately. Strange things have been happening.”
“Such as?”
&nb
sp; “Did you know the Bellamys are related to Rafe Masterson?”
“The pirate?”
“You got it.”
“How did you find out?”
I laughed, glad that I’d told him most of the truth and cleared the air between us even though doing so had been hard. “I think that’s going to take another cup of coffee.”
Chapter 35
Gramps and I talked until midnight about the pirate ghost and the things he’d told me about the past. It was as easy as ever talking to Gramps—about that subject. I tried to get Rafe to appear and do some little trick to show he was there, but no such luck.
We didn’t touch on my father again. That was good. I realized that I didn’t want to exclude Gramps from my life—I just wanted to include Danny too. My optimistic heart believed that could happen.
It was raining the next morning—a definite hindrance to getting Duck back in order. The maintenance people would have to sit around and wait for the weather to clear. But every Banker knows to expect bad weather this time of year.
I put on my rain poncho and boots and headed for the Duck Historical Museum early, when I’d be most likely to catch our town historians there. They met for tea and cookies several times a week to debate Duck history. I needed to pick their brains if I was going to have a chance of finding the magistrate’s diary.
I wondered how I’d managed to escape Rafe’s company this morning. I kept expecting him to pop up. I knew he was still here somewhere. Who knew that pirates pouted?
I couldn’t help glancing next door at the Blue Whale as I reached the museum. Kevin’s pickup was gone, but I saw Danny outside working on replacing glass in the lower-floor windows. He didn’t see me, so I got to watch him for a while. I thought about his age—he had to be in his fifties. It had to be hard for him to be thrown out on the streets. At least Kevin had let him stay. I was happy about that. I wasn’t looking forward to talking to Kevin again just yet. In some ways, I was glad he wasn’t home.
I could hear our local historians arguing inside the museum before I even opened the door. Mrs. Euly Stanley was making a point as she poured herself another cup of tea. Mark Samson was eating a blueberry muffin, and Andy Martin was sitting back in his chair shaking his head.
“I’m telling you the Andalusia sank in 1721, not 1720. All my research points in that direction,” Andy said. He looked up when he saw me and smiled broadly. “Mayor! What brings you out this early?”
“Good morning, Dae,” Mrs. Stanley said. “We have plenty of goodies here. Please help yourself.”
“I guess I’m the only one who knows what you’re after.” Mark grinned and got up for another muffin.
“Sit down, Mayor,” Andy said. “Tell us about your mystery.”
I took a cup of tea and a muffin, then sat down with the group. “I thought Mark might have told you already. I’m looking for information about the magistrate who condemned Rafe Masterson to death.”
Mrs. Stanley sat down beside me and sipped her tea. “You know, I remember hearing about that.”
“From me,” Mark said. “I told you all about the documents I’d found. The magistrate’s name was William Astor. Some people have called him the hanging judge—but he was a lot worse than that. Dae is helping me prove my theory that Masterson was hanged for something besides piracy.”
I didn’t remember saying that I was helping him—but whatever worked.
“That’s crazy,” Andy said. “Everybody wants to rewrite history. We all know Rafe Masterson was one of the worst pirates in the area. He cursed Duck. How much worse can you get than that?”
“Technically, he might’ve cursed the area, but Duck wasn’t officially here yet,” Mark reminded him. “The only thing worse than rewriting history is believing mythology is history.”
Before this got into a daylong argument, I stepped in to smooth the waters. “What I’m really looking for is one of William Astor’s descendants.”
“What for, dear?” Mrs. Stanley asked.
“I’d like to find his diary.” I nodded at Mark, who gave me a secret smile. “I’ve heard that all of his deeds are faithfully recorded in that diary. I’m sure there would be some interesting historical notes, if we could find it.”
Mrs. Stanley sipped her tea and carefully dabbed a napkin on her lips. “I don’t know exactly who that would be, but we could certainly trace down the Astor lineage. Maybe that would give you some idea. Though it’s likely whoever it is doesn’t live here anymore. You know young people tend to leave.”
“I know.” It was something everyone talked about. Mad Dog Wilson was using it as part of his campaign for mayor. He said we needed manufacturing jobs to keep young people in Duck after they graduated from high school. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see young people stay in Duck—I just didn’t know where we’d put manufacturing companies.
“But we could check anyway,” Andy said. “It would be fun. And you never know, one of the old magistrate’s descendants could be here. It happens. Look at us. All of us were born here.”
“I agree,” Mrs. Stanley said. “I’ll start calling members of the historical society today. Someone in the group is bound to know something—even if it’s that the magistrate’s descendants aren’t here anymore.”
“This is exciting!” Mark got to his feet. “This information could really help with my Rafe Masterson project too. At least I’d know if he was hanged for legitimate crimes. Once I get all the information together, I plan to publish.”
Andy made a scoffing sound. “Who would want to publish that? I don’t think a publisher would be interested in something that happened here a couple hundred years ago. They aren’t even interested in what’s happening here now.”
“Nonetheless,” said Mrs. Stanley, interrupting. “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Mark. Even if we only sell copies locally. We could have copies here at the museum.”
While they were discussing the merits of publishing Mark’s work, I noticed a box of various bottles on a side table. They were dirty and unsorted. They had to be a new find for the museum. Something in that box seemed to be calling to me. It was almost as though I could feel it urging me to pick it up.
“Are these for a new exhibit?” I got up and went over to the box.
“Yes, well, maybe.” Mrs. Stanley joined me. “It’s part of some things Martha Segall had on her porch from her father’s old house. You know he’s in sorry shape, bless his heart. She had to put him in a nursing home in Manteo. She and her brother cleared out his house and put it up for sale. They had an auction, but no one wanted this stuff. She thought the museum might want it.”
“I hope you told her we have plenty of old Mason jars and whatnot,” Andy said. “People can’t just drop off their old junk here because they don’t have anything else to do with it.”
“May I take a look?” It was all I could do not to push past her and grab the box to examine it.
“Of course,” Mrs. Stanley said. “If something looks interesting to you, Dae, please take it as a donation to your shop. We already have a lot of old bottles.”
I heard her as though she were talking from the other end of a long tunnel. I reached for the dusty bottle that was calling me. It had a faint rose tint to it beneath the grime. I realized it was a perfume bottle with a top that was shaped like a rose.
As soon as it touched my hand, I was transported back to where it was made—somewhere in England. It came here as part of a trousseau, but never made it to the wedding. Pirates boarded the ship and took everything before lighting the ship on fire.
The glass perfume bottle lay in a trunk, unused for several years until it was given to a woman with red hair and a rosy complexion. Her husband leaned over to kiss her bare shoulder as she used the stopper to apply her perfume. I could see both their faces joined in the mirror on her vanity.
I came back to myself with a rush of awareness and a weakness in my knees that threatened to send me to the floor. The woman in the mirror was Mary
Astor—the wife of the magistrate. The same magistrate who had hanged her first husband—Rafe Masterson.
Chapter 36
I gasped as I realized what had happened. Looking into Mary’s beautiful face in the mirror—it was as if I were Mary, with the rose-colored perfume bottle still in my hand.
I knew everything. It all came to me in a wild surge of emotion that lay locked behind her brilliant green eyes.
The magistrate had given her a choice—she could become his wife, lovingly and faithfully, or she could watch as Rafe was horribly tortured in front of his children and the people of the community. Mark was right when he’d said hanging was the least of the things they could do to a pirate.
“She loved him,” I said out loud on a sob without really knowing what I was saying. “She begged for mercy and gave herself to him.”
“What did you say, dear?” Mrs. Stanley asked.
I realized where I was, looking at all the surprised faces around me.
Mary had been the reason the magistrate had decided to get rid of Rafe. William Astor had fallen in love with her. He wanted her and was willing to kill Rafe to have her.
This was a whole new spin on Rafe’s life. He was telling the truth about being a changed man. I felt that from Mary. He had been a good husband and father. She had loved him.
“Are you all right, Dae?” Mark asked. “You’re as white as the proverbial sheet.”
“Yes! Sit down, Mayor.” Andy pulled out my chair. “You do look a mite peaked.”
I did as they suggested, drank tea and nibbled on a muffin while they argued again about the date the Andalusia sank—all the while I still felt Mary’s pain at losing Rafe. They’d been happy together and had looked forward to raising their children together.
But she knew she had no choice. She’d stood, unemotional, with her sons beside her as she watched them hang Rafe for a crime he didn’t commit. The night before, she’d begged for mercy for her husband—allowing the magistrate to do terrible things to her in exchange for his leniency.
