by J A Whiting
Lin thought about the ghost and how he must have died on the island.
It’s no surprise he reached out to me for help. The man must have died alone, without the people he loved around him to offer comfort.
No wonder he wants to go home.
6
Lin had been working for two hours on the garden designs in Dr. Samuel Mitchell’s yard. Nicky was inside the antique Colonial watching Jeff start the kitchen renovations. The young couple had plans to meet under the shade tree to eat lunch together.
“Hello.” Dr. Mitchell rounded the corner wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. “How are things going?”
“I’m edging some beds to mark them out.” Lin leaned on her shovel and smiled at the doctor. “Leonard is tending to some of our other clients and will be here this afternoon with a load of loam for the new gardens.”
“I can’t wait to see it all done.” Dr. Mitchell glanced around the yard. “It’s a big change to move from a home you’ve lived in for over thirty years to somewhere different, but I’m happy I did it. I hemmed and hawed about it for years. When I saw this place, I decided the time was now.”
“And you’re happy with the decision?”
“I certainly am. I love being able to walk into town.” Mitchell looked around. “Where’s your dog?”
“He’s inside with Jeff.” A worried expression passed over Lin’s face. “Is that okay? We couldn’t find you or Roger to ask if the dog could go inside.”
“Of course. It’s nice to have a dog around. He’s a great little guy.” Mitchell said, “I don’t know where Roger is. Maybe he went into town for a few groceries.”
“Does Roger live here?”
Mitchell nodded. “He has a suite on the upper floor. Roger started out as a research assistant and over the years, his job has morphed into being a personal assistant as well as a professional one.”
After more conversation about the renovations and town news, Lin decided to ask the doctor about Canter Island. “Do you know if there’s a list of patients who were treated at the Canter hospitals in the late 1800s?”
Mitchell’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “The patients? The U.S. Health Service might have such records. Why do you ask about it?”
“I had a friend who had a relative who spent time at the hospital.” The statement wasn’t really a lie … it was just stretching the truth a little. Lin couldn’t tell the doctor her ‘friend’ was a ghost. “I wondered if there were records on the patients.”
“I’m not sure. You could make an inquiry.”
“Would they give that sort of information out? Wouldn’t I have to be a reporter or a medical examiner or something?”
“Not necessarily. Some records are open due to the Freedom of Information Act. You might give it a try.”
“When you were researching for your article on the island, did you learn anything interesting?” Lin asked.
The doctor listed some of the events on Canter that Lin already knew about.
Mitchell said, “What a history that place has. It’s like something out of a thriller novel. If ghosts walk the earth, there must be a crowd of them on that island.”
Lin’s face paled and she almost choked on the doctor’s comment. Clearing her throat, she managed to ask, “You visited the cemetery when you went to the island?”
“We did. My co-author and I walked around the town area and then we walked down to the cemetery. It was a cool, raw day when we were there. I must say it was depressing. There are over two hundred graves. The location is right at the edge of the ocean.”
A chill moved slowly over Lin’s skin.
“It was quite sad,” Mitchell went on. “So many of the dead had come from faraway with the hope of making a better life. Instead, they never left the quarantine station. They never made it to their destinations. Hopes and dreams dashed.”
“Smallpox wiped out most of the native population here in Nantucket and on Martha’s Vineyard,” Lin said. “Well, it’s speculated it was smallpox. It might have been yellow fever or some other such thing. Such devastating diseases.”
“At least there are no transmissions of smallpox anywhere in the world now,” Mitchell said.
“Are there markers or headstones on the graves on Canter?”
“There are granite markers, yes.”
“Are there names on the stones?” Lin asked.
“In some sections of the cemetery, there are names. Other graves are marked with a small granite marker with only a number on it.”
“Why a number? Why not a name?”
“I’m not sure about that, but in Provincetown, there is a small cemetery of smallpox victims who died in a pestilence house. That’s where people went when they became ill so as not to spread the disease throughout the town. Those graves are marked in a similar way, with the small stone markers bearing only a number on them. My co-author thinks leaving off the name was a way not to shame the remaining family members of a smallpox victim. It sounds silly now to think someone would be shamed because a relative succumbed to a disease, but the thinking was different back then.”
“Why would only some of the graves on Canter be marked by numbers?” Lin asked.
“There were distinct episodes of smallpox outbreaks. Perhaps, during one of them, the authorities thought it best to keep the names of the dead confidential. Maybe for the same reason that numbers were used to mark the graves in Provincetown … so family names wouldn’t be tainted, so family members wouldn’t be shunned.”
“But the people who died on Canter had families far away,” Lin said.
“Some, yes, but others had relatives in Boston, New York, Block Island, Nantucket, the Vineyard. Not all who died were immigrants. Remember, people from the area who took ill were sent to Canter. It wasn’t just a processing station for new arrivals.”
“That’s right.” Something about graves being labeled with numbers seemed so wrong to Lin. Like the last bit of dignity had been taken from the person, resting forever, nameless and unknown. “Does your researcher friend know more about the Canter cemetery?”
“I’m not sure. We’ve never discussed it in much depth.”
“Is your friend on the mainland?” Lin asked.
“No, she’s here on-island. She’s lived on Nantucket for decades,” Mitchell told her. “Her name is Joyce Parker.”
“Do you think she’d be willing to speak with me? Let me ask her some questions?”
“I’m sure of it.” Mitchell beamed. “Joyce is a lovely person. She’d be glad to meet with you. May I give her your contact information? She can get in touch with you?”
“Yes, please,” Lin’s heart swelled with hope that the woman would be able to shed some light on the questions she had. “I appreciate it.”
“I’m off for a quick shower and then to a meeting in town,” Mitchell said.
“You haven’t been back to Canter since you wrote the article?” Lin asked.
The doctor shook his head. “I haven’t. It’s been a few years since I was there. Well, I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mitchell said pleasantly.
Lin, Jeff, and Nicky sat in the shade of the tall maple and Lin opened the picnic basket and distributed what was inside. She’d made focaccia sandwiches with grilled vegetables, hummus, and cheese for her and Jeff and had brought some grilled chicken leftovers for the dog. Water was poured into a bowl for Nicky and she popped a bottle of sparkling water to pour into glasses. There was also cut-up fruit and some homemade granola.
“Wow,” Jeff admired the food. “I never eat this well when I pack my own lunch.”
Lin talked to her boyfriend about the ghost, the visitation the spirit made at Anton’s house, the gold doubloon, and the information she’d learned about the quarantine station on Canter. “Viv and I want to go back to visit the cemetery.”
“John and I can go along if you’d like.” Jeff offered.
“Viv thinks it would be hard to have John with us. He won’t
understand why we’re prowling around the gravesites. I suggested it was time to talk to him about my skills, but Viv is against it. She doesn’t think John will handle it well.”
Jeff didn’t say anything right away as he thought over how John might react. “I think it will be very hard to believe, but over time, he’ll be fine with it.”
“That’s what I said to Viv. She’s very nervous about the whole thing,” Lin said. “But we can’t keep it from John forever. Better to get it over with.”
“Give Viv a little time, then bring it up again. Tell her, if she’d like us to, the three of us can sit together to tell John about this ability you have.” Jeff smiled at Lin. “I think he’ll take it better than she expects he will.” Spooning some fruit into a small glass bowl, he asked, “Has the ghost shown up since you saw him at Anton’s?”
“He hasn’t.” Lin sprinkled granola over her fruit. “And I didn’t see him at Anton’s that night. I felt cold and I knew he was there, but he didn’t show himself. He just tossed that doubloon onto the deck.”
“Why do you think he did that? What was the purpose?”
“I don’t have a clue. The spirit doesn’t dress like someone who lived during the time of pirate activity on the east coast. He can’t be from the 1600s or the 1700s.” Lin took a sip of the sparkling water and then made eye contact with Jeff. “Remember there are legends of treasure being buried on Canter? Could this ghost have found some of it?”
Jeff looked shocked. “Is that what the doubloon is about? Is that why he tossed it onto Anton’s deck?”
“I can’t think of another reason why he would do it,” Lin said. “Can you?”
John had an idea. “What if the ghost worked on Canter Island. What if someone murdered him. Could the doubloon have belonged to his killer? Is he giving it to you as a clue?”
A shiver ran along Lin’s skin. “That never crossed my mind. I didn’t even consider the ghost might have been a worker on the island and not a patient.”
Nicky wedged in between Lin and Jeff and whined.
“We’ve barely begun to figure out this ghost. The case is more complicated than I thought.” Lin rubbed at the tension in her neck.
“You need more information,” Jeff said. “Like you said, you’ve only just started.”
“I hope this ghost can give us more clues.” Lin ran her hand over the dog’s soft fur. “Otherwise, we’re going to run into a brick wall … and I won’t be able to help him.”
7
Dr. Joyce Parker met Lin and Viv on the front porch of her ‘Sconset cottage. With a wide smile, the short, slim, silver-haired, seventy-year-old woman greeted the guests with warm handshakes and invited them into her sunroom at the back of the house where there was a sweeping view of the ocean from the home’s lot up on the bluff.
“What a magnificent view.” Lin moved around the room to look out of all the huge windows. “It must be incredible to watch a storm come in.”
Dr. Parker gestured to the chairs. “My grandfather owned this house and it was passed down to me. I often cannot believe my good fortune and I’m grateful every day that I get to live here.” The woman served drinks and then said with a smile, “My associate, Samuel, tells me you’re interested in Canter Island.”
“We were there on the weekend,” Lin said. “Our friend had a boat and we went out for the afternoon. We arrived at Canter and took the path from the beach up to where the main street once was,” Lin said.
Viv held a napkin under her glass to catch the condensation. “The main road is broken up and has weeds growing through the asphalt. There aren’t any buildings, only foundations are remaining. It’s like a ghost town.”
“Yes, when Samuel and I visited the island a few years ago, we saw the same state of ruin,” Joyce said. “It was oddly disconcerting to wander through the place. We had a map that told us what the foundations used to support. Canter was like a small city at its busiest.”
“We wanted to know more about the people who spent time there,” Lin said. “We’re interested in the late 1800s and early 1900s.”
“Do you mean the staff and workers or those who were quarantined on the island?” Joyce sipped from her glass of sparkling water.
“Well, both,” Viv replied. “What was it like to work at a quarantine station? What was it like to be someone on the way to make a new life in America who was stopped and quarantined?”
“Are there any books on the place?” Lin asked.
“There aren’t any publications on Canter alone,” Joyce told them. “However, the island is mentioned in many books and articles about the time, the diseases, the thousands who passed through the Cantor station, the work done there, the additions that were built, and the new buildings that went up. It was a bustling place for many years.”
“Is there anything written about the people that stayed there … either the patients in the hospital or the people who had to stay for observation?” Lin asked.
“Very little. You’ve heard about the health experiments done on the sailor volunteers? That’s what Samuel and I focused on for our article.”
Lin gave a nod. “We’ve heard about the experiments. Those that died from the disease are buried on the island?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Was everyone who died on the island buried in the cemetery? Were there any bodies that were taken elsewhere?”
“Everyone who died on Cantor was buried there. The cemetery is on the east side of the island. Did you go there when you visited?” Joyce asked.
“We didn’t have time,” Viv said trying to hide her dislike of the idea of visiting the old cemetery.
“We’d like to return though,” Lin added.
“The cemetery is quite close to the water,” Joyce said. “The storms from last winter and spring were very harsh. Samuel and I have worried that the storm tides may one day damage the cemetery.”
“Dr. Mitchell told us that some graves are marked with names and some are only marked with numbers,” Lin said.
“That’s correct. Did Samuel tell you my theory about that?”
“Yes,” Lin said. “The numbers instead of names were meant to guard the deceased’s privacy?”
“I believe that is the case,” Joyce said. “Back then there was a stigma from having had the disease or from being related to someone who had the illness. Understandably, there was a lot of fear swirling around when the disease was spreading. Families might be shunned if a relative came down with a fever or rash or fatigue. Keeping a death confidential prevented the stigma that came with association with a diseased individual.”
“It seems very harsh behavior,” Viv turned up her nose. “People were grieving, but were unable to reach out to others for comfort.”
“When the disease was spreading like wildfire, people were spooked, scared senseless. They did what they thought was necessary to protect themselves and the other members of the community,” Joyce pointed out.
“Who made the determination that someone needed to be sent to Cantor?” Lin asked.
“A doctor, in accordance with the law of the city or town,” Joyce said.
“Did people go willingly?” Vi questioned.
“Not always, but they did go in the end.” Joyce got up and went to a side table for two photo albums. “I have some pictures of what the island looked like when it was in full working order.” Setting the albums on the coffee table, she opened one to the first pages. “The main street cut right through the center of the island. At its height, there were three hospitals, several stores, a small bank, a post office, an inn and restaurant, an observation building, a barber, apartment buildings for the staff who worked on the island. It was a fully-functioning town.”
Joyce went through the album pointing out the buildings and their purposes.
“It’s fascinating,” Lin said, “to see what the place looked like so long ago and to compare the photos to how it is today.”
“Were patients able to communicate with t
heir family and friends?” Viv asked. “You mentioned a post office on the island.”
“Once the disease took hold, the ill person wouldn’t have the energy to write a letter, but sometimes a nurse or assistant would write down what was dictated to them by the patient. The letters were short, sending word that the illness was progressing and sending words of love back home.”
“How very sad.” Viv placed her hand on the side of her face.
“Those quarantined for observation were able to send and receive letters,” Joyce went on. “There are some of those letters in the Nantucket Historical Museum archives if you’d like to have a look.”
“Do you know if many people on Nantucket had relatives who went to Cantor?” Lin asked.
“The officials on Nantucket seem to have quickly removed anyone who showed symptoms of disease,” Joyce said. “I have a friend whose ancestor was sent to Cantor.”
“Did your friend’s relative survive?” Lin asked hopefully.
“He did not.” Joyce shook her head gravely. “I can give you my friend’s contact information if you’d like to speak with her. She knows a few things about the Nantucket citizens who were sent away.”
“That would be great.” Lin was pleased to hear there was another person who might have some knowledge of the quarantine station.
“There were people on Nantucket whose relatives were detained for observation on Cantor and were never released,” Joyce said. “Some of those people had waited years for their relatives to make the journey to finally join them here. But smallpox had other ideas and destroyed their plans for reunion by taking the life of the new arrival.”
Lin and Viv sat quietly for a few moments, and then Lin asked, “We’ve heard the rumors that pirates may have buried their treasure on Cantor. Have you heard anything about that?”
A smile crept across Joyce’s face. “I’ve heard those legends. And you know what? I don’t think the idea is that farfetched. But if you hope to find buried treasure on the island, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. If there was some bounty left on Canter, it must have been discovered by now. Ask my friend about it when you meet with her. See what she has to say on the subject.”
