Betty picked right up on the story line. “However, Harold’s house has a lot more detail work, both inside and out, so it cost a lot more to build.”
“If you’re done with your lecture, your next group’s here,” Will said, pushing the door all the way open.
“I guess that’s all the time we have. Y’all might want to check out the graveyard. There are some beautiful headstones there,” Betty said with a wink. “Be sure to pick up that tour guide by the cash register. It has a detailed map of the area and some interesting historical information.”
They thanked Betty for the lecture and Libby picked up the tour book on their way out.
Rocky fanned his face with his hat when they got outside. “I swear it just keeps getting hotter!”
Sam was too worn out to do anything but nod. His muscles ached all over and the heat made him nauseous. By the time they’d walked to the graveyard behind the Episcopal Church, Sam felt like he’d run a marathon.
Rocky pushed open the black wrought iron gate to the cemetery and held it open for everyone to walk in.
“The book says no one has been buried in this cemetery in the last hundred years,” Libby said, tripping over one of the many exposed roots.
Rocky reached out to steady her and then looked around. “I reckon it would be hard to find a spot to dig.”
Thick tree roots pushed up the mossy ground all around them, making it look like a stormy sea frozen in time. Ancient live oak trees were hung with lacey Spanish moss, and many of the headstones were covered in moss and lichen.
“It’s kind of creepy looking,” Eliza said.
“I wonder what Betty wanted us to see here,” Sam said.
“This says the plot with the obelisk is the Humbolt family plot,” Libby read. “Maybe that’s what she was talking about.”
“It must be that one over there,” Eliza said, pointing to the back of the cemetery.
They picked their way past ornate and simple headstones, some upright, some leaning over, until they reached the plot surrounded by a low brick wall. Sam stared at a thick vine that snaked across the ground from a grave outside the plot. It crept over the brick wall and wrapped around and around the white obelisk in the center of the family plot. Sam stiffened as the vine seemed to visibly tighten around the stone like a serpent wrapping around its prey.
“Looks like the vine that wraps around Henry’s house,” Rocky said. “Must be wrapping around that obelisk to get more sunlight.”
“Yes,” Sam said, relieved to hear a reasonable explanation. “You’re probably right.”
“I am? Well alright! But whatever the reason, it’s covering up all the writing. No sense having an inscription if no one can read it,” Rocky said, looking around. “And since no one else is here, I think I’ll go fix that.” He walked over to the obelisk and pulled away the vines until he could read the inscription.
“In Memory of Henry Humbolt who in his 43rd year lost his life trying to save the lives of others. He was a kind and generous man and an inspiration to all who knew him.”
“That’s a nice marker, and a nice epitaph. What about that one over there?” Eliza asked, pointing to the grave where the vine began.
Rocky stepped out of Henry’s family plot and over to the modest headstone. “If it’s not vines covering up the writing, its moss,” Rocky said, rubbing the moss away. “’Harold Humbolt April 1, 1755 - August 17, 1799.’”
Libby raised her eyebrows. “Not a lot of thought put into that one.”
The exertion of the morning combined with the heat of the day was making Sam dizzy and the sweet smell of wisteria was making it worse. It seemed to rise from the vines and swirl around Sam’s head just like the vines swirled around the obelisk. Sam looked back and forth between the brothers’ headstones and the vine connecting them. There was a clue here, he just knew it. The ground beneath him seemed to heave and swell and voices whispered to him once again.
“True love is forever and smells so sweet,” a young girl’s voice said.
“Treasure is whatever you hold dear,” a deeper voice said.
Sam’s legs tingled and it felt as if the vines were creeping up him with icy cold fingers, grabbing and pulling at him. And, for the second time that day, Sam collapsed.
Chapter 15
“It’s my fault,” Sam heard Eliza say as he started coming back around. “I shouldn’t have let him do so much.”
Sam felt a gentle breeze and pried his eyes open to see Libby fanning him with her postcards.
“I’m just saying. You mocked me for buying postcards, but that’s twice they’ve come in handy,” Libby said.
Sam heard footsteps running towards them and bolted upright, his heart racing.
“Here you go, Buddy,” Rocky said, pressing the cold bottle of lemonade into Sam’s hands. “My rodeo skills weren’t needed this go round, so I got you something to drink instead.”
Sam’s heart rate slowed and he drank the lemonade gratefully. Everything seemed normal enough, but the memory of the voices still echoed in his head. “Did any of you hear someone talking before I … um… passed out?”
Eliza cocked her head towards Libby, whose eyes darted to Rocky, who nervously adjusted his hat.
Sam looked down, his shoulders slumping. “You all think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“No. Not at all,” Eliza said, unsure of what else to say.
“It’s been a crazy day for all of us, not just you,” Libby said. “But it’s no big deal. It’s time for all of us to get back to the campground anyway.”
Sam sucked down the last drop of lemonade. He knew they were lying, but what did he expect? To them he was just a know-it-all kid who claimed to hear voices and to see people in portraits moving. He hardly believed any of it himself, so why should they?
Rocky held out his calloused hand once again and pulled Sam up. “Come on. Let’s head on back.”
There was no mindless chatter between Libby and Eliza as they walked through town and Sam was surprised at how much he missed it. Soon the streets changed to the boardwalk and the buzz of insects and the dull roar of waves filled in the uneasy silence until they reached the campground entrance.
“My campsites down to the left,” Rocky said as they stood at the fork in the road at the entrance.
“Ours, too,” Eliza said.
“I’m down here to the right,” Sam said, thinking they were probably glad to be rid of him.
“You gonna make it okay?” Rocky asked.
“I’m fine,” Sam said trying to convince himself as much as the others. “Libby’s right. It’s been a long day and I just need to relax a bit. After all, nearly drowning is hard work.”
Rocky tipped his hat. “You’re making more jokes? Maybe you’re worse off than I thought.”
The tension eased a bit and Libby pulled out the itinerary from her pocket. “There’s a campfire tonight after sunset. Should we meet up and go together?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Rocky said, tipping his hat to Sam before he walked away.
Sam turned towards his campsite thinking he’d probably never see them again. He wasn’t the smart kid they needed to solve the mystery anymore. He was the crazy kid who sees and hears stuff that isn’t there. Who wants one of those tagging along to a campfire or anywhere else for that matter?
Luckily, Sam’s parents were still off researching so he didn’t have to pretend everything was alright. He found the shipwreck article he couldn’t find at the restaurant, and crawled into the hammock to read it. He didn’t get past the first line before the events of the day took their toll and he fell asleep.
He awoke to the smell of grilling hamburgers and the sound of his stomach growling.
“It’s about time,” his mom said. “It must have been a very tiring day for you to take a nap.”
Sam kept his tone
light since his mom could almost always tell when he was lying. It worked out better when he took facts and bent them just a little bit. If she started asking questions, he was doomed, so he had to be ready to distract her with an overload of information.
“I was snorkeling for a long time and the current was quite strong in a few places.”
His mom stopped lining up the plates on the red-checkered tablecloth and shot him a worried look. Quickly, before she could ask a question, Sam rolled out of the hammock and started feeding her more information while he took over setting the table.
“I saw a large variety of fish species out there. There were schools of sunfish, soldier fish, and a queen angel fish. There was even a five-foot wide stingray that swam within two feet of me. The coral and sponges on the shipwrecks displayed a wide variety of colors too.”
“You saw a shipwreck?” his mom asked. “How big was it? Could you tell how many masts it had? Could it have been the Dragonfly?”
Sam fumbled the silverware and it clattered on the metal camp plates. “What do you know about the Dragonfly?” he asked, trying to maintain a casual tone.
“We completed counting the striped and dwarf crab species in the tidal pools earlier than expected. Since we had time to spare before dinner, we went back to the farm stand for more corn.”
“You know your mother,” Sam’s dad said, looking up from slicing tomatoes. “She started talking to Mr. Wellbottom, and asking him lots of questions.”
“Did you know tomorrow marks 200 years since the Dragonfly wrecked?” his mom asked, setting platters of steaming corn and hamburgers on the table. “Since they had just captured a French flagship, the hold would have been full of confiscated goods, some of which would be very valuable. Apparently, they stopped in Wilmington to off-load some of it, but for some reason she left port and headed back up here before they did.”
“Did they ever recover anything that could be considered treasure?” Sam asked.
“No. Only common items like lanterns and dishes,” his dad replied.
“Mr. Wellbottom says that’s because the ghosts of her sailors are protecting it,” his mom said.
“Ghosts guarding a treasure?” his dad scoffed. “Ridiculous.”
Sam devoured his first hamburger and reached for another one. Ghost stories were everywhere, but none of them were about ghosts saving someone from drowning. Was he the only one they had helped? And if so, why?
“Looks like you are hungrier than usual this evening,” his mom said.
Sam could tell his mom was suspicious again and he scrambled for an explanation. “Yes…because everything is so good. Especially the corn. It must be because it is grown locally and is so fresh.”
His mom seemed satisfied with his answer and continued chatting about ghosts and treasure. She talked about Bart and Genny, but didn’t mention Henry’s abandoned house.
“Such a love story,” she said, sighing. “Genny raised their son alone after Bart died in her arms. Since her father and uncle died so soon after, it was up to the women to keep the business going. Mr. Wellbottom said Henry and Harold died within a day of each other. Maybe they were so close to each other that one couldn’t live without the other.”
Sam nearly choked at the thought of the brothers being close. He couldn’t think of a response that didn’t involve lying, but he didn’t have too. Rocky, Eliza, and Libby sauntered into their campsite a moment later. Sam was both shocked and relieved. Instead of writing him off as a nutcase and abandoning him, they were actually here!
“Howdy folks,” Rocky said, removing his hat. “I hope we’re not interrupting.”
“No,” Sam’s mom said. “We have been done eating for a while. Sam though, seems to be a bottomless pit tonight.” She looked inquiringly at the group. “You are Rocky, right? We met in the camp office when the tour group began. Did Mr. Henley keep you busy today?”
Sam looked imploringly at the trio.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Rocky said, taking the hint from Sam’s expression. “There was the snorkeling, walking around town, and seeing all the sights. And it was right hot out there today too.”
Eliza and Libby nodded in agreement, but it was Libby who stepped forward.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Libby and this is Eliza. Actually, we’re both Elizabeth, but that would be way too confusing since we’re best friends and always together. We met Sam and Rocky in the tour group yesterday. The campfire starts soon and we came by to make sure Sam was okay,” Libby said, then realizing her mistake she added, “that is, okay to come to the campfire with us.”
“I don’t want to miss that. I’ll be back after dark,” Sam said, swinging his legs out from under the table and dropping his plate into the dishpan. He grabbed his hoodie and backpack and quickly headed down the road before his mom had time to ask any more questions.
“What are we running from?” Rocky asked, when he caught up with Sam. “We’ve got plenty of time before the campfire starts.”
Sam’s lungs burned with the exertion of getting away. “My mom can be a tireless inquisitor and I wanted to get away before she had a chance to get going.”
Eliza laughed. “All moms are like that. How are you feeling?”
“Much better. It still aches when I breathe deeply though.”
“It’ll be like that for a few days,” Eliza said. “It’s important to keep breathing deeply, even if it’s sore.”
Sam remembered his promise to take direction from her and let her have the last word on the subject.
Chapter 16
They could see the campfire as they walked over the dunes and down to the beach. Mr. Henley was there, pacing and wringing his hands. “I’m so glad to see you up and walking around,” he said when he saw Sam.
“No thanks to you,” Sam said moving away quickly.
“You’re going to tell us ghost stories?” Libby asked Mr. Henley. “I thought we got rid of you.”
“And don’t you only deal with facts?” Eliza asked.
“You are correct young lady,” Mr. Henley replied, tilting up his pointy chin. “Mr. Wellbottom will be the one telling the stories. He claims they are based on actual reports, but they’re all a bunch of fairy tales if you ask me.”
Sam turned to see a tall man amble down the beach towards them, adjusting to the ever-changing sand with ease. As he got closer, the flickering firelight played across his weathered face making it impossible to tell if he was 50 or 80 years old.
“I’m mighty obliged you young folks came out to listen to my stories,” Mr. Wellbottom said. He greeted Mr. Henley with a slap on the back that nearly toppled him into the fire. “Old Jack here doesn’t cotton much to them, but there’s a lot of truth in the stories passed on from fathers to sons…and daughters,” he added with a smile and a nod to Eliza and Libby.
Mr. Wellbottom nudged Mr. Henley out of the way so he was between the fire and the dunes and had a view of the ocean. Without a grunt or groan, he folded himself down onto the sand. Taking their cue, Sam and Rocky sat to his left and the girls to his right, forming a semicircle around the fire. Mr. Henley turned on his heel and headed towards the dunes, flipping sand everywhere as he struggled to stay upright.
“Don’t pay him no mind,” Mr. Wellbottom said when Mr. Henley was finally out of earshot. “His family came in during the Great Depression so he’s still new to these parts.” He looked out over the water and everyone followed suit. The rumbling of the waves filled the air and the setting sun turned the small whitecaps a warm pink.
“So, do you kids have something in particular you want to hear about?”
Rocky jumped at the chance. “Since tomorrow is the 200th anniversary of the wreck of the Dragonfly and the tragic deaths of so many—”
Before Rocky could finish, Mr. Wellbottom started laughing, or coughing, it was hard to tell which. He looked around at the oth
ers. “Are you all in on this?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” Eliza said. “What we’ve heard so far is fascinating and we’d love to hear more.”
“Well I’m sure you haven’t heard the half of it, so let me start from the beginning. My great-great-grandfather worked for H & H shipping. He started out tarring and worked up to laying the hull. He was the best around because he took real pride in his work. I read that in my great-great-grandmother’s diary. She wrote how his face lit up like the sun when he talked about building ships. On the flip side, she wrote how it tore him all to pieces watching the Dragonfly break up on that sandbar, especially since it shouldn’t have ever happened.”
A chill ran down Sam’s spine and he pulled on his hoodie.
Mr. Wellbottom paused, pulling his long legs close to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “Let me backtrack a bit. You know there were two brothers. They may have looked like they were twins, but on the inside they were as different as night and day. As different as good and evil. Mr. Henry was a good man. He cared about folks. Mr. Harold only cared about one person and that was himself. There was days he made his workers build for fourteen hours straight and not pay them no extra for it,” he said with a shrug. “But jobs were scarce so if you wanted to eat, you stayed.”
“I knew it!” Libby said. “I could tell he was mean when I looked at the painting in the library.”
Mr. Wellbottom nodded. “My great uncle said people kidded about Mr. Harold being as mean as the devil and how if you looked at him too long you’d catch fire.”
Sam thought about how Harold’s house had looked like it was on fire yesterday. He’d reasoned it was the sun’s reflection, but after what Mr. Wellbottom just said, he wasn’t so sure.
“Seems like Mr. Harold especially didn’t like women,” Mr. Wellbottom continued. “Not his own wife or Henry’s, either.” He paused, grabbing a long stick and stirring up the fire. The group waited patiently for him to resume.
A Ghostly Twist Page 9
