A Spirited Gift (28 page)

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.

She never let on—never even blinked. Her life was over in that moment, but she wouldn't give William Astor the satisfaction of knowing.

“We're leaving now, Dae.” Mrs. Stanley had put on her jacket. “You're welcome to stay, of course. But maybe you should go home and lie down for a while. Poor dear. It must be all the strain from the storm. It can't be easy being the mayor of Duck at a time like this.”

“No offense, Dae,” Mark said, “but maybe Mad Dog is right about a man being better able to handle the job of mayor.”

That shook me up and made me get to my feet. “I'd like to keep this bottle,” I told Mrs. Stanley. “And as far as being a woman mayor, I think I can handle a storm as well as Councilman Wilson. Thanks for your help. I hope to hear about that magistrate soon.”

I walked out. My rudeness left them all a little stunned, I'm sure. It wasn't easy to propel myself out the door. I still felt lost in the past—it was a difficult feeling to pull away from. I wanted to cry for Mary Masterson and her children. Knowing these people were related to me made me even sadder but also more determined to prove that for once in his life, Rafe was innocent.

“I can see you learned something valuable in there.” Rafe joined me as I walked away from the museum.

I didn't answer until I'd walked behind the Blue Whale. I was worried the three historical society members would see me talking to myself and think I was crazy. “There was something,” I told him finally, not sure what I should share with him. Did he realize what Mary had gone through? How would it affect him?

I studied my ancestor's face. It wasn't exactly like looking at a living man's features. He wasn't solid looking—more opaque. No one could mistake him for anything but a ghost.

I wanted to see in him what Mary saw—I wished I was still seeing through her eyes. There was something more to him than his terrible past and the dastardly deeds that he ended up paying for at the end of a rope.

“You're scaring me, girl, and that's not easy. What are ye looking for? You act like you've never seen me before. Are you in your cups? I didn't know they were serving spirits in there—I might've joined you.”

A concrete bench sat nearby, between two large bushes. I could see the gray of the Atlantic, stretching on beneath the dark sky that still threatened more rain. It was there that I told Rafe what I'd seen—what I knew about Mary. I didn't know what to expect from him.

To my surprise, he knelt on the ground and began to weep, huge choking sobs that shook his already unstable frame from head to toe.

I put my hand on his shoulder as I would have any other person in such distress—but there was nothing there. And an instant later, what was left of the man Mary had loved disappeared.

“Dae?”

I heard my father call my name. I wiped my eyes, put the perfume bottle in the pocket of my poncho and tried to clear my mind. “Danny! How's it going?”

“Good. Good. Your friend is a decent man. There's not a lot of people who would take in a stranger this way.”

“I saw you working on the windows,” I said, grasping for a topic.

“Yeah. Kevin keeps me busy. But I talked to the owner of the Sailor's Dream this morning. He hopes to be open again by the weekend. He says if my place isn't ready yet, I can stay in the back room of the bar after that. Things are picking up.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“You know”—he sat beside me on the concrete bench—“I don't want you to take this the wrong way—I'm not coming on to you, I swear—not that you aren't a beautiful woman.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway. There's something about you—I felt it from the beginning. Something almost familiar. I guess it's because I knew your mother. I don't know. I guess I'm kind of crazy. But it's more than the short time I've known you. It just feels like I've known you all my life. Weird, huh?”