A Spirited Gift (19 page)

I turned back. “Did you make that decision for her? Did my father really kick her out? Did he even know she was pregnant?”

Gramps's hand shook as he wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Yes—he threw her out and left town—after I paid him one thousand dollars and threatened to serve the outstanding warrants against him. You can't judge me on that, sweetheart. I did what was best—what I had to do.”

“I know. Good night, Gramps,” I said before I left him in the kitchen.

Chapter 22

There was a secret stairway from my room to the widow's walk on the roof of the house. I liked spending time up there, looking out over Duck and the sound. On clear days, I could see the Atlantic on the other side of the island.

The widow's walk was a common feature on local houses, especially the older ones. Women had waited and watched for their men's ships to come home. Sometimes, women threw themselves from the walk when they learned those ships were never coming back.

It was strange being out there in the dark with no lights dotting the town around me. I could see lights farther down the coast toward Kitty Hawk. The lighthouses along the island were all still working, their powerful beams warning ships at sea of the danger presented by the Graveyard of the Atlantic.

“You were hard on the old man.” Rafe leaned against the wrought-iron rail beside me. “I expected better from a soft heart like yours.”

“He lied to me. He told me my father was dead.”

“No wonder! I'd lie about that sniveling worm too. What man takes pity from a woman like your father done? No wonder the old man ran him off. I would've ran him through.”

“You don't understand. Go away.”

“Maybe you don't understand, girl. That boyo ye be helping will never bring you anything but grief. I know the type—hell, I
was
the type for many a year. The old man was protecting you and your ma. I'm siding with him in this.”

“I don't remember asking you.”

“Well, if ye don't want my advice, get to looking for the magistrate's ancestor and let's put an end to this.”

“I don't have any idea how to find the magistrate's ancestor. I don't know anyone by that title. I think this is just a waste of time. You should go back where you came from. I don't think I can help you.”

Rafe nodded at the duck weather vane, and it spun around in the dead quiet of the evening. “That's enough of your bellyaching, my girl. You're blood, and you're making me regret whoever the wench was who begat your line. Think on it, and I'll look around for some evidence of your own problem. I'm not going anywhere until you've cleared my name.”

He disappeared, and I sat down to look up at the stars in the dark sky. They were much brighter without lights around me.

I thought about Rafe being my ancestor—he'd looked at the same October sky I was looking at more than three hundred years ago. I wanted to help him, in a way, because of that link. I wished the circumstances were different. There was so much going on in my life. I needed time to think—alone—and without ghostly pirate interference.

It did occur to me as I tried to untangle everything about my mother and father and Sandi's murder that I could possibly access information about the magistrate from the Duck Historical Museum Web site. I'd been a member forever but had hardly ever used the knowledge compiled by countless Duck residents down through the years.

I tried not to think about Rafe or about my family's past. Or about Sandi. But the more I pushed these thoughts away, the more they came back to me. Like Rafe himself. Maybe there was an easy answer to proving his innocence and I wasn't taking advantage of it. I knew I couldn't easily unravel the tangled events that had happened between my mother and father thirty-six years ago. I knew I couldn't do much to help find Sandi's killer. But maybe I
could
get rid of my ghostly visitor.

I went downstairs to get on the computer, before remembering there was no power and no Internet. It looked like it was back to the old way for me.

I located an old book Gramps had given me when I was a teenager. It was titled
Pirates of the Outer Banks
. The pages were well worn from my leafing through it.

There was enough information about the infamous scourge of our area to tantalize but not really to answer questions. There was a grisly wood carving of Rafe hanging from a tree. There were illustrations of his ship and drawings of him. There were paragraphs describing the terrible things he'd done.

But there was no magistrate mentioned. The book referred only to “the law” or “the people,” never to any specific person or officeholder in charge of administering that law. Whoever the magistrate was, he'd had the power to have Rafe arrested and hanged. There weren't a lot of people like that in those days. The Outer Banks was a lawless area—the governor of Virginia had to send troops to kill Blackbeard.

I wrote down a few names to check out the next day when I could go to the museum. I had to find Mark to see what he knew. His words at the museum about Rafe's death were tantalizing, but I needed more information.

I tried calling Rafe a few times but got no response. I wanted him to hear the names I'd found in the book and see if any of them sounded familiar. Of course, since I wanted him to come, he didn't show up.

After midnight, I closed the book and tried not to think about anything else. I needed some sleep. Tomorrow would look better if I was well rested. I finally drifted off and found myself on an old ship that was flying the Jolly Roger. I was dressed in pants and a loose shirt. My boots were full of sand and had slits up the sides. I couldn't see my face to know whether I looked like myself or some poor mate who was unfortunate enough to be on a pirate ship.

I wasn't sure exactly what to do. The sails I'd been raised around were nothing like these billowing monsters. Gramps had a boat—the
Eleanore
, named for my grandmother
—
but it had a motor. He never trusted sails.

And I woke up, coughing and sputtering, my throat burning like I'd swallowed seawater.

I forced myself to take deep breaths until I felt more normal. It was morning. I got out of bed, thankful that my pirate ancestor was nowhere to be seen. It would take some time before I could look at him without remembering the terrible things I'd witnessed.

They were real events—at least they'd seemed real. I had the strongest feeling that the little cabin boy I'd spent time with last night had grown up and taken his revenge on Rafe. All I had to do was find some way to prove it.

I was thrilled to find out that we had hot water for a shower—the power must have come back on during the night. Every electrical gadget in my bedroom was blinking. I showered, got dressed and headed downstairs. I wanted to help Kevin today. He was going to need an extra hand.

Gramps was gone, leaving a note that asked me to keep an open mind until we could have a sensible conversation. I knew it would happen. We both loved each other. We'd find a way to make up. He'd forgiven me my youthful transgressions on numerous occasions. I wouldn't be able to stay mad at him forever.

He'd left pancakes in the microwave and coffee in the pot. The sun was shining brightly through the kitchen windows. Everything was looking up—including the pirate sitting at the kitchen table.

“It's about time,” he said. “I thought ye were going to lay abed like some princess all day! We have work to do!”

Chapter 23