A Ghost of Brother Johnathan's (2 page)

I walked up the flight of stairs to my room, suite 201. I had booked this room on the advice of friends who had stayed here. They said Hotel Carter was ideally located in Eureka’s historic district and had specifically recommended this room, with the caveat that it could be a little noisy, but the view of the marina was well worth a little restaurant clatter and chatter. Room 201 is directly above the hotel’s popular restaurant and I figured that by checking in on a Monday, by the time my week was up, I will have eased myself into the busiest days of the upcoming weekend and that by Friday I would not mind the social noise floating up from the restaurant below me. And anyway, I love waking up to the aroma of food and coffee. I entered my suite and was pleasantly surprised, the neutral colors were relaxing, and the four poster bed was a little bit of heaven. I kicked off my shoes and plopped down on the bed. Just a few minutes and then I’ll unpack, I promised myself.

The minutes ticked by and after the better part of an hour I forced myself to get up. Night had fallen. I switched on the bedside lamp and stepped over to peek at the view from the large bay window. The marina’s water was smooth as glass. Dozens of boats were docked and their festive lights sparkled in the clear air, bouncing in prismatic reflections off the water’s surface. A faint outline of clouds on the far horizon promised rain by morning. I left the window and began to unpack. Good thing I remembered to bring a few pullover sweaters along with my rain parka, what with a storm coming in, warm clothes will be needed.

Once I had my clothing neatly folded and put away in the bureau drawers, I turned my attention to the small writing table in the corner. I moved it over by the bay window, rearranging the small settee that was in front of the window. It was then that I noticed that my room had a fireplace. Good grief, how did I miss that? A folded card on the far end of the mantle explained how to light the fire. Of course, what with this being a hotel and many of the rooms had fireplaces, this was a gas log fireplace. How convenient, that at the turn of a knob a cozy fire kindled to life. The total effect of a marina view, storm clouds in the night sky and a warm fire inside was like magic and this little bit of magic had a dreamy effect on my mood. Now, if only I had some black coffee laced with Bushmills. Ta-dah, one might say, I had a
eureka moment
, because in my hour of dreamy wishing, like magic, I remembered that my friends had raved about this hotel’s room service. I decided to test my friends’ opinion and put in a call to room service. I ordered a two-cup carafe of strong black coffee and two shots of Irish whiskey on the side, with a request for it to be delivered no sooner than in twenty minutes. Undressing quickly, I dashed into the shower and was out and wearing my favorite sweats when room service knocked.

I accepted the rolling tray-table and then tipped the waiter. Just as I was closing the door, he paused, turned to the corridor, bent down to pick up a large, giftwrapped box. In handing it to me, he said that it was delivered this afternoon, and then he politely reminded me to check the hotel phone on my bedside table, for messages. I told him I would make a note to check for messages and post it near the phone.

I closed the door, set the package on the bed and turned to the phone. Sure enough, it was blinking a red light at me. Duh! I hadn’t even noticed it when I came in or when I turned on the lamp. I picked up the handset and dialed the hotel desk to let them know I received the package.

The package called to me, but not nearly as loud as the coffee and whiskey yelled at me. I poured a cup of coffee and dressed it with a shot of whiskey. I sipped and then turned my attention to the fancy wrapped box, done up in a flowery design of yellow rose bouquets on royal blue background. The elaborate bow was fashioned from yellow silk fabric. I slipped my fingers under the bow and pulled out a small envelope. The front of the envelope was addressed to me, as Shannon Delaney, Hotel Carter, Eureka. The script was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the owner. Certainly, the writing appeared to be a man’s script. However, the only men in my life who knew I was in Eureka were Alex Blackthorne and Francisco Zavala, and both of them knew which room I had booked. And this was neither Alex nor Francisco’s handwriting.

Standing with my arms crossed, hovering over the package, clutching the envelope close to my chest, my scalp prickled a not-so-good sign of apprehension. I knew I hadn’t let the whiskey go to my head. Huhuh, no way. I had taken only a few sips of the coffee and it would take more, much more, than two shots of whiskey to make my head tingle with dread. I drained my coffee cup, set it aside and carefully untied the bow. The pretty paper practically unfolded itself. The wrapping was quite clever in that way. Now, a plain brown cardboard shipping box glared back at me, daring me to pop its lid. I lifted the lid and inside was a folded note sitting on top of layers of folded white tissue paper. I unfolded the note and read:

Shannon, on a recent trip to San Francisco, my da remembered you telling him about your upcoming assignment in Eureka. This is from him. I promised him I’d have it sent overnight to the hotel. Rosario wasn’t sure of your room
number. Give me a call when you get this, so my da won’t worry. You know how dearly he thinks of you, and of course, I agree with him!

Yours, Seamus.
I exhaled a deep sigh of relief. Silly me. The package was from Seamus O’Kelley and his father. No wonder the handwriting seemed familiar to me. I had not seen Seamus since last summer, but I did speak on the phone with him and his father earlier this month, when I had decided to take this assignment. How sweet of them to remember this assignment and me.

Ever so carefully, I unwrapped the layers of white tissue paper to unveil a curious doll, of sorts. About twenty inches tall, a white-faced clown sat on a circus drum. It was old, maybe even an antique, but in good vintage condition. I could not determine if this was a doll, a sculpture, or what? Moreover, as to what in the world it had to do with my assignment to write a brochure for the Edgewild Tavern, I could not even begin to imagine.

I looked at my watch, it was nearly ten. Too late to call Seamus? I pondered this as I picked up the clown and set in on the lace-covered top of the tall chest of drawers. Seamus did ask me to call when I received it. And if he knew it was delivered today, he might be concerned that I haven’t called him, yet. I whipped out my cell phone and punched in his personal cell number. Seamus answered on the second ring.

“Shannon, it’s good to hear your voice.”
“And yours as well. Seamus, I have the clown here in my hotel room, which by the way is room 201. Thank your da for me, and thanks to you as well for having it delivered.”
“My father will be pleased, in fact, pleased as punch as he would say. You do know of the connection the clown has to your assignment?” He asked.
I was standing, now I sat down. Not quite knowing how to answer his question, I paused for moment. If I said the truth, which was no, would they be offended that I was ignorant of the thoughtfulness in which this gift was given? I pondered.
“Shannon?”
“Yes, Seamus, I’m sorry, it is late and I’ve had a long day. Actually, Seamus, I haven’t had much of a chance to research this assignment. So, to be perfectly truthful, I’m not sure how this clown is connected to the Edgewild Tavern renovation and soon-to-be pizza parlor.”
Seamus laughed. And I giggled. I realized how silly what I had said must sound to him. I realized how foolish I was to think he or his da would be offended by my truthfulness in this situation.
“Darlin’ Shannon, as my da would say, your honesty is a breath of fresh air. That clown dates back to… oh, about 1865. It is the closest depiction of Jonathan Rupp that anyone on the Pacific Coast has ever laid eyes on. You mean to tell me, you had no idea that Jonathan Rupp had been a circus clown?”
“Shannon, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. And yes, I had no idea that Rupp was a clown. Seamus, no person connected with this assignment, not even here in Eureka, ever told me that Jonathan Rupp was a clown. A circus clown?”
“Yes, that’s the truth. My da is intrigued by this situation. Shannon, you need to be aware that Rupp was not an ordinary clown, not at all. He was known as Brother Jonathan. And what’s stranger than that, is that he was one of the few survivors of one of the worst shipwrecks along the Pacific Coast. None other than the wreck of the
Brother Jonathan
, a steamer that went down a few miles off the coast of Crescent City, in July of 1865.”
“You mean, the same Crescent City that is about a eighty miles north of here?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Seamus, is there a chance I could pick your brain a little more about this, but tomorrow, when I’ve had sleep and can think clearly?”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll e-mail to you the research information I have about the
Brother Jonathan
shipwreck and the notes I have on Rupp. Then call me whenever you need to.”
“Thank you Seamus. Tell your da I’m grateful.” “Will do. Sweet dreams, Shannon.”

The next morning, on my way to meet Ozzy and Marta Keller for lunch, I stopped at the hotel’s front desk and asked the manager to request housekeeping service to please not touch or move the clown figure that is setting on the tall dresser. I told him that the clown was a gift and quite old, possibly an antique. I hoped this explanation would justify my unusual request. The manager offered to place the clown in the hotel’s safe. I told him it would not be necessary. He said he would inform housekeeping services immediately, but before he turned away, I asked for walking directions to the Old Towne Pantry. Turns out the restaurant where I was to meet Ozzy and Marta was only a few blocks away. The manger offered to call a taxi and I explained that I had rented car, and that because last night’s storm had faded away to a light mist, my umbrella would easily shield me. And, so, I decided to walk to the cafe and enjoy a tour of the historic district.

The route the hotel manager suggested took me along streets of Eureka’s most attractive architecture. I remember reading in a tour guide that Eureka had some of the oldest Victorian buildings and homes in California. The charming array of these homes and business properties made me wonder why Jonathan Rupp chose to build his tavern such a long distance away from the residents and commerce in Eureka. From its earliest settlements spurred by the legendary California gold rush of 1849 and the subsequent quick development as a premier seaport, and then its importance as a redwood forest timber and logging town, Eureka was a boom town, bustling with merchant trade, commerce and business. Edgewild Tavern was located five miles outside of town, a short distance by today’s standard, but back then, in the 1870s? It would seem that in the 1870s, Jonathan Rupp was bucking the standard of common business tactics by operating a tavern that was an inconvenient distance from his target market. This made me wonder, was their some other reason for the seemingly out-of-the-way location of Edgewild Tavern? I made a mental note to investigate my idea, and to remain mum about it, at least for now.

I entered the Old Towne Pantry and spied Ozzy. He and a woman, that I assumed was Marta Keller, were seated at a small table near a corner window. I approached and Ozzy stood up. Ozzy introduced us. Marta smiled and then invited me to sit next to her. I sat at a right angle to her. A waitress appeared, gave us menus and then slipped away.

“So, Ozzy, what do you recommend?” I asked. “Everything,” he answered.
I smiled and glanced back down at the menu in my

hands. Seeing an item I rarely see on menus these days, I made an easy decision. I chose the Monte Cristo Sandwich. The waitress reappeared and took our orders, and then once again slipped away.

I’m petite, by any standard and yet I felt like a giant sitting next to Marta. Marta’s high-heeled pumps did not touch the floor. I noticed she had crossed her ankles to prevent her feet from dangling. I also noticed that she wore her black, curly, chin-length hair in a center part, like curtains obscuring the sides of her face. When I did get a good look at the front of her face, I saw a small face that matched her stature. Heart-shaped with a pert nose, small, full lips and round cobalt blue eyes that were heavily lashed, Marta looked like a fairskinned porcelain doll. I wondered, was Marta a midget?

There was an awkward silence, which I hoped Ozzy would break. I was wrong.
“Shannon,” Marta spoke, “if you have questions about Jonathan Rupp, I’ll try to answer the best I can. He has been a subject of study for me most of my life.”
Her offer piqued my interest. “I was wondering, only because a friend just recently brought the topic up, was Rupp ever a circus clown?” I asked Marta and in doing so, I looked directly into her eyes.
“As a matter of fact, he was. In the years prior to making his home in Eureka, Rupp had worked in a circus as a clown, a mime and a juggler.”
Marta did not appear to be the least bit concerned about my question. I baited her with another question.
“And did Rupp make his home in Eureka some years after he survived a shipwreck?”
Again, no visible concern in Marta’s reaction. Her face, nor her voice, hinted at the tiniest reaction to my query.
“That is true,” Marta replied. “I’d advise you to take a day trip up to Crescent City to find out more about Jonathan Rupp’s pre-Eureka years. Very little is known about that period in his life. He was a passenger on a ship named
Brother Jonathan
and it went down just a few miles off the coast of Crescent City. Lucky for him that he made it onto the shore alive. Most of passengers and crew washed up on shore dead. It’s a grim, true story.”
Marta turned to Ozzy and said, “Why don’t you take Shannon up to Crescent City?”
I quickly said, “Oh, Ozzy, really I don’t mean to put you, or anyone, on the spot. The drive up there isn’t long, I’m sure I can mange it. And, to be truthful, my schedule is busy right now.”
Ozzy was sipping coffee when Marta had volunteered him, his time and services. He set down his cup and turned to her, waved his right hand in a gesture that I interpreted to mean that he was agreeable to her impromptu suggestion and that volunteering him did not faze him in the least. Marta’s immediate suggestion for me to further my query about Rupp’s pre-Eureka days puzzled me. She offered to answer my questions and self-proclaimed to have studied Rupp for a long time. Why didn’t she know more about Rupp’s biography? On the other hand, maybe she did know more about him, but was not willing to reveal what she knew?
I tried a different angle and asked, “Is it just a coincidence that Rupp, as a circus clown was known as Brother Jonathan and that he booked passage on a ship of the same name?”
Marta set down her fork. “Yes and no. You see, in that era, before the term or phrase
Uncle Sam
was in use. The most popular and common moniker for a reference to the United States culture was
Brother Jonathan
, instead of Uncle Sam. Consequently, numerous business and private ventures used the name of Brother Jonathan, much the way Uncle Sam is used today. For Rupp to use Brother Jonathan as his stage name was not an issue, no more of an issue than a ship named
Brother Jonathan
, or a business.”
“So, in today’s frame of reference that would be the equivalent of
Brother Jonathan’s Tax Preparation Service
, instead of Uncle Sam’s or Lady Liberty’s?”
Ozzy chuckled. “You hit the nail on the head, Shannon.”
The waitress returned with our meals. Minutes of comfortable silence passed as we ate our lunch. I set my napkin on my empty plate, sipped some coffee and in doing so, noticed that Marta and Ozzy had finished, too.
This was the ideal moment for me to settle my curiosity about the location of the tavern. “I’m curious as to why Rupp would have built Edgewild Tavern five miles out of town. It seems to me that what with Eureka being such a busy town, Rupp’s best chance of making a living as a tavern operator would be for him to set up shop in town. Has anyone ever wondered this?” I asked.
“That’s a good point Shannon,” Ozzy Said. “Marta, do you know why Rupp chose that location?”
Marta paused for a moment. She folded her napkin and set it off to the side of her plate. I could tell she was gathering her thoughts on this question. I anticipated a carefully calculated answer.
Marta cleared her throat and said, “I’ve wondered this same conundrum. I have no proof of my theory, but here goes. First, it is documented that Eureka was a thriving center for the timber and lumber industry rendered from the regional redwood forests up here. The frontage road where the tavern is located was a prime paved-dirt road for the lumber wagons, most often pulled by mule teams of four to six head. I doubt that local tavern owners in the city would tolerate a bevy of mules parked outside their establishment. In town, there was not enough room for the large animals and, bluntly speaking, mules created too much stink. Rupp’s seven acres had plenty of room for the mule teams to be hitched a distance away, but in sight of the tavern.”
“Yep, that makes good sense,” Ozzy said. “Go on Marta. You’ve got the best insider reference to this question.”
Marta smiled and replied, “Thank you Ozzy.” She turned her attention to me and said, “Shannon, the other guess I have is just that, a guess. However, I’ve always had a strong inclination to believe that Rupp chose that location to build Edgewild Tavern on because he came by his seven acres at a good price and for whatever reason, having that much acreage was important to him. Critically important to him. Albeit, that property’s importance remains a mystery to me. And, if Rupp is a mystery to me, then he is most certainly a mystery to everyone else.”
“Thank you, I appreciate your clarification.” Though, in actuality, the question and its answer were still murky to me. I was utterly blind to Marta’s reference. I did not understand why Marta was the expert on Jonathan Rupp and yet did not appear to have much factual information about him.
I chanced another query. “Marta, excuse me if my next question seems odd, and truly I do not intend to offend you or anyone. But, is there another person who may have answers about Rupp?”
Her look was serious and I feared I had offended her. “I know of no other person whose factual knowledge is as good as mine in regard to Jonathan Rupp. If there is another person, I’d love to meet them. Oh, there are myriad stories to be told and read in regard to Rupp. Tall tales about his circus adventures and why he came to stay here and try to build a life in Eureka. Lots of speculation about his tavern and the surrounding forest. Albeit, truthful information is hard to come by. I’ve spent a good deal of my fifty years on this planet digging up the truth about Rupp. You see, I am the last of my kind, within my kin. I’m the last Rupp in my family. Jonathan Rupp is a fifth generation uncle to me. He never married, and never had children, at least none that are legally known to my family, so it all comes down to me. My direct lineage is through Rupp’s one and only sibling, a sister out of Missouri.”