Pirate's Wraith, The (24 page)

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Lesley started at every sound. The wind whistling through the cave sounded like wailing ghosts. She clutched the small toy horse to her bosom as she leaned against Harlan’s side. He had fallen so deeply asleep she doubted whether he would hear her if the Spaniards found the cave and dragged her away.

She had been such a fool. She shuddered as she remembered how she had waved and whistled to get the attention of those aboard the ship. She had visions of drinking tea and noshing on hardtack without a single complaint. The turtle meat had been good but she had not eaten enough of it. She should have taken some of the plums, too—even with the pinto’s saliva coating. She briefly wondered if horse saliva was more antiseptic than human saliva. She decided it had to have bacteria in it, after all, horses ate grass from the ground with soil in it. 

The steady sound of water dripping did not bother her, but there were other noises she could not identify—a sort of rush that sounded like wings flapping. She knew there had to be bats somewhere in the cave. What if they were vampire bats?

Vampire bats did not live in New Jersey, but they did live in the tropics somewhere. What if she fell asleep and a vampire bat came and drank all her blood? She could die here in this cave and nobody would know. Hundreds of years from now, someone would open the cave as a tourist trap and they would show people around for twenty dollars a head and make millions. Would they find her bones and Harlan’s bones sitting up against the hard rock wall?
Would they make up a story about them? Would it be a story about two lovers lost in the cave?

She sighed and listened to his breathing.

The cave was cool in addition to being a bit damp. She huddled up closer to Harlan to take advantage of his body heat. As usual, the toy horse sent out comforting warmth as well.

The hours wore on and despite her
anxiety, exhaustion soon claimed her and she slept.

Elsbeth could not get the horse to move faster. The old nag had already tried to bite her. Between coughing fits, J
osiah slept on the horse’s neck. The moon had risen full and white, guiding Elsbeth along the road to the Widow Vetter’s cottage, which lay at the end of the marsh road close to the edge of the sea.

There were those who called the old widow a witch, but others whispered praise for the woman who knew how to cure the ague, who could birth babies without pain, and most wondrous of all, who knew how a woman could lie with a man and not have a child.

Elsbeth wanted only to save her son. He grew weaker and sicker everyday and nothing helped him. He had run out of their burning house in time, but inhaling the smoke had worsened his cough.

With no house, they now slept in a corner of the shed at the inn, but it was cold and damp. Elsbeth had only a bed warmer with coals in it from the fire to keep off the chill. Both she and
Josiah slept on the floor of the shed for Mistress Wiggs insisted she needed every bed at the inn for paying customers.

She had taken the horse from the stable at the inn. The stable boy had fallen asleep and she quickly slipped on a bridle, lifted
Josiah to the horse’s bareback and managed to get on herself by climbing on a fence rail. She whacked the horse’s rump a number of times to no avail. The old nag ambled along looking for sweet green grass or the last leaves of the blueberry shrubs.

She had wrapped
her son as well as she could in the one quilt she had saved from her burning house. But the child still shivered in the chill autumn night. His cheeks and forehead burned with fever. Mistress Wiggs told her he looked consumptive.

Widow Vetter was her only hope.

Elsbeth nearly nodded off several times during the journey as she dreamed of happier days and the love she had found in Harlan’s arms. But Harlan had gone off to sea and left her with memories and Josiah. A few tears of self-pity rolled down her cheeks.

Morning tinged the horizon when at last the cottage came into view. As Elsbeth approached she saw the widow sitting on a stump outside the cottage and drinking from a mug. Elsbeth shuddered. The old woman did not have a single tooth in her mouth and her face resembled tree bark.

“Ah, and it’s the wife of the sailor ‘as come to visit me.” The widow nodded as Elsbeth slid down from the horse.

“I’ve brought Josiah. He is sick with fever.”
 

Elsbeth tied the horse to a bayberry bush and pulled Josiah into her arms. “My son has been ailing. Mistress Wiggs thinks he’s consumptive.”

“Aye, and Mistress Wiggs knows more about other people’s business than ‘er own.” The old woman’s laugh blended with the calls of the seagulls on the beach. “Bring the child inside and lay ‘im on the bed.”

Josiah was so weak he could no longer stand without assistance so Elsbeth carried him into the cottage. The tiny dwelling had only one room but it did not appear cluttered. However, the heavy and pervasive odor of burning sage repelled Elsbeth. She could barely draw a breath and Josiah began coughing repeatedly.

Elsbeth placed Josiah gently on the bed. The old woman shuffled in the door and sat on the rickety chair beside the bed.

“Ye’ll have to unwrap ‘im, m’dear. ‘E’s in a pitiful state but I ‘ave to see all of ‘im.”

Josiah already trembled with cold, but Elsbeth did as she was bid. She reminded herself that it was this or bleeding the child to death. Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back.

Nearly insensible, Josiah cried, “Mama. Mama.”

The old woman put her ear down on the child’s chest and listened to the sound of his coughing.

Elsbeth wrung her hands as she watched the widow place her hand on his forehead and then peer into Josiah’s glassy eyes. Afterward, she pressed the tips of her fingers on his neck and stomach.

“You kin wrap ‘im up agin.” The widow got off her chair and moved to a shelf lined with crocks.

Elsbeth tugged the quilt around her son, sat on the bed, and pulled him into her lap. She rocked back and forth with him and tried to soothe him with one of the sweet tunes he favored, but it did little good. He whimpered, cried, and shivered uncontrollably.

“I kin make an infusion to bring the fever down a bit, but ‘e’s got to sweat.”

“Our house burned.” Elsbeth lip quivered.

“I ‘eard of it.”

“Mistess Wiggs allows us to sleep in the shed.”

“The child needs to be beside the fireplace. Put ‘im in the kitchen and tell Mistress Wiggs there’ll be a curse on her if she objects.”

Elsbeth nodded but she could not speak because her throat burned with emotion.

“There’s some things I know and some things I kin fix, but there’s that as is out of me ‘ands.” The widow poured boiling water into a bowl she had filled with herbs. “If ye ‘ave something of the child’s to leave with me, I kin try some of me special charms on it.”

Elsbeth’s felt the blood leave her face. “They told me you can heal any disease.”

“And ‘oo might they be? Be they the ones ‘oo also say I be a witch and dances with the devil? Might they be the ones ‘oo blame me when it doesn’t rain. Or the ones ‘oo blame me for the floods.” The old woman rolled her eyes. “They’d be ‘anging me if they weren’t afraid of me.” She cackled again.

Elsbeth shivered.

The widow strained out the herbs and poured the infusion into an empty crock. “Ye be giving ‘im as much as ‘e kin drink every ‘our or so. If ye’ve nothing of the child’s to leave with me, I kin take a bit of ‘is ‘air.”

Elsbeth clutched Josiah closer to her bosom. She had heard what witches did with hair and fingernails. They could create powerful spells that would force people to commit terrible, inhuman acts.

The widow reached for a pair of scissors.

Elsbeth fumbled deep within the quilt to find the toy pony clutched in Josiah’s feverish hands. She pried it from his grasp as he wailed.

“No, Mama! No. Papa gave it to me!”

She sobbed as she handed it to the widow.

“This will do, m’dear. ‘Is father made it on a long voyage. Much love went into it.” The widow placed the toy in a small cradle beside the hearth. The cradle had only a quilt in it. 

Josiah wailed and Elsbeth wept. The old widow patted her on the shoulder.

“There, there. Twill all come right in the end, m’dear.”

The old widow helped her put Josiah on the horse’s back and once Elsbeth was on the horse, she handed her the crock with the infusion.

When Widow Vetter slapped the horse’s rump, the animal ran as if it had seen the devil. Elsbeth clung to the horse’s mane, her child, and the crock.

By the time she returned to the village, the sun had risen well overhead.

Mistress Wiggs waited for her along with the constable.

“You have stolen my horse,” Mistress Wiggs pronounced.

“I borrowed it. You can see I’m bringing it back and I’ll curry the mare and put a blanket on her, too.”

“I’ve given you shelter and you repay me with thievery
.” Mistress Wiggs pointed a finger at her.

“Horse stealing’s the worst of crimes.” The constable nodded. “You’ll be going to jail Mistress Sterford.”

“I did not steal the horse. My child is ill. I went to get him some medicine.” Elsbeth held up the crock.

The constable pulled her off the horse. “Now move along Mistress
.” He shoved her.

“I must take Josiah with me
!” She stood her ground.

“He can stay with Mistress Wiggs. I said move
!”

He slapped her so hard she fell and hit her head on the brick steps of the inn.

Chapter Fifteen

She heard a scream. Had Josiah cried out for her? She struggled to call him, but a massive hand covered her mouth and she could not respond. Fighting against her silencer, she scratched his hand and pulled at his fingers but he would not let go. Then she opened her eyes and saw the impenetrable black surrounding her. She remembered where she was.

And who she was.

She lay on a bed of sand with her head cradled on Harlan’s lap. She had not fallen against the hard, brick steps. That had been Elsbeth. She was not Elsbeth though her cheeks were damp with tears. She had the small wooden horse clutched in her hands. She had not left it with Widow Vetter.

“Hush.” Harlan’s voice warned in a raw whisper. “The echoes travel far.”

She nodded her understanding and he took his hand away.

“Another nightmare?” he asked in a muted tone.

She sat up and leaned against the hard, cold rock wall. “I dreamed of Elsbeth again. She
went to the Widow Vetter to get medicine for Josiah. She gave the widow his toy horse.”

Her hands trembled, but the horse soothed them with warmth. “Elsbeth took a horse from the stable and when she returned, Mistress Wiggs accused her of stealing the horse. The constable shoved her and she hit her head on the steps.”

Harlan said nothing but his breathing sounded ragged and uneven. Beyond the small alcove, she heard the drip, drip, drip of water, the shrill whine of the wind blowing in through the cave openings, and the other sounds that she hoped were not wings flapping.

“After Elsbeth’s burial, the Widow Vetter came with the toy pony and handed it to me.” Harlan’s voice sounded rusty. “She told me she had done what she could for Josiah and Elsbeth, but I was to hold onto the pony for things would work out in the end. I threw the horse into the fire. Then I walked outside and left for the docks. Perhaps, the widow saved it from the fire.”

Lesley sniffed and tried to clear her mind of the image of her son—no—Elsbeth’s son—so frail and feverish. The pungent smell of sage lingered in her nostrils, too, a detail that made no sense.

“Neither Mistress Wiggs or the constable had an ounce of compassion in their souls.”

“It must have been the widow who put the charm on the pony.” Harlan whispered.

Lesley stroked the smooth, warm wood of the toy. A little shiver went through her as she remembered the cradle where the widow had placed the horse. It looked exactly like the cradle she had purchased at the antique store on Route 13, the one that sat beside the fireplac
e in her own condo in the year 2011.

Had the widow been a witch?

“She said she would do what she could. Do you suppose the widow is still alive?”
Maybe she can send me back to 2011.

“She died but two years later. A storm washed her and her cottage into the sea.”

Lesley shuddered. Had the cradle and the horse floated away as well? Or had the widow simply waved her gnarled old hands and transported herself into 2011. It sure beat drowning. And who would know?

“Many in town feared and hated the widow but there were those who believed she had great power. Elsbeth believed. She told me to bring the widow to her, but I ... I ... The doctor came and bled her. Two days later—”

He didn’t say another word, but Lesley understood. A sensation of desolation swept over her. Poor Elsbeth. Poor Josiah.

“What a miserable existence they had.” She mused as she cradled the horse close to her heart.

Harlan said nothing.