Tear In Time (45 page)

  
“John, should you go with him to direct the search?” Susan said to her husband.

 
Without a flinch he agreed, and grabbed his hat as he started for the door.

  
“I know you two are not from this area, but did you happen to get a good look
at her?” asked the innkeeper. “What did she look like? Did you observe anything
that distinguished her?” he questioned the two.

  
“She told us her name was Abigail Stanton before she jumped,” Susan immediately
blurted out.

  
“ABIGAIL STANTON? Is this some kind of joke?” the innkeeper asked sternly.

  His
demeanor quickly changed. He was now visibly upset as his eyes pierced the two.

  
“What is the meaning of this?” he questioned John directly.

  
“Sir, I am not sure what you are on about, but I can assure you that this IS no
joke. A matter of this serious nature should not be taken lightly.” John spoke
resolutely, assuring the old man of his honest character.

  
“If this is not a joke, then you must be mistaken, sir,” the innkeeper
challenged while taking off his coat, still not believing the pair.

  
“I cannot confirm the accuracy of my report other than to tell you that Susan
and I heard with our own ears the poor woman tell us her name, and that name
was Abigail Stanton,” John retorted back to the innkeeper’s challenge.

  The
old man sat down on a rickety wooden chair. He shook his head and repeated to
himself as he tried to understand the claims presented to him. “This just isn’t
possible. It’s just not possible.”

  
“Well, sir, are you off to the constable’s?” pushed John.

  The
innkeeper raised his head and asked, “But, sir, I just don’t know how it could
have been Abigail Stanton.”

  
“Do you doubt our integrity?” asked John with an insulted tone.

  
“Sir, please do not misunderstand my situation. I am trying to reconcile the
facts,” the old man stated, trying to make sense of it all.

  
“The facts are as we just stated. Abigail Stanton jumped to her death an hour
ago, and we need to act fast or her body will be lost forever,” Susan
interjected emphatically.

  
“Ma’am, I can now see that you two are serious about your claim. It is what you
saw that I am confused about,” replied the Innkeeper.

  
“Sir, we are wasting precious time. Shall we go?” John insisted. “Why do you
sit and procrastinate over this poor woman’s body?” he added, trying to drive
home his point.

  
“Sir, you could look for a thousand years and would never find her body in the
ocean,” replied the old man.

  
“We could at least try,” Susan added. “We cannot give up so easily. I would not
want anyone to take my death so lightly.”

  
“My dear, I am not giving up, and I understand fully the tragedy of Abigail
Stanton,” said the old man, standing up. He walked over to the fireplace,
grabbed the poker and rotated the logs slightly to stoke the fire. He began to
warm himself as he pondered the situation.

  
“Sir, this is an outrage! If you will not summon the constable, then direct me
to his location and I will do it myself,” John angrily asked.

  
“He will not come,” was all the old man said, his head bowed slightly.

  
“Why is that, sir?” Susan cut in before John could speak.

  
“Because she is dead,” answered the old man.

  
“Well of course she is dead. She jumped into the water and drowned. This has
been our charge all along. Pardon my poor manners, sir, but are you deaf?” John
said, exasperated.

  The
old man turned away from the fire and walked over to where John was standing.
He placed his hand on his shoulder and spoke, “Sir, Abigail Stanton is most
certainly dead to be sure. I know this to be true because just about a year ago
she threw herself off those very same rocks to her death. She is buried in the
town cemetery.”

  John
stumbled back a bit and caught himself. He turned to Susan. She was in shock
and only stared at the floor in an effort to hide from the obvious. John tried
to reconcile the reality that his mind would not yet let in.

  
“Sir, are you saying we saw…” John started, and was cut off by the old man.

  
“Abigail Stanton’s spirit,” the old man said, interrupting John mid-sentence.
“Yes, sir: if what you tell me is accurate, then you have just witnessed her
ghost. There can be no other explanation for this,” he added with
determination.

  
“My gosh, how did it happen?” Susan asked, accepting their reality.

  
“My, my, where do I begin? Well, first of all, Abigail was married to a fine
young man, a captain of a fishing schooner. I remember him as a boy: very
astute and very hard-working. He came from a good family. They were married
some fifteen years ago, I believe, and quickly had four children. I remember
Abigail back then. She seemed perpetually pregnant.  She had three boys
and a girl, the girl being the youngest. As the paper reported a year ago,
Robert, her husband, had already been employing his two oldest boys on his
ship, but thought it would be a good idea to teach his trade to the younger
two. Most thought it was the bad luck of bringing his daughter aboard that sank
the ship, but I never believed in any of that superstitious nonsense. Anyway,
he would take them out for a couple of days at a time. I believe this was as
much as Abigail would allow, especially for the young girl. One day while out
at sea, a large storm overtook the ship and she sank, claiming the lives of all
aboard. Upon hearing the news that her entire family was lost, poor Abigail
became ‘touched’. She wouldn’t eat, and barely slept. It was reported that she
was convinced that her family was still out at sea and would be back when they
had finished their task.”

  The
old man walked over to the window and pointed to the rocks at the other end of
the crescent-shape beach. “Every day, she waited atop those rocks for her
family to return. Poor thing. I’d see her day after day, tossing a flower into
the sea for each child and her husband. She rarely came down. The town was
about to have her committed when a large storm hit and washed her out to sea.
The paper said it was suicide, but I know better. She would never throw herself
off those rocks. Her faith in God wouldn’t allow it.”

  He
turned toward the two and continued, “No, I don’t believe that story for one
minute. The sea was violent that day. I remember it; not unlike today’s seas.
One minute she was there, the next she was gone. You just can’t stand up there
in a bad storm. The sea will snatch you right off the rocks like a bullfrog’s
tongue to a fly. I tried to explain that to the constable, but no one wanted to
believe that version of the truth. Besides, suicide sells papers. So that is
how history remembers it,” the old man said with disgust.

  He
then looked out the window and quickly turned back to John. “I’m curious. Did
you actually see her jump? If you did see her ghost jump into the sea, maybe
she really did take her life – a phenomenon of the afterlife repeating the last
minutes before death.”

  
“I’m sorry. One minute she was there, the next she was gone, just like you
reported.” John said, saddened that he couldn’t be of more help.

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