Boston Metaphysical Society Page 13

  With the wire still tied to her, she inched her way through several layers of gears and out the other side. Not wanting to waste another minute in this horrible place, Tinker hurried across the jammed gear assembly and over to the other opening. Just as she was squeezing through, the ship jerked and the gears shifted, trapping her metal foreleg.

  Tinker squealed in panic. It didn’t hurt, but she was stuck. What was she going to do? More steam was venting, and breathing was hard. Terrified, the poor rat hung on to the force driving her—Jonathan. She must get back to him no matter what.

  Tinker did what any living creature desperate to survive would do; she yanked on the metal foreleg. The leg twisted as she struggled to pull the fine copper filaments out of her bone. As they tore, pain reverberated up the bone where it was still attached to her flesh. If a rat could scream, that is what she did as she yanked each filament away, leaving the metal appendage in the gears.

  Tinker dragged herself through the rest of the gear assembly and back out the other side. With only three working legs, she looked back up the long conduit and started on her return journey.

  JONATHAN STARED AT THE HOLE through which Tinker had disappeared and feared the worst. “This is taking too long. Something’s happened.”

  “It was a good try, young man. I’m sorry it didn’t work.” The captain gave him a slight tip of his cap in respect.

  Adaline walked over and took Jonathan’s hand. Tears welled up in her eyes. “My father made the wrong choice for me.”

  He squeezed her hand back, but a chirping sound caused him to glance back at the hole where he saw Tinker struggling to get out. “Tinker! On my God, she lost her leg!”

  “But not the wire,” the captain cried out. He and the other officers removed the wire from Tinker as Jonathan cradled her in his arms.

  With two officers at each of the end of the wire, they wrangled it back and forth, trying to unjam the gears. The first officer stayed at the helm ready to decrease speed at the captain’s order.

  “Sir?” the First Officer’s voice rose in panic.

  The entire bridge looked out over the bow. The seawall loomed large and impenetrable.

  “Just fix the damn thing!” Beatrice demanded.

  The men struggled, but the gears refused to budge.

  Jonathan turned to the first officer. “Keep wiggling and adjusting the speed control as they try to free the gears.”

  The first officer complied and shifted the control back and forth hoping the wire would slip into just the right spot.

  Another officer continued to tug on the wire until it found the sweet spot and they wrenched the gears back into place.

  The first officer pulled back on the speed control, and the vessel slowed, but not enough.

  “We’re still going to hit the seawall,” the captain declared. He hit the emergency button and a klaxon sounded throughout the ship. “Grab on to something.”

  Everyone hung on to whatever they could as they watched the seawall approaching. Its sandbar extended out a good fifty feet before a massive wall of brick and iron. Sixty feet tall and ten feet thick, it had been built to protect the harbor from hurricanes.

  Forced to reduce speed so rapidly, the ship groaned then lurched and swayed.

  “Ten knots… no, eight,” the first officer shouted.

  The captain shook his head. “We need to be slower.”

  Jonathan stuffed Tinker in his pocket. “Hang on, Tinker.”

  The ship rocked.

  “Five knots.”

  They hit the sandbar.

  The impact threw everyone forward as the ship slid upward. Most landed on the floor and skidded to the front of the bridge. Men and women screamed as the bow sliced through the sandbar and crashed into the seawall.

  An explosion rocked the ship where the bow crumpled. Jonathan could feel the hull plates collapse. The vessel moaned like a woman in labor, shook, then stopped. The crew and passengers were thrown backward, breaking bones and bodies.

  When the ship settled to a stop, Jonathan could see Adaline’s father had struck his head and was unconscious. Bruised and with a sprained wrist, Adaline crawled over to him to see what she could do. Beatrice was banged up, but was otherwise unscathed. Hal had broken an arm, but Charles was in agony with a dislocated shoulder.

  Jonathan hurt from his head to his toes. When straightened up, his back popped in five different places. He looked in his pocket to see a dazed but very much alive Tinker. Jonathan grabbed on to the edge of the navigation table to help himself up. When he finally managed to stand, he saw the first officer lying dead across the helm, his back broken. A jagged piece of metal had pierced through the stomach of another crew member; the rest of the injured crew were trying to make him as comfortable as possible.

  Other passengers were in various states of shock while several intrepid reporters who had managed to stay alive were writing in their notebooks as fast as they could. The captain had a broken leg and motioned to Jonathan to help him up.

  With Jonathan’s support, he hopped over to the helm to look out the window. The massive destruction of this amazing ship clearly broke his heart, but he retained his composure. “We’ll signal for ferries to take you and your family to safety.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Jonathan, gather up your father. We are leaving,” Beatrice declared.

  “No, we’re not.” Jonathan shook his head. “If House Weldsmore is ever to be trusted by those who work for us and those who use our services, we must set an example, Grandmother. We stay with the ship. However, the injured should be removed immediately. Captain, find out if there are any doctors on board. My family created the problem. We’re not running away from it.”

  Beatrice was about to object, but she noticed the reporters watching her and writing everything down. “Of course, Jonathan. We stand by the ship… and her crew.” She turned back to Jonathan with an odd look in her eyes. It was if she were seeing him with a new sense of clarity.

  “Is there anything else I can I do to help, Captain?” Jonathan asked.

  “No, Mr. Weldsmore. I think we can take it from here.”

  FOURS TUGS PULLED THE HYPATIA through the harbor and back to dock. Since it took hours to accomplish, by the time they arrived, other small craft dotted the water to examine the damage done to the ship. Scores of people lined the shore and the pier as news spread of the accident. From sailors’ families worried about their loved ones, to human vultures who liked to feed on the pain of others, they all came.

  Jonathan and his family along with Adaline and her father were still on the bridge when they docked. Adaline’s father had regained consciousness and appeared to be well even with a large knot on his head. It was Jonathan’s wish that the injured be allowed to disembark first. His grandmother had bristled at that but changed her mind when she saw how the crew reacted. It earned Jonathan a touch on the hand from Adaline which made him forget his bruised body. Word soon spread throughout the ship that Jonathan had not only saved them but was putting the crew above the family.

  When the time came for Jonathan and his family to disembark, Hal composed himself and ventured off the bridge, expecting the usual pomp and circumstance from the seamen standing at attention. Much to his surprise, they ignored him. Only when Jonathan walked on deck did the men snap to attention.

  Jonathan nodded in appreciation, then noticed the wrapped bodies of the master chief and the seamen who had died in the boiler room being carried from below deck to the gangplank. When Hal tried to shove his way past, Jonathan held his arm up to stop him. He motioned for the seamen to stop, then walked over to the shrouded bodies and saluted them.

  Several seamen, overwhelmed at the gesture, broke down and wept. They had never seen one of their own treated with such respect by a Weldsmore. The officers stood at attention and followed Jonathan’s lead. The seamen carried off their dead with dignity.

  Beatrice, not one to waste an opportunity, shoved Hal out of the way and stood next to Jonathan
.

  “Jonathan, be a gentleman and give me your arm,” she ordered under her breath.

  Out of habit, Jonathan started to raise his arm, then stopped. He gave his grandmother a stern look and shook his head. “No.”

  Beatrice opened her mouth to berate him, but stopped when she saw the respect and adoration in the crew’s eyes. She gave him a curt nod, then stepped back.

  Jonathan turned around and faced Adaline, who had followed him off the bridge. “Miss Monplasir, would you be so kind as to allow me to escort you off the ship? With your father’s permission, of course,” he asked her with as much formality as he could muster.

  Her father grinned from ear to ear as he bowed his head in Jonathan’s direction.

  “Thank you, Mr. Weldsmore. I would be honored,” Adaline replied as she took his arm.

  The couple walked past a stunned Hal, who had no idea what had just happened. Beatrice, who was smart enough to realize that the power structure in the family had just shifted, forced a smile and followed behind them.

  As Jonathan and Adaline walked down the gangplank, the seamen erupted into cheers. Photographers snapped pictures and the crowd applauded. Jonathan was a little dismayed at the attention.

  Adaline leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “You better get used to it, Mr. Weldsmore.”

  “Stop calling me that,” Jonathan insisted.

  A squeak distracted both Jonathan and Adaline. He opened the pocket to see Tinker’s two beady eyes staring at them. “Don’t worry girl, I’ll fix you up a new leg in no time.”

  “I guess this means I’ll need to carry a regular supply of crackers.” Adaline grinned at him. “And I’m thinking that a proper cage would be in order for an engagement present. What do you think?”

  “I think we’re done with cages,” Jonathan replied as he realized that a future he had never thought possible stood right before him.

  JEANETTE DID NOT CARE ONE bit that her romantic fantasy had been dead for over fifty years.

  “He be here. I just know it, Caitlin.” The girl’s eyelashes fluttered as she pretended to swoon.

  Caitlin knew a ghost was present from the moment she entered the crumbling South Boston tenement. Not because it reeked of mildew or because an icy breeze wound its way around the hem of her skirts, but because of the humming sensation throughout her body. Distinct and high-pitched, it was as if static electricity built up from her feet, to her neck and rippled through her arms until it reached the end of her fingertips. When she held her hands up to her face, Caitlin saw tiny sparks dance on her nails. The sensation made her aware of everything around her; especially her friend Jeanette breathing down her neck.

  “Well, do ye see him? Do he be as handsome as they say?” Jeanette squealed in delight. The fourteen-year-olds curly, auburn hair bounced around her shoulders as she rocked back and forth on her heels. The threads from the hem of her long, plain, brown wool skirt whooshed across the splintered and cracked wooden floor. Swatches of black wool cloth were sewn neatly over worn and threadbare patches on her skirt and overcoat, unlike on Caitlin’s well-worn but higher quality gray wool skirt and jacket. Both girls wore plain white cotton blouses that buttoned from their waist to the top of their neck. To dress any other way would have been unseemly.

  Caitlin brushed a lock of her burgundy hair from her eyes as she closed her eyes and concentrated on calling the ghost to her. After a minute she opened her eyes, sighed, and took Jeanette’s hand. “Come along. He be near.”

  A thumb width taller than her friend and a year older, Caitlin had known she was a Medium since she was a child. She inherited the gift from her father, Andrew O’Sullivan, and knew he would disapprove of her using her abilities to entertain her friend if he ever found out. But there was little fun to be had in her neighborhood and besides, it was harmless. Jeanette was the only one who knew of her special abilities and was sworn to secrecy.

  The two girls pulled up their skirts, hopped over a section of loose floorboards, and scooted past a wardrobe around which fragments of a mirror were scattered on the floor. The four-story building once belonged to a Milner, who like many before him, fell victim to the “hatter’s madness,” as the locals called it. He set the second floor on fire to stop the voices he claimed were coming from the walls. His workers fled in time and only he perished. Most of the building was still intact, but no one in the South Side wanted to rebuild it, fearing the ghost would take revenge. The Irish were a superstitious lot, but they were wrong about who the ghost was.

  As Caitlin tiptoed through the glass, trying not to damage her short leather boots, she saw the reflection of a handsome man in his thirties with hair blacker than coal and amber eyes. The scars across his neck told her she had found the ghost Jeanette was infatuated with.

  His name was Marcus O’Reilly, and after being caught in a compromising position with the mayor’s wife, he had been dragged back to the South Side and hanged. Jeanette believed he haunted this particular building because it was where his true love had died. Other stories claimed he had been a flagrant womanizer and families hid their daughters whenever he ambled across the street. Caitlin suspected he haunted this building because the irate mayor had him hung there.

  “Jeanette, he be here,” Caitlin announced as the ghost gave her a secretive smile.

  “Oh, I wish I could see him. Is he as handsome as they say?”

  “Aye,” Caitlin replied. “And I bet if he could he’d be bedding the first lass that crossed his path.”

  “How can you be sayin’ that?” Jeanette protested. “He just be lonely. Missing the love of his life.”

  Caitlin rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Silly goose. Let’s be going before me ma finds out we be wandering through these old buildings.”

  Jeanette picked up a piece of the broken mirror as a token and held it to her breast. “Can’t you release him, Caitlin? Can’t you send him to be with his true love?”

  “No. I don’t be askin’ ghosts no questions about the why of it all,” Caitlin scoffed. “Callin’ them just be for fun.”

  “But your da— ”

  “My da wants me to be a teacher. Not traipsing after ghosts and murderers and other beasties.” Caitlin replied. She glanced out a broken out window and saw the sun was setting. “Oh no. We’re late. Ma will be furious.”

  Both girls ran toward the front door, but not before Caitlin gave one more glance back to the mirror shards to see Marcus give her a wink. It took all her strength to keep from laughing.

  CAITLIN’S MOTHER WAS ANGRY, BUT Erin O’Sullivan was always angry for reasons that Caitlin never understood. Sometimes she thought her mother was jealous of her, but the thought was so ridiculous that Caitlin felt ashamed for even thinking it. Every once in a while a hint of sadness crossed her mother’s face. Caitlin noticed it when she and her father laughed about something only they understood. A few times Caitlin had tried to include her mother, but Erin just became more hostile. Caitlin could not imagine why her father had married her but she was told that her mother’s hair was once as vibrant as her own. Her figure, now stooped, had been the envy of the other girls in the neighborhood. Caitlin knew years of scrubbing floors had taken their toll even though her mother no longer had to do it with da’s new job. She had hoped her mother would enjoy her new found freedom, but the older woman spent much of her energy hounding Caitlin.

  “You be late, girl.” Erin groused in her thick Irish brogue as she cut up fresh potatoes and onions on their small wooden table. “If I hear you be with some boy, I’ll smack ye ’til ye be black and blue.”

  “I got no interest in boys, ma,” Caitlin insisted. “Jeanette and I… well, there be better things to do.”

  “With that twit of a girl? You don’t be needing friends like her. She’s likely to pull up her skirts for the first boy who looks her way.” Erin spat.

  “Ma!”

  “That be enough, Erin.” Andrew’s curt Irish voice cut through the air. “Jeanette may be a silly
girl, but she’s a good and well-behaving one.” Caitlin’s father always thought the best of people though he had seen the worst.

  Andrew had worked as a photographer in Ireland before landing in Boston with Erin right after the war between the Great Northern and Southern Houses. The conflagration had devastated much of the Southern States of America in the late 1860’s, leaving a nation still hostile and divided. Though a gifted photographer, Andrew’s true talent lay in his ability to sense ghosts, demons, and other supernatural creatures. He had educated himself on the nuances of spirit photography to capture and catalog those paranormal beings while working with a homicide detective until the gentleman’s unfortunate death. Andrew then found employment with a former Pinkerton detective by the name of Samuel Hunter. He never discussed what he did for Mr. Hunter with Erin or Caitlin, but she sensed it was more dangerous than taking pictures and ferreting out ghosts. However, it paid well for a South Sider and Caitlin knew they lived better than most which was a constant source of embarrassment to her mother. Caitlin heard the phrase “knowing your place” daily.

  “And what do you know about that girl?” Erin mocked him.

  “If you spent any time talking to the lass instead of scaring her, you’d find out.” Andrew shook his head in disappointment. “It wouldn’t hurt you to be agreeable to Caitlin’s friends.”

  “Friends? She has no friends except for that girl.” Erin’s tone turned accusatory. “And everyone knows the whys of that.”

  Husband and wife glared at each other until Caitlin broke the tension.

  “Do you need any help with supper, ma?” she asked, knowing full well what her mother referred to. Everyone in the neighborhood knew what Andrew did for a living but dared not speak of it for fear doing so would bring evil to their doorsteps. Parents refused to allow their daughters to befriend Caitlin because of him and Erin’s few friends would always find excuses to not come over. The only exception was Jeanette, who thought having a friend who spoke to ghosts was far more interesting and useful than the nattering neighborhood girls were.