But who could blame Nicholas, really? The Wellers had been good friends and neighbors, virtually insisting that the two boys remain friends no matter what. They never spoke of it as a chore or obligation, but Holly suspected that they were proving to themselves how decent and generous they could be with their son’s time. For just one week, Nick was her responsibility, and here she was about to deliver him back as damaged goods. When she held him against her breast last night, she could feel his heart beating like a jackrabbit’s. Now in the library, she heard that ticking rhythm, constant and familiar as the patterns of her own breathing. Like someone knocking on her brain. What did the spirits want from her? Why were they trying to reach her family?
Heading down Highway 1 for home, Holly had the urge to study the Wreck of the Porthleven again. Now that she had the names of the dead, the shipwreck had become more vivid in her imagination. The Reverend Vingoe and his three small children, the Nance lad, the unnamed sailor, and the unknown girl. Perhaps they simply wished to be named and remembered. The painting would give her an even stronger sense of the events surrounding that terrible night and why the ghosts were haunting her. Father Bolden had looked perplexed when she had brought the matter up on Christmas eve, and now she rehearsed an explanation of her interest in the painting, playing up the local history angle, and isn’t it interesting what can be found in the archives? By the time she reached the Star of the Sea, she nearly had her story straight.
The housekeeper answered the door, bowing slightly in greeting, and Holly reached out to shake her hand.
“Mrs. Keenan, how nice to see you.” With a firm grip, she pulled Holly into the foyer. “I’m sorry to say that Father Bolden is out, but please come in. I was hoping to see you, and here you are.”
“I’ve done some research,” Holly said. “Found some details about the Porthleven that he might be interested in.”
Miss Tiramaku took Holly’s coat and then led her into the dining room, moving quickly as if she owned the place. “I was going to bring a little something to your house when Father came back. Something for your troubles. Just wait right here…”
Dominating the space, the Porthleven seemed to rock gently in its frame. In those last few moments before the ship broke apart, the men and women on board must have realized their fate. Purcell and the sailor did their bravest to keep her afloat, and the Rev. Vingoe led the others in prayer, but they all knew, they knew, they had no hope. The water rushes over us and we are drowned. There were no people visible in the painting, just the storm-tossed boat, the black clouds, and the frothing sea. They would have gone into freezing shock, breathed in, and it was all over, she hoped, with no more struggle. Or they would hear their own muffled heartbeats as they held their breath underwater, fighting to survive.
Miss Tiramaku glided into the room and handed her a small package in red gift wrap. “Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you,” Holly said and sat, dumbfounded, at the table. With a child’s curiosity, she ripped at the pretty paper and found a pressed block of dried leaves in a cellophane wrapper. Inscrutable kanji decorated one side. Putting the brick under her nose, she inhaled deeply, detecting a hint of anise, a suggestion of tea.
“You’re not going to get me into trouble with the police, are you? No controlled substances involved?”
Hiding her smile with her hand, Miss Tiramaku giggled. “A special tea. A little licorice and gingko and other secret ingredients. For anxiety. Completely harmless,” she said. “But you never know, it might work. Or perhaps you would like to try acupuncture. I know a man in Portland.”
“It was very kind of you to think of me.”
Miss Tiramaku dismissed the gesture. “For when you are stressed. You can even drink it at night. No caffeine.”
“That’s a good thing. I can’t seem to sleep as it is.” Holly toyed with the ribbon from the package. “I should apologize for the other day when we first met. I was upset before you had even shown up. I’m sorry if I came across as frightened of you. How rude that was of me.”
“Even the oyster hides a pearl.”
“Ancient saying?”
“No, it’s from a commercial,” Miss Tiramaku smiled. “I was planning to come see you. About your boy.”
“What do you know about my son?”
“Not much, in particular, just what I hear. I’ve been working at Star of the Sea for nearly twenty years. Father and I are like an old married couple. No secrets. Don’t get me wrong, he didn’t break a confidence. I figured it out in hints and pieces. Besides, this is a small, small town. Everybody knows at least the outlines of everybody’s business, particularly when you work in a rectory. It’s like the village green, only inside, where it’s warm.”
“What do you know? What do people say about him?”
“That he is a special child. A boy trapped inside his own mind.”
Holly slid her hand from her lap and drummed her nails on the tabletop. Inside boy.
“You mustn’t worry about what the others say. He is your boy.”