Free The Ghosts of Aquinnah by Julie Flanders

friends with the fishermen as they brought in their daily catches. He loved the smell of the sea and always imagined getting on a boat himself one day and sailing away from the poverty and desolation of his homeland.
    In the fantasies of his childhood he had never envisioned that the sea he loved so much would one day nearly take his life. While the ocean below him was calm this afternoon, with the sun sparkling along the crest of its waves, he couldn't look at it now without remembering the night the Columbus went down. He could still hear the screams of passengers and crew members alike as they disappeared beneath the roiling waves. And he could still hear himself praying to God that he would live to see the sunrise as he clung to the rigging in the darkness of the frigid winter night.
    The memory brought a throbbing to Christopher's hand, in spite of the fact that the infected gash was healing well. He opened and closed his fingers, willing the pain to subside. It didn't.
    He shrugged the pain off and returned his attention to the task in front of him. Moving to the other side of the lighthouse, he left the ocean view behind him and stared down at the rolling snow-covered hills and the dirt road that snaked through them, its path stomped out by the horses of the Gay Head Indians as they made their way through the snow. As he scrubbed the window, he noticed a horse and buggy coming along the road towards the cliffs. Surprising, as in the nearly two weeks that Christopher had been recovering at the lighthouse he could count on one hand the number of visitors who had come to Gay Head.
    The buggy came closer and Christopher felt his heart thump in his chest as he recognized both the driver of the buggy and his passenger. Stella. He could see strands of her beautiful auburn hair blowing out from the edge of her bonnet and she wore the thick cloak he had seen when he first woke up from the wreck, frightened and in more pain than he'd ever imagined possible. He'd opened his eyes and seen an angel in a blue cloak standing over him.
    Stella had rarely been out of Christopher's mind since she and her husband had departed the Mayhew home so quickly and unexpectedly following the arrival of the Boston reporter. While he was grateful for the care her husband had given him, he still felt a profound dislike for the man. It had been impossible not to notice the change in Stella's demeanor as soon as her husband had entered the Mayhew kitchen. It was almost as if he could see her spirit dripping out from her body and collecting in a puddle at her feet.
    Christopher finished washing the window as the buggy drove up towards the Mayhew home. He dropped his now grimy washcloth into the bucket at his feet and placed the handle of the bucket at the elbow of his good arm. His wiry build and athletic body had always leant itself well to climbing, but his broken arm made it a challenge now to make his way down the ladder at the top of the lighthouse while carrying his cleaning supplies. He knew it was manageable as long as he concentrated on maintaining his balance, something that he was finding difficult since he suddenly found it impossible to concentrate on anything but Stella Winslow. He was grateful when he reached the bottom of the ladder and was able to switch to the winding staircase that would bring him back to ground level.
    He left the lighthouse just as Stella and Josiah were stepping off the buggy and shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs. Mayhew. Stella caught sight of him and gave him a shy smile, and his heart immediately began to turn somersaults in his chest.
    “ Your doctor's here to check on you, Christopher,” Mr. Mayhew said.
    “ I see that. Good day to you, Dr. Winslow. Mrs. Winslow,” Christopher said. He extended his good hand towards Josiah, who shook it cordially.
    “ How's the arm, Casey?” Josiah said.
    “ Much better, sir. Thank you.”
    “ I see William's put you to work.”
    “ The boy's asked to work,” William