From the Walfang Gazette
Mystery at the Miller
A mystery donor dropped a four-hundred-year-old gold doubloon in the donation box at the Miller Gallery sometime last week.
“I came across it when I emptied the box,” said Marjorie Willstack, a gallery volunteer. “At first I thought it was a bottlecap. When I realized what it was, I nearly died of shock.”
Jacob Worthington of Worthington’s Fine Antiques, who specializes in rare, collectible coins, estimated that the doubloon could be worth as much as $6,000. “It certainly doesn’t seem like the kind of thing someone would place in the box as a mistake,” he said. “It’s not the sort of object one would carry in a change purse.”
The Miller is grateful for the gift, but asks that the donor come forward…
Will ran his fingers over the recorder. He sat on his bed with legs crossed, the mussed covers pushed back around him. Guernsey was beside him, her warm chin resting on his knee.
Ever since Will had taken the flute to the antiques store, it had occupied a chunk of his mind. Why hadn’t he ever heard Tim play it? Why would his brother have an ancient recorder, anyway? Why not just a regular flute? Where had it come from? Had Tim found it, or had someone given it to him?
The night air outside was still, cut only by the sound of crickets.
He looked at the smooth bone carefully, wondering what kind of animal it had come from. The recorder was the length of his forearm, so it must have come from something large. A deer, perhaps. Or a sheep.
Will tried to recall the tune of the song Kirk had been singing earlier, but it was hopeless. Tim’s musical gift had passed over Will completely. Between Gretchen-who had a beautiful singing voice-and Tim’s guitar and perfect vocal pitch, Will figured that he should have picked up some talent by osmosis. But he hadn’t. Will had always liked it when Tim and Gretchen sang together. Sometimes Tim would play the guitar, and sometimes Johnny. Gretchen could hold down the melody while Tim carved out the low harmony. Will had always been tone-deaf, even before the accident that stole the hearing from his right ear, and the music had sounded like magic to him. It seemed greater than sound; it was a fabric Gretchen and Tim were weaving together. But it was pleasure mixed with pain. For even though Tim was his brother, not Gretchen’s, and Gretchen was his friend, not Tim’s, when they sang together Will felt the tender pain of exclusion. He knew they didn’t mean to make him feel that way. It was as if they had lost themselves so completely in the music that Will had ceased to exist for them.
He was secretly glad that Gretchen never wanted to sing in public. He was relieved that she wouldn’t join Tim’s band. Will didn’t want the world to hear them together. He knew what they would say. Gretchen with her wild beauty and Tim with the chiseled features of a movie star-everyone would think they were a couple. And even if they weren’t, Will would feel like a child watching his parents drive away, without waving, in the family sedan.
Will placed his lips at the edge of the flute and blew a note. It emerged uneven, but Will was surprised at how sweet it sounded.
“I know, I know, I’m not the brilliant musician,” Will said as Guernsey’s low growl rumbled against his knee. He stroked her soft ears, black flecked with white-evidence of her age-and she nosed his fingers.
Will blew another note, placing his fingers over the holes. He had played the recorder in second-grade music class, but the cheap plastic flutes had sounded flat even in the best hands. This flute, by contrast, sounded crisp and silvery even beneath his clumsy fingers. He didn’t know much about music, though, so he didn’t know a tune to play. “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” maybe, but that didn’t seem like the right kind of song for this instrument. It needed something melancholy, or at least pensive.
As if in answer, a single note came from the open window. Guernsey leaped up, barking madly, making the bed groan and creak beneath her feet.
“Hey, hey, it’s just an echo,” Will said, patting Guernsey’s side with a hearty thunk thunk thunk. She settled down to a low growl, then hopped off the bed. “You’re leaving? You sure?” Will asked as Guernsey looked up at the door expectantly. He got up to let her out, and she trotted stiffly down the hall and down the stairs.
Will looked down at the flute, wondering where Asia had found hers. She had said it was a gift-yet she had sold it. It was strange how thoughts of Asia seemed to sneak up on him. Not in the same way that thoughts of Tim blindsided him. It was more as if thoughts of Asia nibbled at the edges of his mind like the minnows that tickled his leg when he stepped into the bay. Often he wasn’t even conscious that he was thinking of her again. What had she meant when she said she had no family? Where did she come from? Why didn’t he ever see her with anyone-didn’t she have friends? What was it about her that seemed to fill his mind with fog? Was it her speech pattern? Her beauty? Or something else that he couldn’t put his finger on?
Will placed the flute at the back of his bottom drawer and slid it closed. He crossed back to his bed and looked out the window.
He wished he could talk to Tim. It was strange to have your brother, your best friend, disappear overnight. We always shared everything. Right up to the end.
The sand lay spread before her like a vast ocean, and-like the ocean-it felt cool on her feet as she trudged onward. The sun beat down, but it wasn’t hot. A cool wind blew, setting her teeth on edge, making her body rigid with cold. Gretchen kept moving, hoping to get warm.
She had to get to the lake.
She knew it was there, although she couldn’t see it. The sand sloped slightly upward, and her muscles ached as she trudged on. The sand was dewy on her bare feet.
She did not ask herself why she was there. She knew. She had to get to the lake.
The breeze blew again, and this time it carried a gentle strain. It wasn’t quite a song-more like a tone. A single note. Sweet and clear as the jingle of a silver bell on a crisp winter night. It carried her forward, her feet moving more quickly now.
She hurried toward the top of the ridge, but it was farther than she’d thought. Her breath thickened in her throat as she increased her pace. She could see the light fog from her mouth, like a dragon’s snore, hanging on the air.
Another note joined the first, and this was like a golden bell. Warm and sweet, thick as honey. She could almost taste the music. She wanted to gobble it up.
She paused.
She had reached the height. There, below her, lay a glassy sea. And now she was running, running toward the water. She felt like a rock tumbling forward, the momentum taking over. The music grew louder, and more notes joined the first until it was a symphony of tones. All of them unique as they wove together to form a single strand.
Her toe touched the water’s edge, and she hesitated, stopping to look in the smooth surface. She could tell by the midnight blue of the water that the shore was like a precipice. After only a few inches, there was a sheer drop. In the water, she could see herself, her blue eyes, her long blond hair falling forward so that the tips touched the water.
And beyond the surface, in the deep, there was a flame.
She bent closer to see. It flickered, and Gretchen realized that another flame twinkled near the first. And another. Soon the flames were a night sky of stars. She looked overhead to see their mirror image.
But the sun shone high in the sky.
Gretchen looked down into the water. Two of the stars seemed to burn more brightly than the others. Their light glowed blue, like the hottest stars, then green. Suddenly they seemed like a pair of eyes.
As they glowed brighter still, Gretchen saw a face, pale and smooth. Then, around the face, tendrils of hair floated like seaweed.
Something moved, as if the face was trying to whisper something to her. The music caressed her with its own breeze. She leaned closer-and a hand grabbed her hair.
Her shriek suffocated as the hand pulled her face into the water. She kicked and fought, but it was no use. The thing was stronger. And now she could see that the flames were eyes, and they blazed with a dangerous fire, a fierce hate. The jaws snapped at her with dagger teeth. “Gretchen!” it snarled, and the silver bells turned to iron, ringing her chest with an alarm.
She choked and sputtered; she couldn’t breathe. She clawed at the creature, but it held her and would not let go…
“Gretchen!”
With a final effort, she kicked at the creature, and all at once it opened its grip. The thing cried out with a familiar voice, and when Gretchen looked up, she saw that it was dark as night outside.
Rocks bit into her hands; her knees throbbed where the flesh had been torn away. She was on her knees at the edge of the bluff. She barely had time to register that she had been sleepwalking again when something moved.
“Gretchen!” shouted a voice. Will’s voice.
The thing moved again, and Gretchen realized that it was his hand. It was gripping the earth with white knuckles. He had fallen over the edge of the bluff and was clinging to the rocks for dear life.
He must have been trying to stop me from going over, Gretchen realized. I was sleepwalking again. “Will!” Gretchen crawled forward, but she was too slow. His hand slipped, then disappeared. “Will!”
Gretchen scrambled to the edge and looked over. But all she saw was a deep blackness. And the only noise was the crashing of the waves on the rocks below.
Will came to with a sudden jerk, a spasm in his neck. “Ow.”
“Shh.”
Finger to the lips. Green eyes. Long dark hair spilling forward, brushing his chest lightly.
“Where-?” Will looked around. He heard the soft crash of the sea as he struggled to sit upright. All of his limbs seemed to be in working order, but his mind-that was another matter. What is this stuff I’m lying on? he wondered, running his hands on the softness. It wasn’t rocks, which was what he had been expecting. It took him a moment to realize it was sand.
“You fell,” Asia told him.
Will looked at her, wondering dimly what she was doing there. “I know.” Yes, he remembered.
Will remembered exactly what happened.
From his second-story window, he had seen a figure in white slipping through the darkness. It was Gretchen. Although the night was dark, Will could see her clearly, as if she were illuminated with her own inner fire. Ghostlike, Gretchen made her way through the trees and headed toward the bluff.
“Damn,” Will cursed under his breath, and yanked on his jeans. He shoved his feet into his sneakers and raced out the back door without tying the laces. The screen door banged behind him as he loped toward the willows.
For a moment he couldn’t see her. Then-there, between the trunks-a flash of white. “Gretchen!” he shouted, plunging into the darkness after her.
Twice before he’d caught her sleepwalking. Once, when they were seven years old, Will had seen her on the porch, and he snuck out of the house to join her. Her eyes were open, and she spoke to him. But it was in a strange voice, with words he didn’t understand. It took him a while to realize that she wasn’t awake, and then he was frightened. He’d heard that you could kill someone if you woke them while they were sleepwalking, and he was still young enough to believe it. He didn’t dare shout for help, and he didn’t dare to leave her. So they sat there for over two hours, until Will’s father went to check on him and realized that he wasn’t in bed. He found Will and Gretchen on Gretchen’s porch swing. Gretchen had fallen fully asleep, her head in a wide-eyed Will’s lap.
The next time was four years later. Will had heard a noise downstairs, so he grabbed his baseball bat and crept into the kitchen. There was Gretchen. She was bathed in the warm light of the fridge as she stood before its open door, staring blankly at the bags of turnips, the wilting greens, the chicken thighs, the iced tea, the half-empty jar of mayonnaise, the bottle of chocolate syrup. Will took her hand and gently closed the fridge. Then he led her out the door, down the steps. His feet were slippery with dew as he led her across the lawn to her house, where a frantic Johnny had just realized she was missing.
These were Will’s thoughts as he stumbled after Gretchen in the dark. He was afraid that she might hurt herself. If she reached the bluff, she could fall…
He doubled his pace. A branch whipped across his cheek, a rock found its way into his shoe, but he didn’t stop.
In a moment he was beyond the trees and could see her, moving quickly across the wide sweep of grass that led to the bluff. The distant roar of the ocean grew nearer, more dangerous.
She paused for a moment, looked up at the gibbous moon with her unseeing eyes.
“Gretchen!”
She darted forward, her long legs racing toward the precipice. Will’s breath was thick and heavy in his throat. The long muscles in his thighs burned as he tore up the incline. She was five steps from the edge. Three.
Two.
“Gretchen!” Will shouted, reaching for her. A fistful of fabric, and he yanked her back. She raked her nails across his face and let out an unearthly scream. She hit at his throat, choking him. He struggled for breath, but he wouldn’t let go.
Gretchen gave a sudden, violent kick. Will cried out as he fell to his knees. “Wake up!” he cried as she kicked again.
His knee slipped as blows rained down on him-he was shocked at her strength. His leg skidded over the edge of the bluff, his foot straining for purchase against gravel and rock. Will reached for the ground with his hands, but he grasped only earth. He reached for her leg, but one last, terrible kick sent him reeling backward. “Gretchen!” he cried as his fingers struggled to keep their grip on the gravel.
He couldn’t see the waves below, but he could hear them. He knew the rocks well. Mountainous boulders of slick red granite. Jagged as shark teeth, and as unforgiving.
His arms ached with strain as he struggled to pull himself upward. But the ground crumbled beneath his fingers, and in a sickening plunge, he fell back into thin air. A searing flash against the back of his head, and then even the stars went black…
And now, green eyes. Asia. Her face was clear in the light of the fattening moon.
“What are-? How did you-?” He sat up, then stood uncertainly, testing the pain in his body. He squeezed his eyes shut. Aches. Soreness. But nothing broken. He could feel a knot forming-he must have hit the back of his head when he went over the edge. But he wasn’t at the foot of the rocks. He was on the sand at the base of the bluff, a hundred feet away. It was as if a breeze had blown in and carried him to safety. He opened his eyes. “What happened?”
No answer.
He turned, and found himself alone. Asia had simply disappeared.
Will fought the feeling of unreality that was creeping over him like an army of ants. Maybe I was sleepwalking. Maybe I am-
“Will!” someone shrieked. “Will!”
It was Gretchen’s voice.
“Here!” he called.
“Will? Will?” A figure in white tore down the bluff. “Oh my God!” In a moment, Gretchen reached him, wrapped him in a hug. “Oh my God.” She sobbed against his bare chest, and suddenly Will’s teeth began to chatter in the cold night air. He was shivering, desperately cold, but relief made his joints feel fluid and loose.
“It’s okay.” Will patted her hair awkwardly.
“I’m okay.”
“I thought you were-” “I’m not.”
“But you-” She looked back at the bluff. Put a hand to her forehead. “I was dreaming.”
“I know.”
“What happened?” Will shook his head. “No clue.”
“But you were up there.” She gestured toward the bluff. Then her face crumpled in confusion. “Weren’t you?”
“I think so.”
Gretchen slipped her slender fingers into his, intertwining them like bean vines. “Are we both going crazy?” she whispered.
Will couldn’t quite make himself say no. “I don’t know,” he said instead.
“Great,” Will said bitterly as they neared his house. It was lit up, as if they had turned every light on in the place so they could look for him in the shadows-behind the couch, in the corners of the closet. His mother was probably tearing the house apart to try to find him. He could practically hear her wearing the floorboards smooth with her pacing.
“I’ll go in with you,” Gretchen offered.
“You don’t have to,” Will told her.
Gretchen squeezed his hand as if she couldn’t let it go, and Will realized that she was still shaking. The trembling had passed through his body like an earthquake, leaving him exhausted and dazed. He imagined the rubble of fallen buildings, windows shattered, bricks and rocks and scattered papers blowing down a deserted street. That was how he felt: wasted.
Gretchen, on the other hand, looked down at him with wide eyes, pupils dilated. Her hand felt hot-she was almost burning him with the intensity of her grip-and Will realized that she was frightened. Terrified. For her, the earthquake was still happening.
“Come on,” he said.
Guernsey was the first to hear their footfall on the step at the side door, and she came clack-clack-clacking across the linoleum to greet them, tail wagging. Her movements were slow and stiff with age, and she hadn’t quite reached them when Mrs. Archer darted in from the next room, face pale, eyes wide.
“Will!” Her voice was a strangled scream as she flung the screen door wide, shoving the dog aside.
“I’m all right, Mom, I’m-”
Pain tore across his face as she slapped him, hard. Nobody moved.
“How could you do that to me?” she whispered. Tears gathered at the rims of her eyes, pooled, then spilled down onto the slack of her hollow cheeks. She was wearing her ugly flowered nightgown-the one with the collar that buttoned up to her neck-and, over that, a battered yellow terrycloth bathrobe. She looked ancient and tired.
Guernsey sat down, ears back, and stared up at Mrs. Archer, watching her carefully. “Oh, God, Will.” She grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. “Don’t do that,” she whispered. “Don’t do that.”
The clock on the wall ticked on, and a shadow appeared in the kitchen doorway. It was Will’s father. He looked from Will to Gretchen, who was still clinging to Will’s arm like a frightened little girl. “Where you kids been?” he asked.
Mrs. Archer seemed to notice Gretchen for the first time. A blush bloomed across her face and she dried her eyes quickly.
Will was still too angry to say anything, but Gretchen spoke up. “I was sleepwalking again. Will saw me. He-” She looked up at Will, gave his hand another squeeze. “I was headed for the bluff. I got all the way to the edge.”
Mrs. Archer gasped and reached for Gretchen’s hand. “Good God, girl.”
“Will saw me from his window. He came after me,” Gretchen said. She shivered.
Mrs. Archer’s eyes lit on her son, and she seemed to take in the bloody scratch on his face.
Mr. Archer nodded. “I thought it might be something like that. Don’t just stand there, Evelyn, get the girl some tea.”
“No, that’s all right,” Gretchen said, but Mrs. Archer had already hurried over to the stove and was filling up the kettle.
Mr. Archer pulled out a chair, and Gretchen sank into it gratefully. Guernsey hobbled over and plopped at Gretchen’s feet. Will continued to stand. He folded his arms across his chest, suddenly aware that he was half naked. His chest and arms were lightly muscled and tan from farm work. It was strange how he never felt awkward with his shirt off while he was outside in the summertime, but here, in the closeness of the kitchen with his parents and Gretchen, he felt exposed.
“Has this been happening a lot?” Will asked.
“More lately,” Gretchen admitted.
“You need to take some warm milk before bed,” Mrs. Archer said as she dropped a teabag into a white mug and filled it with steaming water. “Or chamomile. The best tea for calming the mind.” She placed the mug on the table in front of Gretchen.
“I’ve tried,” Gretchen told her. “I’ve tried everything-yoga, meditation, tea, whatever. Nothing works. Not even sleeping pills.” She shook her head, then blew lightly on the tea. But she didn’t pick it up.
“Maybe you should lock yourself in your room,” Will suggested.
Gretchen looked up at him, hurt registering on her face, and Will winced. His words had sounded sarcastic, although he hadn’t meant them to.
“I’m sorry,” Gretchen said weakly.
“I didn’t mean-”
“Will, you’re a godawful mess,” Mr. Archer put in. “Why don’t you go wash that crust off your face and put on something that isn’t covered in dirt?”
Will nodded, happy to have an excuse to disappear for a moment. “Yeah. I’ll do that.”
Mr. Archer retreated to the living room as Will’s footsteps shuffled up the stairs. For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was Guernsey’s gentle snoring. Then a creak and a sigh as Mrs. Archer slid into the chair across from Gretchen. She sipped her tea with a slurp, swallowing loudly.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” Mrs. Archer said into her tea.
“Thanks to Will,” Gretchen said.
Mrs. Archer looked up. “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Well.” She frowned, shrugged. “I just don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you. I think of you like a daughter, you know.”
Gretchen felt her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Where is that coming from? Will’s mother wasn’t usually so open with her feelings.
Mrs. Archer placed her hand over Gretchen’s. Then she leaned so far forward that Gretchen could feel her breath. She smelled the mint of her toothpaste, the sweetness of the chamomile. “I know about Tim,” Mrs. Archer whispered fiercely. “I know how much he-”
Gretchen drew her hand away in shock, but at that moment Will came bounding down the stairs in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. He had washed the blood off his face, revealing only a small scratch on his left cheek. Smaller than the scar on the other side, but symmetrical. Gretchen’s head swam with relief. She didn’t want to discuss Tim. Not now.
Mrs. Archer stood up and crossed to the sink, where she placed her mug carefully. “Will, you should take Gretchen home,” she said, her back turned to her son.
“You ready?” Will asked Gretchen.
“Sure.” She handed the mug to Mrs. Archer, who accepted it like a token. “Thanks for the tea.”
Mrs. Archer nodded, her piercing gaze strangely unmatched to Gretchen’s light words.
Will didn’t notice, though. He just held open the door for Gretchen and let her walk through it.
All the way across the lawn to her dark house, Gretchen couldn’t help wondering what Mrs. Archer had been about to say. She knew about Tim. But what exactly had he told her? Not the whole story. That was impossible.
The day Tim died, he had made a confession to Gretchen. She had gone for a walk at the edge of the bay. He had seen her from his bedroom window, and had joined her. He’d looked serious and miserable. And then he told her that he loved her.
“Tim,” she’d started, but he put a finger to her lips.
“I know,” Tim said, staring down at her with his intense brown eyes. “It’s Will, isn’t it?”
She’d felt the tears spill over the rims of her eyes, but she couldn’t answer.
“Does he know?” Tim asked.
Gretchen shook her head.
Tim pulled her into a hug, and he didn’t seem to mind the tears on his shirt, or the fact that Gretchen’s nose was dripping. “You should tell him,” he whispered into her hair.
But she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t risk it. Whether or not he felt the same way, the moment she said something, things between them would never be the same. Gretchen wasn’t ready for that. And then Tim had died, and Gretchen had started to doubt that she’d ever be able to tell Will the truth.
“Do you want me to go inside with you?” Will asked when they reached her door. It was unlocked, as usual. Nobody locked their doors around here.
“I’ll be fine,” Gretchen told him. She wanted to give him a hug but suddenly felt too fragile. “Good night.”
“Sleep well,” Will told her. “Hope the chamomile works.”
Gretchen smiled weakly, then turned and walked into the dark hall. Will started back toward his house. Gretchen looked back to her front door, thinking about her dream, about how Will had fallen over the edge yet landed down the beach… Her mind churned and buzzed with questions that had no answers.