Back at Roanoke, the next day, Rachel landed her steeplechaser and sat on the rounded boulder next to the wingless statue. The cold bit through her robes and her wool coat, and the rock was hard beneath her, but she did not care. With fingers nearly numb from the cold, she opened the envelope that had come for her from Detective Hunt and read what was inside.
“Oh!” she whispered with joy. “Old Thom would be so pleased!”
Across the river, lightning lit the thundercloud that still hung over Storm King Mountain. Thunder rolled across the Hudson Valley. The Heer was still on the loose.
“Pleased about what?” asked the old ghost, barely visible in the darkness of the forest.
“You’re here!” Rachel cried. “My friend’s father found your family! There are photos.”
Rachel pulled out the photographs and laid them side by side on the pine needles. “Your family escaped the fire by running to the neighbor’s farm. They stayed there for a time, but when news came that your ship went down, they went to live with a cousin in Saratoga.”
“Cousin Olivia!” swore the sailor. “Never thought of going there!”
“Your wife never remarried, but she took good care of your children. Your eldest son died fighting in World War I.”
The old ghost’s face fell. “Poor Thom, Jr. He was such a bright little tot.”
“Your second son joined the navy. Made it all the way to captain. Commander of his own ship.”
The old sailor grinned a toothy grin. “Good for Freddie! A captain! Me own son!”
“And your daughter married a…” Rachel turned the page, “a shipwright from Maine and had three children of her own.”
“Good old Sue. Knew she’d make good. Pretty as a posey, my girl.”
“Oh my!” Rachel gasped, gazing up at the ghost in great excitement. “Her granddaughter grew up to marry, of all people, the son of Captain Vanderdecken and Merry-Merry Moth! Rowan Vanderdecken, one of my classmates here at school, is your great-granddaughter.” Searching the line of photos, she found one of the smiling, fiery-haired Rowan and held it up for the ghost to see.
“My great-granddaughter.” The old ghost’s eyes filled with tears. “A Roanokean.”
As he stood, transfixed with joy, the clouds shifted, and a single beam of light pierced the gloom of the forest, striking the exact place where Old Thom stood. It was so bright that, for a moment, Rachel was blinded by the light.
She raised her hand to shade her eyes, but the old sailor was nowhere to be seen. With a flutter of wings, a very large Raven lifted off a nearby bough, where it had apparently been watching, cawed once, and flew away.
It could have been her imagination, but Rachel would have sworn it sounded like a caw of approval.
The End
To be continued in:
The Awful Truth About Forgetting