Eating his scrambled eggs the next morning, Lewis pondered his first obstacle—getting the pirates out of Shornoway.
They’d been waiting beside his bed when he woke up, clutching their outfits and looking jittery. Skittles and Jonas, more excited than the others, were glowing quite brightly. Lewis had left them to put on their costumes, promising to return when it was time.
And now, as he chewed on his toast, he saw that there were three obstacles to getting the pirates out—and they were right there in front of him in the kitchen. Mrs. Binchy was elbow-deep in suds at the kitchen sink, while his parents sat talking at the table, having only just figured out that it was Halloween.
“I can take Lewis trick-or-treating tonight,” said Mr. Dearborn to his wife. “Have you got a costume, Lewis? My goodness, Halloween already.”
“I’m not going this year,” said Lewis. “Sixth grade is too old.”
This was, strictly speaking, not true. Some of his classmates were still trick-or-treating. But not with their fathers!
His mother glanced at her watch. “I’d better be off. Enjoy your field trip, Lewis.”
Excellent, thought Lewis. Mrs. Dearborn had accepted the “field trip” story he had made up to avoid having to go to school. Staying as close to the truth as possible, he said he was meeting his class at the Maritime Museum at ten.
“Bye, Mom.”
Mr. Dearborn stood up. “Must make a few phone calls,” he said. “I’ll be in my study.”
“Take your time!” said Lewis.
He headed for the bathroom to put on his Frankenstein costume. It was simple. Just a tattered black shirt and pants and a rubber headpiece that made his head look tall and square, and (bonus!) covered his red hair. A wire around the back of his neck attached a large metal bolt to each side of his neck.
The makeup took longer. The color was a sickly combination of gray, green and yellow, and as Lewis smeared it on, he was pleased to see how close a match it was to the pirates’ skin. Borrowing his mother’s eyebrow pencil, he drew a stitched-up wound on his forehead and another on his cheek. Then he used the pencil to darken the areas around his eyes.
He stood back to check the results. Not a perfect Frankenstein—he could have done better with more time—but it would do.
He returned to the kitchen, where his father was chatting to Mrs. Binchy as he put on his coat. He seemed to be having a lot of trouble getting his arms through the holes.
“Lewis! Good! You’re still here! You’ll be happy to hear the news.”
Not even noticing the Frankenstein costume, Mr. Dearborn launched in. “I phoned that foundation that Ms. Forsley mentioned—the one that has money to help with historic buildings. She had already spoken to them, wasn’t that kind? And they sounded quite positive, Lewis. Yes, yes, encouraging. I’m going there now to pick up their information.” He nodded eagerly as Mrs. Binchy helped him with the coat. “And your mother … well, I did speak to her last night. Now, she hasn’t exactly said yes. Not exactly. But she did feel it was worth exploring. So what do you think about that? I must say, Lewis, I have rather a good feeling about this.”
Lewis grinned back, partly in pleasure and partly in amazement. “Me, too, Dad. Good feeling.”
Mr. Dearborn gave his body a great shake, and the coat settled onto his shoulders. Making an awkward fist, he gave Lewis a light punch on the arm. “Must go, son. Time waits for no man! Have a good day at the museum.”
Lewis was left with Mrs. Binchy.
“Well now,” she said, shaking her head. “A foundation. Isn’t that a lovely turn of events? By the way, Lewis, nice costume!”
“Thank you,” he said.
But he wasn’t thinking about his costume.
He was thinking about how to get the pirates past Mrs. Binchy. They were so excited. Glowing with excitement, in fact. And the housekeeper was so nosy.
“Uh, Mrs. Binchy … are you … going out this morning?” He crossed his fingers.
“Out?” she said. “Now where would I be going?”
He shrugged. “Shopping?”
“Is there something you need at the store, Lewis?”
She frowned. “What is it? Are you—”
Abruptly, she stopped. She gave him a long, penetrating stare. “It’s about them, isn’t it?”
A long pause followed.
“Them!” she repeated. “You know! The pirates in the tower.”
Lewis swallowed hard. He forced himself to speak. “You … know about them?”
“Well now, how would I not know? Living and working here all these years with your great-granddad. I’d have to be some kind of idiot.”
Lewis could only stand there, swaying. He felt as if he’d been hit by a brick. Mrs. Binchy knew about the pirates?
“Not that I’ve ever seen them,” she said. “But I’ve heard them often enough, and felt them pass by. Back in your great-granddad’s day, they wandered all over the house. They’ve gotten shyer since you lot moved in.”
Knees wobbly, Lewis had to sit at the kitchen table.
“Well now,” said Mrs. Binchy, softly.
He heard her walk over, felt her hand patting his head. “It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?”
He gazed up into a round, red face that suddenly looked less silly than it always had.
“Why didn’t you say something?” he asked her. All that chattering she did, day after day, and not a word about the pirates.
“Your great-granddad wanted you to get to know them on your own. He said I wasn’t to interfere. Of course, I would have stepped in if I thought you were in trouble. But you seemed to be doing fine.”
“Fine?” The word surprised him.
“Well, not totally fine, of course. But who is? I thought … well, I imagined they might be company for you. You seemed so alone. And I knew from the old days with your great-granddad that they were a jolly bunch.”
Jolly. Again, not a word Lewis would have chosen. But he knew what she meant.
“I have to go now, Mrs. Binchy,” he said. “I have to … help them.”
She nodded, not surprised. “You’re taking them to their ship?”
“Yes.”
“I expected as much. So did your great-granddad. He knew you would help.”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” said Lewis. “Today, I hope.”
“You picked a good day. All the spirits out and about on All Hallows Eve. Who’d notice a few more?”
“Yes. Well, then …” Lewis started to rise to his feet.
“Not quite yet,” said Mrs. Binchy. “It may be … yes, I think it’s right. Before you leave, you should read your great-granddad’s letter.”
“I don’t have time for—WHAT?”
“Your great-granddad wrote you a letter,” said Mrs. Binchy. “It was before he went off his head, poor dear. He asked me to keep it and give it to you when I thought the time was right.”
“And that’s … now?” said Lewis.
She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
Moments later, she was back, sniffing a small white envelope.
“Smells like your great-granddad,” she said with a sigh. “His pipe. Takes me back. Here.”
Lewis took the envelope and turned it over. There it was, his name. Lewis.
He began to open it, then looked at Mrs. Binchy.
“Oh!” She rolled to her feet. “Don’t mind me. I’ll start my apple pies.”
It was a single sheet, written on both sides in a small, slanted hand.
If you are reading this letter, then you have met our guests, the crew of the Maria Louisa. I hope you have been of some help to them, and I am equally hopeful that they have been helpful to you. Watching you over these past years, I have often felt that you might benefit from some time with the pirates. They certainly have needed someone like you, Lewis, a healthy young man with a generous heart who could do for them what I could not.
By now, you may have become friends. If so, I thought you might be interested to learn of another connection you have with these long-dead men. Their history is shrouded in mystery to most, but I took an interest and did some research, traveling as far as London and New York to seek answers.
What I learned was this. When the Maria Louisa was captured by a Captain Dire, seven of her crew drowned. These are the seven you have met.
But one of Crawley’s crew managed to escape. He was called Laughing Harry, and he was dragged beneath the ship that day as punishment. When he didn’t come up, everyone thought he was dead. But the truth was, he managed to free himself.
Badly wounded but still alive, he was carried to shore by the tide. He was the Maria Louisa’s navigator, and his full name was Harold Gordon Douglas.
Fortunately for him, he was found by kind people on shore, who nursed him back to health. Later, he made his way back to Scotland, where he married and became a merchant. And so, his pirate days ended forever. But along the way, he heard the awful tale of how his shipmates had perished, and he wondered often about fate, and how it had allowed him alone to survive. On the twentieth anniversary of his crewmates’ deaths, he returned to Tandy Bay and stood upon the cliffs to pray for them at a church service he had arranged with the village priest.
He stayed only a day or two, but he brought his son with him—a boy named Jeremiah. That boy was struck powerfully by the beauty of Tandy Bay and especially by the majestic view from the cliffs. Jeremiah went home to England with his father, but he never forgot those cliffs. When he grew up, he came back here, and he brought his young English bride with him. Her name was Elizabeth. He built Shornoway for her. They had thirteen children.
Elizabeth and Jeremiah Douglas were my great-great-great-grandparents, Lewis. (There are more greats, no doubt, but this is a small piece of paper.) That means, of course, that they were your ancestors, as well. And so was Harold Douglas.
Yes, Lewis, you and I are direct descendents of Laughing Harry Douglas, the navigator of the Maria Louisa. We have a bit of pirate in our blood! I wonder what you think of that.
For myself, I have found that it comes in handy now and then, if properly used, and I hope it will be the same for you. You are a good boy, Lewis, and that’s a fine and valuable thing. You have always done exactly what was expected of you. But there are times in life when one must be bold, moments when one must listen to one’s heart, rise to its call and dare all. At such moments, a drop of pirate blood may help.
Onward, Lewis of Libertalia!
With love from
Great-Granddad
P.S. Crawley and his crew don’t know we are related to Laughing Harry. I have been tempted many times to tell them, but now I leave that pleasure to you.
Lewis stared at the letter, stunned. He had a pirate ancestor. So did his mother! Maybe that explained her bossiness and the oversized voice. He couldn’t wait to tell her and his father about Laughing Harry Douglas.
He especially couldn’t wait to tell Captain Crawley.
He replaced the letter in the envelope. Standing, he held it out to Mrs. Binchy. “Thank you. Can you keep it for me till I get back?”
She nodded.
“I’ll get the pirates now,” he said.
They were waiting, dressed in their outfits. Colorful as a bowl of bubble gum, they were standing in a row in a shaft of morning sunlight. Lewis couldn’t remember when he’d seen so much … brightness!
There was Jonas, pleased and proud in his fuzzy pink tracksuit. Beside him, Jack managed to look nasty even in a frilly white blouse. Bellows stood out as always, his lower half a sea of purple flowers, while Skittles glowed in a tangerine tie-dyed T-shirt. All that was needed to make the picture completely ridiculous was Hawaiian prints (Moyle) and polka dots (Adam).
“Atten-SHUN!” hollered Crawley, hitching up his gold basketball shorts.
To Lewis’s surprise, the pirates snapped to attention. Crisp salutes greeted him down the line.
He saluted back uncomfortably. “Er … at ease.”
As soon as the words were out, they gathered around him.
“Ain’t you a picture!” said Crawley. “Just what in the name of thunderation is this?” He pulled at Lewis’s square rubber head. “And what happened to yer skin? Has you been struck by the plague since we last saw you, lad?”
“It’s makeup,” said Lewis. “For Halloween.”
“Well, I ain’t much acquainted with yer Halloween, but if it makes a lad screw bolts into his neck …”
“They’re not real, Captain Crawley. It’s a costume. Just like yours.”
Crawley patted his shorts. “Nay, not like my costume. Not like mine at all.”
“Course not,” said Moyle. “The lad looks like a canker sore!”
“Like a dirty old sausage left out in the rain,” added Jonas.
The pirates laughed. All except Crawley.
“ENOUGH!” he shouted. “Leave the lad be. It’s time to weigh anchor, mates. The Maria Louisa awaits.”
He paused to gaze around the tower. Removing his baseball cap, he placed it over his heart. The other pirates followed suit.
“One last adieu to the old manse afore we departs. She was never our home, to be sure. But she were a sweet place to visit for a few centuries. Say good-bye, mateys, say good-bye. And now, young Lewis … lead the way!”
Now that Lewis didn’t have to hide the pirates from Mrs. Binchy, he shouldn’t have minded their noise as they thundered downstairs. Even so, it was hard not to say “Shush!”
When they reached the ground floor, he looked around for the housekeeper, peeking into the kitchen and calling her name.
She didn’t answer, and he couldn’t wait. Not with seven dead pirates on his heels.
“This way!” he called, heading for the front door. When he pulled it open, the wind blew him nearly off his feet—a bitter gust that cut right through his clothes.
He shivered and glanced down. His Frankenstein costume was only a thin layer of cotton. Underneath, he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
“Wait!” he told the pirates, crowding behind him in the doorway. “I need a jacket.”
He pushed his way back to the front hall closet. When he opened the door, she was standing there, huddled between the coats.
“Mrs. Binchy! What are you doing in the closet?”
She tried to smile. “I don’t really know, dear. Suddenly, the thought of actually seeing them … it gave me the willies.”
She peeked past him now. “They don’t look so bad, do they? Quite colorful … if you don’t get too close.”
Lewis nodded. “I need my jacket, Mrs. Binchy. It’s cold outside.”
She stepped out of the closet, searched through the coats and pulled out a red plaid jacket. It looked familiar.
“It belonged to your great-granddad,” she said, holding it up. “Wear it for luck!”
The jacket was old and ugly. But it was warm, and the red would blend in with the pirates’ bright clothes. Lewis pulled it on. It smelled of Great-Granddad’s pipe.
“Thanks, Mrs. Binchy. For everything.”
She nodded. “Off with you now!”
He pushed through the pirates and led the way outside. As he walked down the front steps, they followed … but slowly. He remembered that some had not been outside in decades. He waited as they inched their way down.
“Push these yobs along, young Lewis. They could spend a whole week on these stairs.”
Lewis laughed and hastened his pace. As he led the crew down the driveway, Mrs. Binchy’s treble voice followed.
“Good luck, dear Lewis. Onward!”