The Turning Read Free

said, “The children I’m going to be caring for are orphans. That’s all I know.”
    “Oh dear,” said the old woman. “That island has such a tragic history.”
    “Tragic how?” I asked.
    “Well, to begin with,” the husband said, “the first John Crackstone was among the pilgrims to die on the Mayflower expedition. He left a wife and two little children from whom the Crackstones are descended.”
    “And then there was that other story,” said his wife. “Very romantic and sad. By any chance have you read Romeo and Juliet ?”
    “Last year. In tenth grade,” I said.
    “One never knows,” said the blind man. “What young people read these days. Anyway, sometime in the twenties, I believe, one of the Crackstone girls wanted to marry a local boy, and the family objected, and they eloped in a rowboat. Unfortunately, a storm came up, and swept them out to sea …”
    His wife said, “They were never found.”
    It gave me a chill. Because it was sort of our story, Sophie, minus the rowboat and the death. Ha-ha. But your mom and dad definitely don’t want us to be together. I’m not saying it’s a family thing, like Romeo and Juliet, or that it’s just because your family’s rich and my dad works in construction. My dad would be more likely to renovate your dad’s house than to ever go there for dinner. And your parents don’t like that. If your dad can’t separate us forever, he’ll settle for the summer.
    The blind man’s wife said, “Wasn’t there something more recent, dear? Within the last few years? Another tragic incident connected with Crackstone’s Landing? I seem to remember reading something in the papers, something unpleasant … I think someone died there, and there was some kind of police investigation …”
    That got my attention. Someone died at this isolated place where I’m about to spend the next two months? There was an investigation ?
    “Do you know what happened? Who died?” I asked.
    “I just can’t recall,” said the woman. “Can you, dear?”
    “I can’t either,” the blind man said. Then he turned toward me. “But I’ll tell you something, young fellow. I grew up two islands away, and from the time I was old enough to understand, I can remember people saying that Crackstone’s Landing was haunted. That on foggy days you can see the ghosts of that couple who tried to escape in the twenties, in their little rowboat, bobbing around in the waves. It’s ridiculous, what people choose to believe. Just to scare themselves.”
    His wife said, “But I wish I could remember what it was. That legal or criminal problem they had there, it was really quite recent …”
    I didn’t really want to hear any more, so I said, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you. I think I need some air.” It was true. The café was overheated, and an awful greasy smell was coming from the counter where they sold coffee and soggy doughnuts. And honestly, I didn’t want to spend the whole trip talking to these two.... Something about them creeped me out, especially when all they could talk about was ghosts and death and tragedy at Crackstone’s Landing. I really didn’t need to hear that. It wasn’t exactly calming me down.
    The blind man said, “We understand. It’s getting a bit rocky, isn’t it? Fresh air is always the best thing to head off seasickness before it starts.”
    It was true what the blind man had said: the sea was getting choppy. I had to hold on to the railings as I went back upstairs. I felt a lot better out on deck, though the wind was wetter and colder than it had been before. But even the fog was refreshing after the choking-hot, steamy café.
    The fog was so thick that I couldn’t see very far into the distance … but I thought I saw something. A boat. Anyone would have been crazy to take such a small boat out in weather like this. Then the boat seemed to vanish—if it was ever there—and I thought of the blind man’s story about the ghost boat