Chapter 12
Genevieve was two weeks old the day the historian came to Martha’s Vineyard. Amanda was torn. All she wanted was to stand in the dank basement with Sam and Grandpa Wes and watch the wall fall between this world and the past. But it destroyed her to leave her baby behind for more than a second.
“It’s going to be all right,” Audrey assured her. They were in the foyer of the Sunrise Cove. Audrey had a sleeping Genevieve wrapped against her chest. She wore her easily, with a typical Audrey-laissez-faire attitude, and reminded Amanda that she’d only be in the basement an hour at the most. “I’ll just be writing in the bistro,” Audrey reminded her. “Come up whenever you’re ready.”
Audrey disappeared in the bistro to take her typical seat near the window. A server followed her, then ducked back around to make Audrey’s tea and favorite grilled cheese. She was Sheridan royalty. Everyone always knew what she wanted.
Sam and Grandpa Wes chatted with the historian outside on the lawn. It was early May, a gorgeous sixty-five degrees, and Amanda wore a pair of flare jeans and a sweeping blouse. Her stomach was receding quicker than she’d anticipated, but she’d also bought a bigger pair of jeans just to feel comfortable. No use destroying her mental health over a pair of pants. (Looking back from a mother’s perspective, she couldn’t remember why she’d cared so much about being thin in the first place. There was so much else to think about.)
George Whitehead, the historian, had graduated from Harvard undergrad and had a masters from Cambridge and had been featured on The HISTORY Channel, in the Smithsonian, and at the Anthropology Museum in Mexico City. He wore a tweed suit and very small rectangular glasses that seemed to be more for aesthetics than use. He was maybe fifty years old.
“Dr. Whitehead, this is my granddaughter Amanda. She’s the lawyer I was telling you about,” Grandpa Wes introduced.
She shook his hand and was surprised at how warm and soft it was. “Pleasure to meet you. Thank you for coming so quickly. Sam said something about a newly discovered site by Boston?”
“It turned out to be a fluke if you can believe it,” Dr. Whitehead said with a laugh. “People want to believe they’ve discovered history so bad that they concoct all kinds of lies to support their stories. I don’t think they always know they’re lying until they’re in over their heads.”
“Is that right?” Grandpa Wes put his hands on his hips.
“People will do all kinds of things for fame and glory,” Dr. Whitehead said. “That’s one thing we’ve learned over centuries of studying human behavior. Hubris is the fall of man.”
There was that word again, Amanda thought. Hubris. During a game of Scrabble last night, she’d even managed to use it to get twenty-two points. She’d defeated Sam by five.
Dr. Whitehead cleaned his glasses with a paisley handkerchief. “It’s always good to have a lawyer on your side,” he said, giving Amanda a kind smile.
Amanda’s stomach lurched. Nobody but Susan knew about her suspended license. She wanted to tell Sam; she really did. But between baby snuggles and feedings and talk of the “mysterious room” in the Sunrise Cove, news of Amanda’s potential loss of career had slipped through the cracks. Was it a lie of omission? Or was it just Amanda’s fear?
Grandpa Wes, Sam, Amanda, and Dr. Whitehead donned construction hats and proceeded to the basement to meet with the construction crew Sam had initially hired to build the spa. With Dr. Whitehead’s guidance, they’d spent the better part of the morning ripping out the rest of the concrete wall that covered the wooden slats of the hidden one. Now that it was cleared, stones were piled in the corners, and even more dust coated the basement stairs. But the mossy wall was uncovered completely.
Dr. Whitehead paused in the middle of the basement and glared at the staircase. “Where is Bart? He said he was coming down here.”
A split second later came a man’s voice at the top of the steps. “I’m on my way! Had to swap out a lens.”
Dr. Whitehead breathed a sigh of relief as a thirty-something man with bottleneck glasses burst down the stairs. Around his neck hung a strap attached to a sleek video camera. Amanda had read over the paperwork and, together with Sam and Grandpa Wes, had agreed it was appropriate to film the event. Sam wanted to use it for promotional material down the line. Wes had confessed he really wanted to be on television.
Bart set up in the corner of the room so that Dr. Whitehead was the central figure, and Amanda, Grandpa Wes, and Sam hovered behind him. Dr. Whitehead spoke to the camera as though he spoke to a massive studio audience and even added a hint of an English accent, presumably picked up from his years at Cambridge. Amanda smiled to herself. Everyone on television was a fake.
“My name is Dr. George Whitehead, and today, I find myself in a very exciting position,” Dr. Whitehead began. “I stand in the basement of the historical Sunrise Cove Inn of Martha’s Vineyard, where the owners have discovered what seems to be a secret room. Together, we are going to open the secret door between this room and the next and see what’s inside.”
Amanda’s thoughts raced. She searched across the wooden slats for some sign of a door but came up with nothing. It was all green and brown and black. She flinched when she realized she should have worn a face mask to protect herself from spores. But before she could run upstairs, one of the construction workers passed out N95 face masks, and she slipped it over her mouth and nose. It was hard not to think of the pandemic and all the fear that had come with it.
But this was a moment of excitement. It was a historic occasion.
Dr. Whitehead continued to speak to the camera without a mask. He explained that “secret entrances” like this were quite common more than one hundred years ago. “There must be a spring somewhere,” he explained as he rapped on different parts of the wooden wall. On the other side was a hollow echo. “You hear that?” he asked the camera. “The room on the other side is quite large. I would guess ten feet by ten feet? Not a mere closet. That’s for sure.” His voice shifted to a higher pitch. It was clear he was excited.
It took Dr. Whitehead some time to find the trapdoor. After a while, he switched to his normal talking voice and grew disgruntled. Bart kept filming, but his arms looked tense and tired. Amanda had begun to suspect that they would need a chainsaw to get through when—suddenly—came a soft pop, like the sound of a champagne bottle opening.
Dr. Whitehead returned to his vaguely English accent immediately. “Did you hear that?” His eyes were alert. Right in front of him, part of the wall had jumped from the rest of it to reveal a tiny latch. On the count of three, Dr. Whitehead pulled up the ledger and opened the door. The sound of the hinges creaking and groaning made it clear it hadn’t been opened in decades, maybe centuries. Amanda held her breath.
Nobody was allowed inside the room yet except for Dr. Whitehead and Bart with the camera. Amanda held a flashlight inside from the doorway and traced the corners, the ceiling, and the floor. The ceiling was blackened in some places, presumably from the fire that had destroyed the house where the Sunrise Cove Inn now stood. There were two full beds, a bunk bed, a massive trunk that looked fit for buried treasure, a small bookshelf with dusty books on it, and a broken cabinet. In the farthest corner was what looked to be a baby’s crib. Amanda’s heart lurched. She stumbled back, imagining a baby in this room, so far beneath the earth. Why? What was it for?
Grandpa Wes couldn’t stop shaking his head with awe. He wiped his brow with his kerchief and spoke through his mask. “I can’t believe it. I must be dreaming.”
Sam touched the small of Amanda’s back and laughed with surprise. There was nothing to say. Not yet.
Amanda was getting claustrophobic. As Dr. Whitehead continued to monologue to the camera, she told her grandfather and husband she was headed upstairs. They followed after her wordlessly. When they emerged on the landing, the curious gazes of at least twenty pairs of eyes met them. Everyone spoke at once, demanding what they’d seen. Amanda accidentally broke the string of her mask as she pulled it off.
“What was down there?” A female guest with a black bob made fists, her eyes enormous.
“What did you find?” another guest badgered.
Sam removed his mask and put on his “manager” face. “I can’t share details right now,” he began, “but we’ve discovered something historical downstairs. A site that is yet to be fully understood.”
Amanda felt strange and euphoric. As the guests threw more questions at Sam and Grandpa Wes, she weaved through the crowd and turned to corner to find Audrey and Genevieve. Genevieve was awake but happy, kicking her feet at Audrey, who was smiling down at her. It was a beautiful portrait.
* * *
It didn’t take long for the guests at the Sunrise Cove to post about the event on social media. They felt a part of something spectacular and once in a lifetime, and they had to announce it to the world. Their excitement at seeing Dr. George Whitehead in the flesh was palpable, too. A few dared take photographs of him as he left the basement covered in dust. Others posted photos of the Sunrise Cove from the outside and said, “Mystery at the Sunrise Cove! We’re dying to get in the basement to see what’s down there. Tell us your secrets, Mr. Sheridan!”
Amanda watched the news unfold from home. Genevieve was asleep upstairs, and Amanda attempted a noodle recipe she knew Sam liked. Sam was on the couch with a glass of wine and the television on. He was weary but excited. When he flipped to the news, they were already talking about the Sunrise Cove.
Dr. Whitehead had sent the news a video of himself walking through the trapdoor of the basement, but nothing else. It was like a “teaser” video. The anchors speculated wildly about what could possibly be down there.
“It’s another historic event in Massachusetts,” one of the anchors finished happily. “We have a very old American history, and there’s always something new to surprise us from the past.”
Amanda took a seat on the sofa while the noodles boiled and watched Sam’s face. He was rapt.
“We got so many reservations today,” he explained. “For late summer, fall, and even winter. A few people asked if they could come next summer already. It’s barely May 2024, and we’re filling up for June 2025!” He rapped his fist against his thigh and smiled.
Amanda knew he took this seriously. He wanted the Sunrise Cove Inn to flourish. He wanted to prove himself.