Chapter 20
Twenty
The radiance in some places is so great as to be fairly dazzling, keen lance rays of every color flashing, sparkling in glorious abundance, joining the plants in their fine, brave beauty-work—every crystal, every flower a window opening into heaven, a mirror reflecting the Creator.
—John Muir, conservationist
Early the next morning, Tim leaned back in his wooden chair, the creak louder than he wanted it to be.
His office felt unusually crowded today.
He’d had to bring in extra chairs to fit everyone.
Scout and Naki were seated side by side.
Something must have happened to Naki’s hand, which bore thick bandages, but there wasn’t time to ask and find out.
Too much on the agenda for this meeting that he had called everyone to—with the exception of Frankie and Maisie, who seemed to think they were included anyway—and a very full day of work ahead.
Plus, he was still hoping there might be time to visit with Becky later that night.
They had talked until late the previous evening, reminiscing, laughing, telling stories .
. . until even Maisie’d had enough listening and wanted to go to bed.
With some reluctance, Tim had trudged off to the tent, where Frankie’s snores were in full chorus.
Chase Fletcher sat on the opposite side of Tim’s desk, his notepad balanced on one knee, pen at the ready, eyes on Scout.
Next to him sat Dr. James H. Johnson, Scout’s father, radiating the calm authority of someone who was used to being the smartest person in the room.
No chairs for Frankie and Maisie—they had to squeeze in against the wall.
Tim took a deep breath. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice.” He looked directly at Chase. “So, you’ve created a great deal of chaos.”
Chase straightened in the chair. “Hold up a minute. Acadia’s in the national news. Sure, gold hunters will come and go, but the good publicity for the park will continue for a long time.”
“Good publicity?” Tim said, leaning forward. “For the last two days, this park has been overrun with visitors. And we’re expecting record crowds over the Fourth of July weekend.”
“I have it on good authority that concessionaires are thrilled,” Chase said.
“What about the rangers? We’re drowning in complaints, traffic jams, and search-and-rescue calls from folks who think they can hike off-trail to find the gold.”
“Like I said, Ranger Rivers, that kind of thing will die down now that the story’s been told.”
“Wrong. That’s why you’re all here today. Fletcher, your story is unfinished.”
“How so?” Chase said, leaning back in his chair. “The gold has been found.”
Tim lifted his hand in the air toward Dr. Johnson. “Would you like to fill in the rest?”
Dr. Johnson smiled, the kind of smile that said he’d been waiting for this moment. “I’d love to.”
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. Even Frankie, who was usually incapable of standing still, stopped fidgeting.
“Let’s start,” he said, “with the facts. Here’s what we know for certain.
The cargo of the ship was known to the public, including a payment of gold coins intended for the Penobscot Nation.
The lighthouse went dark that night, and the ship went down during a storm.
We have the keeper’s confession that he neglected to light it.
I think there’s enough evidence to assume he did it intentionally. ”
“But why?” Scout looked at her father. “Do you know why the keeper wanted to sabotage the ship?”
“The lighthouse keeper,” Dr. Johnson said, “was a man named Arthur Lipp. He had a deep-seated prejudice against Native Americans.”
“Oh, come on.” Chase’s voice had a skeptical tone. “This was the middle of the 1800s. Prejudice was everywhere. How can you possibly jump to that conclusion?”
Dr. Johnson carried on, unperturbed. “Took a little digging. Arthur Lipp had been a soldier in the Aroostook War of 1838–1839. The local Native Americans were caught up in the border conflict. Army records revealed that Lipp had been wounded and barely survived. After leaving the army, he applied for the post of lighthouse keeper on Baker Island. When word got out that there was gold on the ship intended for the Penobscot Nation, he saw an opportunity to even the score, and he took it.”
Frankie lunged forward, looking incredulous. “So, what? He just let the ship crash so the Indi—uh—Native Americans wouldn’t get the gold?”
“I’m convinced that’s exactly what he did,” Dr. Johnson said.
“When the storm hit and the ship was wrecked, he wasted no time. He dove to the wreckage and found the gold before anyone else. He knew the government would send in navy divers to recover it—and once they did, it would be confiscated. And soon they did come, but they never found the gold. There are records to confirm that.”
Chase, furiously scribbling in his notepad, asked, “So, he got away with it?”
“No, he really didn’t.” Dr. Johnson hesitated. “When the ship’s passenger list was released, he recognized a name on the list. Isaac Lipp. His youngest son.”
Scout inhaled sharply. “His son?”
Dr. Johnson nodded solemnly. “Isaac Lipp had hitched a ride home from Boston to surprise his parents. They hadn’t seen him in years because he’d been off fighting in the Mexican-American War.”
“The Mexican-American War?” Frankie squinted, like he’d never heard of it. “Why’d a kid from Maine get caught up in that?”
“A mercenary, most likely,” Naki said quietly. “Plenty of young American men fought in wars for money.”
Chase had been scribbling notes furiously. “So what makes you assume that his parents didn’t know he was coming to see them?”
“I saw the list in the ship’s records on microfiche.
The name of the son was the last entry on the passenger list, as if he’d jumped on board at the last minute.
” Dr. Johnson let out a sigh. “Unfortunately, his journey home ended in tragedy. The very lighthouse that was meant to keep him safe and bring him home had been darkened.”
The room was silent. Even Frankie seemed at a loss for words.
“And then?” Chase said, his pen poised.
“According to lighthouse records, the keeper died by drowning. My assumption is that he took his own life.”
Frankie, wide-eyed, leaned forward. “So he left the confession and offed himself?”
“Frankie has a point,” Chase said. “Aren’t you jumping to a conclusion about his death by suicide?”
“His death occurred one day after the ship’s passenger list had been released. We can assume he was an excellent swimmer because he’d already retrieved the gold. The water there isn’t deep, it’s just full of rocks.”
The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the scratch of Chase’s pen.
Maisie cocked her head in confusion. “But then . . . who hid the gold?”
“Excellent question, young lady,” Dr. Johnson said. “I suspect that this is the point where the keeper’s wife steps into the story. It seems she was the one who hid her husband’s confession and clues to the gold in the whale oil house.”
Chase paused from writing the flood of information. “What makes you so sure it was the lighthouse keeper’s wife?”
“Her brother was a casket maker from Bar Harbor,” Dr. Johnson said, “known for finely wrought brass trimmings. He specialized in crafting watertight boxes, each one meticulously designed to protect its contents from the elements.”
“Okay,” Chase said. “Okay. Let’s say she hid the gold. Why? Why not just spend it?”
“Everyone was looking for it, just like now. If she’d started spending it all at once, it would’ve been too obvious. So instead, she hid it around the park. Perhaps she planned to return for it over time.”
“Or perhaps,” Naki said, “she didn’t want the gold at all. Perhaps she felt it was tainted.”
“That could be true too,” Dr. Johnson said, “though one cache seems to be missing.”
“What?” Chase said. “Which one? We got to all the clues.”
“Not all,” Scout said. “You overlooked one.”
Tim noticed the look she gave Chase that was not at all friendly.
“I couldn’t have. Which one?”
“‘I left it where the ocean weeps,’” Scout said, “‘for what I couldn’t carry weighs me still.’”
Chase’s eyes widened. “Oh . . . right. Right.”
“That clue,” she said, turning to Naki, “was what led us to Weeping Rock.”
Naki held her gaze. “It’s where women go to release their sorrows.”
Tim wasn’t the most observant guy in the world, but there seemed to be some unsaid connection between Scout and Naki. Maybe? Maybe not. Maybe romance was just on his mind with the arrival of Becky Benton. Just as cute now as she was at sixteen—
Wait. Dr. Johnson was talking and he’d completely lost the thread.
“So,” Dr. Johnson said, “my theory is that Mrs. Lipp returned to collect one cache.”
“Why?” Chase said. “Just because it’s missing? Someone else might have found it.”
“Possibly, but the timing seems to fit my theory. Mrs. Lipp began a business in Bar Harbor that was founded . . . let’s see . . .” Dr. Johnson looked at his notes. “Winter of 1853. And it’s still in business.”
“What business is that?” Chase asked, his pen pausing mid-scratch.
Pausing, Dr. Johnson smiled, this time with a hint of mischief. “The Bar Harbor Gazette.”
Chase’s pen stilled. He looked up, blinking. “Are you saying—”
“She used that first stash of gold to start your newspaper, Chase.”
“But . . . that would mean . . .”
“It would mean she’s your great-great-great-grandmother,” Dr. Johnson finished for him.
Frankie let out a low whistle. “Well, that explains a whole lot.”
Maisie finally spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper. “That’s . . . soooo cool.”
Tim leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “So, Fletcher, how’s that for the rest of the story?”
Chase stared at Dr. Johnson, then at Tim, his pen dangling uselessly in his hand. For once, the reporter seemed to be at a loss for words.
“Hold up,” Frankie said. “There’s still one more part of this story that needs an answer.”