14 Birdie
BIRDIE
It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m officially stressing. I still haven’t heard a word from Professor Howe. What happens if I show up at the historical society tomorrow and Howe says he doesn’t have a place for me? Can that happen? What do I do if it does?
I’m able to distract myself for most of the day. I went for a run in the morning, did a little food prep for the week using all my new groceries, then tried and failed to read a book. By three o’clock, I’m sitting on the loveseat like I’ve got ants in my pants, staring at the blank TV screen.
“Fuck it.” Launching to my feet, I grab my phone and Peep’s keys.
Then I’m out the door, jogging down the stairs.
It takes less than ten minutes to get to the historical society.
The building sits at the top of Main Street, kitty-corner to Greenwood’s Grocery.
Phoebe showed it to me during our grand tour the other night.
There’s only one other car in the lot, but the sign on the front door is flipped to OPEN.
I tuck my phone and keys in the front pocket of my jeans, sandals slapping as I trot up the stone steps.
The first thing I see when I open the door is a poster for a special exhibit on the Burr Island Witch Trials.
I fight a grimace as my eye trails over a four-paneled cartoon sketch depicting a group of women being chased by a torch-wielding mob.
“Can I help you?”
I turn to see a Black girl perched on a stool behind the welcome counter. She’s high school age, wearing a blue volunteer vest. Her long box braids frame her face, and her eyes are hidden behind thick, rainbow glasses.
I step forward, offering her a smile. “Hey, do you work here?”
She shrugs, setting aside her e-reader. “Just on the weekends. Extra credit.”
“Cool.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Birdie.”
She shakes it. “Gretchen. Did you wanna book a tour? There won’t be another one until five o’clock.
But there’s some self-guided pamphlets and stuff here.
” She shuffles a few colorful papers off the counter and hands them to me.
“This one’s a map of the exhibits. And this is a walking tour map of downtown. ”
I take them. “Thanks.”
“If you collect all the stamps for the walking tour, you get a free scoop of ice cream over at Greenwood’s. And the video about the history of the Eastport Lumber Mill plays on a seven-minute loop in the diorama room—”
“I’m actually looking for Professor Howe,” I say over her.
She leans away, eyes wide.
“Sorry to cut you off, but I’m not a tourist,” I rush to add. “I’m starting a research fellowship with him tomorrow and I just came by to introduce myself.”
“Well, he’s not here.”
“Oh.” My heart sinks a little. “I guess I’ll just meet him tomorrow then.”
“He won’t be here tomorrow either.”
“Do you know why?”
She nods. Reaching for a third pamphlet, she hands it to me. It’s an informational flyer for the Beale Pointe archaeological site. “He’s always up at the dig site. It’s included in the tour if you wanna wait until five o’clock.”
Flipping the pamphlet over, I spy a little map of the site with directions from the ferry. “Not necessary.” I offer her another smile. “Nice to meet you, Gretchen.”
She’s already disappearing behind her e-reader. “Nice to meet you too.”
Ducking back outside, I hop in the Jeep and toss all but the dig site pamphlet over to the passenger seat. Unfolding it, I quickly read:
Discover Historic Beale Pointe: Site of America’s First Witch Colony
Earlier this year, a series of spring storms devastated Burr Island. In that destruction, an exciting new discovery was unearthed, one kept hidden for nearly four hundred years.
As flooding from the spring storms subsided, a wandering hiker stumbled upon the foundations of a building deep in Beale Pointe Forest. After careful excavation by a team of highly trained archaeologists, the building was revealed to be one in a series of early colonial settlement structures.
According to the Burr Island Historical Society, this active archaeological site is believed to be the famed Homewood Colony, Burr Island’s first known European settlement.
Archival evidence suggests that, in 1637, the five founding members of Homewood were executed on charges of witchcraft.
If verified, their deaths would constitute the first case of witchcraft-related executions in Colonial America, predating the earliest known case by nearly ten years.
History meets mystery at the Beale Pointe Archaeological Site. Who were the Witches of Burr Island? What brought them to settle here? And how did they meet their untimely end?
Discover more on a guided tour. Book today.
Self-guided tours also available.
Research funded by the Burr Island Historical Society, with generous support from the Raven Hill Group.
There are a few pictures on the pamphlet, including one of three researchers holding up what look like rusted farming implements.
I recognize the man in the middle as Ezra Howe.
He can’t be more than thirty years old. Phoebe kept laying hints about his attractiveness but all I see is a tall, nerdy looking guy with round glasses, a big smile, and a flop of blonde hair, kind of like Milo Thatch. Not my type at all.
I fold the pamphlet and read the back. It lists the open hours for guided tours, as well as a short blurb with directions on how to reach the dig site from the ferry.
Doesn’t hurt to do another drive by, right?
Who am I kidding, I’m already driving. I pull Peep into Main Street traffic, swinging a left on Pine, until the bustle of Port Calumet steadily disappears in my rearview mirror.
Dappled golden sunlight filters down through the trees that tower to either side of the winding road, leaving shafts of light that look like some kind of all-natural rave disco.
Smile on my face, I roll down all the windows and turn up the music, letting the summer wind whip at my hair.
After about fifteen minutes of driving north, I pass the welcome sign for Beale Pointe Forest. I slow down, slipping my sunglasses up on my head as the road turns to gravel. It crunches under the tires, sending up a little cloud of dust behind the Jeep.
I weave through the campground, driving past signs for beach access and horse trailer parking.
After a few more twists through the woods, the road ends at a small parking lot.
There are only eight spaces total and four of them are taken, one by a passenger van marked with the Burr Island Historical Society logo.
I park on the end next to the van, leaving the windows of the Jeep down.
I can see the excavation site from here.
A few tarp awnings sit off to the left, covering the active dig site.
And there’s a reconstruction of a pre-colonial cottage nestled in the trees off to the right.
I’m about to get out of the Jeep when motion in the trees makes me stop.
Wait, is that Jasper?
Those shoulders and that tall frame are unmistakable. I’m choosing not to analyze why I already have the shape of him memorized, but it’s definitely him. Whoa, and he’s mad. He’s waving his arms and yelling. I’m too far away to hear what he’s saying.
My pulse quickens as another man appears, stepping right up into Jasper’s face. It’s Ezra Howe. I recognize him from my internet sleuthing. He’s tall and lanky, his blonde hair swept back with a red bandana. His Milo Thatch look is complete with a pair of dusty cargo pants and a grey tank top.
Wait, what’s happening?
Oh fuck, they’re both shouting now.
Quiet as I can, I slip out of the Jeep, determined to get closer before they notice me. Their voices carry through the trees. Jasper’s is deep, laced with authority. “—no idea what the hell you’re doing—”
I pick my way down a path strewn with mulch and crunchy pine needles, praying they don’t hear me. I lose them for a moment through the trees, but I can still hear them.
“And if you don’t like it, you can lodge a formal complaint through the proper fucking channels—”
That was Howe. He’s gesturing fiercely with his hands, right up in Jasper’s face.
“You have no fucking respect for—”
Whatever Jasper thinks Howe has no respect for is lost to me as they lower their voices. But then Howe says something that has Jasper lunging like an angry bear.
I gasp, halting my steps.
Grabbing the archaeologist by the arms, Jasper lifts him clear off the ground, shaking him. “Say that again!”
Howe twists in his hold. “Get your hands off me—”
They wrestle, throwing fists and elbows. Howe is stronger than he looks, but he can’t escape Jasper’s grip.
“This is finished!” Jasper pulls Howe in close and shouts right in his face. “Do you hear me? It’s fucking finished!”
Before Howe can get another word in, Jasper punches him. Howe cries out. I’m about to reveal myself and break them up when two men come charging into the clearing. They pull Jasper and Howe apart. Both men quickly turn on Jasper, cursing at him and shoving him back.
“Get him out of here,” Howe shouts, dabbing at his bloody nose with the back of his hand.
“We both know I’m not going anywhere,” Jasper taunts.
“Fuck you,” Howe shouts back. “You don’t own the whole goddamn island!”
Jasper slowly raises both hands, walking backwards as the other guys keep cursing and shoving at him.
But they’re nothing to him; flies on a bull.
He still has eyes only for Howe. “You have no idea how far my power reaches,” he calls, the authority in his words raising the fine hairs on my arms. “Do the right thing here, Ezra. Before it’s too late! ”
“Just stay the fuck out of my way,” Howe shouts, face red with fury. “Come here again, and I’ll have you arrested for trespassing!”
With a final menacing growl, Jasper turns on his heel and disappears into the trees, marching off in the opposite direction from where I’m standing.