“She meant Dorcus Honorable,” I say, somehow not throwing up on the spot.
Wren pulls his brows together. “She’s not officially listed in any of the census data.”
I know I’m right, but I don’t push it. Maybe I’ll bring it up after everyone disembarks. That thought helps keep my nausea at bay—until he does it again.
“Among the more than seven hundred shipwrecks surrounding our island, the sinking of theTitanic-likeAndrea Doriain 1956 is perhaps the most well-known, as it was the first televised tragedy of its kind. Due to intense fog and a radar misinterpretation, theDoriacollided with the MSStockholmand sank along with fifty of its passengers.”
This time, I don’t prompt Goldie. “Actually, their lack of communication is often cited as the primary reason for the collision, not the fog.”
He sweeps an irritated glance in my direction. “Thanks for sharing.”
“I’m just saying, they would’ve avoided each other if they’d just used their radios.”
There’s a flicker of something on his face—irritation oramusement, I can’t quite tell—but he turns back to the group and keeps talking.
I don’t notice until a full minute later that I’ve kept my eyes open the entire time. My stomach is far from happy, but arguing with Wren is proving to be an incredibly effective distraction. I scoot to the edge of my seat, eagerly waiting for another questionable fact.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t give me much to argue with. Tate wasn’t lying in his introduction—Wren knows a lot, and not just regurgitated facts either. Within the first twenty minutes of the tour I’m 95 percent sure that he’s the “friend” Mrs. Mayhew mentioned, and I decide to press just a little more to be sure when he brings up Captain William Kidd’s rumored buried treasure.
“Some people say that he was a privateer rather than a pirate, arguing that Captain Kidd was commissioned by the Earl of Bellomont tohunt downpirates.”
Wren looks at me, and this time I swear he almost smiles. “He sailed under French colors in order to flat out steal theQuedaghMerchant, and it was Bellomont himself who had him hung for piracy.”
I shake my head, thrilled I can move without turning into a human sprinkler. “The 1698 Act of Grace would’ve pardoned him from any highly disputed acts of piracy, if not for his political affiliations.”
Wren laughs, loud enough that Tate looks over. Then he mutes his mic and leans closer. “Whether he was a Whig or not is irrelevant. He was guilty of piracy.”
“Not according to Margaret Ellison and her book,Pirates and the Crown.” It was a poorly researched book that I read last year, butit did indeed try to defend Captain Kidd. “Clearly, you haven’t read it, or maybe any books that go against more popular accounts.”
His expression sharpens, like he’s enjoying this too much. “Oh, Tourist Girl, I guarantee I’m reading all the right books. Both Geoffrey L. Finchley and Eleanor Beecham ripped Ellison’s book apart for its absolutely embarrassing research practices.”
His stare grabs hold of mine, and for a moment, it’s like I’m not seasick at all. Because he’s right, they did.
But then a spray of cool water mists over us, and his expression chills with it.
“Look, I don’t have the time or the crayons to explain this to you if that’s the kind of nonsense you’re reading.”
My face heats, but before I can defend myself, Goldie interrupts. “Um, we own a house here, and our family comes from Nantucket, so you should maybe call her Local Girl.”
“Or Lili,” I say, turning my attention briefly to her and then back to Wren. “Can I ask you another question?”
His laugh is entirely humorless. “Can I stop you?”
Not about this.“What do you know about Kezia Gardner?”
His brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t hesitate to switch the mic back on. “I was just asked about Kezia Gardner. Show of hands, who knows who she was?”
Only one woman in the back raises a tentative hand. Goldie turns to me with a grin and shoots her hand high into the air, her bracelets jingling with the motion.
“Only two of you, huh?” Wren says, before meeting my gaze and adding, “Three.” He gestures toward the sandy dunes slipping past us. “Kezia Gardner was the most notorious smuggler in Nantucket history, operating right along this shoreline.
“Married to a whaling captain, Kezia took control when the Revolutionary War crippled trade with Britain. She had a nimble mind and flexible morals, and refused to let her fortune disappear. Instead of bowing to new trade restrictions, she worked both sides of the Atlantic, protecting her ships and smuggling contraband goods. No one ever cracked her method of communication, but some claim she had a smuggler’s hole hidden among the blackberry bushes right along the harbor.”
These are not commonly known details. I grip the edge of my seat as Wren continues.
“She dodged prosecution, but the people of Nantucket have their own form of justice. Many involved in legitimate trade lost their businesses and even their homes due to economic instability while she grew richer at their expense. One night while Kezia and her husband slept, a group set fire to their home in Quaise.”
A lump tightens in my throat. I already know how this ends.
