Under the Moon Gate

by Marilyn Baron

  Conquer your fears. How many times had he told her that? Not just out on the water but on land, where he taught her to shoot, to defend herself, until she became an expert marksman, at home in any situation on land or in the sea.

  Whenever she recalled her grandfather, she remembered them walking together, or swimming together, her small, tentative hand in his large, capable one. But her grandfather was no longer here to keep her safe, and when she thought of going into the water without him, the color seeped out of her face.

  “You’ve been here before,” Nathaniel said, posing it as a statement, not a question.

  Patience turned toward him but refused to answer. She had questions of her own. “How did your uncle manage to get the chest to the surface?”

  “The chest had Nazi markings, so the crew was afraid it might contain an unexploded bomb. Divers went down and attached and inflated a flotation device to help get it to the surface. They took a cursory look inside, and when Downing saw the papers he dismissed the contents as having some historical significance but no monetary value. My uncle was a bit of a history buff, so when he expressed an interest in the chest, Downing turned it over to him. Years later, when I finally got a look inside, I saw the journal and your grandfather’s papers. They led me to you.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions that my grandfather had anything to do with those papers,” she protested.

  “No, I have all the proof I need right here on this boat. Do you want to look inside the chest?”

  “I’m hungry,” Patience said, ignoring his question. “Do you have anything to eat?”

  “Sure.”

  She was anything but hungry after that big breakfast, but relief washed over her when Nathaniel left the subject of her grandfather’s past and stepped down into the galley. He brought back a hamper with a picnic lunch of cold chicken, a green bean salad, white wine, cheese, bread, and grapes.

  “I want you to eat,” Nathaniel prodded. “Captain’s rules.”

  Patience frowned, but she dug into the hamper to take her mind off her fears.

  “You’re looking a lot better since you’ve gotten some sleep and some food in your stomach,” he told her. “But you still look a little green around the gills. You need to put some meat on those bones, mate. If you don’t eat your vegetables, you’re going to get pellagra. That’s what my uncle always used to tell me.”

  “Spoken like a true sailor. You think I look bony?”

  “You could stand to fill out a little more,” Nathaniel said, “in some places. Here.” He traced a finger along her cheekbones. “And here.” His finger ran lightly down her arm and across her stomach.

  “In other departments, you’re built just fine.” His gaze focused on her breasts.

  Patience blushed. Nathaniel turned away before he could act on his instincts.

  They rested on deck. Nathaniel tried to lighten the mood. “You’re a funny little thing, Patience. I’ve already seen how you constantly bury your nose in some history book or historical romance. You’re obsessed with what was. You’re steeped in the past while you ought to have your eye on the future. You should be searching for what will be.”

  “Those are strange sentiments coming from a historian,” she chided. “But we’re different, there’s no doubt. The past is like a link in a chain. It often holds secrets to the future. It cannot be ignored. Sometimes the bond is strong, forged of steel. Sometimes it is faint and spidery, like a golden thread of the finest lace, or elusive, like a whisper. But still the tether that ties us to the past holds. It echoes through time, but no matter how tenuous the bond, the link stays strong. And I believe we are all bound together.”

  Nathaniel stood, seeming spellbound, as he watched her speak and gesture. Then he shook himself. “How about that dive?” he offered, looking away from her. “I’ve got my dive gear and some spare equipment for you. We can look around at the wreck site below. That is, unless you’re scared to go down.”

  If the alternative was to open the trunk, then she didn’t think she was quite ready. Maybe she’d never be ready. But she wouldn’t back down from a challenge.

  “I’d enjoy a dive.” She resented his tone but fidgeted with her hands and looked away from the water. Conquer your fears, she thought, taking deep, cleansing breaths.

  Patience donned the wet suit for protection against the coral and the coldness. The flippers fit snugly, and she tightened the goggles. Swinging on her oxygen tank, she grabbed the vest, checked the air in her tank, and adjusted her regulator for the deep dive before she picked up the knife Nathaniel had provided in case she got tangled in seaweed or needed to cut herself free from a rope. Nathaniel’s equipment included a computer that could analyze how much bottom time they’d have. In this depth, they’d be down no longer than fifteen minutes. With all this gear aboard, Nathaniel was obviously an experienced diver.

  Sensing her hesitancy, Nathaniel grabbed Patience’s hand and pulled her along with him as he jumped into the water.

  Once submerged, Patience began to appreciate the silence and the beauty, the changing play of light on the water. They came face to face with the creatures of the deep patrolling the wrecks, skimming along the reefs—a moray eel, an orange starfish, a sergeant-major, a bright blue tang, a blue angelfish.

  She felt natural with Nathaniel, and she liked the sensation of holding hands in the deep. Her hand felt right in his. She wanted to do more than hold hands, but she knew her strange desires put her in dangerous waters.

  When the dive was finished, Patience climbed up the ladder, with Nathaniel right behind her.

  “Good thing we didn’t run into any sharks,” Nathaniel laughed as they shed their equipment.

  “It’s more likely we’d get nudged by some lumbering sea turtle.”

  He reached for her hand again. “Are you ready to take a look now?” he prompted.

  “It’s kind of like opening Pandora’s box, don’t you think?” Patience shifted her weight back and forth on the deck. “You already know what’s in there. Why don’t you just tell me?”

  “Because I think you need to see for yourself.”

  Patience followed Nathaniel down the steps to his cabin, where she saw the locker—the elephant in the room. Then it was real, after all. But that didn’t necessarily mean it was her grandfather’s. She would prove that it wasn’t, or get Nathaniel to help her prove it. After having read most of the journal entries, she had little hope left, but who knew what she might find in the box?

  “Go on, Patience, open it. Unless you’re afraid of what you’ll discover.”

  Again she rose to the challenge and lifted the lid. Conquer your fears.

  “It’s just a rusty old locker, you see. It has nothing to do with my grandfather.” Patience looked away from the Nazi swastika marked on the trunk.

  “Look closer,” he advised, rifling through the contents of the trunk, searching. “Here. This is a picture of the owner of the trunk. Is this man your grandfather?”

  She forced herself to look at the passport. Yes, it was her grandfather, but this name was unfamiliar. It was a German name.

  “Wilhelm von Hesselweiss,” Nathaniel read. “Born in Dresden, Germany. This was your grandfather.”

  “This is some kind of mistake,” Patience objected. “Documents can be forged.”

  “There’s no mistake. Wilhelm von Hesselweiss translates to William Whitestone. Keep looking.”

  Patience sifted through letters, reports, and annotated maps, all in her grandfather’s handwriting.

  Her head began to throb as Nathaniel droned on, rattling off details—including the mounting body of evidence about stolen plans of long-closed Bermuda bases.

  “In addition to the bases I’ve already mentioned, we have here plans for the U.S. Naval Annex on Tucker’s Island, Morgan’s Island in Southampton Parish, and the U.S. Navy submarine base on Ordnance Island in the Town of St. George, established right after the Pearl Harbor attack because German subs were taking quit
e a bite out of Allied shipping and nipping at America’s east coast. And, of course, there are the schematics for the Tudor Hill U.S. Navy listening post/research base in Southampton Parish, a top-secret anti-submarine warfare and radar surveillance station, and the telecommunications center for the U.S. Navy on Paynter’s Hill in Tucker’s Town. Is that specific enough for you?”

  Patience was more interested in the faded black-and-white snapshots. There was one of her grandfather, so young, with his arm around a beautiful young dark-haired woman in a garden—a wife, lover, sister? Not a sister. These two people were obviously in love. It was written all over their faces and transmitted in their body language, the way they were wrapped around each other. There was an inscription on the back. “All my love, Emilie. Dresden. 1934.” Dresden? But her grandfather had never mentioned traveling to Dresden, had he? He was from Zurich.

  Who was Emilie to her grandfather? Had her grandmother known about this other woman?

  She came across another picture, this one of a woman and a man in uniform. The man’s collar was decorated with an Iron Cross, and he held an infant in his arms. Looking at the man, she thought there might have been a family resemblance. Was the baby her grandfather? Did he have another family back in Germany that he’d planned to return to after the war? If so, why hadn’t he gone back there? There were no relatives on her grandfather’s side of the family by the time she was born. She had always wondered about that. Her grandfather had taken trips over the years, alone. To visit these relatives? To go back to Germany?

  Then she lifted a German war medal from its presentation case—the prestigious Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross. Her grandfather’s for distinguishing himself in battle in the Kriegsmarine? Patience slipped the picture of Emilie and her grandfather safely into the pocket of her bathing suit cover-up.

  This was ridiculous. She was beginning to buy into Nathaniel’s warped notions. True, there were plans for all those U.S. bases. Stolen from the office of her great-grandfather, the vice admiral? How else could Wilhelm have gotten possession of them? A drawing of their home, Marigold House. Receipts for British pounds, for diamonds, and for enough Swiss gold to buy a small country.

  “There’s no treasure—no gold or diamonds or pound notes,” she stated flatly. “And if there were, then why haven’t you found them? You’ve certainly been snooping all over my house.”

  “My hunch is he use the notes and buried the rest somewhere on the property at Marigold House. Marigold House? That’s quite a coincidence. Your grandfather had a perverted sense of humor, don’t you think? House of gold, bought with gold, buried over gold. My hunch is he either buried it or used it to finance his illegal activities during the war.”

  “My grandfather would never have done anything like that. You didn’t know him like I did. There’s no gold buried at my house. I know that house inside and out. I would know if such an amount of gold were hidden there.”

  ****

  What could Nathaniel say to a woman who wasn’t ready to face facts?

  “Oh, there’s gold, all right,” Nathaniel assured her. “And I’m not leaving until I find it. There’s nothing you can do or say to stop me. I’ve worked too long and come too far to give up. We start digging outside tomorrow. Did your grandfather make any additions to the house after the war?”

  “Most of the large Bermuda houses have been added to over the years,” Patience stalled. “It’s a very common practice. And I’m not going to let you dig up my house or my yard.”

  “You don’t have any choice but to cooperate with me. If we don’t get there first, whoever is stalking us will. And he will not be as understanding as I have been.”

  She had mentioned frightening calls in the middle of the night, and threatening letters. When she went silent, Nathaniel knew she was remembering those. She had to feel safer since he had come to Marigold House. Unsettled, maybe, but safer. Still, in some ways, he was perhaps as great a threat to her as the stalker.

  “Understanding? You call what you are putting me through ‘understanding’? Rooting around in my life, digging up pieces of what you say is my family’s past, upsetting me, and tarnishing my memories of my grandfather? You act like my grandfather was some kind of unfeeling monster. Nothing could be further from the truth. I loved my grandfather. Now he’s dead. Can’t you just leave the past buried?”

  “Wasn’t it you who said we’re bound by the past? I believe that. And I’m not leaving you alone for a minute until we’ve unraveled this mystery to my satisfaction.” Nathaniel grabbed her arm.

  “Your satisfaction! Who’s the monster now? Is it money you want? Pieces of gold? I have money, a lot of it. I’ll give you money. Money isn’t important to me. Just leave me alone.”

  “Patience, please. It’s not just about the money. You don’t understand. I don’t want to fight with you. I—”

  “Well, you will have a fight on your hands from me. I can promise you that. Turn this boat about, and take me home right this instant. And stop manhandling me!” She pulled away from him in a huff and stormed up to the top deck. The helpless and broken-spirited girl had vanished, and a new, aggressive Patience was here with a vengeance.

  “We will work together, you and I,” Nathaniel whispered after her. “We have no choice.”

  Bermuda is where your destiny lies. His grandmother’s dying words suddenly flooded back to him. Was he simply feeling her spirit, her nearness, out on the ocean? He couldn’t rid himself of the notion that he was meant to be here, that he and Patience were meant to be together. The pull of the past was very strong. And very unsettling.

  The first order of business was to lose the stalker, or maybe lure him into revealing himself. The closer Nathaniel got to the gold, the more the predator would want to question or silence Patience. The stalker had to know about the gold. Why else would he be threatening her?

  Maybe he should stay away from her, but she was in too much danger. He and Patience were going to be—what was the term she had used? Intertwined—whether she wanted it or not. It wasn’t going to be easy, because she didn’t trust him. She didn’t even like him. He had made the right decision when he left the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club and presented himself at her door, a fait accompli. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. If she balked, he could always threaten to go to the authorities and reveal his secrets about her family.

  Nathaniel found her up on the deck leaning against the railing, braced for a brawl, eyes swollen with tears, sensuous mouth stubbornly set in fierce determination. He wanted to go to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her, kiss the breath out of her. But it was obvious she didn’t want to be touched or comforted. Certainly not kissed. Not by him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  He watched her lift the journal from her canvas beach bag, settle herself on the deck, and begin reading intently. He wouldn’t disturb her now. He would let her learn the truth for herself. The words in the journal did not lie. Even if she was lying to herself.

  “Let’s go back in, Patience,” Nathaniel said. “It’s getting dark and cold.” He massaged her shoulders a moment before guiding the boat to the dock and assisting her onto land. His arm around her shoulder, and they walked back into the house together.

  “Have you had enough for today?” he asked quietly. “Do you want to stop now?”

  “No,” she said firmly, her refusal to quit punctuated by the stubborn set of her jaw.

  After she had changed into a diaphanous white ankle-length dress, he settled her onto the couch, covered her with a wool blanket, and gently positioned her neck on a pillow he had brought in from her bedroom.

  He left her alone in the room and wandered around the house, continuing to look for clues, looking for the fortune in gold he was convinced was somewhere on the premises. Nothing he had read in the journal had been definitive about the location of the gold. Nathaniel was certain that if Patience were to read it, it might trigger a clue in her mind about the location of the treasure. And he was g
oing to be close to her when she had that revelation.

  The prospect of staying so close to Patience, in the same house, was disturbing. He constantly fought his unbidden attraction for her. She was a bewitching puzzle. She had haunted his dreams and invaded his privacy. And that was before he’d even met her. Half the time he didn’t know whether he wanted to strangle her or seduce her. He would definitely have to watch his step around this enchantress.

  Nathaniel paced the length of the residence. As comfortable as he was around Patience, her house was also casting its spell on him.

  He looked over at Patience, who hadn’t moved since he’d settled her on the couch.

  Nathaniel looked around at the luxurious surroundings. “Things aren’t that bad. The wolf is not exactly at the door, is it?”

  “I’m not helpless,” Patience sniffled.

  “I never said you were.”

  “But you were thinking it.”

  She would probably be surprised to know he’d like to wrap her in a protective cocoon and never let any harm come to her. In that respect, he wasn’t much different from her grandfather.

  A study in balance and symmetry, with its steep Bermuda buttery punctuated by the large snowball-looking finial perched on top, the house was grand, yet it managed to reflect intimacy and romance. Double French doors opened onto a courtyard that led to a sheltered swimming pool and a pool house tucked away in a magnificent setting. The lush, walled formal garden bloomed quietly in a riot of color, with blue Bermudiana, hibiscus, oleander, snapdragons, day lilies, and poinsettia. Rustic cedar benches rested under rustling palms that flanked a circular stone moon gate.

  The veranda spanned the length of the house and offered a magnificent view of the restless Atlantic Ocean on one side and, beyond a deep lagoon, peaceful Tucker’s Town Bay on another.

  The spacious drawing room featured a large, brick-lined fireplace, exposed cedar beams, and cedar banisters, and was decorated with Bermuda cedar furniture, Oriental rugs, and a respectable row of Blackburn portraits lining the wall. Nathaniel had been around luxury all his life, and he recognized it in the delicate porcelains and the Chippendale pieces.