Keepsake for Eagle Cove

by M. L. Buchman

  “I don’t think that’s up to me.”

  “But it is your boat?”

  “No, ma’am. Belongs to the ship’s master. Lieutenant Commander Queeg by name, LC Queeg for medium, Q for short.”

  “Queeg as in The Caine Mutiny? The mad commander played by Humphrey Bogart?”

  “The same.”

  At that moment a big, gray-and-black striped cat trotted up on deck using the same door—gangway? companionway? hatch!—that Devin had used to go below. The cat hopped up onto the cabin roof and trotted over to Tiffany.

  Hector stood stiffly and snapped a sharp salute that the cat ignored as any egotistical senior officer might. After a sniff and a scratch accepted from Tiffany with a very feline hauteur, LC Queeg inspected the sleeping kid.

  Tiffany stood poised to make a grab if the cat didn’t approve. LC Queeg was at least twice the size and four times the weight of Shprintze.

  After a moment, the cat turned to look up at Hector.

  “You tell me, Commander.”

  The cat then crawled onto the blanket and curled up around the goat. Shprintze woke enough to lift her head and rest it over the cat’s belly before going back to sleep. Q began cleaning the baby goat.

  “Well I’ll be,” Hector said softly. “He’s never been a big fan of four-footed strangers on his boat. Nor winged ones. He’s been known to face down angry seagulls twice his size if they board without proper orders. Well, let’s leave them be.” A handrail stuck up along the cabin’s roof ensured that they stayed in place, not that the fall from cabin to deck was high enough to cause more than surprise.

  He led her forward and she began learning about what had only been pictures and labels last night.

  Devin hadn’t returned from inside the boat—below. She wondered what he was learning down there.

  Devin had meant to drop their jackets on the first level surface and head back up the companionway ladder, but he was stopped by the beauty of the boat’s interior. The ones he’d been in before were just daysailers: a fiberglass bunk covered in sailbags and old life vests, a cooler jammed into a corner and filled with beer, maybe a radio.

  This was exquisite. There were teak decking and trim, brass fittings, and absolutely no straight lines. Everything was a curve, the joinery work was a thing of beauty. The wood was bright with multiple coats of varnish and smooth as no sander could achieve—it required decades of constant use and patient upkeep to make wood look like this.

  He poked though the galley: top-loading fridge, a counter that lifted to reveal a three-burner propane stove, a small but utilitarian two-basin sink. Quaint and impressively efficient. Doing this in the cottage could save half the kitchenette space or more.

  Tiffany’s and Hector’s footsteps, moving about the deck over his head, let him follow their progress. But he continued his inspection—right until it almost ran him head-on into Dragon Winslow. She’d been sitting quietly at a teak table that could seat three—no, it had a drop-leaf, it could seat six, three on either side of the table.

  “You are a carpenter then,” her greeting was abrupt, but no longer struck fear into his heart.

  “This is beautiful work,” he sat on a bench seat across from her, long enough that it could double as a narrow bunk, and rubbed a hand over the worn trimwork around a tiny propane heater. The heater would probably be enough to keep the whole boat warm on a cold night. The stove itself was burnished steel. “Beautiful.”

  “I felt that this might provide you with proper perspective for the lightkeeper’s cottage.”

  “It does. It really does.” Then he looked at her instead of the beautiful boat. “Thank you.”

  “Well,” she sniffed, “you have some manners.”

  “I try not to let them get in my way.” That earned him her first real smile since he’d met her.

  “I hear,” she nodded up toward the steps moving back and forth on the deck, “that you managed to coax Tiffany from her lair.”

  And he remembered their first meeting, when Dragon Winslow had asked questions that Tiffany had done her best to avoid. Then he began to wonder if he was not the purpose of today’s invitation, but rather Tiffany was the target. Had the Dragon used him and Hector to isolate Tiffany on the boat where she couldn’t avoid questioning? He remembered her hunching response at every question into her past, never mind the full-blown panic he’d caused when he surprised her.

  He rose back to his feet. “I brought her as my guest. To sail. No more. I will not have that trust violated. Shall I take her and go?” He’d never spoken this way to anyone. He ran his crews by cheering them along, teaching them quietly what they didn’t know. Of all people to take on, he’d chosen the Dragon. He braced for her talons.

  She regarded him for a long time.

  He held her gaze even as the boat rocked back and forth beneath the motions of Hector and Tiffany above. He could hear her asking questions and Hector instructing. Soon it would be awkward to leave, very soon. Better to face it. Still clutching their jackets, he turned for the ladder.

  Then the Dragon laughed. But it was not mean or dangerous as it should be from a dragon. Rather it was amused.

  “Well, that will teach me, and with a dose of my own medicine,” she shook her head. “You have honor, Devin Robison. And you protect what you care about.”

  “I do,” which was something of a surprise at the moment. Just how much he cared about Tiffany Mills.

  “I shall offer you a bargain.”

  “I’m listening,” but Devin didn’t turn to fully face her. I’m still ready to go he was saying.

  “I shall reserve my interest in what she is hiding…”

  “If I do what?”

  “Bright boy,” she rose to stand in front of him. “If you let me know when she is ready to speak with me.”

  “And if she never is?”

  “Then I shall suffer in silence. At least for as long as I can manage. So do not make me wait too long.”

  “Some bargain.”

  “It is the best I can offer. That girl has always been a puzzle. I care for her a great deal, which is actually why I will push if I must. I suspect that the puzzle piece she hides may be close to the heart of what troubles her.” Then she left him and climbed back up onto the deck.

  No, he knew what troubled her, and could feel his hands clench into fists at even the thought. That would not be why she wasn’t talking to the Dragon. There was more than that going on…and not just about herself.

  Care for her a great deal. Devin sat back down and stared at the fine woodwork, but he couldn’t focus on it.

  Care for her a great deal? He did.

  Devin scrubbed at his face. He was in so far over his head.

  Tiffany had always avoided invitations to go sailing before. The reason was easy to recall now, though she hadn’t thought of it when Devin had invited her.

  April 1900

  I am so sore of heart as I stand ashore and observe the departure of his ship. My very soul aches that Ernest must leave Eagle Cove, yet he is a foremast hand with a four-year contract.

  Our time together was so brief, but I shall be ever thankful that he was led to me. By his word, I shall look for his return in the summer, when I may once more feel the ecstasy that he can evoke from my willing body. In summer then, I may once more wrap my arms and legs about him and again call him “mine.”

  Tiffany had never wanted to intrude upon the memory of Lillian’s departing lover. By always choosing to remain ashore, Tiffany could relive Lillian’s moment when Ernest had still been true and the future filled with hope.

  But over a century had passed and Tiffany had willing consented to accompany Devin before she could think to refuse. And was gloriously happy that she had. She tried to remember when she had so enjoyed herself. There was something about being out on a sailboat. She could leave the land behind and some part of her natural timidity with it.

  For just this once, this lone sunny morning sliding over the water under
the pressure of a steady breeze, she could pretend she was someone else. No, she didn’t want to be someone else. Didn’t want to hide in her ancestor’s memories. Perhaps she could pretend that she was her better self…and Devin made that the simplest of all choices. Tiffany lay back against his chest in the cockpit. He had one arm about her waist and they each had a hand on the wheel. This was her moment of heaven.

  Once the animals were safely out of the way, Hector had given them lessons back and forth across the bay. Finally he’d announced that Tiffany was ready and there was, with a broad wink, at least some hope for Devin. Then he’d headed them out the mouth of the Eagle River and onto the ocean. The forty-two-foot boat made easy work of the six-foot rollers. They were soon sliding south, well off the shore.

  She watched the land as they left it behind, curious to see if she could somehow spot herself as they passed. Town gave way to houses. A couple ran along the beach; by his massive stature and her dark hair, she would guess it was Cal Jr. and Natalya freshly returned from their honeymoon. The small dog chasing along at their heels confirmed the identification of the tiny figures.

  Soon she saw the two grand Victorians, the one owned by the Slaters that had been Lillian’s and the one that had never left the Lamont family. What had been Ernest’s thoughts as he sailed this route aboard his lumber schooner? Affection? Love? A belief, at least in that moment, that he would return? Perhaps other, darker thoughts that Tiffany did not want to consider on this beautiful day.

  “Look,” she pointed out for Devin after they’d passed south of the Orca Head lighthouse. “It appears so small from here.”

  “Your farm,” Devin had followed her direction. “It might look small, but that makes it no less important.”

  And when he said it, she knew it was true. From out on the water it looked like little more than a cleared patch in the forest. A brilliant reflection of the sun off a solar panel lasted only a moment. But there was her home. There she and Devin had made love. It was enough.

  She returned to the sailboat in her thoughts and let Lillian, Ernest, and her farm continue without her for now.

  The sounds here seemed so natural. A gull’s cry overhead, the shushing of the water along the hull, and the wind as it drove them on. Even the occasional ping of a line against the aluminum mast or the ripple-slap of the three sails felt completely natural. Two “headsails” (pronounced heads’ls by those in the know, which she now was) rose before the mast, which made this boat a cutter-rigged sloop. The big main stretched along the boom from the mast to well past the cockpit.

  She tugged lightly down on the marlinspiked wheel to correct for a wave pushing them off their course.

  “Marlinspike—the art of rope weaving and knotwork, often decorative, employed by sailors to pass time on long passages.” Hector had confirmed, “Technically that’s the name of the tool used, but it is often used to describe the fancier knotwork as well. When everything is going right, which isn’t often, a single man has a lot of time when crossing one of the ponds. That’s what sailors call the seven seas.”

  “The Ionian, the Aegean, the Black—”

  Hector had laughed. “Okay, little lady. So, you know your history. Ponds are the big oceans. The modern seven seas.”

  It had been fun to tease him, and that thought had been surprising enough for her to lapse into silence until lunchtime came around. Hector and Mrs. Winslow went below to fix sandwiches, leaving just herself and Devin alone on deck. The cat had gone below in search of treats and the kid had drunk a half-bottle of formula and was asleep again on a blanket in the natural cage of the cockpit’s raised sides and benches.

  “Devin?”

  “Mmm?” he murmured into her hair.

  “Can we just stay out here?”

  “Sure.”

  “Forever?”

  “Works for me,” he agreed lazily, tightening his arm about her waist.

  Tiffany hadn’t quite meant it the way it sounded in her head. Princess Tiffany seeking a happily ever after. But it was the first time she’d ever been so comfortable around other people. Usually she only achieved this when she was alone. And that meant the farm and there was always something begging to be done there. It was quiet and calm, but in a curious way the State of Tiffany wasn’t as peaceful as sailing.

  “I’ll buy you a boat,” Devin continued on the prior topic which she had somehow circled around to in her thoughts. “A beautiful one like this that we’ll moor in Eagle Bay. Whenever the wind is up, we’ll scoot out onto the sea. I could even host tourist evenings on the sea.”

  “Perish the thought,” Hector said from where he’d stuck his head and shoulders through the hatchway to hand plates and sodas out into the cockpit.

  “Why?” Tiffany wouldn’t do it because she wouldn’t want to speak to all of those people, but Hector had seemed a very gregarious and easygoing man. A good counterpoint to the staunch propriety of the woman that Tiffany couldn’t address as any other than Mrs. Winslow.

  “Tourists are a cruel thing to do to a perfectly nice boat. I’ve chartered a bit over the years, passing the time in one port or another.”

  “But once you’ve sailed with them, don’t they become friends?”

  Hector handed her a roast beef sandwich on rye and set the next one on the opposite bench for Mrs. Winslow.

  “Well, seems they do sometimes.” And Hector’s smile said that sometimes they became more than that. Then he glanced below without quite looking. Apparently he was hoping to become more than friends with someone else after taking her sailing.

  Tiffany couldn’t quite school her expression fast enough and Hector saw that he’d been caught. He offered a sheepish smile and a shrug.

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” Tiffany whispered just loud enough for him to hear. “But I’d be careful around Jessica and Natalya.”

  “Careful about what?” Devin asked as he took the next pair of sandwiches, having missed everything else that was going on.

  “Careful of your heading, Mr. Robison,” Hector answered curtly and handed across some cans of soda. Then he ducked back below.

  “Careful about what?” Devin asked her.

  He really was very cute. Handsome, but cute as well.

  “You mean about Hector wanting to date Mrs. Winslow?”

  Though not as blind as she’d thought a moment before.

  “About what?” The Dragon snapped from halfway out the companionway hatch.

  Devin winced. “She didn’t know yet?” Devin whispered to Tiffany.

  She shook her head ever so slightly.

  “Oops!” He mouthed to her.

  Still cute.

  It was well past lunch before the Dragon spoke to Hector again and the poor man had no idea why.

  It was midafternoon before they headed back into Eagle Bay. Devin had decided that being in over his head was a good thing, at least when it came to being attracted to Tiffany. They had drifted lazily together all day, whether fighting the wind and bucking the tide or sliding quietly along wing-and-wing, with the sails spread wide to either side to catch the soft tailwind.

  Tiffany had unabashedly leaned against him, held hands, and teased him below with a searing kiss that had fired up both his body and his need for her.

  Now they sat on the bow to offer Hector and Mrs. Winslow some privacy. He had followed Tiffany forward as she had followed the goat. She had Shprintze on a thin lead attached to a harness Hector had fashioned. The other end was tied about her wrist, just in case the goat found a way overboard. Hector had no animal-sized life preservers aboard as Commander Q had utterly refused to wear them—a tale Hector had told well this afternoon while the Commander slept in his lap.

  Devin contemplated the approaching land. They were far enough out that it was still in miniature—a raised hand could block it from sight, from Greg and the Judge’s diner to the Lamont B&B where he had first met and played music with Tiffany. Only the lighthouse and the knowledge of Tiffany’s farm over t
he brow of the hill remained visible, until a shift of the boat blocked those as well.

  Today was Sunday.

  “A week ago this was a foreign stretch unlike anything I’d ever seen before.”

  “And now?” Tiffany leaned back against the sloped front of the cabin. The goat had once again wound her lead around a couple of deck fixtures and one of his ankles before curling up in Tiffany’s lap.

  He leaned back beside her. “It’s still a mystery, just for different reasons.”

  “Tell me.”

  “There’s real community here. It’s almost as if the more you try to resist it, the stronger it pulls you in.”

  Tiffany nodded. “You have no idea.”

  “I know that there’s a circle of women who would gladly castrate me if I were to harm a single lovely hair on your head. And I don’t think that’s an exaggeration.”

  “You mean like actually…” she made a snipping motion with her forefingers.

  “Natalya promised it in as many words. While I was sitting with you at knitting the other day, Jessica held aloft her knitting scissors to make it clear that she’d do it herself if I wasn’t careful.”

  “And others are ready to make our bridal bower.”

  “Becky,” Devin sighed. If he didn’t propose soon, Becky might do it for him. “It’s been an interesting week.”

  At that moment his phone rang. They must be close enough to land to get a signal. He pulled it out and answered without thinking.

  “DR Builders. Devin here.”

  “Hi, Dev honey.”

  Devin almost choked, “Rebecca.”

  “Hi, honey. It’s been a while. I was just chatting with Mama and thinking about you.” Her tone was honeyed. He could picture her sitting on the back terrace, a fresh gin and tonic on the table, looking down across the expansive front lawn to Lake Michigan. Sure enough he could hear the wind in the phone’s microphone. Her blond hair would be down, swishing gently in the breeze. And her mother sitting close by her side, monitoring every word.