The Choice: The Pocket Watch Chronicles

by Ceci Giltenan

  “Young lady, is something the matter?”

  “Uh…no. I’m uh…uh…five. I’m going to five.”

  The lady appeared concerned but pushed the button.

  When the doors opened on five, Sara stepped out and turned to look at the large map of the ship. To anyone walking by she would appear to be scanning it, but all she could do was think of the scene she had just fled. Don’t cry. Whatever you do, don’t cry. She took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly, trying to calm herself.

  “Can I help you miss?” asked a uniformed cruise employee.

  Again, Sara was at a loss for words. “I uh…I uh…”

  “Is everything all right? Do you need something?”

  Then, without a thought, the words, “I need another stateroom,” tumbled out.

  “There’s something wrong with your stateroom?”

  Yeah. A couple somethings are wrong with it. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll show you to guest services and hopefully they can fix the problem.”

  Although, I sincerely doubt it was on the tip of her tongue, she simply said, “Thank you.”

  Guest services. Yes, that is what she needed. Maybe there was an unoccupied room she could have. She certainly couldn’t stay in the suite with Mark any longer.

  By the time they reached guest services, she had a fragile grip on her emotions. This was the answer. She didn’t care how much it might cost, she would move to another room. They would be at sea one more day before they reached a port. At the first port, she would disembark and make arrangements to fly home.

  “How may I assist you?” asked the smiling guest services agent when Sara reached the desk.

  “I need another stateroom.”

  “I’m sorry, there aren’t any available.”

  “I must have another stateroom. I don’t care how small it is, or where it is. None of that matters, but I must have another room.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, miss. This is our peak season. Every stateroom on the ship is occupied. But if there’s a problem with your stateroom, I’m sure we can resolve it.”

  Sara shook her head. “I’m pretty sure you can’t.”

  She turned and walked away, hearing the agent say, “But miss, if you’ll just tell me…” as she left. What she was going to do? How could she make it through the next few days? She couldn’t hold the tears back any longer, so she made her way back to the elevators. She needed to be alone and she was certain she had seen a sign for a chapel somewhere.

  As the elevator doors opened, she charged headlong into someone stepping off. Strong hands gripped her arms, and pushed her back off the elevator. She looked up into the face of the last person she wanted to see—Benjamin Talbot.

  He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Just, let me go.” She tried to shrug away from him but he only tightened his grip.

  “Clearly, nothing’s wrong.” The sarcasm dripped heavily from his words. “You always rush around in tears.”

  “Fine. I need another stateroom and there aren’t any.”

  “And that’s what you’re crying about? Why do you need another stateroom?”

  “I just do.”

  “Yesterday you didn’t seem bothered by it. And now here you are, practically bawling”

  “Yesterday I wasn’t bothered by it and I’m not…bawling.” Her voice broke, and it sounded perilously close to a sob.

  “So what’s the problem now?”

  “Now it’s crowded.”

  “Well, I think the suites are embarrassingly small, but yesterday you said it was more than adequate.”

  “Yesterday I didn’t walk in to find Mark balls deep in—”

  “Shut up.” He cut her off, glancing around. “Don’t say another word. This isn’t publicity that any of us need. Let’s take this somewhere private.”

  He guided her into the next elevator that opened. The curious occupants stared at them.

  Benjamin pulled her against his chest, patted her back, and said. “She just received a text. Her cat died.”

  The absurdity of the excuse nearly made her laugh. She didn’t have a cat. She was allergic to cats and didn’t even like them much. She managed to keep it together long enough to reach his suite. Then, at the sight of Daphne’s things spread around, Sara burst into tears.

  Benjamin said nothing. The Admiral’s suite had a stocked bar. He poured vodka and orange juice into two glasses and shoved one into her hand. “Take a drink.”

  She did.

  “Now, stop crying, drink that, and tell me what’s happened.”

  “Mark arranged for me to have several spa treatments this morning. I didn’t know about the whole thermal suite thing and hadn’t brought a bathing suit. So, I went back to the stateroom to get one and he was…he was…”

  “Not alone. I believe the words you used were ‘balls deep’ in…’ someone.”

  Sara nodded, certain she would start sobbing again if she spoke.

  Benjamin frowned. “We haven’t been on this ship a whole day. He hasn’t really had time to lure anyone into his bed yet. Unless…” His eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw. “Was he with Daphne?”

  Sara nodded again.

  He became darkly angry, every muscle tensed. “I’ll kill him.”

  Sara sniffed, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “I thought he loved me. I thought we were getting married.”

  “Shut up, Sara. Mark is a dog and always has been. I’m sorry you were too stupid until now to notice that, but this was bound to happen.

  “Then why are you so angry?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, he can screw around with any willing bitch on the planet. But I don’t share my toys.” He poured another sizable measure of vodka into his glass. Forgoing the orange juice, he downed it in one gulp before striding to the door.

  Sara went after him, grabbing one arm. “Where are you going?”

  He jerked his arm away, staring daggers at her. And to her horror, he answered, “I’m going to make him pay. I’m going to make them both pay. And if you make another attempt to stop me, you’ll regret it.”

  He strode towards the door but stumbled before he reached it. He stopped and looked down at himself then turned slowly around. Brows furrowed, he just stared at her.

  Chapter 4 – What if I Fall in Love?

  Monday, July 10, 1758

  The Lido, Venice, Italy

  Benedict MacIan walked along the shore in the evening twilight, as he so often did. This peaceful stillness was a welcome respite from the bustle of the Arsenale, the ship-building center of Venice, just across the lagoon. He stopped and stared out over the water. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to his parents. This had been where he’d stood the last time he’d seen them, as their ship headed out to sea well over thirteen years ago. His father had waved, watching from the aft deck until Benedict couldn’t see him anymore. His mother had never looked back.

  “Young man, what grieves ye?” asked an old woman whose approach had been so quiet, she seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

  Benedict was startled, not only because of her sudden appearance, but also because she hadn’t addressed him in Venetian, but rather in Scots—the language his parents had spoken at home. “I’m sorry. What did ye ask?”

  She smiled warmly at him. “Ye’re standing here, staring out to sea, looking as if ye’ve the weight of the world on yer shoulders.”

  “Nay, I haven’t. I was just thinking about my parents. I lost them, years ago. I don’t know why they’re on my mind tonight.”

  “Perhaps it was the story of that young woman who drowned. Deaths like that often bring to mind other tragic losses.”

  “Aye, perhaps.” Benedict frowned. The captain of the vessel had told him about the foolish girl who’d jumped overboard, but it was to have been kept quiet. Mr. Llewellyn was an extremely wealthy and influential merchant. Losing his daughter was hard enough. He didn’t want gossip spreading.

&
nbsp; “He has appearances to maintain,” the captain had told Benedict, wryly. “But if you ask me, he’s more upset by how this might affect his business than by the death of his only child.”

  Benedict gave the old woman a searching look. “How is it ye know about her?”

  “It’s a rather long story. Perhaps ye’d like to ask me back to yer house for a hot cup of tea and I’ll tell it to ye.”

  Benedict chuckled. He guessed there was no harm in it. “Of course. Would ye care to join me for a cup of tea?”

  She laughed merrily. “Thank ye, lad. How kind of ye to ask.” She held out her hand to him. “My name is Gertrude.”

  Taking her hand, he said, “I’m Benedict MacIan. Pleased to meet ye, Gertrude.”

  “Likewise.”

  He motioned in the direction from which he had come, “My home is that way.”

  They walked together for a few moments before Benedict asked, “I suppose ye were on the ship?”

  “What ship would that be?”

  “The one the lass was on.”

  “Oh, nay, I wasn’t.”

  “Then perhaps ye were on Llewellyn’s ship?”

  “I wasn’t on any ship, lad.”

  “But ye’re a very long way from home.”

  “What makes ye say that?”

  He smiled. “Are ye not Scottish? Ye speak Scots.”

  “I speak many languages, young man,” she said in perfect Venetian.

  “So, I see,” he answered in Venetian. “So, you aren’t from Scotland?”

  She chuckled, switching back to Scots. “Nay, lad. I’m a citizen of the universe.”

  “Then why did ye address me in Scots?”

  “It’s my favorite language and ye said ye were remembering yer parents. They were Scottish, were they not?”

  “Aye, they were. But, I didn’t tell ye about my parents until after ye’d spoken to me.”

  The old woman shrugged. “Nay, I don’t suppose ye did. ‘Tis difficult to lose both parents in the same year and at such a young age.”

  Benedict hadn’t missed the fact that she didn’t explain how she knew he spoke Scots. But her new observation raised another question.

  “How did ye know they both passed away within the same year—or for that matter, when I was young?”

  She laughed. “Och, lad, that was no great stretch—ye’re still quite young, in the grand scheme of things.”

  He smiled at her. “I suppose so, but how did ye know they died within months of each other?”

  “Ah that. I’m glad you asked. ‘Tis a gift.”

  “A gift?”

  “Aye, a gift.”

  When she didn’t explain further, Benedict decided to let it drop.

  They walked in silence for a minute as the sky grew darker. “Gertrude, it’s getting late. Where are ye staying? Somewhere here on the Lido? I fear we are walking away from Malamoco, the village.”

  She shook her head. “Nay, I’m not staying in Malamoco.”

  He laughed. “Ye’re a woman of many words.”

  She smiled. “Ye’ll learn everything ye need to know soon enough. Besides, I have a few questions for ye.”

  She was an odd old woman, but for some reason, he felt a great sense of warmth from her. As if she were an old friend. “All right. What would ye like to know?”

  “How is it a young Scotsman finds himself living in Venice, on the Lido?”

  He laughed. “Ye know about my parents, but ye don’t know that?”

  Gertrude chuckled. “Humor me.”

  “Very well. My father was a carpenter who repaired ships in Port Glasgow. Eighteen years ago, a Venetian merchant took notice of his talent and offered him the opportunity to build ships here. I think initially Da planned to learn what he could, then return to Scotland to find his fortune building ships there.”

  “Initially? Things changed?”

  “Aye. He fell in love with Venice. But moreover, he realized that even if he took the knowledge he’d gained here back there, he wouldn’t have artisans of the same skill there. He always said in addition to being some of the soundest vessels on the sea, Venetian ships are works of art in their own right.”

  “So, he decided to stay here forever.”

  “I suppose he did. Although he never quite admitted that to my mother.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “She hated it here. Everything from the food, to the language, to the very weather was foreign to her and she refused to embrace it.”

  “I see. It is vastly different from Scotland.”

  Benedict nodded. “That’s why Da built our home here, on the Lido. He thought if they lived away from the city, closer to the sea, she would be more comfortable.”

  “Was she?”

  Benedict shook his head. “But Da kept hoping. He said she had liked it no better in Port Glasgow when they first went there.”

  “That wasn’t yer home?”

  “’Twas my home, at least it’s the only one in Scotland I remember. But my parents had grown up on the Isle of Skye. Da knew if they’d stayed there, they were destined to live as impoverished crofters just as their parents had been. He envisioned a better life for us.”

  “So he moved his little family to Port Glasgow.”

  “Aye. Glasgow was a major trade center. Where there was trade, there were ships and where there were ships, there was work for a carpenter.”

  “That’s true, sure enough. And what did ye think when he decided to move here? Were ye sorry to leave Scotland behind?”

  Benedict grinned. “Nay. My mother may have considered it a prison sentence but for me, at just ten years old, I looked on it as an adventure the likes of which I’d never have in Scotland.”

  “And has it been? An adventure, that is?”

  “Aye. One that ended a tad too soon.”

  “Because ye lost yer parents?”

  Benedict sighed. “Aye. I had to become a responsible adult overnight.” They had reached his home. “Here we are.”

  Gertrude smiled, taking it all in. “It’s quite lovely.”

  They entered. “If ye don’t mind waiting for me in the sitting room, I’ll brew us a cup of tea.”

  “I don’t mind waiting, but I be equally happy to join ye in the kitchen.”

  “Well then, follow me.”

  In the kitchen, he stoked the fire and busied himself making tea before sitting down with her at the kitchen table. “Now, it seems I have told ye my entire life story and you were going to tell me how you learned about Llewellyn’s daughter.”

  “So I did. Her name was Cerys. As the story goes, she wanted to come to Venice. She fancied herself and artist and wanted to study here. Her father refused to allow it. Being a somewhat willful lass, she ran away. She disguised herself as a widow and booked passage on a ship in London, which was bound for Venice. When her father discovered what she’d done, he boarded one of his own ships—the fastest he owned—and followed her. He had nearly caught up with her as they approached this very island. Fearing that her father would take her straight back home, she decided to jump ship, believing she could swim the short distance. However, as her heavy clothes became wet, weighing her down, she was pulled under and drowned.”

  Benedict smiled indulgently. “Gertrude, the few people who know she died, know that much of the story. But what I asked ye on the beach was how ye knew the story at all. Llewellyn didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “Benedict, I know for the same reason I know what happened to yer parents.”

  “I already told ye, they died.”

  “Aye, ye did, but ye didn’t tell me that yer mother had begged for so long to go back to Scotland—even if it was just for a visit—that yer da finally gave in. They arrived during the Jacobite risings. Once back on clan lands, yer father became caught up in it all and was killed at Culloden.”

  “No, I didn’t tell ye those things, but none of it is a secret. My father had many friends here. The story of his death is well eno
ugh known.”

  “True, but the story of yer mother’s death isn’t.”

  He shrugged. “There’s nothing to know. She became ill and died.”

  Gertrude arched a brow at him. “She blamed herself for his death and became so grief-stricken, she sank into a melancholia from which she never recovered. Believing she couldn’t go on without him, eventually she took to her bed and stopped eating.”

  Benedict clenched his jaw. “Fine. She died of a broken heart. A few people know that.”

  Gertrude captured his gaze. “Lad, she didn’t die of a broken heart. She died because she chose to give up. She chose death over life without her husband.” She took hold of his hand, with a surprisingly firm grip. “What no one knows is how badly that hurt ye, lad. Because in choosing not to live without her husband, she also chose to abandon ye.”

  The words were like a knife in his gut. He had never told anyone that. By most standards, he’d been a grown man, or very nearly, when all of that happened. He didn’t need a mother. But Gertrude was right. The fact that his mother had given up on life and in so doing had given up on him, wounded him deeply.

  He tore his eyes away from Gertrude’s, but he didn’t pull his hand out of hers. There was a warmth and comfort flowing from her that he couldn’t shun.

  “I’m sorry, Benedict.”

  It took him a moment to find his voice. “I should have gone with them. But I was sixteen when they left and was apprenticed in my father’s business. Scotland was a distant memory for me. This was my home. I wanted to stay and continue my training.”

  “Benedict, look at me.”

  He did. Love and warmth radiated from her eyes, just as it had from her hand.

  “You made the best choice.”

  “How do ye know? Maybe my father wouldn’t have died if I’d been there. Maybe I could have helped my mother to hold onto life if I’d been with her.”

  “Nay. Yer father and mother would still have died…and you would have died, too.”

  “You don’t know that.” His voice was filled with anguish. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “I told ye, it’s a gift. I know what I need to know when I need to know it. My dear lad, I am an immortal spirit. I can often see the ‘should haves’ and the ‘what might have beens’ that weigh on human hearts. Sometimes I can help set mortals on the right path, the one that might prevent some heartaches. Sometimes I cannot see the specifics, but I can always see the end of those paths.”