by Kim Allred
“We’ll use the other boat.” Finn strolled past her to the other end of the dock, where he had been when she’d first arrived.
AJ followed him, her own long legs easily keeping up with him. “What other boat? I don’t see any other boat.” She pulled up short at the end of the larger ship. She stared at a small sailboat. A tiny boat. “You’re kidding, right? This is a toy boat.” AJ looked back at Finn. She didn’t get the gag until she saw the abrupt change in his manner. Finn’s smile disappeared, replaced by a more intense look, sweeping over the small craft and back at her. The instruction had begun.
“This, my dear, is a sailing vessel and, while she may be smaller than my fine girl, she’s as yar as I could find and not to be trifled with on water.”
Underneath his playful Irish lilt and colorful words, she detected his chastisement and prickled. “She seems small for the ocean. I’d assumed we’d be using yours.”
“This is mine. I just bought her. She’s perfectly suited for small hops along the shore and makes more sense than moving the big girl around. And it will be easier to learn the basics of sailing without becoming overwhelmed with all the sails and rigs.” Finn tossed AJ’s bag gently into the boat. She waited, unsure.
“She only looks small because she’s sitting next to a large ship,” Finn said. “She’s seaworthy. I take the ocean seriously and wouldn’t put us in any undue danger.”
AJ stared at the boat. He was right on both counts. It was about sixteen feet in length—maybe not so tiny after all—and he wouldn’t purposely put her at risk, not to prove some point. It would only put him in the same danger. “Let’s do it, then.”
She ignored Finn’s hand and stepped into the boat, grasping the mast. The small craft swayed with the new weight. Finn loosened the ropes tying the sailboat to the dock and jumped down next to her, their bodies rubbing together as the boat steadied beneath them.
Finn tossed her a safety vest, donning one himself, barely rocking the boat as he repositioned the lines from the sail. “I’ll get us out of the bay and then we can begin the lesson. You can watch and take in the beauty of the place as we head out. Things look different from the water.”
Finn wasn’t wrong. After raising the sails, he coaxed the craft out of port, shouting out where AJ should move and when she should duck. The boat tacked out of the small bay, heading for the deeper ocean. He told AJ to sit, and she relaxed against the side of the boat, watching the shoreline.
She had never seen the inn from this angle and was taken in by the charm of the setting. It was a perfect spot. The Westcliffe sat high on the point with the small bay off to one side, much deeper on this side of the point than on the other. AJ guessed there must be a bar running out from the shore, a few feet under the water, which created the pools on the far side. As the sails pulled them out to sea, AJ marveled that anyone could have found this place. It melted with the terrain around it, almost indistinguishable from the rest of the shore with the houses, trees, and green grass all blending together.
The sensation of the boat gliding through the water mesmerized her. The landscape diminished, the small craft moving faster as Finn worked the lines and the sails caught the full force of the wind. AJ turned to take in the sight of clear water ahead of her, with no point of reference as to where they were or where they were going. Only the shoreline behind them provided any guidance.
Finn dropped into the seat next to her, and his leg brushed against hers. She jumped and pulled her leg away. But his gesture wasn’t on purpose; there was no place else to sit. She forced herself to relax to the calming tempo of the boat.
She slid him a glance and sat a little straighter. She half expected one of his signature grins, but he stared at her, all business. AJ smiled, a little surprised at her reaction to this side of the man.
“Are you ready for your next lesson?” Finn continued to watch her, his hand resting easy on the tiller.
“I think I’m waiting for the first.”
“You’ve already had several, but I guess you weren’t paying attention.”
“I’ve missed something.”
“Aye, but it was unfair. I told you to watch us head out. Things look different from the water. Would you be able to find port again from here?”
AJ smiled and pushed her short curls away from her face. “You’re right. I couldn’t see how anyone had found the bay. The inn blended in with the rest of the shore. I’m not sure I’d be able to find it again.”
“So you have learned something after all. Now you need to learn reference points. You need to see the larger picture, the shore as a whole, the formation of the land and bays.”
The lesson expanded to reading the shore, guessing depths of the water without instrumentation, and how to identify reference points. AJ honestly did pay attention, and some of the landmarks were obvious to her, but she found herself gazing at the small cliffs, rating each one against a climbers’ scale. She might have to give one of them a try, change her routine. She did prefer the land to the sea, a high cliff to any good sail.
Staring at a particularly interesting cliff, trying to determine its location, she noticed it had grown quiet. She turned to see what Finn was doing, assuming he’d stopped talking to trim a sail or do something with a line, but she found him watching her. For the first time since they left port, something in the way he looked at her sparked an involuntary tingle. AJ looked away, wishing the boat was larger. The craft increased speed, forcing AJ’s body against him as the boat leaned away from the wind. Finn had called it heeling, and AJ held on, enjoying the mist of the ocean spray, almost forgetting her earlier discomfort, until Finn released the sail, settling the boat.
“So it’s time to learn a few things about the boat. I assume you know what a mast is and the difference between the bow and the stern, fore and aft.”
She laughed. “Let’s assume I know nothing. It will go much faster.”
It did go fast, but AJ caught only pieces. There was so much to learn. Finn spoke of the sails, the rigging, and the wind, but she found that she wasn’t interested in any of it. She enjoyed listening to him talk.
He loved the sea. That was easy to see. His voice became more animated the more he spoke. When he asked her to work a line or trim the sail and she fumbled at the task, his hands moved over hers to help guide her. She should have been paying more attention to what she was being told to do and less to the warm roughness of his skin against hers. But once she sensed a gentle shift of the boat and could hear the sail quiet as the wind caught the whole sheet, she laughed, pleased she had helped with the adjustment.
Finn laughed with her, his mood becoming more jovial as they sailed down the coast, never too far from the shore. He repeated instructions and drilled her on reading the land and various landmarks. AJ seemed to have a natural ability to read the coast now that she understood the basics, and she found navigation of more interest than the functions of sails. Yet AJ jumped anytime Finn called out an order, and she joked each time they had to duck under the sail, betting Finn one of them was sure to land in the water before they got back to dock.
“You’re getting too much sun.” Finn touched the tip of her nose.
AJ smiled at the unexpected gesture and touched her nose, testing the burn. “We’ve been out here longer than I expected. But I also thought I’d be on a larger vessel.”
Finn’s face showed no redness, his skin long tanned by the sea. He studied her, and she fidgeted under his intense scrutiny. She turned her attention to the boat, which seemed to have shrunk. Unable to keep her hands busy, she tucked them around her as if warding off the wind.
“You can see we had our hands full with this small boat. You would have learned nothing on anything larger.”
“You’re right.” AJ straightened, pushed a loose strand of hair from her face, and rubbed her fingers along a polished cleat. “How long have you been sailing?”
Finn guided the boat, making sure it stayed in line with the shore. “Not long. E
specially for being my own captain. We didn’t live close enough to the water for me to learn as a lad, so I was much older before I ever boarded a ship. Once aboard, I was fascinated by how it all worked. The sails and the rigging, of course, but it was the navigation that interested me.”
“Really?” She sat forward. “I like the navigation too. Plotting your course and seeing where it takes you. All the drilling you put me through on reading the land and the sea makes sense. I can see it’s your specialty.”
“Yes, and you should see me with a compass, a sextant, and a chart.” He winked.
His mischievousness warmed her. “So tell me about your ship. Do you own her, or are you, I don’t know, moving her around from one place to another?”
He hesitated a moment. “She’s mine. I haven’t owned her long, yet sometimes it seems as if it’s been forever.” His voice turned sad. His gaze turned to the water, and he seemed to drift into a different place and time.
The boat took an abrupt turn, and the sail narrowly missed her when it came about, forcing a small scream from her.
“Hey, I thought you were giving out warnings before doing that.”
Finn had the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” The grin reappeared. “You have fine reflexes.”
“It’s not my reflexes I’m worried about. I have no intention of going for a swim today.” She repositioned herself, irritated by the surprise change of direction.
“Let’s get back. You’ve learned enough for one day.”
Not getting the apology she deserved, AJ turned the tables and got to the meat of her interview. “So how old is your boat exactly?”
“A couple hundred years, give or take.”
AJ waited for him to expand, but he didn’t. “And where was she built?”
“The shipyards in Portsmouth. England.”
Again with the short responses. He had been so forthcoming with sailing and navigation. Now he clammed up. “I thought you said it was okay for me to write about the ship.”
Finn sighed. “Aye, I did. I guess I got lost in daydreaming.” Finn trimmed the sail and settled next to her, looking out to sea once more.
“The Daphne Marie was built around 1790, designed specifically for the Duke of Dunsmore, a man loyal to the King. She had a different name at the time.” Finn searched the horizon as if the lost memory would appear at its edges. “I don’t remember it anymore.” Finn’s manner changed when he talked about the ship, almost a reverence. “The name changed some years later with its new owner. It was meant to be a change in fortune for the ship, but it didn’t work out that way.” Finn busied himself with the sail again.
He was avoiding the topic, but it wasn’t just devotion to the ship that distracted him. It was something deeper. A sorrow that seemed to touch him each time he spoke of the Daphne Marie. “Did something awful happen to the new owner?” AJ almost whispered it.
“A broken family and a man lost to the sea, never finding home again.” Finn’s sharp laugh unsettled her. “I guess the story isn’t much different from the ones you’ve found with your old buildings. Perhaps the ship has something in common with them after all.”
AJ wondered why an old story, as sad as it must have been, would be of such interest to Finn after hundreds of years. While he laughed about it, he seemed to find no humor in it. She wanted to ask why it seemed to affect him, but for some reason, she felt uncomfortable prying. She touched his arm and, realizing what she had done, pulled her arm back.
Finn looked at where she had touched him, and his smile returned. “Your innocent questions have gotten me recalling long-ago days and the harshness of life at sea. I think you’ll find that the history of old ships carries many a sad tale for the captains as well as the sailors that worked them.”
Finn turned the tiller, and the boat shifted starboard toward the water, forcing AJ to shift to the left to keep her body from leaning against him. “The Daphne Marie was built for a particular family, to provide transport to the continent, although it was also used for small cargo runs. The hold doesn’t carry much, but it seemed to get the job done.”
“Do you remember the name of the second owner?”
“No.”
AJ waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “And how did you come about owning it?”
Finn’s look became guarded. It should have been a simple answer. He ran his hand through his hair, kicked his foot against the hull. Then his grin returned. “You might say it was handed down through the family, an inheritance, if you will.”
“Oh.” His simple answer made her more curious as to what he wasn’t saying and why he was so careful about answering. Perhaps Finn thought that whatever bad luck had happened to the second owner was connected to his own story, haunting him through the years. Melodramatic, maybe, but something had him less than willing to discuss the Daphne Marie. AJ wanted to explore that avenue in more detail without putting him on the defensive. She rose, needing to pace, then remembered she was on a boat. She tried to sit when a gust of wind hit the boat.
Suddenly, the sailboat pitched to port, and AJ cursed at Finn’s untimely change of direction. She stumbled. Her arms reached out to grab something, anything, to catch her fall. All she saw was water, and the cold ocean waves reached up to engulf her.
24
The soft tinkle of a bell announced Ethan’s entrance into the small, musty antique store. He stood just inside the door, unsure which way to go. There was no order to the place, with items haphazardly dumped into spots, forcing a buyer to sift through pieces to find anything, reminiscent of a true treasure hunt. Ethan’s short phone conversation with the owner hadn’t been enough for him to determine if the man had intended the illusion or if he was just lazy.
He picked his way through the shop and caught glimpses of a few original, timeworn pieces buried within other items you’d find in any trinket shop, their origins questionable. Then he found his way to the book section, and it was like walking into an entirely different store. The immaculate bookcases held aged books well organized into sections based on topic and alphabetical by author. Why one section of the store was well ordered while the other was so chaotic was explained when Ethan met the owners.
Edward and Tildy were an older married couple, and they claimed to have owned the shop for over twenty years. Tildy had once been a blonde, her straw-colored hair now tinged with streaks of gray, and her ample frame, softened with time, seemed to fit her. She flitted through the shop, rearranging inventory that didn’t look any different after she moved to another section. Unsure at first if she had heard the bell, Ethan watched her move an antique washbasin before turning to make a path straight to him.
“Hello. Is there anything I can help you find? Or are you one of those who likes to peer through the collection to see what calls out to you?” Her high-pitched voice would grate nerves if she talked any faster. But her proud smile changed her entire being, and Ethan saw the woman Edward must have fallen in love with all those years ago.
Ethan smiled in return. “Today, I’m afraid neither. I called and spoke with your husband yesterday morning.”
Tildy’s smile faded, and Ethan could see the wheels turning. The smile returned, brighter than before. “Oh yes, I remember.” She turned toward the back of the store. “Edward, Mr. Hughes is here. Leave that old book alone and come out.” Her yell turned into a screech, like chalk on blackboard. She turned back to Ethan, chagrined. “Sorry, the old man is hard of hearing. Refuses to get a hearing aid. Sometimes I forget to go back and get him. I’m used to just yelling.”
Ethan couldn’t seem to stop smiling. For all her squawking, he found her charming, and was impressed she’d remembered his name. “It’s no trouble. I take it Edward is the master of the books.”
“Hasn’t found a book he didn’t like. People come from all over to review his collection. We could live on his book sales alone, but I do love to tinker.” She turned and headed for the back of the shop.
As
suming he should follow, Ethan traced her steps, dodging the antiques. “You said on the phone you’ve been here a long time.”
“Oh yes. We were born in the area. But we traveled a great deal. That’s when Edward found his passion with the books.”
A wiry man ducked through a curtained doorway, small reading spectacles perched on his nose, his head bald as a cue ball. The man wiped his hands on an old cloth, and he scratched his head. “Mr. Hughes, I would have called if I had found anything. You didn’t have to drive up from Baywood.”
“I had some time on my hands today, and the weather is perfect for a road trip.”
Edward peered out the closest window, as if he hadn’t seen anything beyond his books in days. “Well, yes, it does look like a nice spring day.” He walked to the distant end of the counter and shuffled papers, finally pulling one from close to the bottom. He studied it. “I’ve spoken to a few dealers. Nothing has been ringing any bells with anyone.”
Ethan’s fists closed. He had to be close. He couldn’t believe how elusive his target had become.
“Now, it looks like we do have one possibility, but it’s going to be difficult to trace.”
Ethan’s spirits lifted. An opening. “Tell me more.”
“There was an estate sale a couple of months ago, and one of the dealers remembered seeing an item that matches your description. It was the odd color of the stone that caught his eye, but it wasn’t anything he collects, so he didn’t pay it much mind. When I called about it though, he said he couldn’t forget it. He was sorry he hadn’t procured it, but the woman didn’t seem interested in selling it.”
“So she still has it?”
“No. Not anymore.”
“I’m not sure I understand. She didn’t want to sell it, but she no longer has it.”
“Well, that’s the way of antiques. The dealer contacted her on my request. Seems someone talked her into selling it after all.”
Ethan sighed, fighting a wave of fatigue he hadn’t felt since his younger days training for the guard. “Is there any way to track the buyer?” The question sounded hopeless. But it was out there—within arm’s reach.