Ransom at Sea

by Fred Hunter

  Into this image came a woman’s voice.

  “It wasn’t there,” the voice said in a whisper. Emily couldn’t decide whether or not the voice was anxious or angry. “I’m telling you it wasn’t there! Of course I looked!”

  Another voice seemed to say something, and in her half-waking state Emily strained to hear it, but couldn’t.

  “You’ve lied to me before!” said the woman.

  Emily couldn’t make out to whom either of the voices belonged. She tried to turn around to see who it was, but found herself riveted in place, unable to command her head to turn or her limbs to move. She struggled against herself, exerting a monumental effort, but couldn’t budge. Knowledge of her paralysis caused a momentary and highly uncharacteristic shock of fear to race through her heart. But the panic brought with it the sudden awareness that she was dreaming, the knowledge of which caused her to quiet down. A feeling of peace overcame her, and she began to drift out of the dream. As the scene dimmed, she heard the woman’s voice say, “All right! I know I have to find it … but if you’re lying—Wait!”

  Footsteps could be heard coming up the metal stairs.

  “Emily?”

  The old woman opened her eyes and found herself shielded from the sun by the bulky shadow of Bertram Driscoll.

  She cleared her throat gently. “Yes?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t like to wake you, but you were all frowny. You looked like you were having a troubled sleep, there.”

  Emily twisted around in her seat and looked over its back. Claudia Trenton was still seated on the opposite side of the deck, as she had been when Emily dozed off, and was now apparently asleep herself. She was also quite alone.

  Emily turned back to Driscoll. “Mr. Driscoll, may I ask … did you just come up onto the deck?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you see anyone else here?”

  “Nope. Just you. And the Trenton woman.”

  Emily’s brows knit closely together, and her mouth pursed into a tiny O.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She relaxed and smiled at him. “No. Not at all. Thank you for waking me. I was having a rather bad dream.”

  “I can’t imagine a fine woman like you having anything to cause you nightmares.”

  “On the contrary. At my age I’ve seen enough of life to have very bad dreams. Fortunately, I don’t usually.”

  Driscoll straightened a chair beside her and carelessly lowered himself onto it. “Must be being out on the water that makes people so sleepy. I dropped off myself, earlier on, before lunch.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Or boredom,” he added incomprehensibly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Boredom. That makes you drop off, you know. I do that at home—fall asleep in front of the TV set more often than not, right in the middle of the day, now that I’m retired.”

  His face was turned toward her, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the eagerness in his florid features. She sought to deflect him.

  “You were a salesman, weren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Medical supplies. Don’t get me started on sales! You get me talking about business, and I swear to God I’ll end up sounding just like Muriel Langstrom!”

  Emily laughed despite herself. “Now, Mr. Driscoll! You were the one who said she was a good soul.”

  “Caught by my own words! But you know what I mean. If I start talking about work, I’ll never stop.”

  Again there was an eagerness in his expression that Emily recognized: the slightest encouragement on her part would allow him to proceed onto his favorite topic, despite the polite objection.

  “Isn’t the lake peaceful?” she said. “I don’t know why, but I always expect that when you’re out on the water, it will be rougher than it is.”

  “I don’t know about that. You know, I wouldn’t mind if it was a bit rougher. That would be exciting, at least. I get all the peace I need at home. Near drives me crazy, sometimes. Don’t you find it like that? I mean, you live alone, just like I do.”

  “Oh, no, not at all,” Emily replied brightly. “There is so much in life in which to be interested. Tending the garden, going to theaters and films, reading the newspapers. And of course, friends. Visiting with them, having lunches and dinners together. Yes, I would say that my life is very, very full.”

  “Yes … well…,” Driscoll began falteringly, his usual bluster somewhat daunted. “That’s just the way it should be, a woman such as yourself.”

  A period followed during which Driscoll clumsily tried to regain his conversational footing, but his attempts were so awkward that Emily, though more than capable of holding her own in any social situation, was relieved when Lynn emerged from the stairwell. She pulled one of the chairs to Emily’s side and sat down.

  “All unpacked?” the old woman asked.

  “Yes. Rebecca and her aunt were down there doing the same. Good grief, you should hear how that woman complains.”

  “You sound upset.”

  “Oh, I’m not really. I guess I … well, I know how some people get as they get older, and I can understand it.…” Her voice trailed off and she noticed Emily’s kindly smile. “What is it?”

  “I’ve a feeling that you wonder why Rebecca puts up with it, and you know why at the same time.”

  The young woman sighed deeply. “You’re right, as always.”

  Emily patted her hand gently, then lay back in her seat.

  As the afternoon wore on, one by one the rest of the passengers made their way up to the deck and relaxed in the sun. Lynn could hear Marcella Hemsley coming up the stairs long before she came into view. Apparently Rebecca’s aunt had fallen asleep in her cabin not long after Lynn had finished unpacking and left the blue deck, and Marcella was chastising her niece for allowing her to sleep so long.

  “We paid good money for this cruise,” she said as her mop of gray hair rose into view, “and I don’t want you to let me sleep the trip away!”

  “Yes, Aunt Marci,” Rebecca said patiently.

  Driscoll grunted from behind closed eyes.

  Marcella and Rebecca came onto the deck and seated themselves off the starboard quarter, where Marcella promptly fell asleep again. Rebecca stared off toward the shoreline.

  David Douglas came by making one of his rounds of the passengers to see if anyone required him. He made a special point of stopping by Rebecca. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you,” she said in a pleasant but dismissive tone.

  “Are you sure? It would be no trouble to run down to the bar and bring you up something. Whatever you like.”

  “That’s very nice, but no.”

  He crouched down beside her and whispered. “I can see how things are for you, with your aunt.… If you want a break”—he paused and a broad smiled spread across his face—“when we get to town I could have Hoke look after the old girl, and maybe I could show you around. There’s a nice English pub there … the Red Lion … we could have a few drinks.…”

  She eyes him frostily. “I guarantee that you don’t know how things are for me.”

  With this she lay back and closed her eyes.

  Douglas rose with a complacent shrug and moved on.

  The Genessee continued its leisurely pace along the coast. After another half an hour, Driscoll roused himself with a snort, smacked his lips a couple of times, then rolled his eyes over in Emily’s direction.

  “Sorry to doze off like that, Miss Charters. Guess it’s the sea air.”

  “That’s quite all right,” Emily said, her face implying that he was not expected to keep her entertained.

  “Anyone look at the itinerary?”

  “I did,” said Lynn. “We’ll arrive at Sangamore in a little while. We’ll be anchored there—if that’s the right term for it—overnight.”

  “What’s there to do there?”

  “I suppose we shall see,” said Emily.

  * * *

 
; “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be docking soon at our first stop, Sangamore, Michigan, where we’ll stay for the night,” the captain announced over the loudspeaker. “You may like to have dinner at any of the fine restaurants in town, or if you want you can have dinner on the boat. Just let one of the crew know if that’s the case and Mrs. O’Malley will be glad to prepare something for you.”

  The loudspeaker emitted a loud metallic pop as it was switched off.

  The Genessee continued to cruise north for several minutes before the passengers noticed a break in the endless shoreline. It was the entrance to a small branch of the Kalamazoo River. The boat veered to the right and headed for it.

  They followed the river southeast for a short distance before navigating a corner that took them into a short stretch that went straight south. To their left was the town. The street along the river—appropriately named River Street—was lined with small galleries and shops, most of which looked as if they’d been converted from private residences. After a few more minutes, the Genessee reached a small harbor, and Captain Farraday maneuvered the boat up to a long, weather-worn pier.

  David and Hoke had come up to the deck, and as soon as the boat was beside the pier, David leaped over the side onto the dock in an ostentatious display of athletics that stole the breath of some of the elderly passengers. Hoke threw him the lines and he tied off the boat. Then Hoke swung the boarding plank into position.

  David secured the plank, then sprinted up it and called out, “All ashore that’s goin’ ashore!”

  The passengers moved to the top of the plank en masse, then went down it, progressing slowly due to the fact that by some quirk of fate, Lily DuPree had managed to be in the lead. She was followed by Muriel Langstrom. When the two ladies reached the bottom, Muriel gave her arm to Lilly.

  “I’ll stay with you,” said Muriel, “so you have somebody to hold on to. It’s been years since I’ve been to this town, but I remember it well! The main street and all the shops are just over that way. Come on, now!”

  She went charging up the pier with Lily nearly running to keep up.

  “I feel sorry for Miss DuPree,” Lynn said to Emily as they went down the plank.

  “Do you?” Emily replied with surprise.

  “You mean you don’t?”

  Emily’s gaze followed the retreating forms of the two old women. “No, I would think one’s sympathy might be better spared for Muriel.”

  Lynn laughed. “You know, sometimes I think you work at being an enigma!”

  “Me? Oh, no. I’m sure I’m an open book.”

  The passengers more or less fell naturally into the groups they had formed at lunch: the Millers were arm in arm, Martin’s expensive camera bouncing rather alarmingly against his sternum as they went along; the three unattached gentlemen talked amicably as they followed Claudia Trenton, whose hand braced the back of the sunhat, which was threatened with flight by a soft breeze; and Rebecca and her aunt stayed close beside Emily and Lynn. At a glance from Rebecca, she and Lynn fell slightly behind the two older women.

  “Do you think you and Emily will be having dinner in town?” Rebecca asked.

  “We haven’t talked about it, but I imagine so. Emily loves an adventure.”

  “Do you think … would it be all right if my aunt and I had it with you? She seems to do a little better when there’s other people around, and she likes Emily. And Emily doesn’t—”

  “You don’t have to explain,” Lynn replied, cutting her off sympathetically. “It’s really fine. We’d enjoy the company.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Rebecca said with barely masked relief.

  “I’m not being kind. It’s true. Why don’t you come along with us and look at the shops?”

  “Oh … no. It would be better for Aunt Marci and I to be on our own. She has a tendency to get … distracted.”

  In her mind Lynn formed a protest along the lines of the fact that she and Emily would not exactly be blazing any trails through the town, but she didn’t say it because she thought it likely that Rebecca was using the term “distracted” diplomatically. “Anyway, where should we meet?”

  “Well … David told me that there’s an English pub that might be fun. It’s called the Red Lion.”

  Lynn raised her eyebrows and grinned. “David told you that, did he?”

  She sighed. “He’s been kind of a pest. A little bit. Hovering around me.”

  The grin faded. “He has? Maybe you should do something about that.”

  “He hovers around everyone. He doesn’t mean anything. I know the type.”

  “Now you sound like your aunt,” Lynn said without thinking. The anguished look that crossed Rebecca’s face caused Lynn to inwardly kick herself. She would’ve apologized, but she thought acknowledging that she’d seen Rebecca’s pain would’ve made it worse.

  “I mean,” Rebecca continued as if nothing had happened, “if it got any worse, I would do something. But I think he’s harmless.”

  “Well, if you say so. Anyway, the pub sounds like fun to me. Emily?”

  The two older women paused and turned around. “Yes?”

  “Rebecca was just telling me that there’s an English pub here that’s supposed to be good. Do you think that would be all right for dinner?”

  “That sounds great!” Marcella exclaimed. “An English pub! Don’t think I’ve ever been to anything like that!”

  “That would be fine,” Emily said.

  “Where should we meet you?” Lynn asked Rebecca.

  “Why don’t we meet at the pub? It’s a small town, I’m sure anyone can direct us to it. Six o’clock?”

  “Fine.”

  Once the passengers arrived at the end of the dock, they dispersed like a mist spreading in the general direction of Main Street. As Rebecca had predicted, her aunt’s attention was distracted almost immediately by a pair of very young, unsupervised little girls who were playing on the grass between the pier and a riverside motel. Both girls were wearing faded plaid jumpers, and giggled with delight as they tossed an underinflated beach ball back and forth.

  Marcella stood on the grass, tilted to the same degree as its slope, gazing at the girls with rapt attention, an envious grin on her face. She looked very much as if she’d like to join in with them. Lynn exchanged a hasty glance with Rebecca, then she and Emily left the two women behind.

  It was a short walk to River Street, where they found themselves beside a small white, cottagelike building that housed a shop selling Christmas ornaments.

  “Well, that’s unseasonal,” said Lynn. “Would you like to go in?”

  “It looks charming,” Emily replied, peering through the window in the door.

  They spent some time inside the shop, which Emily felt was like being spirited to the inside of a Christmas tree. The overall ambiance was rather dark, while miniature lights and painted glass ornaments glittered on artificial trees. When they’d finished making a circuit of the store, they continued on to Main Street. Just before reaching it, they passed a sort of wide, bright alleyway. Near the opening was a door over which hung an old-fashioned wooden shingle that said Red Lion.

  “Ah. There’s our pub,” said Lynn.

  They turned the corner onto Main and felt as if they had stepped back in time. The street was lined on both sides with shops fronted by small, evenly spaced trees in full foliage. There were also occasional public benches for the benefit of tourists. There didn’t appear to be very many people shopping at the moment, though there were a few.

  “My, my, this is a lovely place,” Emily said, her arm through Lynn’s as they strolled down the street.

  “It’s very quiet,” said Lynn.

  “Just as the captain’s wife said, it’s not quite the season yet, and it is Monday. Do you mind the quiet?”

  “Not at all. It’s a welcome change from Chicago. Everything moves so fast there, and everything is so noisy.”

  There was a weariness in the young woman’s tone that caugh
t Emily’s attention. She couldn’t remember hearing it before.

  “I don’t think you’ve ever told me,” said Emily. “Have you lived in Chicago all of your life?”

  “Yes, I have.” They paused in front of a small wood-framed store that was painted a muted mustard yellow. In the window were shelves lined with tiny glass fantasy figures, including a unicorn whose horn was tinted purple, and a gargoyle with glimmering green eyes.

  “Would you like to go in?” Lynn asked.

  “No,” Emily replied with a chuckle. “They’re very pretty, but there are enough things collecting dust in my house. I don’t need any more.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Lynn exclaimed with mock distress. “I do your dusting!”

  Emily laughed. “It’s just a figure of speech.”

  A little farther down the street they came to a shop with white lattice windows. A sign painted in plain script boasted an array of cutlery, cookware, and comestibles. They stopped and looked in the windows.

  “I’d like to go in, if you don’t mind,” said Lynn.

  “Not at all,” Emily replied. “But I think I’ll wait out here and enjoy the sunshine.” She gave a nod toward a bench by the curb that faced the shop.

  “I won’t be long.”

  “Take your time.”

  Lynn hesitated in the doorway for a split second, then entered the shop.

  Emily took a seat. It was a typical wooden bench with the back curved to fit the general shape of a man’s back—which made it out of proportion for most women—and the whole seat was tilted back a little too far. But exposure to the elements had left the wood soft, and Emily found it surprisingly comfortable.

  She sat for a while listening to the wind rustling through the trees. The air smelled deliciously damp, with the kind of freshness that signals the presence of a nearby body of water, rather than the cloying heaviness of Chicago’s humid climate.

  Three young women came out of a small shop that specialized in handmade jewelry that Emily and Lynn had already passed.

  “Yeah, but do you like it?” said one of the girls, a petite brunette, as she held her right hand up for the others to inspect.

  “I like it,” said the tall blonde. “It’s right for you. It’s just not my kind of ring.”