by Maddie James
She pulled into a service station. “Here, I'll let you do it."
"Me?"
"It's simple. Here are some coins. See that big red machine beside us?"
Jack glanced at the soda pop dispenser. “Yes."
"See that little black slot up there to the right?” He nodded.
"Well, just put these coins in there,” she showed him which ones, “push one of the buttons below, any will be fine, and viola! We have soda-pop!"
Jack had a very strange look on his face. Slowly, he opened the door, looked back at her, and stood up.
"Get two!” she shouted after him.
He ducked down to look at her one last time as if he were going off to war or something. Then he turned to the machine. He carefully inspected the coins in his hand, and then one by one put them in the machine, glancing to his right and left each time someone passed by.
When he'd deposited the coins she had given him, he cautiously pushed a button—and jumped back in fright as the can fell with a clatter to the opening at the bottom. He looked back at Claire.
She giggled and nodded, urging him to pick it up. He did. Someone stepped up beside him.
Jack looked at him, then at Claire. She held up one finger, urging him to purchase another soda.
He studied the coins in his hand once again.
"Going to get one, buddy or play with your money?"
Jack stepped back. “You go.” He nodded to the machine.
He watched as the man quickly poked his coins in the slot, punched a button, snatched his drink, and then cast a backward glance at Jack. He walked away, shaking his head. Jack looked at Claire once more, and then stepped again to the machine.
Following the man's direction, he poked the coins in the slot, punched a button, and then snatched the other drink. Not giving the machine a backward glance, he opened the car door and plopped down, handing the drinks to Claire.
"Okay?” She smiled at him as she took the can of Soda Red out of his hand and popped the top.
He jumped at the hiss and nodded. She popped the top of his root beer and handed it to him, then took a drink of hers. He followed suit and frowned.
"Okay.” He handed her the left over change.
Claire smiled. “You like it?"
"Bubbly,” he replied, thrusting the change at her again.
"Keep it. Put a little jingle in your pocket."
"Jingle?"
"It's money. Keep it in your pocket, you might want another soda pop one day."
He took a drink of his root beer and grimaced. “Not likely,” he sputtered.
She smiled and pressed her foot to the accelerator. “It will be pretty expensive to stay here tonight. It's still early yet, so why don't we go on over to the mainland tonight, get a room somewhere, then get an early start in the morning.” She turned off Beach Road and headed toward the by-pass. “That all right with you?"
"Whatever you think. I really feel a little lost right now. Do all men in this time wear their pants this tight?"
Jack squirmed in the seat and Claire grinned. “Too tight? They looked like they fit just fine."
"A mite uncomfortable, you know. Just not used to them, I guess."
"Oh, and getting used to that corset and layer upon layer of fabric took me more than a little effort, but I managed."
"Managed?” Jack threw her a questioning look. “You ripped them quite apart, you did. I've a mind to do the same here."
"What's the problem, the jeans or the underwear?"
He glanced away, embarrassed. “It's the drawers, you know. It's tight and..."
"And?"
"Well, it pinches, you see.” Jack faced the window.
She giggled. “Well, at least you've got them."
He looked back at her.
Claire smiled wickedly. “Hannah never wore underwear, I take it."
His eyes grew wide. Then he laughed. “No,” he returned. “Maybe I should just remove them."
Claire raised an eyebrow. “Just be mindful of the zipper.” She looked at him until he acknowledged her last statement. Then he grimaced slightly.
"Yes. Zipper. I'll be mindful of the zipper."
She slowed and pulled off into a parking lot, then stopped.
"Where are we going, Hannah Claire?"
She stared out the windshield in front of him. “Inside here for just a minute. I think I'm forming a plan. I only need one thing. Are you coming?"
He reached for the door handle. “I'm right behind you."
The sign above the entrance simply said North Carolina Books. Inside, they found an abundance of books on the state and the area. After a while they narrowed their selections to those on the Outer Banks and Blackbeard. Finally, she pulled exactly the book she was looking for off the shelf.
"Bingo,” she said quietly.
* * * *
Claire shut the book and laid it on the bedside table, twisted the switch to extinguish the light, and settled comfortably into the pillows and comforters of the motel bed. Turning onto her side, she angled her gaze toward Jack sleeping soundly beside her. A small shaft of light beamed in between the draperies that wouldn't quite meet, and fell in muted illumination upon Jack's face. She smiled. He was exhausted, but had adjusted better than she had in his time. At least he didn't complain too long about the jeans.
Thinking back on the day's events, she recalled stopping at the bookstore. It had been their one stroke of luck. Now she had a plan and had tentatively mapped out their itinerary for the next couple of weeks.
The book titled, “The Treasures of Blackbeard” provided her with some ammunition, some clues and points of reference. She quickly scanned it and decided that their best bet was to head south, take the bridge over to Roanoke Island, then across to Manns Harbor to take 264 South, then west. So that's what they did.
When they'd arrived, they grabbed some fast food and settled into a family-run motel just off the highway.
Now, she was simply glad to have Jack sleeping beside her. She knew that there would be no other man, in this time or any other, who could love her as much as Jack loved her. Of that, she was certain. Carefully, she leaned over and placed a silent kiss on his cheek.
"Good night, my love,” she whispered.
* * * *
The next two weeks took Claire and Jack on a scavenger hunt of likely spots to find Rick, all of them associated to various degrees with Blackbeard and his treasure. At each step along the way, Claire flashed a wallet-sized picture of Rick and left her name and cell phone number, the one at the beach, and Vicki's number in Ohio, in case someone did recognize him.
They traveled as far inland as Grimesland and Greenville, small towns located on the Tar River, which Blackbeard was known to have frequented. Reportedly, he had a sister who farmed near there, and allowed her brother to rest and recover from his wounds when necessary. According to the book, there was an old cypress tree near the farm called “Old Table-Top", which was used as a lookout point where Blackbeard could detect sudden attacks from up the river. A few treasure hunting maps indicated that this could be a spot of buried treasure. In fact, according to the book, a man dug up a small iron pot half-filled with old silver coins in 1933. But as they visited there, Rick never materialized. And no one claimed to have seen anyone who looked like him.
At least that was what they said.
From Greenville, their search took them to Washington, near Blount's Creek, to historic Bath Town, and then north to Edenton and Holliday's Island on the Albemarle Sound. But still they found no leads and no Rick.
She turned to Jack as they stood on a pier jutting out into Albemarle Sound just east of Edenton. “We've nearly exhausted every lead, Jack. I don't know if we're going to find him."
His gaze stretched over the evening horizon. “We still have to look. We can't stop.
"We've done all we can here, Jack. I don't know what avenue to explore next. Perhaps we should return to the islands.” She leaned against the rail and peered into the dark wa
ter. “We've not thoroughly searched Ocracoke Island and the village. Maybe we should have done that first."
He shook his head. “I don't think we should go back until we know we've exhausted every possibility here. And then there is Ohio. We have to find that chalice.” He turned her toward him. “Hannah Claire, I'll not live the rest of my life wondering if you are going to be ripped out of it again."
She understood. She just wasn't sure she knew how to make it happen.
A thought struck her. “I almost forgot, the book also said something about another island, I think it was called Mulberry Island, somewhere on the York River in Virginia. Maybe we should take a ride up there. If you think you're up to it."
He straightened, squared his shoulders. “Of course I'm up to it! Let's get ready to go. We are wasting time. The sooner we find that cup the sooner we can return home."
* * * *
It was on Mulberry Island that Jack collapsed, frightening both her and an older woman passerby on the street. He'd vomited along the side of the road, embarrassing himself, which only added to his insecurity about being ill. The ensuing scene at the hospital wasn't much better.
Apparently Jack had contracted a good dose of salmonella poisoning from a fast food restaurant somewhere along the way. She had felt a bit queasy herself, but her system obviously had handled the infection more readily than his.
She was deeply worried. He hadn't eaten much lately. He was pale and weak and close to dehydration. The doctors wanted to admit him for the night, but Jack would hear none of it. Stubbornly, he rushed out of the hospital and into Claire's car, ordering her to take him back to the motel to rest. It was all he needed, he told her. To rest.
She wondered if he needed more than that. She wondered if the only cure lay in a pile of sand called Ocracoke Island back in 1718.
At the motel, he fell into a deep sleep the moment she tucked his body between the sheets. Now she had to consider her next steps.
Picking up the phone, she dialed Vicki's number. After two rings she heard her friend's rushed hello.
"Vick?"
"Claire. Thank God, it's you."
"I told you I would call."
"I know, but it's been a couple of days. Have you had any luck? Did you find Rick?” Vicki's voice seemed strained.
"No. Haven't seen him. Any sightings on your end?"
The phone hung silent for several long seconds. “No. But there is something else we need to talk about."
She paused, suddenly not liking the turn in the conversation. Something was wrong. “What is it, Vicki?"
"Claire, I didn't want to tell you like this. But you have to come home. Soon. Your mother is dying. The cancer's gotten much worse."
Feeling like a dagger had just pierced her heart, blood spurting in her chest cavity, she sank weakly to the bed. She hadn't expected this now. Today. This minute. It killed her to think of her mother dying.
Alone.
How could she ever forgive herself for that? She would not let that happen.
"How bad is she?"
"She refuses treatment. Needs dialysis. But you know how she is, stubborn as an old mule. She says it's her time."
Her time. Yes. She somehow knew that it was.
"I'm coming.” She glanced at Jack sleeping beside her. “We'll start in the morning."
"Good. She's asking for you. Says she has things to tell you."
She'd barely said good-bye before the phone slid from her hand and banged to the floor. Startled, Jack bolted up and looked at her. She stood up, faltered for a second while retrieving the phone, and then replaced it in its cradle. Jack reached for her and she sat beside him on the bed.
"Something's wrong, m'love."
"Yes.” Tears stung at her eyelids.
He reached up and stroked her cheek, brushing the hair from her eyes. “Tell me."
"She's dying,” she whispered. “We have to go to Ohio in the morning. I'm sorry. We have to stop searching for—"
He placed a finger on her lips. “Hush, my love. The chalice will wait. It is time you see your mother. I'll sleep in the car. Let's go now."
She nodded and fell sobbing into his arms, thanking God that she had him.
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Chapter Nineteen
It rained all the way to Cincinnati.
It was an icy, driven rain, meant to tear a hole in her heart and tears from her eyes. The dark clouds hung heavy over the flat Ohio farmland in dense clumps of gray, sometimes spitting fat droplets of water on them, sometimes sharp pellets of ice. The sun wouldn't dare peek through the thick mass, she told herself. Her mood simply wouldn't allow it.
Vicki met them at the back door to the farmhouse. Her mother had just fallen asleep, she said. It was nearly nine p.m. So she helped both Claire and Jack with their things and told them to rest. They fell into an exhausted heap on the bed in her old room, just across the hall from her mother's. They had driven straight through to Ohio with only brief stops along the way. Jack had managed some sleep, still recovering from the food poisoning incident; Claire, of course, never closed her eyes. Vicki promised to stay and sleep on the couch, just in case either of them needed her.
Deep into the night Claire woke to the now familiar burning within her abdomen. Taking a deep breath, she rose, glanced at the clock radio, and then left the room to visit the bathroom down the hall. The nausea welled up in her again, having slowed its coming and going the past couple of weeks, but this time it attacked in full force. She barely made it to the commode before she lost the small amount of food she'd eaten that day and other fluids she'd rather not have lost at all.
Ever since the kidnapping, she'd had the bouts with nausea. It wasn't until recently that she realized why.
As she straightened and shakily swiped at her mouth with a towel, she realized she'd let her stomach get too empty during the day. With everything else hounding at her, she'd forgotten to eat much. Her eyes closed for a moment, then she hit the lever to flush the toilet's contents, tucked the towel into the rack on the shower door, and laid her hand on her stomach as she turned toward the door.
"Are you all right?” Her mother's soft voice came to her like a soothing lullaby. She stood in the doorway, her terry robe snugly tied at her thin waist. Her eyes were filled with concern, her hand extended.
"Oh, Mama...” Claire drifted into her mother's arms. She held her close for the first time in a long time, her mother's touch soothing away the anxiety and fear. Then she placed her hands on Claire's shoulders and pulled away.
"Come. Let's sit down and talk."
She nodded, taking her mother's hand in hers as they walked slowly to her bedroom. They faced each other as they sat on the bed. Her mother grasped both Claire's hands and laid them gently in her lap, softly petting. Claire wondered if her mother noticed the contrast in their hands—her own still smooth and youthful fingers against the wrinkled skin-covered bones of her mother's.
Looking up just as her mother did, their gazes locked. The look on her face nearly startled Claire. It was as if she were wrestling with something, something incredibly important that she needed to share. Continuing to watch, a finger of panic gripped her diaphragm and forced her breathing to come in shallow breaths. Then her mother's lips parted, her tongue gently raked over her dry, thin lips.
"How long have you known about the baby?” she calmly questioned.
She knew she should be questioning her mother about her own health. That she should be insisting she get back into bed, or better yet, to the hospital. But it felt so good to be home, and so good to talk to her. Suddenly, she didn't want to think of her mother being ill. She just wanted her mama.
Her tummy tightened again and then quickly relaxed. It only took one look into her mother's eyes to know that everything would be all right. She breathed deeply for the first time in quite a long time. As her eyes closed, her throat relaxed and the thick lump melted.
"I think I've suspected for about a month. I w
asn't sure, but I am now.” She reveled in how good it felt to finally discuss her suspected pregnancy with someone and get her thoughts clear in her mind.
"You haven't been to a doctor?"
She shook her head. “No."
"Don't you think you should?"
She searched her mother's face. “Yes, I think I should. I just haven't."
Her mother's hands tightened around hers. “I know. There have been too many other things on your mind. Too many problems to solve.” She looked thoughtfully into Claire's face. “Does Jack know?"
"No,” she whispered. “Mama, how did you know?"
Smiling, her mother reached up to take her daughter's face in her hands. “I know so much, you wouldn't believe, child."
Claire bit her lip. Her mother's reply was puzzling. She knew so much? Had Vicki been talking to her? Surely, that was it.
"Mama? Are you ashamed of me?"
Bringing her fully into her embrace now, her mother's hands rubbed briskly over her back, her soft voice caressing her ear like a warm summer's breeze off the ocean. “I have never been, nor ever will be, ashamed of you. Nor is your Papa. He is smiling down on you, I'm sure."
Claire broke away. “Do you think so, Mama?"
She nodded.
"I don't know what to do. It's all so complicated.” She spoke to her mother as though she knew all the details of her predicament. And yet, that would be impossible.
Her mother smoothed the fabric over her upper arms. “Your heart will tell you what to do, honey."
"But there's so much you don't understand. There are so many things to be considered.” Her eyes widened and her gaze met with her mother's and held.
"You will do what is best for you and the child. You've been waiting all your life, Claire. You must do what is meant for you to do. No matter what the odds or the cost."
For several minutes, she simply soaked up her mothers words. What did her mother know? “What are you saying, Mama?"
Briefly she closed her eyes and then snapped them wide open. “I am saying that you have a destiny to fulfill. You have a good idea what that is. So do I. I've been expecting this. It is of no importance for us to discuss it yet. We will, but not tonight. But just in case, seek your dreams, Claire. So many never get the chance."