by Chloe Gillis
Finally, they were all of them ready. They clustered around Clarissa in an unusual formation and made a procession to the center of village.
The torches were lit. The coals in the fire pit were glowing. Drums beat softly in the background, and all the men and women sat cross-legged on colorful mats laid upon the sand. Kono and Pualopua sat side by side in large cane chairs, facing the fire pit. Facing them, on the opposite side of the fire pit, was another large cane chair, but this one was hooded and long fronds hung down in front of it, so that the seated person was hidden from view. It was to this chair that the wives of Kono guided Clarissa.
“You are guest of honor,” said Pi, holding the fronds open. “Please be seated.”
Clarissa felt this was getting a bit ridiculous, but she obliged and seated herself within the chair. Drums began to beat. Six women appeared and began to dance to the rhythm of the drums. Clarissa could just see them from between the palm fronds. Suddenly, she heard a voice, whispering at her.
“Psst! Psst!”
Clarissa turned in her seat. “Who is it?” she whispered back. “Where are you?”
“It’s me, Eleanora. I am hiding behind the chair.”
“Eleanora!”
“Shhh. Do not make a sound. Just listen to me. I feel I have the responsibility to inform you of the reason for this celebration.”
“I know,” Clarissa hissed. “Kono told me about tribute to Pualopua.”
“He did not tell you the entire truth. Did he tell you that you were to be the tribute?”
“What!”
“Shhhh. You are to be married to Pualopua. Tonight.”
Clarissa was greatly affronted and said so. “I am greatly affronted! I will not marry Pualopua! No! I will not. The man is a boor and a bully!”
“Clarissa, please! I warn you. For the good of the people here, do it. He will take you to his village. It is a wealthy village. I have been there. And he is most comely!”
“Oh, really, Eleanora! The man is odious! I am not going anywhere. These people must banish Pualopua once and for all!”
Eleanora whispered desperately, “Clarissa! What do you mean to do?”
Clarissa did not answer. She burst from chair and, ignoring the drummers and dancers, marched around the fire pit and stood, hands on her hips, directly in front of Kono and Pualopua.
She looked back over her shoulder and shouted, “Stop that infernal drumming!” The drums were at once silent. Clarissa stamped her foot in the sand.
“Now you listen to me,” she expounded, pointing a threatening finger at Pualopua. “I do not intend to marry you. I do not intend to leave this village until I am good and ready. You are just a big bully. Go home to your own village! Go find your own wives! We will not tolerate this!”
Pualopua watched Clarissa carefully, his eyes narrowing. When she had finished, he was quiet, staring at her. Then he erupted in loud, raucous laughter. “Marry me or no. I will take you to my village now.” He stood up and grabbed Clarissa in both of his arms, throwing her roughly across his shoulders. He shouted something in the native tongue, and his handful of henchman fell in behind him. They began to march toward their beached outriggers.
Clarissa yelled, “Kono! Help me! Do not let him have his way!” She pounded on Pualopua with her fists and squirmed to free herself.
In her fury, she saw Kono stand and motion to the men of the village. Just as he took a tentative step forward, she heard a loud male voice shout, in English, “Drop that girl now!”
The voice pierced through Clarissa’s very soul. She looked back over her shoulder and saw a small dinghy beaching itself on the sand. Several men were climbing out and running up the beach. Even in the deepening dusk, she could recognize Adam MacLaren in the lead.
Suddenly, Clarissa was filled with surge of energy. Her heart soared. She twisted her body in Pualopua’s grip.
“You heard him! Drop me right now!” And so saying, she clapped both her palms over Pualopua’s ears as hard as she could. The results were predictable.
Pualopua roared in pain and collapsed in the sand, holding both ears. Clarissa sprang lithely away just as Adam reached them. Adam grabbed both her hands. Clarissa gazed into his eyes, forgetting everything around her. The only real thing was the warmth of Adam’s hands holding her own.
“Back to the boat!” he shouted to his men. “My darling, follow me!”
Clarissa would have followed him over broken glass. They ran toward the boat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pualopua and his men rally and begin to start after them.
And then a curious and marvelous thing happened. Kono, followed by the young men in the village, rushed between them, surrounding Pualopua, knocking him and his men to the ground.
“Good-bye, my dear!” Clarissa heard Eleanora yell.
Margaret echoed her, calling out, “Come back as soon as you can!”
Two minutes later, she was seated in the small wooden dinghy next to Adam while the other two men rowed out across the darkening sea.
Clarissa’s heart was beating as if it were trying to escape her chest. Adam had both arms around her and was holding her close to him. She could feel him breathing, hard and sharp. She drew back, seeking his face with her hands and her eyes. The moon was rising and she could make out the features of his strong countenance.
“Adam,” she breathed the name, as if uttering it would wake her from a dream.
“I’m here, my darling. I have you now. I have you now.”
“How did you get here? How did you know where to find me?” Her fingers traced the outlines of his face, his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his lips.
“Did you think I would not seek you to the ends of the earth? I was wild with panic. Finally, Chauncey and Bruce found the letter from Eleanora in your room and showed it to me. It gave me something to work from. We have been sick with worry!”
Clarissa listened to him and hung her head. She murmured, “I am quite a selfish girl. I was only thinking of my own heartbreak. I thought you were marrying that awful woman at Christmastime. It was more than I could bear.” She looked up into his face again, her eyes shining with tears of remorse. He could have been killed on her account. “You came for me!” she said softly. “You came to bring me home.”
“I am an investigative reporter, after all.” Adam smirked. “And yes, I have come to bring you home.”
Suddenly, Clarissa was aware of a huge wall that seemed to have heaved up out of the ocean.
“All hands down there?” It was a voice from the deck, far above the waves.
“It is the tramp steamer!” said Clarissa, suddenly putting two and two together. “I saw it on the horizon, before the fiasco began. It was you! I would have swum out to you, had I only known.”
“No need,” quipped Adam. “Your chariot came for you!” Then he cupped his hand and called up, “Aye aye, Captain. And one more.”
“Stand by for the ladder.”
Out of the darkness, a rope ladder fell, dangling just above the gently rocking dinghy.
Adam stood up, swaying slightly to keep his balance. “Lady coming on board,” he called. Then he turned to Clarissa. “You first, my lady.”
Clarissa smiled and stood up. She took Adam’s outstretched hand and allowed herself to be guided to the ladder. “Hold tight, darling,” said Adam. “Hold tight as you climb. The crew is waiting to help you aboard.”
Clarissa gripped the ladder and climbed easily to the deck above. Several pairs of hands reached out for her and lifted her gently onto the steamer. The two men who had accompanied Adam came next. Adam came up last, heaving a great sigh when he at last stood with both feet on the ship. Clarissa ran to him, wrapping her arms around his rugged form.
A moment later, a tall, thin man with thin blond hair and a white goatee stood before them.
“Allow me to introduce Captain Arvid Anders of the tramp steamer Rover,” said Adam.
Captain Anders smiled broadly and reached out a hand to clasp h
ers in a warm handshake. “Welcome aboard, young lady,” he said, in a thick Scandinavian accent that Clarissa found charming. “Follow me to your accommodations.”
Clarissa followed the captain, Adam bringing up the rear. Captain Anders led them down a narrow stairwell below deck, then down a long, narrow hallway with small doors off it every few feet. Near the end of the hallway, he stopped and opened a door.
“Your accommodations, miss,” he said gallantly. “I know you must be used to First Class, but this, I’m afraid, is First Class aboard the Rover!”
“I am sure it will do just fine, Captain,” said Clarissa. “Thank you so very much. You are most kind.”
“Well, I shall run along and get Cook to rustle you up something to eat. Please refresh yourself and feel free to ask for anything you might want. If it’s aboard the ship, you may have it.”
Clarissa thanked him again. He bowed and left them standing in the doorway. Clarissa stepped into the cabin. It was dimly lit by a nearly imperceptibly flickering industrial sconce on the wall. There was a bed in the room. It was a real double bed, and not a cot. There was also a locker of sorts to hang clothing, and a sink with a mirror above it.
“All the comforts of home,” chuckled Adam, stepping in behind her and closing the door. He had her in his arms. Clarissa lifted her face to his, and their mouths crashed together in a most passionate kiss that lasted until they both found themselves breathless.
“I thought I should never taste those lips again,” she whispered into his chest as he held her close.
“I thought I might never lay eyes on the woman I love again,” he said, resting his chin in her hair. “I was prepared to die trying, though.”
“And you could have! And it would have been my fault! Oh, Adam!” Her eyes filled with tears again at the thought of her own selfishness.
“Why didn’t you give me a chance? Why did you leave?”
Clarissa heaved a big sigh. “I was so sure you were marrying that woman. I…I couldn’t bear to be in the same town. London society would have been buzzing about it for months.”
“You have a vivid imagination,” he said, somewhat dryly. “Well, no matter. We are together now. Clarissa, believe me when I say that I love you more than I have ever loved anybody. And I’m a selfish cock, too!”
She allowed herself a soft giggle. She kissed him lightly this time, drawing back, saying, “Adam MacLaren, I will never doubt you again. Never, even in a million years!”
“I am glad to hear it,” said the man, finally loosening his grip on her. “We are headed for New York on this bucket of bolts. How do you think the fashion doyens will fancy a sarong?”
“New York!” exclaimed Clarissa. “Why, Adam, I don’t even have a pair of shoes! And what time of year is it, anyway? I have completely lost the season!”
“It will be coming spring by the time we arrive. The daffodils might even be out in Central Park. Not to worry, we can buy shoes when we get there.”
“With what? There were no newspaper editors to offer me a paying job on that island! I will have to telegraph my father and explain matters to him.”
“My dear, you are traveling with the editor-in-chief of the Tribune! My credit is good all over the world. Besides, I have family in New York. They must meet you as soon as we dock. Fortunately, this state-of-the-art vessel does at least have a telegraph system.”
Clarissa was happy. She stepped back and looked at the love of her life, actually there in the flesh, warm and breathing, and looking better than he did in any of her dreams.
“By the way,” he said, “you look lovely. The sarong is silk, isn’t it? They are usually bark cloth or cotton. Is it a special sarong?”
Clarissa laughed. “It’s a wedding sarong! I’m dressed up for my wedding! I was supposed to be married to Pualopua! Imagine! Just to keep him placated. Well, I hope we taught him a lesson he’ll never forget! I hope they all learned a lesson!”
Adam smiled and opened the door.
“Where are you going?” asked Clarissa.
“To get the captain,” he replied. “It would be a shame to waste that sarong!”
And that is how Miss Clarissa Hardy became Mrs. Clarissa MacLaren and spent her honeymoon aboard a tramp steamer bound for New York.
Epilogue
Present Day
I LOOKED UP FROM MY READING. The mismatched bits and pieces of the manuscript lay scattered around me on the sofa, on the floor, on my lap. The story had mesmerized me. I had been so absorbed, I hadn’t noticed that most of the day had passed. I hadn’t noticed that the rain had stopped and a misty late afternoon sun was shining in through the window.
The dogs whined when they saw me look up. Automatically, I got up to let them outside. Soon, the house would bustle again with children, a husband returning home from work, telephones ringing, televisions blaring. And everybody would be expecting dinner. I looked around. The only thing I had done all day was read that manuscript. And it had captivated me!
I galvanized myself and raced around, pulling a Bolognese sauce out of the freezer and putting a pot of water on to boil for some linguine. All the while, I couldn’t get Clarissa’s story out of my head. Who had written it? Was it biographical? Autobiographical? Purely fiction? It appeared to have been written over a period of time, weeks, even years, but definitely by the same person. I had to find out more. Where should I start? Could the person responsible for this amazing little gem be part of my own family? After all, one family member or another had occupied this house for the last two hundred years. I decided to call my mother. She would at least know more or less who lived in the house during specific time periods.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, pushing the ear plug into my ear so that I could talk while I set the table. “I was housebound today. Yes. Cleaning the attic, stuff like that. Anyway, do you know who lived here, say, like, the late twenties?”
The silence that followed my question was my mother thinking. Finally she said, “Hm. Let’s see. After World War I, during the twenties and into the early thirties, it was a summer place. A lot of the family used it. You know, people evacuated the cities during the summer. Afraid of polio! Yes. Anybody who could afford it had a place in the country.”
“Who would have used it, then?” I persisted. My mother had a way of drifting off topic.
“Well, most of the family, I guess. I know my grandfather did a lot of work on the place. He rebuilt that fireplace. My mother, your grandmother, spent almost all of her childhood summers there. It was a busy place. My mother had two brothers and a lot of cousins. You remember her stories.”
“Yes, I do. So my great-grandmother and great-grandfather were the primary occupants?”
“Probably,” mused my mother, as if she were still searching her memory.
“And their names were?”
“Caroline and Andrew Adams.”
“What was Great-Grandmother’s maiden name?”
“Hamilton.”
“Caroline Hamilton. Did she have a brother or sister?”
“No, she was an only child. Why this sudden interest in the family tree?”
“Oh, I ran across some interesting things up in the attic,” I remarked nonchalantly.
“I’m not surprised. No telling what’s up there!”
“Was anybody in the family called Clarissa?”
“Why, yes! That was your great-grandmother’s middle name. I always remembered it because I liked it so much. I almost named you Clarissa!”
“Wow!” I exclaimed, “Really! Caroline Clarissa Hamilton Adams.”
“Yes. She was quite the character, as I recall the family stories. She left home as a young woman and traveled the world. She met her husband, my grandfather, overseas somewhere. Worked for a newspaper. A modern girl. And then there was some kind of story about her being married on a boat on the way home from the South Seas! Really shook her family up. Apparently, they made them get married again, when she arrived home, in the church, just for good measure.
”
“I don’t believe it!” I spoke more to myself than to my mother.
“What did you say?” she asked. “Oh, it’s true. Or at least partially true. She and Andrew arrived in New York on some tramp steamboat and scandalized both families! They were a colorful pair. Did you find something of theirs?”
“I think I might have found some…ah…letters about them. Only they were called Clarissa and Adam. Sort of a…um…diary, I guess you’d say.”
“How interesting! I would like to see those. She always said she wished her name had been Clarissa Caroline instead of the other way around. And of course Adams was their surname, so it very likely is about them.”
“The story of the boat is here.”
“Really! Well, I would say you’ve found Great-grandmother’s personal diary!”
Personal. I guess so! “Well, I’ve got to go, Mom. Everybody will be streaming in here in half an hour and I haven’t done anything all day!”
“Okay. I want to come over and read it soon. Let’s make plans. I’m sure it’s fascinating.”
“Absolutely. It’s quite fascinating. Bye, Mom. Talk soon.”
“Bye-bye, dear.”
Later that evening, after the dinner had been eaten, homework had been done, and the kids were in bed, I was still thinking about Clarissa’s story. I readied the kitchen for morning and went into the living room. My husband was breathing softly, asleep in front of the television. I opened the drawer to the writing desk that stood in the corner and took out the manuscript. Clutching the random pieces of paper in my hand, I gently squeezed my husband’s shoulder.
“Humpf!” He started out of his sleep. “Oh, sorry,” he said, “I drifted off.”
“No problem,” I said, “Let’s go to bed early tonight.”
“Sure,” he said, standing up and stretching. “What’s that in your hand?”
I curled my arm through his and guided him to the stairs. “It’s a bedtime story I want to read to you,” I whispered in his ear.