The Treasure of Maria Mamoun

by Michelle Chalfoun

  ast Privateer

  ilm by Peter Iro

  in

  Technicolo

  She showed it to Paolo. “Mr. Ironwall liked to throw elaborate parties. Your granddad told us about one where he put real pearls in the oysters to impress the guests. Where a lady cracked a tooth—don’t you remember?”

  Paolo stared blankly at her.

  She sighed. “Okay, so you don’t remember. But I do. I think this was a party like that. Maybe this was that party. To celebrate his new film, The Last Privateer.” She held up the shred of movie poster. “I saw a poster just like this in a room in his house.”

  “Wait,” Paolo said. “You’re saying this was all for a party?”

  “Yes.” Maria waved the poster over the littered sand. “This was all for a party. The maps. The treasure chest.”

  “So there never was a pirate treasure?” Paolo said.

  “There never was a pirate treasure,” Maria said. “But there was a treasure hunt. The maps were the invitations. They said when and where the party was going to be.”

  Paolo stared at her. Then he kicked an oyster shell across the cave. It shattered on a rock.

  “But our map looks so real!” Paolo cried. “It’s so old!”

  “It just looks old.” Maria plucked other maps from the sand. “And this one looks old, and this one looks old, too. I guess it isn’t so hard to make things look real when you have Hollywood professionals making your props.”

  “So that’s why the key fit,” Paolo said. “And why it was in the boat.”

  “Yes,” Maria said.

  Paolo squatted and put his head in his hands. “Now I’m gonna be sick.”

  They sat down on the sand and leaned their backs against the fake treasure chest. After a while Paolo said, “I can’t believe we stole a boat for this. We’re idiots.”

  “Yeah,” Maria said. “Kids like us don’t find real treasure maps.”

  “Or become millionaires,” Paolo said.

  “I guess I’m going back to the Bronx, now.”

  Paolo took Maria’s good hand in his. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She squeezed his hand. “Well, it’s been fun anyway.”

  “Seriously?” Paolo said.

  “Yeah.” Maria thought about the last few weeks, the last few days, and the last few hours. “It really was kind of fun,” she finally said. “Even if it was all stupid and useless. I mean, I never even used to leave my neighborhood. But since I moved here we fixed up a sailboat. And stole it!”

  “And we tricked Taylor,” Paolo said.

  “And we escaped in the middle of the night,” Maria said.

  “And you solved a pirate riddle,” Paolo said.

  “And we sailed to an unknown island on a dark and stormy night…” Maria said. “That’s kind of a lot of adventures for someone like me.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Paolo said. “Still, I’m going to get teased so bad when Taylor hears about this. I’m going to be Captain Dirt forever.”

  “Maybe he won’t hear about it,” Maria said.

  “Of course he will,” Paolo said. “He thinks we’re going for the treasure with him on the seventeenth. We’ll have to explain why that’s not gonna happen.”

  “Maybe not,” Maria said. “Maybe we won’t even make it back home.”

  “Of course we will,” Paolo said. “Then we’re gonna wish we didn’t.”

  Maria stared at him. He was right. They’d stolen a boat in the middle of the night. Even with the wind at their backs, it was unlikely they’d get home by morning, and the adults were going to be seriously worried. And then who knew what kind of trouble they’d be in when they got home. The thought washed through her like ice water. She felt exhausted, and her shoulder hurt terribly.

  “Paolo?” Maria said. “I think I really might have dislocated my shoulder.”

  “Come on.” Paolo helped her to her feet. “Maybe we can still get home before anyone notices.”

  But they did not have a chance. As they stumbled from the mouth of the cave, they heard the violent chop of helicopter blades and the roar of an approaching motorboat. Bright white lights flashed on them and an amplified voice boomed from the boat: “This is the U.S. Coast Guard. Stay where you are. We’re coming ashore.”

  34

  WHAT KIND OF TROUBLE

  Her mother’s sofa bed was so warm and cozy. The quilts felt heavy and reassuring, the pillow felt so soft. Maria wanted to stay burrowed in it forever, but the late-afternoon sun streamed through the kitchen window, and the shadow of her mother fell across the bed. She couldn’t pretend to be asleep anymore.

  “Mr. Ironwall wants to see you as soon as you are dressed,” Celeste said. She turned her back to Maria and started washing dishes.

  “He’s back?” Maria asked. She felt an odd mix of relief that Mr. Ironwall was alive and terror about having to face him.

  “He came back this morning. Joanne had to take time off from her other job to bring him home. I was too busy dealing with your nonsense.”

  Maria hung her head so her hair formed a dark curtain. Her nonsense. Her mother had met her in the ER of the Martha’s Vineyard Hospital, where her shoulder had to be reset by an overworked resident. Then came X-rays and an awkward immobilizing sling, and painkillers that had blissfully knocked her out until now.

  “Of all the idiot ideas!” Celeste suddenly burst out. She turned with a coffee cup in hand and shook it at Maria. “And stealing from Mr. Ironwall! His boat! Not yours!”

  “We were supposed to get back before anyone noticed.”

  “Do you realize that if Mr. Newcomb hadn’t gotten up, you two could still be lost?” Celeste continued as if Maria hadn’t spoken. “You hurt yourself, you could be dead from hypothermia … And do you think I’ll even get another job after this fiasco?”

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” Maria said.

  “Sorry doesn’t even come close to making up for this.” Celeste turned her back again to Maria. “You have no idea how bad this is.”

  Maria did have some idea. She realized now that she and Paolo had put themselves in great danger. She understood that they never would have made it home by morning, and if the storm had been worse, they might not have made it home at all. They had been saved by luck and Mr. Newcomb’s love of peaches.

  Pops Newcomb had never been a good sleeper—not since he broke his back and started taking the pills. Luckily, he slept even more poorly that night, out of worry for the wind. And that worry woke him up. He thought he heard a creaking; he’d peeked outside to see if his precious peach trees were losing limbs, and he saw the rope ladder swinging against the house. He hobbled as fast as his bowed legs could carry him to wake Hattie and Grandma. Of course, once they woke, they found the empty beds.

  Then he called Uncle Harry, who got dressed and came over immediately.

  Meanwhile, Hattie called the police. The detective on duty suggested Paolo could be with one of his friends. He seemed to think it was only a matter of childish mischief. “Teenagers are like that. Sneak off with their friends.”

  Grandma Newcomb looked at Hattie. “We both know Paolo doesn’t have any friends but that fool girl who’s clearly gone off with him.”

  Just in case, Hattie called Taylor Bradford. She had a bizarre conversation with his sleepy and confused mother. There’d been a sleepover planned for the sixteenth, at the Bradfords, Hattie said. Perhaps she’d gotten the date wrong? No, Mrs. Bradford explained, as far as she knew, there was no sleepover, and Paolo certainly wasn’t in their house.

  Mrs. Bradford put Taylor on the phone, and finally, after Mrs. Bradford threatened Taylor with the loss of every electronic and motorized gadget he owned, the story came out—how Taylor had bullied the two to include him in the hunt for Captain Murdefer’s treasure. “They were fixing up that old sailboat,” Taylor said.

  Grandma called Celeste, who was dozing in the chair beside Mr. Ironwall’s bed. The ringing cell phone woke them both up.
He made Celeste tell him what had happened.

  “I’m afraid I know where they may have gone,” Mr. Ironwall said.

  Meanwhile, Uncle Harry drove like a madman to the Ironwall Estate. The bicycles were discovered behind the Old West Shed, The Last Privateer was found to be missing, the Coast Guard was called, and the rescue was enacted.

  Now Maria put her feet on the cold floor and hauled herself from the bed.

  “If you’re looking for clothes, they’re there on the table,” Celeste said.

  Maria looked at the sad pile. She didn’t like the blouse her mother had selected. “Can I wear something else?”

  “Everything else is packed.”

  “What do you mean?” Maria asked.

  Celeste gestured toward the door. The four large duffel bags that they’d brought from their apartment lay beside it.

  “We’re leaving?” Maria asked. “But I thought Mr. Ironwall was better.”

  “What do you think, Maria? How can Mr. Ironwall trust us anymore? As soon as Joanne gets a replacement for me, we’re gone.”

  The oily feeling washed through her. She’d ruined everything. He was better; they could have stayed.

  Frank pulled up in the golf cart. He glanced at Celeste as she climbed, wordless, into the front seat.

  “I need something from my backpack.” Maria ran back into the house and pulled out the leather-wrapped map. Even if Mr. Ironwall couldn’t trust her anymore, at least she could explain why they’d done it. Then, maybe, at least he wouldn’t hate her so much.

  * * *

  Paolo was already standing with Hattie outside the double doors of Mr. Ironwall’s room. He gave Maria a grim smile and Hattie shot him a fierce look. None of the adults said anything to the children or each other, yet somehow Joanne must have sensed their presence in the hall, for the door opened and her big hand ushered them in.

  “Just the children,” Mr. Ironwall said. “You wait out in the hall, too, Joanne. I’m sure Maria can yell loudly enough if I need any assistance.”

  Brutus leaped out of the bed and hurried to Maria, licking and wagging and snuffling at her. He was probably confused—she had been in the hospital all morning and hadn’t taken him on his beach walk, and she felt bad about that, too. She wanted to bury her face in his fur instead of facing Mr. Ironwall. She forced herself to look at the thin figure in the great white bed.

  He looked better than he had when he’d left. The oxygen mask was gone, but a big silver tank, with gauges and nozzles and plastic tubing, stood by the bed should he need it again.

  “I’m so sorry; we’re so sorry—” She glanced at Paolo, who was pale-faced and nodding mutely.

  Mr. Ironwall raised his hand. “You stole my boat.”

  “We were just borrowing it,” Paolo said.

  “As you have apparently been borrowing it for a very long time,” Mr. Ironwall said. “I hear you had a little clubhouse in the cabin, and spent a great deal of money at the marine supply store.”

  “We fixed it up first, really nicely,” Paolo said.

  Mr. Ironwall closed his eyes. Then he opened them and fixed his gaze on Paolo. “The fact that you went to such expense and trouble to repair my boat before you stole it scarcely mitigates your crime.”

  Paolo looked at Maria, confused.

  “It is hardly an ameliorating factor,” Mr. Ironwall said. Paolo still looked confused. “In other words, it barely makes things better.”

  “We’re still in a lot of trouble,” Maria whispered.

  Paolo looked at the floor. Maria reached over and touched his hand with her pinky.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Ironwall,” Paolo said. “We’re sorry.”

  “Of course you are.” Mr. Ironwall pinned both of them with a steely gaze. “But stealing my boat—that is not the real crime.”

  “We betrayed your trust!” Maria cried. “I know! My mom told me! But it’s not her fault. It’s mine. So you don’t have to fire her … and you don’t have to kick us out. I promise to be better, I’ll never mess with your stuff again—”

  “Enough, Maria,” Mr. Ironwall said. “Control yourself!”

  Maria stopped.

  Mr. Ironwall’s eyes softened and he patted the bed. “Come sit.”

  Maria sat. Paolo moved closer, but remained standing.

  Mr. Ironwall took Maria’s right hand. He held it for a long time—long enough for Maria to inspect all the painful knobs and blue veins in his hand.

  “Maria, look at me,” he finally said.

  Maria couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. There was a purple bruise on his wrist where an IV needle had been. She kept her focus there.

  “You were badly hurt,” Mr. Ironwall said gently. “You were quite in over your head. Something much worse could have happened. You do realize that, don’t you? How could any of us have survived that? I couldn’t have borne that. Nor could your mother have, or Hattie…”

  Maria shook her head. She didn’t trust her voice.

  “It grieves me terribly that I put you up to this.” Mr. Ironwall pressed her hand. “All my stories about pirate treasure and adventuring nonsense.”

  “You didn’t put me up to it. I found a map!” Maria fished the leather tube from her bag. She handed it, with the map rolled inside, to Mr. Ironwall.

  “I know it’s fake, now,” Maria said. “But it looked so real.”

  Mr. Ironwall inspected the leather tube for a long time. Then he untied the straps and unrolled the scroll. He touched the parchment gently, turned it over, and gazed at the back. Then he placed it on the bedspread.

  “We realized it was a fake when we found the treasure chest filled with rocks,” Paolo said. “We found the invitations and the party stuff all around.”

  “But the treasure, fake or not, could have waited!” Mr. Ironwall said. “Why did you go out on that night, in such weather?” He turned toward Paolo. “Of the two of you, you should have known better.”

  Now Paolo looked down.

  Maria found her voice. “It was my idea. I thought that you might not come back from the hospital. And that my mom and I would have to leave the Island. And the cottage. And I just couldn’t stand it! I didn’t want to go back to the Bronx—and we needed money to stay—we needed that treasure. I thought it was our only chance before…”

  “Before?” Mr. Ironwall said.

  “Before you left them high and dry,” Paolo said.

  “Left them high and dry?” Mr. Ironwall pushed himself up on the pillows. “Wherever did you get the idea that I would do that?”

  “Something my mom always says,” Paolo said. “When you die we’ll all be left high and dry.”

  Mr. Ironwall chuckled. Maria looked up to see him shaking his head. “I would never leave Maria and her mother high and dry. Or your mother, or Frank. In fact, I took the opportunity, while I was on the mainland, to see my lawyer. He came to the hospital to help me get my affairs in order.”

  “Oh!” Maria gasped. “That’s why I thought…”

  Mr. Ironwall smiled at her. “Just because I see my lawyer doesn’t mean I’m planning on dying tomorrow. It is just prudent at my age not to leave such things to the last minute.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maria said.

  “You will be happy to know that you will never have to quit the cottage, regardless of my status.” His eyes twinkled as if he’d made a joke. “I’m leaving it, and the surrounding acre, to you.”

  “What?” Maria said. “I mean, excuse me?”

  “You heard me perfectly well,” Mr. Ironwall said. “You are the inheritor of my cottage. And its surrounding acre.”

  “Really?” Maria asked. “You can do that?”

  “Of course I can!” Mr. Ironwall looked indignant. “It’s mine and I may give it to whomever I wish.”

  “But what about your family?” Maria said. “There must be someone else expecting…”

  Mr. Ironwall wagged a scolding finger. “You know very well I have no one expecting anything. You’re the cl
osest thing to a granddaughter that I’ll ever have. So there. It’s done. The cottage is yours. Now stop making me repeat myself. It’s tiresome.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Maria lunged forward and gave him a one-arm hug. He reached awkwardly around her and patted her back.

  “I’m not used to such enthusiasm,” he said. “Remember I’m rather fragile.”

  She pulled back and looked directly in his eyes. “But you have to promise me,” she said in her most serious voice. “You are not allowed to die ever. Even if you do leave me the cottage.”

  “Well, I can promise to try not to,” Mr. Ironwall said. “But I don’t think I’ll succeed. Now call the adults in.”

  There was a brief shuffle in the hall, and then Frank, Celeste, and Hattie entered as sheepishly as if they, themselves, were in trouble. Joanne clicked over Mr. Ironwall, fussing with his blankets and standing resolutely by his side, demonstrating with her superior expression that it was she, and only she, who hadn’t caused him any heartache.

  “Mr. Ironwall,” Celeste began, but her voice was drowned out. Hattie said Paolo was headed off to reform school on the mainland, while Frank said kids will be kids and he and Hattie weren’t much better at that age, and Joanne stated none of this was good for Mr. Ironwall’s heart. When no one calmed down, she put her fingers to her mouth and whistled.

  “Mr. I’s had enough already and I need to get home,” Joanne scolded. “So could you all shut up now and let the old man speak?”

  They nodded and quieted.

  “I want all of you to listen to me now,” Mr. Ironwall said. “I’m very tired from all the excitement and I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

  He turned his gaze back to Maria and Paolo. “Show them the treasure map.”

  Paolo glanced at Maria. She took the map from the bedspread and handed it to her mother.

  Celeste unwrapped the map and read it. “‘Twice twice two, then twice that more. Take one from the first, the Queen treads upon the door.’”

  “I used pirate maps such as these as an invitation to a party I threw years ago,” Mr. Ironwall said. “For my film The Last Privateer. People sailed to the little island where the children were found and we had a picnic in the caves. It was, as Maria would say, a fabulous party.”