Celeste shook the map at Maria. “Why didn’t you just show me this in the first place? I could have told you it was utter nonsense.”
“It’s not utter nonsense.” Mr. Ironwall scoffed as if he’d been offended. “The quote is historically accurate. In fact, my whole film was well researched. It was based on my ancestor Captain Murdefer. I used his old ship’s log as source material.”
Celeste passed the map to Frank. “But we could have told them it wasn’t real. If only they had come to an adult instead of sneaking around…”
“Maybe that’s why they didn’t come to an adult,” Mr. Ironwall said. “Because an adult would have told them it wasn’t real. And they needed to believe it was.”
“We compared the map to charts of the Island,” Maria said. “And there were stories about real pirates that really hid real treasure around here.”
“The Whydah was real,” Paolo said. “Dad took me to the museum in Provincetown.”
“And Captain Murdefer was a real privateer—he was Mr. Ironwall’s ancestor.” Maria gave up. It sounded so lame now.
Paolo turned to his mother. “It looked so old. And real.”
“Please,” Hattie said.
“But the children were correct!” Mr. Ironwall said. “Captain Murdefer did in fact bury treasure on that very island. In that very cave!”
“But there was no treasure,” Frank said. “You just said the pirate map was a party invitation.”
“The invitations were based on an actual map. One that the captain had copied into his log after the original map had been lost. The children followed their map to the exact right spot.” Mr. Ironwall pounded the bedspread for emphasis. “And if there had still been a treasure to find, they would have been extremely rich.”
“So there really once was a buried pirate treasure?” Maria couldn’t help asking.
“Of course,” Mr. Ironwall said. “Right where you found the fake one. Murdefer went back for it himself once he was cleared of racketeering charges. How do you think we Ironwalls came to own all this?” He spread his hands through the dusty air.
“Figures,” Paolo said. “Everything is always already found, or used up, or whatever.”
“But we were right!” Maria glanced at her mother. “Though I guess it was pretty stupid to think it would still be there for us to find.”
“Well, I suppose that makes me pretty stupid also,” Mr. Ironwall said. “Knowing my ancestor Murdefer had already dug up his treasure didn’t stop me when I was your age. You see, I found his old log and followed it to that very island myself. I told Maria how my cousins and I hunted treasure also, in case Murdefer didn’t get it all.”
Mr. Ironwall took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked uncharacteristically uncertain. “I’m afraid I owe everyone here an apology. I led Maria to believe hunting pirate treasure should be something all children do. But, then again, we never stole our boat, and our parents always knew where we were.” He gave Maria and Paolo a long, serious look. “And we never went out in the middle of the night.”
Hattie took the map. “Anyone can see these stains are tea.” She glared at Paolo. “How could you ever believe this map was real?”
“But the children were right,” Mr. Ironwall insisted. “Their map is real.”
The adults turned to Mr. Ironwall.
“But it’s just an invitation to a party, you said so yourself,” Maria said.
“The ones you found at the cave were just invitations. But this—” A smile glimmered on his thin lips. “This one is the original map of Captain Murdefer. It is of great value. Historians thought it was lost. I thought it was lost.” He looked at Maria. “Wherever did you find it, my dear?”
“In the cottage,” Maria said. “Behind an eave in the attic.”
“Well, we’ll have to get the Island Conservation Foundation in there,” Mr. Ironwall said. “Maria’s little cottage may be worth more than we all realized. I hope you don’t mind if the old historians snoop around your cottage, Maria dear.” He gave her an exaggerated wink.
“Why are you saying, Maria’s cottage?” Celeste said.
He turned to Celeste. “Oh, did I neglect to tell you? Maria owns the cottage now.”
“Maria owns the cottage?” Celeste said slowly, as if the words were in a language she barely understood.
“Now and forevermore. Nothing you can do about it,” Mr. Ironwall said to Celeste. “No going back to the Bronx for you. So just unpack your bags. I still need a nurse.”
“We don’t ever have to leave!” Maria said. She jumped up and wrapped her good arm around her mother.
“I don’t know what to say.” Celeste looked bewildered.
“How about congratulations?” Maria suggested. “Mabrouk!”
“Mabrouk,” Celeste murmured. She reached for something to steady herself. Frank stepped over and gave her his arm. “It’s a miracle.”
“Of course it is,” said Frank. “None of us wanted you to go.”
“Especially not you.” Hattie hit her brother in the shoulder with the back of her hand.
35
THE LAST PRIVATEER
Maria and Paolo wandered around the Great House lawn, checking out the party. The tents were packed beyond capacity and people spilled out onto the grass. They’d planned to have the screening in the Great House’s movie theater, but when the tickets sold out on the first day, Frank called Tilton Rentals and booked the largest tents they had and a giant outdoor screen for the showing. Still more people wanted to come, even if they couldn’t fit under the tents. So Mr. Ironwall let people bring lawn chairs and beach blankets and settle down anywhere they could.
Food had come in from all corners: Hattie and Grandma Newcomb had been cooking all week, a smoker was brought in for a pig roast, and Pops directed the Newcomb men to dig huge pits on the beach for the largest clambake ever seen in local memory. Cater-waiters carried enormous platters of steamers, lobster, and corn on the cob to the guests, while Grandma ladled her famous clam chowder and dished out slices of pie. Even Tante Farida had come up from the Bronx bearing meze and pastries: tubs of hummus, baba ghanoush, tabbouleh, and stuffed grape leaves, cartons of olives, rounds of cheese, trays of baklawa, and knafeh. Hattie grilled Tante for recipes, and the old woman happily obliged.
Under another tent strung with twinkling white lights, a jazz band played old cinema classics. A woman in red sequins crooned about dancing cheek to cheek, while Celeste and Frank spun around on the parquet tiles. Frank said something and Celeste tipped her head back and laughed. Maria noticed that her mother laughed a lot lately. And smiled and sang. Now Celeste smiled at Maria over Frank’s shoulder, and Maria smiled back.
It seemed everyone was happy and smiling. Taylor Bradford had come with his mom, and nearby sat other kids Maria had just recently met, now that school had begun. School on Martha’s Vineyard wasn’t so scary after all. Hattie hadn’t sent Paolo to reform school, so Maria saw him every day. And there were no more snarky comments. When the story came out that she had found Captain Murdefer’s real map and followed it to the right place in a stolen antique schooner, no one cared that the treasure had been long gone. And more than a few kids were envious that Paolo and she had had such an adventure, and that their adventure had made it onto TV news. Now, when they called Paolo Captain Dirt in the hallway, they said it in a friendly way.
Surveying all, Mr. Ironwall, dashing in his tuxedo, sat at the head table, eating a bowl of chowder while Joanne hovered anxiously by. He had insisted she was not allowed to mash it into “pureed pablum” or spoon-feed him. He would eat it as Grandma Newcomb cooked it, using his own hand, and if he choked to death, then at least he would die happy. But he seemed to be in no danger as far as Maria could tell. Maybe he was getting better. He certainly seemed better, lately.
Something was happening in front of the screen, and the guests closest to it began clapping. Maria turned back to see Joanne wheeling Mr. Ironwall toward a po
dium. A man in an elegant suit and a bow tie stepped up to another round of applause.
“Thank you, thank you.” The man adjusted his notes and his tie. “We are all here as guests of the esteemed and talented Peter Ironwall. I wonder how many of you remember his movies from your youth…”
As Mr. Ironwall sat regally in his wheelchair, the man talked of Mr. Ironwall’s long movie career, his history on the island, and finally the wonderful gift he was making to its people.
“When Mr. Ironwall agreed to this showing of The Last Privateer,” the man said, “he contacted the old studio to send any costumes, props, and photos they had. After the film, this valuable memorabilia will be auctioned off in the Great House Ballroom and the proceeds will go toward the Conservation Foundation.”
“Let’s go sit up front,” Paolo said. He took Maria’s hand and steered her to a blanket near the screen. The man finished his speech and passed the microphone down to Mr. Ironwall.
Mr. Ironwall waited patiently for the applause to end. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Well, now, you’re all very welcome to my humble abode.”
More applause, a few whistles and whoops. Mr. Ironwall smiled calmly like a man used to waiting for his audience.
“As a young friend of mine would say, this is a fabulous party.” He caught Maria’s eye and winked. “But it wouldn’t be fabulous if it weren’t for all of you!”
People cheered in agreement.
Mr. Ironwall went on. “The money from this and future fund-raisers will be donated to the Conservation Foundation to preserve Island history and arts. I will be using my own private funds to restore Ironwall Estate to its original magnificence. The Great House, the grounds, the outer buildings, the beach, the boat, and the dock—in fact, the entire property with the exception of the cottage and its surrounding acre—have been deeded to the Conservation Foundation, to be used by the Island as an Arts and Nature Center in perpetuity.”
Applause flooded the crowd. Paolo put his lips near Maria’s ear so she could hear him.
“What’s ‘in perpetuity’?”
“It means forever,” she said into his ear. “Ironwall Estate will be here forever.”
“And you will, too,” Paolo said. “Isn’t it weird how everything worked out?”
Maria nodded. The chain of events that made up the past few months were so strange. If the Bad Barbies had never attacked her, her mother would not have looked for a new job. They would never have come to Martha’s Vineyard. She would never have met Paolo or Mr. Ironwall. She never would have found the map, or fixed up The Last Privateer, or sailed to find a pirate treasure. She certainly would never have gotten the cottage. Mr. Ironwall would have had a different nurse. And that nurse probably would not have had a daughter to stir things up. Most likely, Mr. Ironwall would have stayed in his room until he died, but now, because Maria had made just the right amount of trouble, he sat proudly at the podium, cheered by people who loved him. And Maria sat in the audience, surrounded by people who had become her family.
“And now, The Last Privateer!”
The audience applauded, the lights under the tents dimmed, and music swelled. Paolo leaned his shoulder against Maria’s shoulder. Maria leaned back.
On the movie screen, a white sun shone in a silver sky, and silver waves crashed in a silver sea. A black pinpoint began in the top left corner. As it moved across the screen, closer and closer to the camera, it resolved into a wind-lashed schooner. Their schooner. The Last Privateer.
The shot pulled in, swooping down to a lone figure on the deck. Captain Murdefer gazed out over the stormy waters. He looked troubled and the music was ominous. But Maria was not worried. She already knew how the story ended. He would find this island and he would bury his treasure. It didn’t matter that the gold and jewels were long gone. All that he had built with his riches was preserved here on this island, on Ironwall Estate, as long as Ironwall Estate itself still stood. And as long as Maria lived in the cottage, she would see to it that Ironwall Estate would stand, until the land upon which it stood fell into the sea, and the waters washed it away.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michelle Chalfoun is a pediatric nurse who lives with her husband and children on Long Island, New York. The Treasure of Maria Mamoun is her first book for young readers. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Author’s Note
1. Maria Theresa Ramirez Mamoun
2. Bad Barbies
3. The Republic of Ugly
4. Fishy Butter and Funny Accents
5. Into the Woods
6. Captain Murderer
7. The Great House
8. Twice Twice Two
9. Something to Do
10. Mr. Ironwall
11. Bicycles and Sails
12. Over the Rail
13. Mr. Ironwall, Revisited
14. Stranger Danger
15. The Triangle Island
16. That Sort of Girl
17. A Boy Raised by Wolves
18. Captain Murdefer, Revisited
19. Up-Island
20. The Dread Pyrate Paolo
21. High and Dry
22. Help from Major Dirt
23. Onward … Onward!
24. An Old-Fashioned Fourth
25. Tuning the Rig
26. Shakedown
27. Square One
28. Fire Escape
29. The Same or Worse
30. Engaging the Enemy
31. Batten Down the Hatches
32. The Queen’s Door
33. Treasure Island
34. What Kind of Trouble
35. The Last Privateer
About the Author
Copyright
Farrar Straus Giroux Books for Young Readers
175 Fifth Avenue, New York 10010
Text copyright © 2016 Michelle Chalfoun
All rights reserved
First hardcover edition, 2016
eBook edition, July 2016
mackids.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Chalfoun, Michelle, author.
Title: The treasure of Maria Mamoun / Michelle Chalfoun.
Description: First edition. | New York: Farrar Straus Giroux, 2016. | Summary: “An island adventure about a girl from the Bronx on a journey of mystery and discovery”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015026267 | ISBN 9780374303402 (hardback) | ISBN 9780374303440 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. | Buried treasure—Fiction. | Lebanese Americans—Fiction. | Martha’s Vineyard (Mass.)—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Mysteries & Detective Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Action & Adventure / Pirates. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / New Experience. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance. | JUVENILE FICTION / Lifestyles / Country Life.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.C475 Tr 2016 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015026267
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by e-mail at [email protected].
eISBN 9780374303440
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The Treasure of Maria Mamoun Page 21