Courier of Love

by Della Kensington

  “Christina…Christina…” Arthur’s words made contact and she realized as her mind scrambled back to the surface that he had been talking to her the entire time.

  She inwardly shook herself back into control and feeling a chill run down her back apologized, “I’m sorry Arthur, I didn’t hear you.” Her expression held forced interest.

  “Is something wrong Christina?” he queried, sincere concern clouding his amiable eyes.

  She touched her temple and looked down in order to lie, “No, I just have a little headache; I guess…the noise…perhaps….”

  “Do you want to go home?” he touched her arm empathetically.

  “No, no,” she brightened, “I’m fine, really I am…., maybe something cool to drink.”

  “Let’s walk down to the moorage, it’s less crowded there and we can sit on the terrace where we met for lunch.”

  “Yes, that would be lovely” and she patted his hand as he touched her arm.

  The crowd divided before her and as it moved in seemingly slow motion, Arthur was once more tethering her by the hand. People were bumping against her but she was barely aware of their contact or the raucous noise that had surrounded them.

  “Clay, Clay,” she heard Arthur signaling. Her heart fell again. “Look Christina, its Clay… and Emily’s here too.” She felt a wild impulse to turn and run but it was too late. They had reached the small group of people. She could not look at him. She would faint; she was certain of that.

  Emily’s welcome voice greeted their arrival. “Arthur you must get this woman off of the streets so the rest of us have a chance.” She was extending her hand to Christina and as their eyes made contact, Emily could sense her tension. She felt herself looking at Emily as if to plead for something, her gaze carefully avoiding Clay who was answering a question of Arthur’s. Emily squeezed her hand tightly with a feeling of understanding.

  Emily turned to a man standing beside her. “Howard, I’d like you to meet Christina Weldon, a new but very good friend of mine.” The man, distinctively handsome, but somewhat older than Emily, greeted her as Emily hugged his arm and said, “Christina please meet Howard Fancall.”

  Christina felt mechanical and her arm entwined Arthur’s for physical support. Clay’s eyes were now burning into her; she could feel it without looking at him.

  Arthur’s words were inevitable and they struck her with unintentional torture. “Penny, I don’t believe that you’ve met Christina. Christina has been taking diving lessons from Clay. Christina this is Penny Mueller. Penny is a close friend of Clay’s.”

  The girl was warm and animated as she tipped her head to the side and welcomed Christina to the island. “Clay’s told me what a good student you are. I’m jealous of your adventure.” Christina could not believe the woman’s words, or that this was really happening to her. She flashed a look at Clay that betrayed her dismay over his apparent deception with this obviously sincere, young woman.

  Clay, looking uncomfortable, said, “We really should be going. I’m giving Miss Weldon a lesson in the morning…I believe?” He looked confusingly apprehensive at her.

  Puzzled at his motive and pressured by the expectations of the group in front of her Christina nodded affirmatively, though she had seriously considered not going but had abandoned the thought both out of need and in fear that it might confuse the process of getting her diving certificate.

  “Good,” he said and his large frame turned in a manner that announced their departure. Pulled by the hand, Penny laughed self-consciously over her shoulder, “Good-bye, I guess,” and they were gone, the crowd quickly closing in behind them.

  Emily, Arthur and Howard continued to chat briefly but the noise and crowd proved the gathering unconducive to real conversation and they finally parted.

  With a gesture of intimate confidence, Emily stepped to Christina and took her hands in hers. Kissing her on the cheek, she confided, “Men come in a great many sizes and shapes, Christina, but inside they’re much the same…little boys who trip and stumble over their own hearts while they wait for people like you and me to come and say, there, there, it’s all right. You can get very hurt in the search for one who hasn’t given himself a lot of self-imposed bruises. We’ll have lunch. Soon. Okay?”

  She watched as Emily moved away. She had not understood Emily’s comment but felt that Emily sensed something about her feelings toward Clay and knew personal things about him that went beyond those that could have been learned in a casual acquaintance.

  Chapter 13

  Christina’s limbs were leaden as she parked the car. Just below, at the moorage, Clay was readying the boat for their last practice dive and the completion of diving qualifications. The early morning sun was presenting a magic show on the crystal blue waters stretching across the horizon. Christina squinted against the glare that was preventing her from seeing Clay’s boat but he was there; she could feel it deep within her body. She attempted to fill her lungs. She could not. Her legs felt as if they would fail her. Her pulse pounded against her throat. She contemplated getting back into the car but fought for control by thinking of her father’s research and the importance of her presence here.

  Clay’s rough toned words reached her from somewhere within the sunlight that was being reflected from the windows of the boat. “You’re late.” Clay’s voice was stoic.

  Fear raced through her veins and she stopped at the edge of the dock. “Clay, I’m sorry about what happened between us yesterday.” The words left her lips with such spontaneity that she halted in her steps, shocked by the sound of her own unplanned apology.

  “I don’t think that one has to necessarily apologize over a mutual mistake,” Clay returned icily.

  “But, I…” she murmured as she stepped onto the boat, its deck rocking her off balance.

  “Christina, I don’t want to discuss yesterday, all right? Put your gear below please. We need to get underway.” His words had an edge of threat to them and they brought restraint to her impulses.

  Leaving the moorage, Clay stood silently at the wheel, his broad back forming a wall against her detection of any expression he might have had on his face and making her feel tiny and useless behind him. When Clay finally did speak, he remarked about their upcoming dive on the shipwreck of the Rhone, its pieces scattered in waters 30 to 70 feet deep. His voice was professional and instructive. “She went down in a hurricane in 1867. Lost her anchor and broke up in a few minutes. Exploring her will be good practice for you. She’s lying in water twice as deep as you’ve gone before.” His tones were crisp, detached.

  As she tried to monitor his mood she considered that from the tone of his voice, she could have been anyone he was addressing. Even as he spoke in her direction his expressions were those of a disinterested tour guide his eyes not making contact but rather glancing off to whatever laid around her.

  He must hate me she thought and she looked away in an attempt to defend herself against the pain.

  Unlike previous lessons, Clay did not help her with her equipment today, but rather busied himself tying the boat to the anchor buoy. Continuing his instructive monologue about the dive, Clay explained what he’d like her to take note of and the physical sensations she might experience descending and ascending. Because of the depth, the sensations would be different from their previous dives.

  Clay entered the watery classroom first and looked expectantly up at Christina who was hesitating at the edge of the boat. Diving with Clay this past week had held an air of intimacy, but the idea of it today frightened her. Consumed by her own thoughts she realized that she had also not listened as carefully when he had discussed the dive with her. She searched her mind to remember what he might have said. Clay did not like mistakes being made when safety was involved. She could remember little of what he had told her moments before and with a sense of self-recrimination Christina followed him into the crystal clear waters of the Caribbean Sea.

  Against her skin the water felt cold today, unyielding
and desolate and once engulfed in what felt like a liquid prison Christina began to cautiously look out of what now seemed the bars of its veil. She could not remember ever feeling so alone, so aware of her own breathing as it left her body and the thousand bubbles it created rose towards the sunlight and the surface. Descending, the rising air bubbles of Clay’s breath from below her rushed past and over the surface of Christina’s exposed limbs. The feelings of the experience created a surrealistic drama of sight and sensation.

  In their first explorations they were going to the stern section of the sunken ship. She remembered that because it lay in the shallowest water at 30 feet, its rudder only 15 feet down, a depth to which she had dived before. Clay looked back and stopping, motioned her to speed up her descent and to come along beside of him. He had told her several days earlier that it was important to him to keep her in sight. “I guess I feel over-protective,” he had evaluated. Clay’s current gesture was reassuring to Christina, a small sign that this man, who was so much an enigma, still cared about her well-being.

  Passing the rudder, the shadowy image of the Rhone became clearer and Christina’s thoughts moved away from her dilemma with Clay and towards the surge of excitement that was beginning to sweep through her body. It was true that this old masted steamer was not part of their real search but the sight of the shipwreck stood as a symbol of why she had come to Tortola. The highly encrusted ghost was alive with fish and what once had been a sailing vessel now lay before her eyes like a giant, mysterious, underwater sculpture. A chill ran the length of Christina’s spine and she felt her teeth chattering against the mouthpiece.

  Clay began to carefully show Christina the silent parts of this now living object, its surface a multicolored collage of coral, butterfly fish, sponges, barnacles and a multitude of other aquatic organisms. His movements were proud, instructive, self-assured and Christina’s excitement over the wondrous images was greatly easing her feelings of tension.

  The exploration and Clay’s professional skills were catapulting Christina’s feelings backward to their days before their dark encounter at the beach. The ocean had become a vacuum in which their painful and angry feelings had begun to dissolve.

  Though they were descending more deeply and the light was becoming dimmer, the image of the ship remained amazingly clear. Christina’s ears began to ring in the increased pressure. As they approached seventy feet and stopped to check their air supply and elapsed time, Christina was surprised to find so little differences of physical sensation at this increased depth.

  As they resumed their descent Christina was surprised as Clay unexpectedly took her arm and pointed a light indicating their approach to the bow of the ship. The bow lay almost at right angles to the stern. A single mast loomed ominously from the once active deck, the sailors who walked it long lost in a frightening storm, one hundred and eighteen years before. A shudder rippled through Christina’s thoughts and her eyes widened as she half expected to see some frightful remnant of death.

  Swimming silently past the wreckage was dream-like and when Clay pointed to one of the two cannons, she could almost imagine reaching just inside its shaft and sensing her fingers touching a small chest holding a ring. Reaching into its encrusted opening in pretense she looked up at Clay forgetting momentarily his potential mood. He looked at her and his eyes held a paternal expression of acknowledgement. A muffled, bubbling “soon,” escaped his mouthpiece and she returned the word “soon,” smiling at the unusual sound it made deep within her own ears. She pointed to her ear and he nodded and smiled. They had shared only a word but there had been no animosity in the exchange. There was comfort in this.

  The bow was largely intact and in the Prussian-blue water its 150 foot length seemed to go on forever. Clay periodically used his light to show Christina particular fish and fire-coral formations. Moving through the undulating images that surrounded them Clay and Christina slowly worked their way toward a hole in the main deck that was large enough to allow them access into the interior of the vessel. Frequently turning to ascertain her presence, Clay led the way; his light magically illuminating the encrusted interior, its colors completing the spectrum. In study, Christina could see that the surfaces inside the ship were covered with tiny sea creatures moving in symphonies of motion. Moving deeper and turning slightly she could see back in the direction of the hole they had entered and toward the sun-lit water beyond.

  Clay motioned her forward into a small space, his muscular legs moving against the hull, the expelled air from his tank gathering and merging against the ceiling into larger pockets before bursting from the space and upward towards the surface. Around a small opening in the bow, brilliant red-cup coral stood in sharp contrast to the blue-green water beyond. Clay’s eyes were appreciating the presentation of the living scarlet sight.

  Christina moved closer to the opening where Clay was drifting. As she narrowed the space between Clay and herself a large Grouper fish unknowingly came through the opening quite near her face, its appearance so surprising Christina that she reacted instinctively and flung her arm out with surprising strength. In the frightened movement Clay’s face and shoulder were struck and forced against the jagged surface of the ship. The shy, ugly fish moved clumsily past and Christina turned in Clay’s direction with quick remorse. The water around his face had become murky and was filling with bubbles. His right hand was cradling his head and the light he was holding was being held aimlessly towards her, its brilliance making it difficult for her to see. Reaching out to him, she moved his hand so that the light left her face. Something was wrong. Her heart started pounding.

  The entire water surrounding Clay was becoming discolored. He was bleeding and through the clouded water he was fumbling with his air hose in what seemed a slow-motion, sluggish manner. The sight of blood sharpened Christina’s senses and her panic was pushed aside by the need for some kind of action. Her eyes strained to look at Clay’s face for some instruction, some clue as to what had happened. His face had become contorted, his eyes opened wide and then closing as if he were attempting to stay awake. Her eyes evaluated the circumstance with mechanical accuracy. He was bleeding from the shoulder and head and his air hose had been torn. Instinctively she put her hand to his face and indicated that she would pass her mouthpiece to him. He understood and nodded through the darkening water. Bubbles rushed from Christina’s breathing apparatus as she passed it to his lips, his own mouthpiece now floating free and useless away from his face. He took several breaths and then nodded, his eyes still straining against the effects of his injury.

  Holding the light near his body Clay’s free hand struggled to release the snaps that were holding his air tank to his back. Christina recognized his intent and her hands skillfully moved to the catches, each held tight by the force of his muscular body against their pressure. The tank released and falling away from them they began a unionized move toward the opening and the route to the surface beyond.

  As Christina held Clay firmly under the front of his shoulder they began their slow ascent, the mouthpiece passing rhythmically between their lips. In her determined grip Christina’s nails tore into the rubber of Clay’s suit, the muscle beneath resistant to the size of her hand as she attempted to cling to its mass.

  Behind Clay, the water darkened with blood and curious fish began to approach their unified ascent through the soft blueness of the watery shadows. Several cheeky tube fish followed their climb, their cold gray stares heightening the impact on Christina of this foreign environment.

  Their slow ascent helped facilitate a natural decompression, but for Christina, whose body was now driven by adrenal response, time was standing still. Clay’s natural, innate strength was dissipating and she found herself easily moving his muscular body through the water.

  The sun above them appeared like a large jewel that danced lazily near the shadow of the boat. Knowing that wounds could seem exaggerated in water Christina could not tell how badly Clay was hurt but he seemed disoriented. She
could see a large tear in the shoulder of his suit and he was shaking his head from time to time as if to snap himself into a waking state. She prayed that he would be all right and looking towards the radiant shimmer of the surface above them she asked for help in getting him up to its sanctuary which perversely seemed to be moving away from them even as they approached.

  Surfacing into the morning sun at last, Clay tilted his face upward so that his hard lips might open to powerful breaths.

  Discarding her own mask, Christina’s other hand remained locked like a vise into the folds of Clay’s wet suit and as they moved laboriously towards the boat she gasped, “Clay, are you in pain?”

  He shook his head “no” but his eyes denied this confession as they grimaced behind his mask.

  Reaching the boat she floated behind him as he struggled with one arm on the ladder. She pushed against his thigh but his weight seemed beyond her ability. Unable to lift him she instinctively moved to a position behind him and reaching around his sides Christina grabbed for the ladder. Her torso holding him steady was enabling him to climb the ladder. Their bodies, for a moment, had become an awkward tangle of swim fins, arms and legs.

  Clay rolled onto the deck. Hurrying up and over the edge behind him, Christina removed her tank and watched as he carefully lifted his mask past the nasty looking injury on his temple. Reacting quickly, she examined his shoulder beneath the suit and after unsnapping the knife on his belt she began to carefully but rapidly cut the rubber of his suit the length of his arm.