by Dana Mentink
He said good-bye and headed out, with a cautious look around first.
Tree climbing might be a big help with Ellen on the loose, Ruth thought as she wiped her sticky fingers and dutifully dialed Monk to escort her across the street.
The soothing smells of chowder and baking bread surrounded her in the cozy corner of Monk’s shop. He had no catering job that day, so the lunchtime crowd would have to suffice. The late morning sky was thick with storm clouds, which she hoped would help spur any passersby to come in for soup. Ruth eased the window open a crack to let in the sharp tang of sea air and let out the rich aromas to attract some customers.
In spite of her husband’s baleful looks, she had wiped down the counters, tidied the remaining tray of breakfast scones, and refilled all the jugs of milk and creamer before Monk propelled her into a chair, demanding that she “take a load off.”
Though she didn’t like to admit it, it did feel good to settle her girth into a chair and sip tea. Her lively onboard cargo had settled for the moment so she could concentrate on finishing Indigo’s journal without distracting kicks to the midsection.
Though I never would have conceived of it, I am beginning to think of this windswept corner of the world as my home. Hui and I have labored long and hard with endless cooking and cleaning and our efforts have been rewarded. Though my back aches by day’s end and Hui’s hands are chapped and hardened, the work is a blessing. This is the only country in the world, I think, where a woman receives anything like just compensation for her work, even though they still believe me to be a man.
I learn new things from Hui every day. He has some queer customs from his homeland. Bathing, for one. He insists on cleaning himself in an old tin basin before every meal and changing his clothes. Though he has not much to wear, he will put on the cleanest of his tunics and sit down solemnly before we sup. This is certainly a wonder as most Americans I am told bathe only once or twice a year. I settle for washing my face and hands and a twice weekly dip in an isolated pond we’ve found in our explorations. Hui climbs a tree and keeps watch when I bathe, sounding a whistle at the approach of any strangers.
I bartered with some newcomers to the mining fields who agreed to assist us with our carpentry needs in exchange for two square meals a day and any mending they might require. They cut down pine trees and made shakes for a cabin. It’s a bit drafty, but oh the bliss of sleeping at night with a roof to keep out the rain and animals. It is grander than any palace indeed. I’ve begun to put together a rag rug for the floor, and though I have not convinced Hui to sleep in a cot, he has strung a hammock for himself in the corner where he sleeps soundly.
Our typical day goes as follows: Before the sun comes up, Hui starts the water boiling for coffee and tends to the cooking fire. We take a minute to give our thanks to the Lord or ”the sky Father” as Hui calls Him, and eat some bread and drink a cup of Hui’s tea to break our fast. Then I begin with biscuits, fried potatoes, and pounds of broiled steak and liver. It seems like mountains of food until the miners plunk down their money, sit at our rough board tables, and gulp it down in minutes.
When the men have gone off to their duties, we start on dinner. I prepare six to eight loaves of bread, pies if there are berries to fill them, and whatever kind of meat there is to boil. This week I cooked a pot of chili seasoned with bear meat I bought from a trapper passing through. Abuela would never believe her chili recipe would be feeding a score of rough and tumble miners. Though the pot was enormous, they ate every morsel and even sopped their bread in the vessel to soak up every last drop.
The men seem to like their chili hot, spiced with jalapeños and onion the way Abuela would have prepared it herself. After spending the day knee deep in icy water, I imagine they welcome anything that will bring them warmth. Never have I received so much joy from cooking for people. The Orsons enjoyed their meals but not with the relish and zeal of someone half starved. It is true there is no better seasoning than hunger.
If the weather permits and he can find them, Hui and I enjoy some seasoned abalone. Ah, it is pure joy to eat the soft strips, bathed in garlic and butter. There are not many, as they grow so very slowly, so we keep this small treat for ourselves. The shells we use to hold our money, strapping two together and hiding them in the hollow space under the floor. Hui laughs, telling me our lowly abalone now hold pearls of great price like their fancy oyster cousins. I smile to think of it as I read to Hui from Matthew 13:45–46.
“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man seeking goodly pearls. Who, when he found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it.”
Our strange treasure abalones will soon be enough to start a little restaurant. I have been looking at a stove in town, and it will not be long before I can buy it outright. Then we shall have a proper kitchen for cooking, and I will know that Hui’s future will be more secure. We are truly blessed, praise be to God and the Son. My only sadness comes when I look out on the great wide ocean and think of the Orsons. How I wish I could change the terrible moment when Señor and Señora Orson were sent to the bottom with no help from their__________.
Ruth peered more closely at the paper. The words had been blacked out with ink. Were they like that all the time? She couldn’t remember. She pulled the paper close until her nose almost touched the paper. What did it say? And more importantly, why would Sandra and Ethan want to conceal it?
Chapter Sixteen
The sound of clanking tools and muttered complaints woke her from her nap that afternoon. She wrapped up in a sweater against the sudden chill and found Monk, crouched next to a pile of parts that was supposed to somehow morph into a baby swing.
He looked up and gave her an aggravated smile. “We should have paid extra and had this thing put together for us. I’m a cook, not a mechanic.”
She patted him, ignoring the swell of nausea in her stomach. “You’ve got a few more months, honey.” The thought sent her into quivers of fear. In a few months she would be the proud parent of two babies. Two. Babies. At her age. The cacophony of fear and doubt started again in her head.
“Lord,” she whispered, “help me. Help me to want this.”
The phone rang, and she settled onto the sofa to try and relax. Monk’s voice grew tense as he talked. Something was wrong. It was written all over his worried face. When he hung up, he came to sit down next to her.
“That was my brother Dave. It’s Dad again.”
Ruth reached for his hand. “Tell me what happened.”
“He was behaving like a stubborn fool and went and climbed a ladder. Fell off and dislocated his shoulder.” Monk rubbed a hand over his face. “They’ve got to get the first apple crop in this weekend, and my brother can’t do it all by himself.”
She didn’t have to think twice. “Go. Go help your father.”
Monk ignored her. “Dave tried to hire on some guys but everyone is hustling their crops in and he can’t find any help.”
Ruth gently turned his chin to face her. “Go help your brother, Monk. I’ll be fine.”
He frowned. “No. I can’t. Wait a minute. Maybe I can. Why don’t you come with me? I’ll close up shop and we’ll go for a while. It’ll be a mini vacation.”
Ruth smiled. “Honey, I love you, but I’m not up for a trip to Kansas right now. It’s bad enough throwing up every few hours, but doing it on a plane is just too much for me. Besides, I need to make sure Carson finishes that nursery or we’re going to have to put the babies in the kitchen sink.”
His face clouded over. “Then I’m not going. I can’t leave you, not with some nutcase on the loose. You could have been killed by that crazy driver.”
“Tell you what. How about I ask Bobby to stay with me until Bryce gets back? I can go to the shop with her in the daytime and help, and she’ll be here at night to stay with me.”
Monk looked anguished. “Ruth—”
“I know. You love me and I love you, too. I will be safe, and if I feel the
least bit nervous, I will go to stay with Mrs. Hodges and Alva can stand in for bodyguard or I can sleep at the police station under Nate’s desk. How’s that?”
He looked unconvinced as she struggled to her feet. “Where are you going?”
“To make sure you’ve got enough clean clothes to pack.”
True to her word, after Monk booked a last-minute flight and rushed to the airport, Ruth spent the late afternoon at the shop with Bobby. They chatted while they set things to rights for the next day. The air was heavy with the promise of the approaching storm as they headed home. Ruth filled Bobby in on the cryptic Indigo Orson passages.
Ruth let them into the house, and Bobby set to work making grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.
“That’s an incredible story. I’ve heard only bits and pieces from Ethan about it.”
Ruth shot her a look. “Is he a close friend of yours?”
She laughed. “You sound like Jack. No, not a close friend. We dive together sometimes. Mind if I have a look at that script?”
“Not at all. Sandra is supposed to be picking it up soon, so you’d better look while you have the chance.”
Bobby went over the pages while Ruth showered. Clean and wrapped in a warm robe, she found Bobby still peering closely at the inked out words.
“I wish we could make them out.” She held the paper close to the lamp.
Seeing Bobby silhouetted in lamplight sparked a thought in Ruth’s brain. “I’ve got an idea.” She took the paper and held it to the light, peering at it from the underside. Her pulse quickened. “The copied words are slightly lighter than the ink that was used to cover them up. From this angle I can make out a few of the letters. There’s a W and later a—what is that?”
Bobby knelt on the floor. “It’s two words, I think. The first three letters are Whi and the second begins with a Q.”
They sat back and pondered. Bobby chewed her fingernail thoughtfully. “The first word has to be while or white or something like that. What about the second?”
“The Q has to be followed by a U to make sense in English, so what could that be? Quite? Quack? Queer? Quince?”
“Queens,” Bobby said with a snap of her fingers. “I think it’s queens.”
Ruth nodded. “White Queens.”
They both smiled. “So Señor Orson’s precious cargo was a bunch of white queens?” Bobby giggled. “Sounds like something from Alice in Wonderland.”
“Yes.” Ruth sighed. “Just another mystery to solve.”
She was just booting up the computer in the bedroom to do some cyber sleuthing when there was a knock at the door. It was a breathless Alva, wet from the rain. He clutched a hand to his heart. “Evening, ladies. I come to tell ya Paul’s been hurt.”
Ruth’s heart dropped. “What? How? Is it bad?”
“Don’t know. Louella said he done fall down the stairs. Jack’s on his way back from Half Moon Bay, but his car’s given out so Nate went to get ’im.” Alva sucked in another deep breath. “Louella told me to go get Bobby.”
Bobby was already pulling on a jacket. “Where’s Paul?”
“At the hospital.”
Bobby looked at Ruth. “Uncle Monk wouldn’t want you to be here alone. Come with me.”
“Never mind that. I’ll stay with her.” Alva hitched up his pants. “Don’t you worry none. I’m on the case.” He marched into the house and immediately checked all the kitchen windows to be sure they were locked before he opened the cupboards mumbling something about candy.
Bobby hugged Ruth. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Take care of Paul and call me as soon as you know anything.”
She nodded and headed into the rainy night.
Alva made himself at home on the couch. Ruth fixed him some hot cocoa with extra marshmallows and turned on the TV to an old Howdy Doody show. Alva sipped happily.
Ruth’s stomach was in knots thinking about Paul. She prowled the house for a while, straightening pillows and rinsing a cup left in the sink. “Come on, Ruth,” she muttered to herself. “It could be awhile before Bobby can call you.”
She returned to the computer and typed in white queens. Nothing helpful emerged on the screen. She thumbed through the journal pages to find any tidbit that might help refine her search. Before the computer finished cogitating, there was another knock at the door.
Alva stared into the peephole. “Whatcha want? Do ya know the password?”
“No,” Sandra’s voice was muffled by the door.
Alva scrunched up his face. “Coming to think of it,” he muttered, “I durnt know it either.”
“It’s okay, Alva. Sandra is here for her journal.”
He returned to his show, and Ruth opened the door and invited Sandra in.
“No thanks, Mrs. Budge. I’m here for the binder; then I’ve got to go.”
Ruth handed it over. “I wondered about something. What are the White Queens?”
Sandra dropped the binder and it snapped open, sending papers all over the floor. With much effort, Ruth helped her pick them up. She repeated her question.
Sandra shoveled up the pages in a sloppy pile. “White queens? I don’t know. Never heard of them.”
“Really? I thought they had something to do with Señor Orson.”
Sandra gathered up an armful of untidy papers. “Señor Orson? Um, no, not that I know of. I’ve really got to go. Thanks so much.” She darted down the walkway, leaving Ruth to slowly close the door.
“Jumpy little chicken,” Alva called from the couch. “She could use a nap or something.”
Ruth retrieved several sheets of the journal that had slipped under the kitchen table. After refilling Alva’s cocoa cup and making sure the phone was in reach, she padded back to the computer. There was still nothing on the screen that shed any light on the mystery. She thumbed through the papers in her lap, looking for some unusual tidbit. One passage jumped out at her.
The traveler gave them dried tortoise, too. Most had never seen a tortoise, alive or dead, but that did not stop them from eating every speck of it.
It reminded me of the strange animals Señor Orson told of when he returned from Australia before our disastrous voyage on the Triton. If there were kangaroos in California, they would be hopping for their lives to escape the stew pot.
She added Australia to her search terms. The answer materialized in front of her eyes in a moment. The title of the article was “Australia’s White Queens: Lost Treasure.”
Australia’s most precious treasures really are down under. The rare Pinctada maxima, or South Sea oyster pearl, must be dived for in a select number of deep ocean habitats, many of them off the coast of Australia. The work is extremely difficult and dangerous yet the rewards are enticing.
Ruth sat up straighter and read on.
The most legendary set of South Sea pearls was dubbed the White Queens for their enormous size and glorious sheen, believed to weigh in at a whopping four hundred seventy carats each. Owned by merchant Wesley Marble, they were reportedly purchased by an unknown traveler in 1851 for an exorbitant sum and were never heard of again. Today’s valuation would put the White Queens’ worth at close to five million dollars.
Ruth knocked over her teacup with a clank.
Alva sat up, his eyes wild. “Whatsa matter? Is it an invasion?”
She fetched some paper towels to mop up the spill. “No, Alva. I was just doing some research. It’s okay.”
Grumbling, he settled back on the sofa.
The phone rang, startling her again.
“It’s me, Aunt Ruth.”
She could hear the worry in Bobby’s voice. “What is it? How is Paul?”
“They’re taking him in for a CAT scan now to check for head injuries. He has a broken wrist. Jack hasn’t made it here yet. I’m sorry, but it looks like I’m going to be staying for a while.”
“Of course. Don’t you worry about anything here. Alva is keeping me company.” She pictured little Paul, scared and
in pain, and her eyes filled with tears. Unconsciously, she pressed a hand to her abdomen. “Bobby, I’m going to pray for you all.”
“Thank you. I’m praying here, too.” There was a tremor in Bobby’s voice as she said good night.
Ruth turned to give Alva the news, but he was snoring soundly. She covered him with a warm blanket and headed for the bedroom. Her thoughts were spinning in all directions. Worry about Paul warred with the strange information that had come to light from her research.
Señor Orson’s treasure was a set of priceless pearls, the White Queens. She was sure of it just as she was equally sure Ethan and Sandra were trying to recover them. The note she’d found inside the binder proved it. P. max, 468c and 470c referred to the species name and carat weight. It could be nothing else.
She snuggled under the down comforter, all the while mulling it over. Reggie must have known what Ethan and Sandra were there for. Had he gotten too close to the treasure and they killed him? Or was there another party interested in the fantastic horde?
Monk called as she settled into bed. She told him about Paul.
“Oh sakes. Is the little guy going to be all right?”
“We’ll know soon,” Ruth said, hoping Monk wouldn’t ask to speak to Bobby. There was no point in worrying Monk by telling him Alva was currently serving as her bodyguard.
Monk sounded exhausted. “I got in okay. We didn’t get much done before sundown, but we’ll hit it hard tomorrow morning. We’re going to have the crop in by week’s end.”
“Take care of yourself, honey. I don’t want you to hurt anything.”
He laughed. “I should be saying that to you. Give yourself a hug for me and pat our little bundles, okay? I love you.”
“I love you, too, Monk.” She hung up and whispered a prayer for her soul mate in Kansas and the little boy in Finny’s only hospital. In spite of her anxiety, the sound of the rain soothed her until her eyelids grew heavy, so heavy that her brain did not register the flash of headlights, quickly extinguished as a car pulled into the shadows outside.
