Voyage of the Dreadnaught: Four Stella Madison Capers

by Lilly Maytree

  “He's talked to you about it before?”

  “Oh, we've had any number of talks about it. I advised it would be better to say a quick prayer and tell them to buzz off.”

  “You know, that's just what he did last night when I ran into him in the companionway. He called me a—a foul spirit—and told me to get away. Thought I was another one of his apparitions. That's what he calls them. Apparitions.”

  “I'd say that wasn't far wrong.” Then he laughed trying to imagine the scene. “Just goes to show you never know when someone is really listening to you.”

  “Oliver?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “I've been seeing some sort of...” She smoothed a wrinkle out of the rose-colored throw she had over her lap. “Apparition, myself. A very distinct one, in fact.”

  “Well, the next time you do, say a prayer, and tell it to buzz off. Better yet—wake me up, Stel—and we'll face the thing down together!”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. 'If one can put a thousand to flight, two can put ten-thousand to flight,' as the scripture says.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes. You can always bank on the scriptures. They're truth in its purest form.”

  “Well, Oliver, I...” Stella looked at the man she had married barely a month ago, and suddenly felt as if she had found a rare treasure. And he wasn't even irritated with her! Now, the thought that he cared enough to walk with her even through the dark places gave her the most wonderful sense of well-being she had ever known. “Oliver Henry?” She slid closer and nestled into that comfortable, always ready, embrace that she loved so much. “I think you're the most amazing man I've ever known!”

  “Believe me, I could say the same thing about you, dearest.”

  “Me? I don't think I've done much of anything amazing in my entire life.”

  “Oh, I don't know. I'll never forget the way you looked catching old Gerry before he fell on the floor. You're always the first to jump right in whenever something goes wrong. Remember when you wanted me to sign that petition to save good literature?”

  “I remember I interrupted you when you were working on your hero book. But I didn't know that back then.”

  “Ah, I needed a good interruption right about then. I was getting too stuffy. You know, it takes an amazing woman to bring out the best in a man, and that's what you've done for me.” Then he gave her an affectionate squeeze. “What a match we are, Stella Madison Henry—I have a feeling we're going to make a great team!”

  ***

  Author's Note

  Every once in a while, someone comes along who can see the world through eyes of great understanding. If that person is also a good communicator, they can help many people during their lives. But if that person also happens to be an artist, the world may keep their treasures throughout generations. Art—whether music, painting, literature, or drama—touches the heart faster than anything else. Especially if it's beautiful. And most especially if it mirrors some universal feeling that resides within the heart of all humanity.

  Such was the case with Alfred Tennyson, who is one of the nine most quoted writers in the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations. A poet who ultimately became appointed by royal decree as the Poet Laureate of England and Ireland, he possessed the rare talent of not only being able express the deeper feelings of human experience, but to express them in a way people did not want to ever forget.

  As the son of a pastor, raised in a moral home, he was blessed with a wonderful sensitivity and compassion for others. Being able to write about these feelings so beautifully became a mirror of common emotion that resonated throughout the world, even during his own lifetime. A good example is the quote at the beginning of this story, which states in so few words, one of the deepest perplexities of life that we all eventually grapple with.

  While it is human nature to seek after truth, it is also one of our strongest impulses to try and separate ourselves from things that are false. So, anything that helps enlighten which-is-which for us, is a real gem. Such wisdom, distilled down to its purest thoughts can be a great comfort during times of deepest stress, or sorrow.

  In seeking out an appropriate quote for the subject of The Pushover Plot, I discovered that Alfred Tennyson was the author of many other wonderful quotes I had written into my notebooks over the years. So, the research for this little bit of truth I like to tack onto the end of each story, was more like a surprise visit from an old friend.

  Maybe you will find that true, as well.

  You can read more of Alfred Tennyson's work, for free, at:

  http://www.gutenberg.org/files/8601/8601-h/8601-h.htm

  as well as many more places on the web, and in printed books throughout the world.

  LOST IN THE WILDERNESS

  Stella Madison Caper

  #5

  To those who might suddenly find themselves wandering through wilderness places—may you be refreshed more than terrified.

  “I have never been lost, but I will admit to being

  confused for several weeks.”

  Daniel Boone

  1

  Stella Madison opened the door to the after-deck, and a blast of cold wind hit her face. Why did Millie want to meet out here? The galley of the Dreadnaught was so much more comfortable and cozy. Of course there was always someone else passing through it.

  “I brought us some tea, Millie.” She set the tray down on a small table between two deck lounges.

  “Oh, thanks, Stel.” Her former landlady set her knitting aside and tightened the black-and-white checkered scarf under her chin that she had wrapped around her auburn hair.”Something hot would be good about now.”

  “It's awfully cold out here.” Stella pulled her periwinkle blue knit cap down lower over her fluffy white hair, that was just long enough to tuck under, and zipped her jacket all the way up.

  “We're in Alaska, now. Mason says we have been ever since we crossed that Dixon Entrance, with all those fishing boats we had to dodge in and out of. Said if we didn't have to go all the way to Ketchikan to get back through customs, again, we could be almost to the lodge by now. Mmm... Orange Spice. My favorite.”

  “Mine's the Moroccan Mint. Except Orange Spice just seemed warmer this morning.” She sat down in the other lounge and unfolded a green wool blanket over her lap.”Captain Stuart sure brought home a lot of souvenirs from his Navy days. Every lounge chair on this boat has one of these. Thank goodness.”

  “They're Army-issue. I think half the things aboard he got from one of those old Army surplus places back home.”

  “Well, looks aren't everything. They're nice and warm, anyway. Imagine being almost to the lodge, Millie. I can hardly wait to see it.”

  “Me, either. It will definitely be a load off my mind to get on solid ground, again.”

  “I thought you liked living on the boat.”

  “I do. It's got all kinds of ambiance. And that galley is heaven to cook in. It's the ocean I'm scared stiff of. Don't think I ever will get used to it.” She set her cup down and picked up her knitting, again.

  Stella was about to take another sip of her tea when she realized her friend's project was a sock with such an enormous tube it would go way past a person's knee, already. “Millie, who on earth is that for?”

  “This? Oh, it isn't for anybody. I just knit to settle my nerves. The only thing I ever learned to do was socks. Way back when I was ten. Took me half the trip even to remember how to do it because it's been that long since I practiced.” As if to prove the point, she began to unravel it, again.

  Stella gasped at seeing the thing disappear into a heap of wrinkly gray yarn right before her eyes. “But all that work—wouldn't you rather have something to show for it? Give them away for Christmas, maybe.”

  “They're not good enough for that. They always turn out crooked, or something. But a person has to resort to some form of therapy when they're scared half out of their mind most of the time. Wouldn't you say?”
>
  “I guess it depends on what you're scared of. The colonel says if it's something evil, you just tell it to buzz off, because you don't want anything to do with the dark side of supernatural. But if it's something legitimate, like the ocean, I don't blame you. I was scared stiff, myself during that storm we had. And I don't like it when it gets rough and choppy, either. But it must at least make you feel better that we're almost there.”

  “The truth is, Stel, I'm even more scared about getting there. Because of the bears. Mason says just make a lot of noise and stay in groups. On account of they don't want anything to do with us, either.”

  “Well, that sounds reasonable, don't you think?”

  “Not as reasonable as having a loaded gun on my belt.”

  Stella wasn't sure if she would be more afraid of Millie walking around with a loaded gun than a bear, but she didn't mention it.

  “Bears you can shoot. But the ocean...” She got to the end of unraveling her sock and started casting on new stitches, again. “The ocean is so unpredictable and... big. I really don't know how Stuart even finds his way around in it. Especially without radar.”

  “We don't have radar?”

  “Too expensive, and he never had the funds.”

  “For heaven sake, I didn't know that.” She felt a twinge of apprehension at the very thought. “He's so confident about everything, I just assumed.”

  “Used to be confident. Which is really why I asked you to come out here, Stel.” Millie stopped working, and looked her right in the eye. “Something is wrong with Stuart. He hasn't been himself, the last couple of weeks.”

  “Well, he does have a lot more to worry about than the rest of us. The Dreadful being his boat, and all.”

  “It's the Dreadnaught, not the Dreadful. Sometimes I think you enjoy calling it that.”

  “I do. It's such a monstrosity of a thing. Although I have to admit it has its charm. I'll probably be won over by the time we finally get there.” She took another sip of her tea, and noticed Millie had dropped two stitches by the time she went back to her knitting. “But Captain Stuart has such peculiar ways, I don't see how you can tell if he's his normal self, or not. He's one of the most abnormal people I've ever known.”

  “I can tell, all right. He only ate half his linguine and clams, the other night, and that's one of his favorite meals. He never used to miss when I made it back home.”

  “Maybe he's just not used to all our home-cooked meals. Didn't Mason say he lived mostly off boiled eggs, crackers, and sardines?”

  “That and junk food. Which is why I decided to make hamburgers and fries for our celebration, tonight. That's his other favorite. The rest of of us won't mind as long as we barbecue, and fill things out with your New England baked beans, and Lou's fruit salad. If he doesn't eat any of that, we'll know something's definitely wrong. You think?”

  “I'm thinking what would we do if anything happened to Captain Stuart. Maybe the rest of us should try to carry more of the load for a while. Could be he's coming down with something and just needs a rest.”

  “Could be. But I'm going to keep my eye on him during our Alaska celebration. Then slip him a good physic if I think he isn't quite right.”

  “Why, Millie—that's an awful thing to do to somebody. You should ask, first.”

  “He wouldn't take it at all, if I asked. Better just to slip it into his tea.”

  2

  The celebration started somewhat early that night, because the fog rolled in so thick they were forced to pull over into the nearest cove and anchor. Such places were numerous throughout the islands, and they were pure wilderness. Something that had little effect—other than offering spectacular scenery from every angle—to the small community of friends aboard the Dreadnaught.

  Even fuel stations, which were few and far between the farther north they got, didn't really matter so much. Captain Stuart said they had enough to make the entire trip just on their original fill-up back in California. It was the one thing they wouldn't scrimp on, and the main reason they opted to all sign on for extra “shipboard duties,” rather than go to the added expense of hiring a professional crew. They also had the option of using the sails, which cut down considerably on fuel expenses all by itself.

  Except there hadn't been much opportunity to use those sails. Going north, the wind was almost always “right on their nose,” as the Captain called it, instead of on either side or behind them, where they could actually get some use out of it. Not to mention a sailboat of this size took practically a full gale to get it really moving (having been built more for ocean crossings). Not that they hadn't had to wait out a lot of gale-force weather pocketed away in some deserted place like this one. It's just that the combination of narrow channels, crazy strong currents and tides—as well as those gale-force winds—made for nightmare situations with such a novice crew. No matter how good everyone's intentions were.

  Yes... Captain Stuart most probably had a lot on his mind.

  Stella was thinking about all these things as she took her pot of New England baked beans out of the oven and set it at the back of the stove to keep warm. The men were out under a covered portion of the deck, overseeing the barbecue, and Millie was busy setting the huge table. Which looked especially lovely with the overhead kerosene lamp lit (dark clouds had moved in and it was already starting to rain), and a little blue pot of artificial white daisies the two of them had picked up in some dollar store at their last stop in Canada. Now, with nearly all of the long trip behind them, and their crossing back over into the U.S., earlier this afternoon, it was time to celebrate. They were finally in Alaska!

  Even Millie seemed to have forgotten her dark worries of the morning, and cheerfully tucked one of those white daisies, that had fallen out of its setting, into her bountiful French twist as she hummed the same two lines of the old fifties classic, Blueberry Hill, over and over, again.

  About then, Lou Edna, Cole, and the Senator came in from the forward companionway.

  “Oh, my word!” Stella exclaimed as the little toddler with the big name reached out his arms to her. “If you aren't dressed like a regular little boy—rubber boots and everything!” She took him from Cole, who seemed especially cleaned up, himself, not missing the fact the two were both wearing jeans and the same blue sweatshirts.

  “Cole says he won't know he's a boy unless we dress him like one.” Lou Edna reached for another denim apron that hung just inside the walk-in pantry. “Besides that, he wore holes in the knees of all his bunny suits, already, from crawling around so much.”

  “Wouldn't surprise me if he was walking before the month's out.” Millie took the little boy from Stella, when he reached out to her as soon as she got close enough. “Right, luvy? How about some fruit salad? It'll be awhile before those hamburgers are done, Lou.”

  “I'll just give him a cold hotdog.”

  “A baby can't grow strong living off potato chips and hotdogs. Wouldn't you say so, Stella?”

  “Well, I wouldn't know so much about that,” she replied. “But, as a teacher, I have heard it said that not having enough proteins and enzymes in the diet can lean toward tendencies of ADD. Which leads to behavior problems. Then—nine times out of ten—the authorities have to step in.”

  There was an audible gasp from Lou, as Stella had expected, since the young woman knew exactly what having to live under the supervision of authorities meant. Cole, who hadn't said a word during the entire exchange, reached for an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter, and gave her an appreciative wink before heading out the opposite door to join the men. By that time, Lou had her apron tied and was rummaging through the refrigerator for the fruit salad. Her blonde hair was gathered at the nape of her neck with a beige “scrunchie” that was a perfect match to the angora pull-over sweater, which seemed somewhat the opposite of her usual t-shirt, jeans, and sweatshirt. She even had a set of lovely, teardrop pearl earrings on.

  Then again, it was an evening of celebration, and Stella tho
ught it rather touching that she had even gone so far as to change the baby out of his usual pajama attire. Lou Edna had come a long way since her heartfelt decision to get on the right side of life (and the law) and change her ways. After a couple of weeks, the effects of the relief alone was softening her into a real beauty. The kind that came from inner peace instead of outward application. Come to think of it, considering how she used to get so overly made-up for her bank job, every day, Stella couldn't remember seeing any of that once they all moved aboard the Dreadnaught.

  Having made a mental note to keep an eye on whether or not Captain Stuart ate his dinner, was forgotten about halfway through the meal. It was during the discussion of what everyone's plans for the evening were. Usually, they lingered over coffee and dessert, swapping entertaining stories from varied backgrounds. However, if it was a weekend, or an occasion for celebration such as this one, they might go so far as to play a game of “Rummie,” using shipboard tokens in lieu of cash, that could be traded for chores, favors, or some coveted food item a person might have a hankering for. Another favorite was to listen to some true account read from one of the volumes of hero stories that the colonel had chronicled over his years as a military historian.

  Every bit of which went to the wayside when Lou Edna announced they had something entirely different in mind for this particular evening. If the Captain would agree.

  “I got no complaints about most shipboard entertainments,” he replied, adding more ketchup to a pile of French fries that was larger than his hamburger. “Long as it's legal.”

  “Lou and I were wondering if you'd marry us.” Cole looked directly into the startled glance of the disheveled older man across the table. “You've done that before, haven't you?”