by Eric Murphy
“Oh my goodness, Harley, you’re even prettier than I remember. No wonder Yeats has been daydreaming since we got your emails saying you were coming to Bermuda.”
“Yes,” said Harley, winded from the strong embrace. “I’m sorry we didn’t call you sooner, but we had a few bumps along the way. Oh, hey, this is Aubrey Dill.”
“Oh, we know Aubrey. Hello Aubrey,” she said, shaking his hand. “It’s been a long while.”
“Yes, it has,” answered Aubrey with a voice so soft it was almost inaudible.
“Although we don’t see him up here as much as we’d like, Aubrey is a long-time supporter of Windy Farm,” she added, flicking a thumb to a plaque on the wall where Will read, “This paddock has been generously provided by Dill Enterprises.”
Dr. Doan took a step toward Aubrey and lowered her voice to say, “I was sorry to hear about your son. It must have been a terrible shock — I mean, the circumstances and all.”
Aubrey nodded. “It was all of that. All of that.”
“I see you came dressed for the beach,” said Dr. Doan with a smile, eyeing Harley and Will’s bathing suits under the hoodies.
“That’s a long story. Oh, and this is my cousin, Will McCoy,” said Harley, pulling Will forward.
“Hello Dr. Doan,” said Will.
Will put his hand out and was surprised at her powerful grip. She held his hand and stared at the stitches on his forearm because he’d rolled his sleeves back. It was too hot for a hoodie but they had nothing but that and their bathing suits.
“You get those stitches here?” asked Dr. Doan.
“Uh, yes, yes I did —”
“What hospital stitched you up with …” she studied the stitches more closely, “I’m guessing that’s dental floss?”
“Uh, yes it is, Marianne. But it wasn’t done at a hospital,” Harley explained. “It was Aubrey who stitched Will up after he cut himself while we were trying to make our way to shore. It’s a long —”
Dr. Doan’s cellphone rang in her pocket. It cracked Will up because it was the sound of a horse whinnying.
“Sorry, have to take …” said Dr. Doan, moving off a little before answering the phone. “Yeats is over there giving an archery lesson Harley. Why don’t you go say hi?”
Harley waved Will to come with her and she skipped along the patio stones that ringed the horse stables all the way to a clearing. On the closest end was a group of about ten archers with four instructors who wore pale blue T-shirts that had Windy Farm written on their backs with the image of a horse staring out. About twenty yards into the clearing stood ten straw-backed targets, each resting on a solid tripod made of two-by-fours. Behind the targets was a forested section that seemed to go on for quite a bit.
As they approached, the students laid the notched end of their arrows on the string and when ordered, drew it back and let fly. Only the two instructors on either end actually hit with accuracy. The guy with the blond ponytail at the far right hit the red bull’s-eye effortlessly. But judging by the euphoric clamor from the students, you’d think they had all hit the bull’s-eye.
The participants put down their bows on the big table in front of them and the ponytailed instructor called out, “Clear.” The participants walked single-file around the tables, to the targets and withdrew their arrows before returning to their respective shooting positions to repeat the process.
On the ride over, Harley had explained to Will that Yeats’s father was a university professor in Maine, while his mother worked here at the therapeutic farm. Dr. Doan was a psychiatrist whose father, also a psychiatrist, had founded Windy Farm after a particularly violent hurricane had devastated the island and shaken many emotionally vulnerable residents who had no place to steady themselves. These were young people who already had physical or emotional challenges that had been made worse by the storm’s battering. He’d built them a haven.
“Hi Yeats,” said Harley, raising her voice to be heard over the archers’ jubilations.
The blond ponytail swung around. The young man with a high forehead and a dazzling smile was the falconer pictured in the mural they had passed on the way in. He rushed over, scooped Harley in his arms, and twirled her around so fast she pulled her knees up and laughed. The way Harley buried her face in his neck made it clear to Will that Yeats was more than just a friend. The applause and cheers from the group of archers made that doubly clear.
Will’s cheeks were hot and his stomach knotted. Who was this Yeats? Why was Harley so friendly with him? This wasn’t just a school friend. Feeling lied to and angry, Will realized he was clenching his teeth as if reacting to a threat of some kind.
A whistle’s strident calls made them all look to the parking lot where a small bus had just pulled in.
“Changing of the guard,” explained Yeats.
One of the other counselors got the archers to put their quivers, bows, wrist guards, and finger guards down on the tables in front of them. They made their way to the bus as it was unloading the new “participants,” as Yeats called them. Two of the participants gave Yeats a hug, but it wasn’t the kind of hug he had shared with Harley. At the same time, cars were pulling in and disgorging a throng of blue-T-shirted volunteers who greeted the new participants by name with handshakes, fist bumps, and high fives.
Dr. Doan made a broad wave from across the way for Harley and Will to come to where she had rejoined Aubrey.
“I have a problem,” she said, waving her cell. “Three of my volunteers, three sisters, called to tell me their car broke down. I need a lead and two side-walkers. Can I press you three into service for the therapeutic ride?”
“Oh, well, sure,” began Harley, looking to both Will and Aubrey to be sure they were of the same opinion. Still rocked by the show of emotion between Harley and Yeats, Will remained sullen.
“Great. Aubrey, you take the lead; Harley and Will, you’re my side-walkers. Yeats, please get them some boots from the stable and some shorts and T-shirts from the volunteer lockers.”
Within moments, they were standing on the far side of the covered paddock, Will and Harley now in uniform blue T-shirts and shorts. Aubrey just pulled on a T-shirt.
The regular volunteers had moved their mounted participants in a cluster waiting to move out. A boy standing away from the group was fitted with a riding helmet and helped to step from the loading ramp onto the back of a cream-colored pony with a thick, Mohawk-like mane.
Dr. Doan adjusted the strap under the boy’s chin and said, “Jason, your usual guides aren’t here today, but Harley, Will, and Aubrey here are going to make sure you get to ride, just like you do every Tuesday, okay?”
Jason, a frightened-looking boy of about eight, didn’t appear to Will like he thought anything was okay. The boy swiveled in the saddle, desperate to find somebody he knew and trusted, then let out a high-pitched wail. The other riders started to fidget and their caregivers tried to calm them down with soothing voices.
“Can one of you sing?” asked Dr. Doan. “One of the sisters always sings to him before they go out. Calms him right down.” When Will, Harley, and Aubrey looked from one to the other to the other, Dr. Doan was quick to add, “Doesn’t have to be beautiful, just as long as it’s a song. Any song.”
Without a word of warning, Aubrey started to sing “Amazing Grace.”
Everyone, Jason included, froze and listened to the powerful voice that held them in place. Harley’s mouth was open in disbelief.
Aubrey’s voice resonated through his chest, through his feet, across the concrete pad and up through everyone’s legs. Jason’s pony nodded his head, echoing everyone’s thought: Yes, more please.
Aubrey sang, “I once was lost, but now am found, was blind but now can see,” and the eeee of the last word went right through Will and made the stitches in his forearm tingle.
Without waiting for the spell to be broken, Aubrey made a clicking sound with his tongue like a man used to working with horses. He didn’t tug on the reins. Their po
ny was only too willing to follow this man with the golden voice. The more he knew this man Aubrey, the less Will understood him.
Will saw that the adult counselors were riveted by Aubrey. They moved their mounts toward Yeats, who suddenly realized his job was to lead and not to gawk, thought Will with a little smirk. Yeats spun on his heels, opened the gate, and led the caravan of riders.
After about an hour’s walk on well-trodden paths through the adjacent woods, they came back to their starting point where the children dismounted, Jason last. He strode down the ramp and ducked under the railing till he came up to Aubrey. Without saying a word, Jason took his hand and allowed the older man to walk him silently to the waiting bus.
Dr. Doan sidled up to Aubrey, leaned in, and spoke to him in a voice so quiet only he could hear. Other than a slight head tilt in Dr. Doan’s direction, nothing indicated he was even listening because he watched the bus make a wide arc through the parking lot and turn at Yeats’s mural as it entered the lane that ran along the length of the property.
Only when it had curved onto the road did Aubrey turn to Dr. Doan, purse his lips, and give her a slight nod in agreement to whatever she had proposed.
A bell clanged from the two-story building that flanked both the open-air paddock and the archery range. The volunteer counselors broke into animated conversation as they moved to the lower floor.
“Lunch,” was all Yeats offered as explanation as he waved for Harley and Will to follow the mass of hungry people.
Aubrey excused himself, saying he had things to do. Will and Harley stared at him. “I’ll be okay. We’ll talk later,” he said with a soft smile before driving off.
After lunch, some of the volunteers headed home, while others went to the stable to help clean the stalls.
Dr. Doan held Will and Harley back to explain what was going on. She was a little surprised to see that they’d arrived with no luggage. Harley gave her a brief account of how they thought they were just delivering a customer’s boat, how they’d found some gear that turned out to be wreck-excavating equipment illegally smuggled into Bermuda. And, of course, that they had been forced at gunpoint to dive for an unknown wreck they weren’t sure they could find again and without a clear idea of what they had been looking for.
There was a long pause while Dr. Doan, her elbows splayed, rested her chin on her clasped hands. She excused herself to make a call on her cell. She walked a few feet away where she got into an animated conversation with someone before she came back.
“Well,” began Dr. Doan, “that was, uh … well, we’ll call him a friend at customs who says there is no record of a Mr. Bennett coming and signing for any boat. Now, if you want to involve the police, and I can understand why you would want to do that, to find these, these criminals, well then, you’re likely going to have to have one of your parents fly down here. Will is a minor and though you had a letter from his mother letting you be his temporary guardian, it disappeared along with the boat.”
Harley was about to say something when Dr. Doan put her hand up to stop her. “I’m not calling into question your judgment or your conviction and courage, Harley. What I am saying is that you’re seventeen years old. You have a letter you can’t produce from your parents allowing you to embark on what should have been a fun trip, not a kidnapping. That’s a very serious charge. If you report these facts to the police, I’m fairly certain they will insist that at least one adult member of your family show up and maybe even one adult for each of you. Remember, Harley, you signed the customs declaration. The authorities are likely going to be quite attentive to that point.”
Harley shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. We had no idea —”
“Be that as it may, that’s likely how it’s going to unfold, according to my … source,” she said, nodding to her cellphone lying on the table.
Will shook his head. “We can’t call either my mother or my grandparents because they would want to fly down here and help us. They’re just finally getting together to talk things through after my father’s death. We can’t interrupt that. I won’t interrupt that,” said Will, folding his arms to show his determination. He turned to Harley for support.
“Uh, well yeah, I mean, no. That would mean Uncle Emmett. If he has to come, he’ll have to close the sail shop. They’re just getting the loft back on its feet after a few years of shaky financial, well, problems. So no, we can’t call home.”
Will nodded as if that made it final. He stole a glance at Yeats who seemed riveted by every word Harley said. That was starting to really annoy Will, who blurted to Harley as if their predicament was her fault, “So what do we do?”
She blinked at his forceful manner, then, in a calm, measured tone said, “Well, I guess we’re just going to have to figure out what the heck is going on. We need to find where Wavelength has been taken, prove Bennett does exist, and show that we were forced to dive for that wooden box. Once we have proof, then, and only then, will we contact the authorities.”
“Okay,” began Dr. Doan, “I’d suggest you two bike around the island’s various marinas to look for Wavelength. Won’t be all that easy to hide a large motorsailer. I’d suggest you start with —”
“Hamilton!” blurted Will, remembering where he’d seen Drury last night.
They all stared at Will.
“It’s the capital, right?” he said. “Well, it’s realistic to think that if it’s a treasure we’re looking for, they’d want to deal with an established person on the island, right? I mean, who knows who Bennett is, or if he in fact exists. But that guy Drury, he’s local and the man they were reporting to, well, isn’t he likely to be local too?”
Dr. Doan nodded. “Yes, he might well be local but he could be from anywhere on the island or even be an ex-pat living here. That said, why not start from Hamilton and bike around the various marinas?” She flicked her thumb toward the second floor. “We get a throng of university students, mostly studying psychology and sociology, who come to take over in the summer and give our regular volunteers a break. They won’t be here for at least ten days. So, Yeats will set you up in the upstairs dorm. You can get them some clothes from the lost and found — don’t worry, they’re all washed. And when you’re in Hamilton, you can shop for things like underwear, toothbrushes and toiletries, okay? Take two bicycles with locks and helmets and it’s off to Hamilton with you. Good luck in finding Wavelength.”
Her look as she left the table said they were going to need it.
Chapter Nine
The Archives
Archive: A place that holds historical documents related to a person, community, organization or nation.
The little cafeteria at Windy Farm had served up a big lunch. From a deep bowl, Harley had grabbed a couple of bananas and some oranges for their trip into town.
Their rooms were, in Harley’s words, “Wonderfully spartan” — which Will took to mean simple and clean — and they were: each had a single bed, a bedside table and reading lamp and a small closet where Will had nothing to store away. Down the hall they found men’s and women’s washrooms with showers and laundry facilities.
On a hip-high wooden table between the men’s and women’s showers sat a spacious, white, thin-wired cage containing a large red and white parrot who rocked from foot to foot on his perch. A child had painted the name Humbert on a sign leaning on the cage.
Will stopped to watch the parrot crack a sunflower seed in his beak before rolling its black tongue between the shell halves to withdraw the seed.
“Hi. Is your name Humbert?” asked Will.
“You betcha,” answered the parrot, leaning in to retrieve another seed.
“Do you belong to a one-legged pirate called Long John Silver?”
Humbert’s second “You betcha” cracked Will up, especially as Humbert spoke in a human-sounding voice.
Harley called from down the hall to suggest they make their beds now in case they were too tired to do it upon their return. The lost and found bi
n, full from last year’s group, had yielded a couple of backpacks and various shirts, shorts, pants and even new running shoes that were their sizes. They had the money from their wallets that Harley had had the presence of mind to take before they had fled Wavelength.
The bicycles available for student volunteers looked new-ish, but had rust dots here and there due to the salty air. Yeats took two from the bike rack and adjusted the seats. Will bristled when he saw him put his right hand on Harley’s shoulder, his left hand lingering on Harley’s on the handlebars.
Without saying thank you, Will pedaled away as fast as he could. He heard Harley laugh and call to him to slow down and wait for her but he just kept pounding the pedals down the lane and onto the road. A car honked at him because, in anger, he’d made the mistake of riding on the wrong side of the road.
He made the roundabout twenty minutes later. Perspiration yoked a dark pattern on his blue Windy Farm T-shirt. Johnny Barnes wasn’t there to make him smile this time. He took a pull from his bottle of water and realized it was almost empty after the long, hot ride.
There was a small horseshoe-shaped marina opposite Johnny Barnes’s statue but none of the boats were as big as Wavelength. Riding on the left of the road made it easier to scan Hamilton Harbour to his left, but, with so many boats in Bermuda, finding the one they were looking for was going to be the proverbial needle in a haystack.
He passed the dock with the enormous tourist boat he’d seen last night while chasing Drury. He continued down Front Street, past a policeman in his white uniform. The officer was on a stand that looked like a large birdcage and was having his picture taken with tourists as Will whipped up Queen Street and locked his bike. He swapped his helmet for a blue Windy Farm baseball cap and leaned against the wall at Brown and Co., where they were going to shop.
Harley arrived moments later, swung off the seat, and rode the pedal to a stop opposite him. She locked her bike to the same pole Will had used.
“Hey, what’s the rush?” she asked, knuckling perspiration from her eye.
