Pathways (9780307822208)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  Christina gave her a broad grin and shook her hand warmly. “I always wondered who would finally get a ring on this guy’s finger.” She turned and playfully punched Trevor’s muscular arm.

  “I was the one that had to work to get a ring on her finger,” he said, smiling down at his new bride.

  “Sounds like there’s a good story behind that one. But I know you’re on your honeymoon, and I don’t want to interrupt. I’m working off the coast of Massachusetts. Maybe I can stop by sometime.”

  “We have an inn in Oak Harbor, Maine. Why don’t you come and spend the night?” Trevor offered.

  “I’m afraid I just have ten days of shore leave, then it’s back to the grind for another month of intensive salvaging.”

  “Well, we’re leaving the Vineyard in five days,” Trevor said. “Why don’t you come see us next Tuesday? I’d love to catch up with you and for you to see our home.”

  “Are you sure? It sounds like a lot of fun.” Trevor and Christina turned to Julia.

  “We’re sure. Please, come.” Julia felt none of the grace her tone displayed.

  “Fantastic! I’ll see you two next week!”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Julia pulled the kitchen curtain aside and shoved the wave of jealousy out of her mind. She was unaccustomed to getting anything but Trevor’s complete attention, and he was definitely not thinking about her now. Instead he was held captive by their newly arrived guest, Christina Alvarez.

  She narrowed her eyes as she looked out at the two and said a quick arrow prayer for an unencumbered heart. She left the kitchen with a pasted-on smile, her chin stubbornly raised, and carried tall glasses of iced tea out to the porch to her husband and his ex-girlfriend.

  “Oh, that looks great,” Christina remarked, spotting the thin frosted glasses topped with sprigs of mint and slices of lemon.

  Julia tried to smile graciously. “It seems to get hotter every year,” she said, making an effort at conversation. “My grandparents always had a huge container of iced tea ready for guests. I thought it would be fun to make it a Torchlight Inn tradition.”

  “Sounds good,” Christina nodded. “You guys have done a remarkable job on the house; I didn’t get a look at it before all the work, but I’ve rarely seen a more inviting home. I tell you, after fourteen days on a houseboat off the coast, it feels good to sit on a porch and talk with friends.”

  “Tell Julia what you’re doing, Christina.”

  Christina looked a little embarrassed at being put on the spot. “I’m heading up a team of nautical archaeologists; we’re diving and recording the Civil War wrecks off the New England coast.”

  “How interesting!” Julia said, warming a little to the stranger. “How many are there?”

  “Fifteen that we know of. We’ve been working all summer with student teams and will probably do so again next summer and the summer after that.”

  “Sounds time consuming. What do you do down there?”

  “We spend a lot of time clearing silt off the wrecks so we can study them. We are very careful not to disturb the ships; they’re like time capsules, and we don’t want to pollute the sites.”

  “How exciting!” Julia’s mind was on her great-great-grandfather Shane Donnovan’s ship and how wonderful it would be to see what remained of it. Shane had been lost at sea in the prime of his life. It’d be interesting to find out what happened to him.

  Christina and Trevor continued talking about her work and what he’d been up to in the five years since they’d gone separate ways. Studying the two, Julia decided that they must have parted amicably.

  That night, while peeling carrots for dinner, Julia looked out the window as their beautiful guest walked from one flowering bush to the next, bending to smell and study each one. Her long, dark brown hair blew lightly in the breeze, and her olive skin shone under the early evening sun.

  “She’s absolutely stunning, Trevor,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Why did you guys break up?”

  Trevor placed his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her head. “She and I were never meant to be more than friends. God had you in mind when he created me.”

  Somewhat mollified, Julia smiled and continued peeling. “So you and I were destined for each other. Still, how’d you ever pull yourself away from her? She’s smart, she’s beautiful, she’s adventurous. What went wrong?”

  “You’re asking a lot of questions. You know, curiosity killed the cat,” he teased.

  “Careful, I’ve got a peeler in my hand. If you prove to be difficult, it could get ugly.”

  “I love a woman who resorts to threats of violence to get the information she wants.” He sighed. “As I said, we were just meant to be friends. When we tried to be anything else, it just didn’t work. I appreciate people who go after their dreams … like you. But she’s consumed with her desire to find her ancestor’s ship. She doesn’t have time for men and won’t until she finds it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “And she’s got a Spanish temper that can wither the most valiant of men. When we became more than friends, she got very uptight.”

  Julia nodded.

  “Are you all right?” Trevor asked, turning her around to face him. “Really, I do think she’s attractive. But to me, you’re more beautiful all around. You’re the woman who will have me, body and soul, for the rest of our lives. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Julia said, raising her lips to meet his.

  That night at dinner the conversation revolved primarily around the topics of shipwrecks and innkeeping. As the evening drew on, Julia found herself liking their adventuresome guest more and more. After chatting briefly with the four other guests and making sure they were settled for the night, Julia and Trevor joined Christina around the kitchen table with bowls of ice cream and talked of her future plans.

  “Where will you go this fall?” Trevor asked.

  “I’ve completed my degree program with my graduate thesis on the Spanish sea traders and the importance of the port of Veracruz—”

  “Ah, the long awaited Ph.D. has finally been attained,” Trevor teased.

  “Yes, at last! As for this autumn … well, I’ve still got those doubloons and family folklore on my heart and mind. I want to know if La Canción—“the song”—existed as anything other than a figment of some ancestor’s imagination.”

  “So you still think it’s true,” Trevor said gently.

  “I do. At least part of it. I’ve been to Seville and spent weeks in the Archives of the Indies.”

  “The Archives?” Julia asked.

  “Yes. El Archivo de las Indias. It’s the best resource that treasure-ship seekers have today. Unfortunately, it’s also in the worst shape. There used to be records kept of every Sevillian ship that came back from the New World loaded with gold. The records themselves are highly detailed, but poorly kept. The basement of the archive building is filled with old documents in stacks five feet high. It’s a disaster, but I rolled up my sleeves and went after them with the help of a friend, Meredith Champlain. She’s an expert in the field of translating Spanish documents dated from the fourteenth century on.”

  “And you found another clue,” Trevor said.

  “I did,” Christina said, her eyes bright. She didn’t say what it was, however.

  “Well if you ever give up on your ancestor’s Song, maybe you could find my great-great-grandfather Shane Donnovan’s final resting place,” Julia said after a long moment. “I don’t know if he carried anything of great value at the time, but he was last seen leaving Rio. They think he was caught in a storm. All hands went down with the ship.”

  “I know of the Donnovan Boatworks,” Christina said.

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I’ve actually been a part of a team that dove a Donnovan wreck site and recorded it.”

  “Not my great-great-grandfather’s last—”

  “No. The location wouldn’t make sense. It was off the coast of California. Shane Donnov
an was into the Gold Rush, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. It’s really what made him a success. Would you like to see his logs?”

  “I’d love it!”

  For the rest of the evening, Christina pored over one old, weathered leather-bound book after another. Trevor and Julia soon gave up on her and went to bed, telling her they’d talk in the morning. Christina barely raised her hand and mumbled a good-night.

  Julia was struck by her uncompromising passion for her work. Trevor shook his head as they walked up the steps, his arm around her waist. “That’s how I knew Christina. Always with her nose in a book. When I’d demand she spend more time with me outside the library, she would start feeling tied down. She needs someone who shares her passion, who understands it.”

  One of their first guests sprang to Julia’s mind. “What about that guy who stayed with us? What was his name …”

  “Who?”

  “He was in Maine for his sister’s funeral. The treasure hunter …”

  Trevor remembered the sad, roguish man who had stayed at Torchlight. “Mitch Crawford?”

  “Yes!”

  “Oh no, I don’t think it would ever—”

  “You never know,” Julia cut in, sliding into bed. “Don’t you say a word when I mention him to her tomorrow.”

  “I don’t like the idea of matchmaking, Julia.”

  “Think of it as networking,” she said with the impish smile he could never resist. “I’m merely going to put one professional in contact with another.”

  “Good morning!” Julia was surprised to see Christina up before any of their other guests. “What time did you get to bed?”

  “One. Those logs are terrific! If I had something similar on my own ancestor’s ship, I’d be able to find it right now. If I didn’t have this burning desire to seek ancient Spanish wrecks, I’d love to pursue the romance of younger ships, tracing their stories.”

  “So maybe someone will go after Shane’s ship one day?”

  “Maybe,” Christina grinned, helping herself to one of the mugs in the stack and pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  Julia smiled at the woman, whose shiny, dark brown hair was pulled back in a French braid. “Now how can you look that terrific after six hours of sleep?”

  “It must be the bed. This is a great place. I admire you and your dream. You’ve made it happen.”

  “Not without help. If Trevor hadn’t come along, I’d have been in deep weeds.”

  “Somehow, I think you would’ve made it all right.” The two studied each other, each admiring the independent woman she saw in her companion. “I think Trevor married well, Julia,” Christina said softly. “It’s good to see him so happy.”

  “It’s good to be this happy,” Trevor said, coming in to kiss his wife. He grinned at Christina. “Although I never pictured myself as settled down as this. An innkeeper. Can you believe it?”

  “It suits you, Trevor.” Christina felt a pang of loss and turned away, busying herself with a muffin and preserves. Will I ever find this security, this peace, this love? Somehow, she knew Trevor hadn’t been the man for her. But he was terrific. If he hadn’t met her needs, who would?

  As they sat down to eat, Julia looked at Trevor mischievously and asked Christina in a casual voice, “So you found something in the Archives. Can’t you go after your ship now?”

  “We found one document that mentions The Song. There have to be others, but I ran out of time and money. I’ll go back when I find a partner and investor.”

  Interest made Julia’s eyes sparkle. “So you’re looking for someone to work with?” she said, ignoring her husband’s light pinch under the table.

  “I am,” Christina said, pouring a fresh cup of coffee for herself and topping off Julia’s and Trevor’s.

  “Well, then, we had a guest here about two months ago who you should know about …”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mitchell Crawford lay awake in his bed, an unhappy man. He had failed to find sleep’s peace the night before, consumed as he was by thoughts of his only sister’s death. Each time he dropped off for a moment, he had been awakened by his niece’s incessant crying.

  As the little girl let out another wail, he glanced at the clock—5:05 A.M. Mitch threw a pillow over his head and willed the voice to go away. He had his own grief. Even his trip up the coast of Maine had failed to distract him from it. How could he deal with the sorrow of two small children? Heck, I don’t know the first thing about kids.

  Talle, the Cuban who had been his maid for five years, opened his door without knocking and went straight to the long vertical blinds. She drew them back from one dramatic window, then went to the next to do the same.

  “Talle!” he barked. “I’m trying to sleep!”

  Talle looked back at him and pulled the third window’s blinds. Then she paused, took a deep breath, and gazed out at the ocean.

  “It is a beautiful day, sir. The children would like to go out and play with you.” Her English was nearly perfect, each syllable carefully enunciated.

  Mitch sat up, rubbing his face in irritation, trying to focus. “They said they want me to?”

  “No. But you see, sir, I cannot take care of them all the time and clean this huge home and cook.” She busied herself with picking up his clothes from the night before, gathering them in a wicker basket.

  “It’s not forever, Talle—”

  “It’s been two weeks. The girl cries all night and will not allow me to comfort her. The boy is sullen, angry. He sneaks food like a little thief and throws mud into the pool.”

  “They’re just kids—”

  “Kids who need a full-time keeper. I cannot do all that you’ve asked of me. You must hire a nanny. For now I can arrange for my niece Anya to come. She can stay through the summer.”

  “Fine,” Mitch said wearily. “Just get her here within a couple of days, okay? If I don’t get some sleep, I’m gonna scream.”

  “Certainly, sir. I’ve taken the liberty of calling her already. She’ll be here tomorrow.” That said, she left the room.

  Mitch shook his head. Even though she made him feel as if he were the boss, he knew Talle orchestrated his actions as smoothly as she ran the house.

  Mitch rose and walked to his window. Kenna had stopped crying at last. He looked out over the blue-green Caribbean sea, in the direction of the big island, San Esteban. The palm trees lining the beach swayed in the trade winds, sending the salty, musty smell of the water to his nostrils. He loved the tiny island. But was it the place to raise his sister’s kids?

  “Oh, Sarah,” he said sadly. “What were you thinking in sending them to me? I don’t know what to do with your kids!” His fist struck the window sill. How could she have given me this burden? Couldn’t she have made her friends their guardians, people who knew them? Knew how to care for children?

  Kenna and Josh had stayed with the Johnsons, Sarah’s friends, for the two months that Mitch needed to finish work on his current dive site and decide whether to take them. Maybe he had made a mistake agreeing to take them. They needed a mother. And a father with more patience than he had.

  He left the window and went to take a shower. The hot water did little to alleviate his angst. He stood under the spout, thinking. Why, God? You took my whole family! Why saddle me with a couple of kids? Especially now?

  Mitch heard no answer. He felt very far from God, as if even his loudest cry would never reach the Father’s ears. Glumly, he turned off the water, toweled off, and dressed. There were bigger things to worry about than the kids, he decided resolutely. Like locating another find.

  It had been over eight years since Mitch and his friends had happened upon the mother lode of treasure ships, La Bailadora del Mar. The Ocean Dancer. Since then, he and Hans had established Treasure Seekers, Inc., while Chet had chosen to pursue an academic career. So far, Treasure Seekers had located and salvaged sixty-two ancient ships. None had held such wealth as the first, but the excitement of the work and the
substantial potential riches to be gained drove them onward. They made a nice living and had chosen for their headquarters the island of Robert’s Foe: a tiny spot on the map, amid a chain of islands northwest of Cuba.

  On Robert’s Foe, their modest wealth went a long way. Mitch’s home sat on the crest of a hill that sloped down a hundred feet to meet white sand beaches. The house had been built by a drug baron who was caught by international agents, and Mitch had purchased it for half of its worth. He loved it, and Robert’s Foe became his personal playground and private paradise.

  Paradise, except for the loneliness. Hans had married a loving Cuban girl named Nora some years back, but Mitch never had time to date women, let alone marry one. His work consumed him. Nothing was more important than the next find. When he was lonely, he sought solace in his library, scavenging facts from ancient ship logs, tracking down valuable clues, and studying the maps that lined the room’s walls.

  But this morning, after another long night, the loneliness hung on him like a soggy fur coat. He sat down at the breakfast table and sullenly helped himself to a freshly baked roll and the exotic fruits that were typical fare on Robert’s Foe—papaya, banana, kiwi, and star fruit.

  “Good morning!” Hans’s booming voice startled him. Mitch scowled over his shoulder at his friend and partner. “Do you always have to be so cheery, Hans?”

  “Sure! There are many reasons to be happy. You are a father now!” The big man slapped Mitch on the back, nearly causing him to choke on the bite of roll he was swallowing.

  “He’s not my father!” Joshua yelled from the corner, his small four-year-old fists at his side. “He’s not!”

  Both men turned to the boy and housekeeper, who had quietly slipped into the room.

  “Joshua …,” Mitch said, rising and moving toward the boy. But Josh ran around Talle’s skirts faster than he could reach him, escaping down the marble hallway.

  Mitch sighed, sitting back down. “Hans, this father stuff is getting to me.”

  CHAPTER THREE