Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  Tristan climbed up beside her, though he said not a word. He breathed heavily from his race through the trees, his chest heaving, but the smile on his face was the most beautiful thing Caralyn had ever seen.

  “The palm trees.” She nodded toward the trees then the paper in her hand. “See how they’re leaning against each other? Almost forming an ‘X’? I think that’s where Pembrook hid the treasure.”

  “Mr. Anders,” Tristan called down from the top of the rock. “Toot your whistle for me.”

  The bosun gave a long, piercing blast. All over the valley, the crew rose from where they’d been resting on the ground and looked toward him. Tristan waved his arms and pointed toward the small lake and the palm trees. Almost as one, the men headed in that direction.

  After a few moments, lights from several lanterns glowed in the near distance and soon, a blazing fire chased away the growing darkness.

  The small group walked toward the palm trees and the rest of the crew. They were silent, except for Jemmy, who chattered non-stop. Caralyn glanced at the boy who ran circles around them and grinned, amazed by his inexhaustible amount of energy. She wished she could bottle his enthusiasm and save it for herself.

  When they joined the men, some leaning on the handles of their shovels, some sitting cross-legged on the ground, Tristan explained why he’d moved them all beside the lake.

  Caralyn broke away from her companions and strode toward one of the palm trees that formed the X. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the initials carved into the trunk. She traced her fingers over them and wondered about the man who’d etched them in the wood. Pembrook had led them on a merry chase with his barely there clues, but everything they’d been through would be worth it—if this was, indeed, where he’d buried the treasure.

  She climbed one of the more prominent rocks and gazed down at the space between the palm trees. The ground seemed sunken in, the depression lower than the surrounding area, as if the soil had been disturbed long ago and settled back into place over time.

  She turned her attention back to Tristan and grinned. More than the adventure, despite the hardship of the past few days, she’d found exactly what she’d been looking for. Him. Now, if only she could keep him. Caralyn jumped from the rock and strode up beside him. She touched his arm. “Pembrook’s initials are carved in that tree over there and the ground between the trees dips a bit.”

  Tristan grinned, dipped his hand into the burlap sack, and passed out the yeasty rolls with the hunks of cheese Hash had packed. “Eat up, men. We have more digging to do, but this will be the last of it. If the treasure isn’t here, well, we’ve done our best. No one can say we didn’t give it our all.”

  She listened to him as she handed out the bottles, some filled with wine, others with rum, one with brandy, one with water, and the last one with milk for Jemmy.

  Finished with their makeshift meal, the crew picked up shovels and pickaxes and started digging in the area between the two trees, starting where the ground first dipped and working their way inward to form one huge hollow.

  Caralyn caught Tristan’s unwavering gaze on her as she, too, picked up her shovel. Though the palms of her hands were raw, she still wanted to do her part. But Tristan didn’t agree. His eyebrow rose and his lips pressed together in a thin line. He shook his head. “Oh, no. You’re done for a while.” He took the tool from her hand and marched her toward a relatively smooth rock.

  “Now, I want you to just sit here and rest. Do I make myself clear?” Tristan handed her another roll.

  Too worn out to argue, Caralyn nodded and made herself comfortable. In truth, she was so far beyond exhausted, she couldn’t hold a coherent thought. Pain radiated through her body from her exertions over the past few days. Everything hurt—head, shoulders, back, arms, legs, everything except her heart. Her gaze met and held Tristan’s. Despite the pain, despite the dirt encrusted on her clothing, she wouldn’t have given up this adventure for anything in the world.

  “And that goes for you, too, young man,” he said to Jemmy.

  “Aye, Papa.” The lad obeyed and crawled onto Caralyn’s lap. He leaned his head against her chest and finished the piece of cheese he’d been given. The bottle of milk rested against his thigh, and he lifted it to take a long swig then belched as only a little boy who practiced could.

  “And you as well, Lovey,” Stitch said as he re-bandaged his wife’s hand and made her sit on the rock beside Caralyn.

  Caralyn leaned back against the trunk of the tree and watched the men dig. Except for the sounds of shovels hitting dirt, they were silent. She knew her own exhaustion. She could only imagine theirs.

  Crickets chirped. Wind sighed through the trees and palm fronds rattled.

  “I have never been so tired in all my life,” Temperance groaned as she lifted a bottle to her lips and took a sip of wine. Caralyn glanced at her and grinned.

  “I bet you’ve never been this dirty, either,” she remarked as she studied the woman who’d become so much more than a paid companion.

  Temperance’s lips twisted into a wry grin. Her glasses reflected the light of the fire as she glanced at the filthy trousers covering her legs. “No, but it’s been a grand adventure and I daresay I would do it all over again. Whether or not we find Izzy’s Fortune. I’ve already found my treasure.”

  Tears misted Caralyn’s eyes. “I’m happy for you, Temperance. It’s a wonderful thing to find your heart’s desire.” She turned her attention back to the excavation, her gaze drawn to Tristan. He kept up a steady pace, the muscles in his arms bulging with effort, hair slicked back from his forehead with sweat and dirt.

  Her heart swelled within her chest as she watched him stab his shovel into the hole he’d dug. A metallic clang rang through the air. It didn’t sound like a stone or a tree root. Caralyn held her breath and sat up. Tristan looked at her, his lips parting in a smile of wonder and awe. He dropped the shovel then sank to his hands and knees, his head disappearing into the hollow. Caralyn nudged Jemmy from her lap and stood, taking the boy’s hand in hers.

  “I got somethin’ here, Cap’n!” Socrates yelled as his blade made a solid thwacking sound on an object hidden beneath the soil.

  “Me, too!” Mac said as he tossed his shovel aside and jumped into the hole. He started pushing dirt away with his hands before Gawain leaped into the opening beside him and helped.

  “My God! It’s a trunk!” Mad Dog was the first to pull his metal chest out of the ground.

  “I’ve got one, too!” Woody bellowed.

  All around her, the men were shouting, their excitement a rising tide, but Caralyn kept her gaze on Tristan. When he finally pulled the trunk out of the hole, she let out her breath in a whoosh and watched, paralyzed, afraid to move lest she wake up and realize she’d been dreaming as he broke the lock on the latch with a single blow from his shovel. He said not a word as he lifted the lid, but his warm gaze held hers.

  Caralyn’s eyes opened wide to catch all the colors of the jewels filling the trunk as the fire light danced on them. She blinked in an effort to clear her vision, not sure if she actually saw what she thought.

  Fifteen chests in all, some as long as a man was tall, some smaller than a loaf of bread, some made of metal, others made of wood. So much more than Caralyn had expected, so much richer than she ever dreamed. Gold, in the form of coins and chains, plates and cups, and bars stamped with the queen’s mark, filled several of the trunks. Precious and semi-precious gems in every hue of the rainbow glittered in the firelight. She saw emeralds, sapphires, and rubies. Lapis Lazuli, amethyst, and topaz and jewelry fit for a queen.

  Overcome with raw emotion, Caralyn walked into Tristan’s arms and held him tight. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t utter a sound as his arms wrapped around her. Tears filled her eyes as a lump rose to her throat.

  Izzy’s Fortune truly did exist. And they’d found it.

  Chapter 18

  Belly full from the bowl of stew he’d just eaten, Porkch
op stood at the rail and relieved himself. For a moment, as his stream hit the water, he found peace, but it wouldn’t last and he knew it. He dreaded the idea of going back up to the crow’s nest, but feared the repercussions from the captain if he did not. Finished, he gave himself a shake then tucked himself into his trousers and turned around. And almost lost the contents of his stomach.

  Entwhistle stood in front of him, a scowl distorting his face. In the glow of the lanterns, Porkchop could clearly see the murderous gleam lighting the captain’s eyes. He shuddered as the frigid finger of panic traveled down his spine. Unbidden, the image of Entwhistle as Satan rumbled through his mind.

  He couldn’t resist exclaiming, “Cap’n!”

  “Why the hell are you on deck? Why aren’t you up in the crow’s nest?” The low menacing tone of Entwhistle’s voice struck fear in the seaman’s heart. An icy coldness settled in his belly and his stomach twisted with anxiety, nay . . . worry. What possible reason could the captain have to be up and about at nearly midnight? Whatever the reason, no good would come of it.

  Porkchop shifted his weight from one foot to the other and tugged on the waistband of his baggy trousers. “I . . . I . . . came down for somethin’ ter eat.” Disgusted by the whine in his own voice, he straightened himself and looked the captain right in the eye. “They ain’t come back to the Adventurer. They ain’t found no treasure.”

  “Be that as it may, I am tired of waiting,” Entwhistle said. “Wake up Petey, Toothless, and Sanchez.”

  Porkchop didn’t move. He couldn’t. Muscles tense, mouth dry, the contents of his stomach curdled into one sour mass and left a bad taste in the back of his throat. He eyed the cat o’ nine tails in the captain’s hand and tried to swallow. “Sir?”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself.” That low tone, the implied threat behind the words, made Porkchop stiffen in alarm, especially when the captain’s hand, the one holding the whip, moved, just a fraction of an inch.

  Porkchop needed no second warning. He tugged up his trousers and ran as fast as his feet could carry him.

  “Petey,” he whispered as he approached the man’s hammock and shook him. “Wake up. Cap’n wants you.”

  The man mumbled in his sleep and tried to push Porkchop away. “Sleepin’. Go ’way.”

  “Get up, ye worthless scum,” Porkchop exploded, his voice raising the rafters as well as rousing some of the other men sharing the small space below decks. “Cap’n’s in a foul mood an’ I ain’t takin’ no whippin’ fer ye.”

  Petey’s eyes flew open. In the dim light of the lantern turned low for the night, Porkchop could see his fear, which mimicked his own. Petey scrambled from the hammock, almost falling out of the makeshift bed.

  “Get Toothless an’ Sanchez an’ come topside, an’ be quick about it. Cap’n ain’t a patient man.”

  Porkchop climbed the stairs to the deck on legs that felt as heavy as the Explorer’s anchor. He stopped to catch his breath and squelch the terror rising in him. Entwhistle paced, hands clasped behind his back, his hard-soled boots loud as they struck the deck. With every fall of his foot, Porkchop cringed. This ain’t good. Ain’t good ’tall.

  “Where are they?”

  “Comin’, sir.”

  Entwhistle said nothing, although the scowl on his face deepened and his thumb gently caressed the braided leather handle of the cat o’ nine tails in his hand. Porkchop sucked air into his lungs and took a step back, hopefully out of reach of the whip. He couldn’t stop the prayer to rush his shipmates from repeating in his mind.

  Petey, Toothless, and Sanchez joined them, wiping sleep from their eyes and buttoning up hastily donned trousers. All three seemed confused, not fully awake, although they snapped to attention in front of the captain.

  “Lower the dinghy, Bing.” The man smiled, revealing pearl white teeth between the shagginess of his black beard. The smile did nothing to inspire confidence. Indeed, it had the opposite effect. “We’re going treasure hunting and if we don’t find the treasure, we’ll take something else.”

  Porkchop swallowed hard at the captain’s words. He knew exactly what Entwhistle threatened. If he couldn’t get his hands on the treasure, he’d go after Caralyn and God only knew what he would do with her. His belly, already cramped with fear, rebelled completely, loosening with a speed that made him hold his breath. He prayed he wouldn’t soil himself in front of his crewmates as he rushed to obey before the cat o’ nine tails reached out to cut his skin and remind him who captained this ship.

  Moonlight guided their way and made the whiteness of the sand glow as Toothless and Petey rowed toward the island, careful to keep the Adventurer within view, but far enough away so they wouldn’t be heard. The surf grabbed the small boat and pushed it toward shore, away from the Adventurer’s longboats.

  Porkchop stepped onto the sand and looked around. Wind whispered and moaned through the trees. Boughs creaked. Leaves rattled against each other. A shudder shook him. More than ever, he didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to be part of such a tyrant’s crew.

  He glanced toward the captain and swallowed hard. Entwhistle stood motionless, his arms crossed over his chest, the cat o’ nine tails still in his hand. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Where is this trail they’ve been following?”

  “It’s over there.” He pointed down the beach.

  “Lead the way, Bing.”

  The four of them took off toward the path, Porkchop in the lead. He thought about the woman whose magical laughter filled his heart with longing, whose smile lightened his life, and wondered if he could fool the captain into taking the wrong path, perhaps even losing him in the forest. His feet sank into pristine white sand at the same rate his depression deepened. Oh, to be a stronger man, one with integrity like Captain Trey, one who could live his life as he chose without having to obey orders from someone else. He sighed. He was not that man and he knew it.

  “Now what?” Porkchop asked as he stopped at the mouth of the footpath. He desperately wanted something to drink, something that would warm the coldness in his belly and erase the madness he saw before him. No such liquor existed and he swallowed hard against the bitterness in his throat.

  “We wait.”

  Time lost all meaning as they crouched within the ferns covering the forest floor. Moonlight peeking through the canopy of trees cast shimmering light on his companions, making them look like ghosts.

  “I hear somethin’,” Petey whispered, and poked him.

  “Shut yer yap, ye twice-damned fool,” Porkchop whispered back. He tilted his head and listened. He heard it then, too, the magical sound of her laughter, the soft, sweet tones of her voice. From the moment he’d heard them, they’d haunted his dreams. Other voices joined hers, and he knew she traveled with her companion and the boy, but no one else. They were alone. Perfect for Entwhistle’s plan. Porkchop’s stomach dropped and once again he prayed he wouldn’t soil himself, although the possibility remained real.

  Every muscle in his body tensed and his mouth opened. He wanted to tell her to run, to hide, and would have but Entwhistle’s long, bony finger stabbed him in the back.

  Porkchop glanced at the captain behind him and flinched. In the shifting beams of moonlight, the smile on his face appeared more demented and crazed than ever before. All he needed were horns growing from each temple, and the portrait of the devil would be complete.

  The captain gave a slight nod of his head but said nothing. He didn’t need to; his meaning clear without words. They were to capture the women and the boy.

  Despite his misgivings, despite his own sense of honor, Porkchop obeyed Entwhistle’s silent order and rushed from the shelter of the ferns, Toothless and Petey right beside him, Sanchez coming up behind him. He grabbed Caralyn around the waist, one hand covering her mouth to stifle any scream she would have uttered, the other digging into her tender flesh. She dropped the lantern in her hand. It bounced on the sand and rolled, casting a strange yellow glow on the pristine white. Tooth
less grabbed the other woman. Petey and Sanchez tried catching the boy, but missed. Agile and nimble, Jemmy darted through the trees, completing his escape. With a rough curse, the seamen took after the lad.

  With surprise on his side, Porkchop didn’t expect the petite, filthy woman in his arms to fight as hard as she did. She bit his hand covering her mouth and kicked his shins. An elbow connected with his stomach as she wriggled and writhed to get out of his grip. “Settle yerself, Miss. I mean ye no harm.” He tightened his hold on her until she calmed.

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Her body trembled with terror as she turned her head. The fear in her eyes struck his heart and he loosened his grip a little. Perhaps too much. Caralyn slid from his grasp onto the sand and tried to crawl away, back into the trees.

  A black-booted foot appeared in front of her and pressed against her shoulder, stopping her progress, forcing her to sit back on her haunches with a sharp cry of pain.

  Porkchop flinched.

  Her eyes were wide with horror as Entwhistle roughly grabbed her by the arms and hoisted her to her feet. Her mouth opened and her chest expanded as if she prepared to scream, but not a sound issued from her throat. Porkchop cringed, seeing how hard the captain’s fingers dug into her flesh.

  He glanced behind him and saw Toothless struggling with the other woman. A quick fist to the woman’s chin and she slumped in his arms. Petey and Sanchez had not returned with the boy, but he could hear the sounds of their pursuit through the lushness of the forest floor, hear the muttered curses of his crewmates.

  “Who are you?” Caralyn asked, her voice low and shaking as she wrestled her arms free of his grip.

  Entwhistle smiled, though it wasn’t pleasant. Indeed, Porkchop shuddered, having been on the receiving end of such a smile. He wanted to warn her, caution her against rousing the man’s ire in any way. “Winton Entwhistle, captain of the Explorer.”

  The woman closed her eyes and drew in her breath. In an effort to stay calm? He didn’t know, but admiration for Caralyn McCreigh grew in Porkchop’s heart as she squared her shoulders. For one so petite, she had gumption. Courage. Nerve. But very little common sense.