“Oh, your Aunt Margaret for one thing,” he whispered. “She’s wound up tight as a top. Sure would’ve helped if you’d taken Aunt Beatrix out.”
“But I had to —” I started to explain, but he gave me the hush signal.
“Save it, Pegs. I’m just saying it would have been helpful.” I had a brief moment of feeling guilty.
“I could teach you how to tie some sailor’s knots, Aunt Beatrix,” I said after supper. My gesture was really a peace offering to Aunt Margaret. I held out the silky strands I used for practicing my sailor’s knot tying, but the old bat shook her head.
“No, thank you.”
“Okay, how about we play Crazy Eights?” That time she sighed and gave me one of those faint smiles that really meant don’t bother me, kid. All right, I thought, how about if I let you nag me about my hair some more and point out all my other weaknesses? “Any chance you’d like to teach me something?” I offered in a final attempt. I thought my efforts had been admirable, and everyone had seen me try. Fortunately she’d turned down all my ideas and I was about to split for the living room to watch TV. That’s when Aunt Beatrix caught me by the arm.
“Teach you something? Now there’s an idea!” I could tell she’d just remembered I was her improvement project. “There is something I can teach you — something every young lady should know how to do.” She turned to Aunt Margaret. “Now Margaret dear, I don’t want you to fret — though I know you have good reason to — but I’d like to teach this child the value of your precious china set. She will start by learning how to set the table properly.” I watched Aunt Margaret’s eyes pop out.
“Oh, Aunt Beatrix, do you think —”
“No, no. It will be fine dear. I will see to it.”
Oh no, what did I get myself into?
For the next hour Great Aunt Beatrix taught me the finer details of how to set the table — informally for those frequent occasions when it’s just close friends and family; then formally for the times when I might want to impress my husband’s boss — yah right; and then for those special once-in-a-lifetime events when someone important — like, let’s say Her Royal Highness, Queen of England — should decide to drop in and dine with me. Aunt Beatrix was on a roll and I zoned in and out until Mom rescued me.
“Bedtime, Peggy. You’ve got school in the morning.” I leapt off the sofa and was about to make a run for it.
“Quite right, young lady. Just let me conclude this lesson by saying that setting an elegant table is more than it appears. It’s symbolic that even in your day-to-day existence it’s possible to be careful, orderly, gracious, and temperate. And as you take more care in the smallest details of your life you’ll find when the going gets tough, you’ll be able to stay the course, face up to your problems with courage, and remain honest and true. If nothing else, remember it’s your moment-by-moment conduct that will determine the success of your life. So always put your best foot forward, Peggy. Give your all to everything you do and never run away from your problems.” Before she could add another word I scrambled up the stairs to get into my pj’s and brush my teeth.
By the time I got back to the living room Mom had my bed made up on the sofa.
“That was sweet of you, Peggy. Aunt Beatrix always feels so good when she thinks she’s been useful.” I put my hands to my neck and pretended to choke myself. Mom laughed. “Huh, you think that was tough. That’s nothing. Aunt Margaret and I have a whole lifetime of lessons like that. But even so, we love Aunt Beatrix. She has a good heart and believe it or not, lots of the things she taught have come in handy — even how to set the table nicely.” Mom kissed me goodnight and headed up the stairs. “Oh, by the way, Aunt Beatrix hopes you’ll take her to see the petroglyphs tomorrow. I told her I was sure you’d be ecstatic!” I heard her giggle after she’d turned off the light. I groaned and flung the pillow at her. Aunt Beatrix may want to see Heron Park tomorrow, but I was starting scuba diving lessons. I also needed to come up with the second part of my plan — how to make sure Mom let me go on the search for the Intrepid.
Happy to finally have time to myself I snuggled down in the sleeping bag and opened Captain Whittaker’s journal.
October 18th, 1811
By all estimates we shall reach St. Catherine’s in a fortnight. It will do us all good to get off the ship and stretch our legs. The island is a serviceable destination to take on fresh supplies, for it abounds with plantains, oranges and bananas, and abundant good spring water. I have ordered Mister Carver to stock us with enough to reach the Sandwich Islands. The last time I made this same voyage it took us nearly a month to sail round the Horn for the winds were fierce and tempestuous and drove us back nearly two hundred miles. If luck be on our side we will get past her before winter sets in.
We have on board a fine band of musicians and they play most nights. This is a great source of comfort for us all. Besides singing and dancing the men occupy themselves in the evenings with card playing, chess, and a few of the lads who are able enjoy reading. There are some who would like it very much should I allow more consumption of rum and gambling. However, since the voyage when we lost our master gunner, who threw himself overboard when he had gambled away a year’s pay and his father’s pocket watch, I have kept the spirits and gambling to a minimum.
I am pleased to see an alliance has sprung up between one of my young clerks, Mister Albert Smedley and Mister Lockhart. The boy was educated in Brighton and as such is good company for the gentleman. The two frequently engage in lively discussions at mealtime. Most recently I enjoyed their debate regarding Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Art of War — Smedley much more the pacifist than the other gentleman. Nevertheless, perhaps this new friendship is evidence that Lockhart is finally settling into the rhythm of sea life. Should this be the case it would put my mind at rest.
I have made a point to remind Cook to set out the salt dish at mealtimes. I prefer it as a savory over the salt water he uses, which seems to make the meat tough.
Captain James Whittaker
October 27th, 1811
I recently learned that my boatswain, Mister Douglas, had forfeited an entire month’s pay over a gambling debt. It is in fact the second such incident in recent days and in each case it seems there was a liberal outpouring of cheap gin that preceded the gaming. It is a well known fact that Mister Douglas cannot hold his liquor nor afford to lose a month’s pay, what with a family of seven at home. When I learned of the loss I was indeed very angry and immediately sought out my first mate, Mister Carver. He conducted a brief investigation and learned that it was Mister Lockhart who not only provided the men with excessive gin, but is the man to whom Mister Douglas was indebted.
Mister Lockhart’s actions constitute treachery and are a threat to the success of this voyage. Out of respect for Mister Astor, I chose to approach the matter as a gentleman. When Lockhart appeared before me I strongly suggested he release Mister Douglas from his debt. At this the man scoffed at me heartily, saying such action would undermine the men’s respect for him and he would never be able to command them. At this I reminded him that it was my job to command the crew and his to oversee the trading. He was mildly contrite and agreed never to give them liquor without my specific permission. He did not yet commit to releasing Mister Douglas from the debt.
A note to self: Instruct Mister Carver to convey to the crew the need to wash their bodies more regularly. Besides the innocuous odour, I wish to see them remain healthy and fit for the duration of the voyage.
Captain James Whittaker
Monday morning I woke feeling queasy — almost like I was seasick. When I rolled out of bed I forgot I was on the sofa and landed on the floor with a loud thunk. Mom poked her head into the living room.
“You okay, kiddo?”
“Groannnnn! Other than the fact that my back hurts from this coil in the sofa poking me all night, and cramps in my legs from not being able to stretch them out, and an upset stomach — I guess you could say I’m hunky-dory.�
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“Good. I left cereal on the table for you. I’m just going to dive into the shower and when I’m finished you can have the bathroom. Okay?” I nodded sleepily and was about to get back under the covers. Wait — did she say “dive”? I sat up abruptly, forgetting all my aches and pains.
“Yahoo! I start diving lessons today.” Mom’s head shot around the corner.
“What? Did you say you’re starting diving lessons today?” Oh right, I’d decided to put off telling her yesterday about the start date to avoid setting Aunt Margaret off again … who for some reason was determined now that I take Aunt Beatrix off her hands every day. “Sorry Mom, the plan changed a bit. TB has something he has to do later in the month so we had to start this week. My lessons are at four o’clock.” Mom plunked down on the sofa looking dazed.
“I’m sorry I won’t be able to entertain Aunt Beatrix after school today. It’s just too bad she has to leave next weekend. I was starting to enjoy getting to know her.”
“Really? Well, I’m glad you feel that way. I did notice how well the two of you get on.” Was she blind? It was just out of necessity that I let the old bird boss me around and teach me useless stuff like table setting. But soon she’d be gone and I’d be off the hook. I began folding up the sleeping bag.
“Actually, Peggy, yours aren’t the only plans that have changed. You know how Aunt Margaret and Uncle Stewart have been thinking of taking that Caribbean cruise for a long time, but the timing just never seemed right? Well, they are finally doing it … and they leave this Saturday for three weeks.”
“This Saturday? That’s great,” I chirped. Now I knew why she was so busy and stressed lately. Then I realized three weeks without Aunt Margaret on my heels would be like having my own holiday.
“Yes, it is great. They so deserve something like this after all they’ve done for us. And the reason we all feel so free about them going is knowing you won’t be home alone waiting for me to get back from work.”
“Right, because I’ll be taking scuba diving lessons.”
“Actually, no, it’s because Aunt Beatrix has agreed to stay on.” I jumped off the seat and hit my knee on the coffee table.
“Ouch!” I yelped. “Mom, what were you thinking? I don’t need a babysitter.” How could they think I needed looking after — and of all people they chose the Grim Reaper of children? “I repeat, Mom, what were you thinking?”
“You just said how it was too bad she wasn’t staying longer. And besides, it’s not all about you. She’ll be able to get the meals started, keep Duff company, and be here if you should — as completely unlikely as it could be — get into trouble and need help. And on the bright side, you’ll have scuba lessons to focus on and you’ll get your room back after Aunt Beatrix moves into Margaret’s room.”
The bright side, right! How was I ever going to survive another month with the only person in the world more uptight than Aunt Margaret? This is exactly the kind of thing that could give a kid nightmares or a nervous tick. Just then I remembered the trip to find the Intrepid. School would be finished and maybe if I just played along with all this I’d have a better chance of getting Mom’s permission to go with Dr. Hunter and his research team. I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and then quickly shifted gears.
“Okay, Mom. That’s cool.” I could tell my sudden change of attitude surprised her.
“It’s cool? Well, good. Quite honestly I thought you’d put up more of a fuss, but I guess this means you’re growing up, and getting more mature.”
“Sure, that’s it, Mom. I’m just getting more mature.”
Chapter Four
TB got the okay to start scuba lessons with me. So the plan was for me to stop off at home after school to say hello to Aunt Beatrix for five minutes — Mom’s idea, not mine — and then ride to the pool with him. But when Mrs. Sparrow kept me in to discuss my poor score on the English test I had to let him go ahead on his own and skip going home. By the time I got there the other students were already in their gear and sitting on the edge of the pool. As I walked over to the group I heard a voice from somewhere in my past. I couldn’t quite place it until I saw him.
“No, it can’t be,” I cursed. By the look on TB’s face he knew what I meant. Just then the diving instructor looked up at me. Yup, it was none other than the face of Vic Torino, a.k.a. the Tornado, my sailing instructor from last summer. He hadn’t changed a bit — still tall, skinny, and tanned so dark and shiny he looked like an oily hot dog fresh off the BBQ.
“Late for the first class, eh? Not a good sign, man. You know what they say about punctuality — it’s the early worm that catches the bird.” A few of the students tittered. I looked at TB, who was doing his best to muffle his laughter.
“Don’t you mean it’s the early bird who catches the worm?” I answered, trying not to laugh myself.
“Well, whatever, it’s a virtue to be on time, right?”
“True, but you know what they also say — better late than never.” I could see he was trying to add that one up.
“Yah, that’s true, man. Hey, you took sailing lessons with me last summer, right?” I nodded guiltily. “You see, I never forget a face. Never forget a name either — it’s Patsy, right? No, Pammy. No wait, I know it’s …”
“It’s Peggy,” I asserted, ending the familiar and slow torture.
“Oh yah, Penny.” Argh! Well at least he didn’t call me Piggy like my bratty little cousins did. “Well girl, don’t just stand there. Go and get suited up and we’ll see you back here in the pool.” I skulked off, glad to be out of the spotlight.
Before we actually got in the pool Tornado gave us the rundown on what we would learn in the PADI diving course. We were going to learn safety procedures — like how to check all our gauges, how to get water out of our masks, buoyancy control, how to make a safe descent and ascent, and some emergency skills like sharing air with a dive partner. He said after two weeks in the pool we’d be ready for our first supervised open-water dive. That was the part I was most excited about.
“Okay, newbies, let’s get in the pool and I’ll go over proper buoyancy control and the four main points on your personal dive list — depth, air, time, and area. We call that your DATA. Some people write it on their hands so they don’t forget. Me — I’ve got a mind like a steel trap — never forget a thing.… Right, Pammy? I mean Patty!” Oh brother, what a doorknob!
That first day I felt like a stuffed sausage in my wet suit, but it wasn’t long before it started to feel more like a second skin. And with help from my flippers I loved the feeling of gliding up and down the length of the pool like a sleek black seal. There was no doubt about it, scuba diving was my thing and I was going to be even better at it than sailing.
The day Aunt Margaret and Uncle Stewart left on their cruise was bittersweet. It took no time at all for life at home without them to take on a predictable routine — school, diving lessons, then evenings of torture by Great Aunt Beatrix. Besides setting the table and reciting grace before every supper, I had to learn about the history of that stupid china that Duff broke.
“Did you know that the Chinese exported porcelains, such as this, to Europeans as far back as the 1600s?” asked Aunt Beatrix one evening just before suppertime. “It was held in such high esteem that the English word for it soon became china — for the place it originated.”
“Fascinating.… Now can we eat?”
“Oh, pishposh. We’ll eat in a few minutes. Now one special thing about our family’s china — besides the fact that it came directly from China by traders — is its pattern.” She pointed to the dainty blue -on-white pattern. “This is cobalt blue and was very valuable. It was first used more than a thousand years ago. The other thing you’ll want to notice is this small symbol on the bottom … each artist had his own unique mark or sign. It was important for the good artisans to identify themselves. The really gifted ones were invited to the palace to make pottery for the emperor. Isn’t that fascinating?”
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nbsp; “Mind-numbing.… Now can we eat?”
“Peggy, are you not hearing me? This very porcelain, which belonged to your great great great grandmother, is some of the oldest china in the country.” I could tell by the way her face was turning red Aunt Beatrix was quickly becoming annoyed with me. If I ever wanted this lecture to end with supper I knew I had to at least pretend some interest.
“Wow! So if it’s so rare and valuable why do they sell dishes just like it in the department store?” Aunt Beatrix gasped, like I’d said a four letter word.
“My dear, the only similarity between this porcelain and the tableware they sell in the stores is its pattern. This willow pattern — said to tell the sad story of two star-crossed lovers forbidden to love one another — has been copied over the centuries by many people.” Then she held up one of Aunt Margaret’s precious plates to the light on the kitchen ceiling. “For it to be truly fine china it must be translucent like this — you see?” I could see a clear shadow of her hand behind the plate. “This is the kind of china enjoyed by kings and queens, Peggy. The dishes sold in stores today are nothing but cheap replicas.”
Aunt Beatrix went on for another ten minutes, telling me how cobalt blue first came from Persia, that it was the kaolin clay found in China that gave porcelain its translucent quality, and that all the decorations were hand painted — which explained why there were small differences in each plate. She finally stopped after grinding in the fact that porcelain china made in the emperor’s Imperial factory had a nian hao — a Chinese date mark — painted on the bottom. There were only a small number of painters who had this job, so their style could be recognized like individualized handwriting.
So it was — night after night it was either a history lesson or what Aunt Beatrix liked to call practical life lessons. Like learning to polish the silver, make fruit preserves, and knit. Once supper was over and the dishes washed and put away the rest of the evening was mine. That’s when I read about diving, or the history of the Pacific fur trade, or underwater archaeology — things I really cared about. I especially enjoyed reading Captain Whittaker’s diary.
Bone Deep Page 4
