Holiday or no, Mr. Bellows expected a full day from the hands, encouraging them with the words “We’re homeward bound,” which always seemed to lighten their burden of work. As Jimmy polished the brass capstan, Andrew took a cloth to the ship’s bell. Cara found a quiet corner of the quarterdeck to “soak up the sun,” as she had called it in her own peculiar way of saying things. Nearby, Bud dozed in the shade.
When Blake wandered into the galley to escape the heat of the day, Keoni welcomed the opportunity for a brief respite from his own duties. After he set up a pot of tea to brew, he brought out his journal, opened it to the middle, and handed it to Blake. “I want you to see this.”
A large number of pages were filled with drawings. Blake glanced up. “Andrew’s?”
The Kanaka nodded. “He is quite an artist.”
“So it seems.”
Keoni pointed out the words printed beneath each rendering. “Since I teach him my language of Kaua‘i, he is teaching me his language of the future. That is a tel-uh-viz-in.” He enunciated carefully, indicating a square box with a picture drawn inside it. “And tel-uh-fone. And com-pu-tur.”
“And an airplane,” said Blake casually.
“Did he draw one for you, too?”
“No.” Grinning, he gave a light shrug. “I must be learning a little of Cara’s tricks.”
“What about this one?”
“A powerboat,” answered Blake, remembering the visions with Cara. “And that one is a steam train . . . a race car . . . a rocket.”
Keoni grasped his arm. Blake stopped and looked at his friend. “Yes?”
“You are not reading the words, kaikaina.”
“Of course I am.”
“No. Andrew wrote ‘engine,’ not steam train. And only a ‘car,’ not race car. A ‘space shuttle,’ not a rocket.”
An odd chill came over Blake, then a strange dizziness. As he studied the drawings, his heartbeat grew louder in his ears. Sights and sounds came rushing back to him. A different life. A different time. He remembered building plastic models of sailing ships. He recalled going to Mystic Seaport on several visits. With his parents! For the first time in years, he could see the face of his mother looking back at him from the front seat of the car.
“Great-God-in-heaven, Keoni . . .” Swallowing a sob of relief and joy, he looked at his Island brother. “I remember! My childhood . . . I remember everything! I was there. In the future!”
“You were lost in time like Andrew?”
“Yes!” He laughed and cried at the same time, grabbing Keoni and giving him a hearty slap on the back. “I’ll explain more later. Right now, I need to show this to Cara.”
“Of course. Go.”
Leaving Keoni in the galley, Blake went quickly to the quarterdeck. As he approached Cara, she slowly looked up from a book that lay open in her lap. She gave him a sweet, contented smile that warmed him more than the heat of the midday sun. Pausing in front of her, barely able to contain his enthusiasm, he thrust the journal toward her.
“What is it?” she asked, taking it from him.
“The pictures that Andrew has mentioned during our dinner conversations.” As she scanned several pages, he moved to her side and dropped to one knee to view the sketches with her.
“He’s definitely talented,” she remarked.
“Cara, I know these things.”
She turned and stared at him as if he’d grown another nose. “What do you mean?”
“I am saying”—he reached out and flipped pages randomly, pointing to one sketch after another—“that is a bicycle . . . a camera . . . a light bulb. And I am not reading the words, Cara. I recognize these inventions.”
He shot to his feet and paced nervously. His hand trembled as he raked it through his hair. “It all makes sense to me now. The haunting melodies of those songs. How it was that I knew about the Mystic River when you didn’t.” He whirled around and pinned her with his gaze. “Do you remember that morning in the cave?”
“It’s not something I could easily forget.”
“Remember the images of a picnic? Fireworks? Fourth of July?” He glanced around, came closer and lowered his voice. “That was the Bicentennial celebration in 1976. I was nine years old that summer. Those were my memories, Cara. Mine!”
He grabbed her hands and pulled her out of the chair, spilling the books to the deck.
“Do you know what this means?” He cupped her face between his hands, then kissed her quickly. Excitement raced through him. “You unlocked my past. I remember how I ended up on that ship when I was twelve years old. I—”
Blake caught himself before he made the mistake of saying too much in front of his crew. He took Cara’s hand and led her back to their cabin.
Alone together, he hauled her into his arms and kissed her once more, this time with deep gratitude and deeper passion. When he pulled back, she was as out of breath as he. Her cheeks were flushed pink. Her breath came hard and fast. He didn’t know which he wanted more—to tell her everything he remembered of his past or to make love to her in the heat of the moment.
He laughed at his giddiness and indecision. In a mad rush of words, he told her about his childhood home in Connecticut and his obsession with the old ships at Mystic Seaport. His last memory of that time period was during one of his many visits.
“Something happened aboard an old square-rigger,” he explained hastily. “And I found myself in 1815 aboard a ship with Captain Myers, sailing out of Boston.”
Cara gazed at him, tenderly touching his cheek. “And after what happened during that voyage, there isn’t any wonder your mind repressed all memory of the past. It was all too much for a young boy to deal with. In order to keep from going crazy, you had to forget everything.”
“But all of that has changed because of you. I owe you so much . . .” His mouth claimed hers as his hands roamed over her hips to her buttocks.
She leaned against the closed door and unfastened his belt. Their lips parted briefly. She beckoned him, “Share your memories with me, Blake.”
Kissing her deeply, he gathered her skirt to her waist while she freed him from the confines of his trousers. She stroked him fully. He touched her intimately. Then he entered her, pinning her against the wood with his body. Her arms wrapped around his neck. He lifted her legs, bringing them up around his hips, and impaled her with an urgency unlike any he’d ever known. His mind was devoid of all thought, save for the sensation of their flesh joined together as one.
In his final moment of surrender, he felt a love like no other in the world. Cara was his entire life. His breath. His reason for being. With a guttural moan of ultimate pleasure, he felt a burst of rockets and saw a glorious display of fireworks.
Exhausted and panting, he kissed her neck and murmured, “I love you, Cara. I never want to lose you.” He lifted his head and gazed into her dark eyes. “Take me back with you.”
“Oh, Blake, I want that more than anything in the world,” she said breathlessly, lowering her feet to the floor. “I’m just not sure if you can go back.”
“What do you mean? I’ll simply follow you.”
She shook her head sadly. “It would seem that simple. But it might not be. I came through a portal that apparently Andrew had found aboard the Mystic. But I don’t know how it appeared in the first place, or if it’ll still be there when we get back to the wrecked ship in California. And even if we can get back to the Mystic, we can’t recreate the fault-test explosions that might trigger the right electromagnetic disruption to correspond with the winter solstice.”
“You are speaking gibberish. I don’t understand.”
She kissed the corner of his frown, then dropped her head to his chest and hugged him to her, trying to explain the surveys for earthquake faults on the West Coast.
“It may very well be gibberish,” she added with a heavy sigh. “That’s the problem, Blake. All I can do is take it one step at a time. My gut instinct tells me the Mystic is the key. Outside o
f that, I have nothing else to go on.”
Blake could not help but wonder if her theory was incorrect. “What if there are hundreds of ways for the anomaly of time and space to be distorted? My own experience took place on the eastern seaboard, where such tests were not used, at least not to my knowledge.”
“My point exactly.” She moved out of the embrace and began straightening her clothing, prompting him to do the same. “The chances are slim to none that you can take the same path as Andrew and I. It is entirely possible that your only way back to the future may be through the same portal that brought you to the nineteenth century.”
“But I have no idea where that ship is now, or if it still exists.” His euphoria vanished as he realized he was no better off now than when he hadn’t known about his past. Whether he stayed or tried to return to the future, he would lose the woman he loved more than life itself. Putting aside his own feelings, he knew he must act in the best interests of Cara and the boy. “Our plans remain the same. After I am released from my duties, I will take you and Andrew back to San Pedro.”
Throughout the final six weeks of their voyage, Cara struggled with the uncertainty of their future, together or apart. Aware of Blake’s own dilemma, she knew what it cost him to stand by his offer to take them back to California. If only she could fulfill her commitment to Andrew’s safe return and still be able to come back to Blake. Better still—if only she could use her psychic abilities to find the passage to the future for Blake. But then, there was no guarantee where they each might end up or whether they could find one another if they were separated.
As Boston grew nearer with each passing day, the atmosphere of the ship became filled with quiet anticipation. Yet Cara was no closer to any answers to her questions. On the eve of their arrival in port, she asked Blake to take Andrew on deck for a little while so she could have some time to herself in the cabin.
During a quiet meditation, she closed her eyes and stilled her mind of all the chatter and worries and concerns. She let go of her own need to control the outcome of her life, of all their lives. Somehow, somewhere, deep inside her, there was a knowingness that would guide her. Whether or not it was Gabriella didn’t matter anymore. She had been brought this far by a force that was greater than her, and it would take her the rest of the way.
Ask, Cara. And it will be shown to you.
“How do I help Blake?” she said aloud, then waited.
Mystic . . . memories . . . Mystic . . . memories.
The two words cycled through her mind repeatedly. She tried to figure out if there was a message in them, yet there were so many meanings to choose from. The ship. The seaport. The Hawaiian term, Mea punihei i nā mea āiwaiwa. Her recollections even brought back the night he spoke of making their own mystic memories. So where did these words lead her now? What did they mean?
Mystic . . . memories . . . Mystic . . . memories.
As the words became a chant, the scene of the Mystic River came into her mind; she almost dismissed it as the previous memory that Blake had given to her. Then she realized the modem boats were missing from this vision. Instead, she saw large wooden ships on the water, as well as half-built hulls sitting in cradles on the shore of the river. She paid attention to the details of the houses and buildings. A face of an older woman appeared, looking worn and sad. As quickly as the vision came, it disappeared. But she’d seen enough to convince her that they had to go to Mystic.
Dropping her hands to her lap, she drew a deep breath and slowly let it out, then got up from the chair to search for Blake.
Finding him on the forecastle with Andrew and Bud, she came up beside him and slipped her arm around his waist, smiling up at him.
“Did you find the answers you were looking for?” he asked, bringing his own arm up behind her back.
“Yes, I did.” Reluctant to speak in front of Andrew, she asked him to take the dog to the cabin with him. “We’ll be down in a little bit to make sure you are in bed.”
“Aw, gee, Cara.”
She smiled at his standard reply. “Enough whining, young man. Now, scoot.”
As he trotted off, Blake gently squeezed her arm. “I could not have done it better myself.”
“You? Ha! You are as bad as him with bedtime. If you had your way, you would let him stay up all night gazing at the stars with you.”
“Not if we had separate cabins. I will be sure to remedy this situation when I get my next ship, which will be very soon, I hope.”
“I need to talk to you about that, Blake. Over the last several months, I’ve been getting the word ‘mystic.’ I’d thought it was about the ship. But tonight I saw a vivid picture of the river.”
“Is this the same sort of message you received regarding Valparaiso?”
“Sort of.”
“Then it is settled. We shall go to Mystic as soon as I am released from my duties to the owners of the Valiant.”
“Just like that? No questions? No arguments?”
“None.” He turned her into his arms, then pressed his lips to her forehead. “I will take you wherever you wish to go, lauaʻe. And I will stay with you as long as is humanly possible. When the time comes for you to leave me, I will go with you in spirit.”
She hugged him tightly to her breast. “I don’t want to lose you, Blake.”
“Please don’t cry, Cara. I couldn’t bear it.”
She sensed his tenuous hold on his own emotions and realized how hard it was for him to be strong for her sake. Fighting back her tears, she whispered, “I love you.”
Stroking her hair, he said softly, “I love you, too.”
The following morning, as the final salutes sounded from the bow guns, Cara watched in awe as the Valiant sailed slowly past the low sand hills of Cape Cod and into the Massachusetts Bay of 1833. There were all sizes of boats and ships on the water, which seemed strange after so many months at sea without a single vessel in sight. Stranger still was the feeling of participating in a Spielberg movie of epic proportion, as if all the extras had been called up for an early shot.
As they passed the lower lighthouse, Blake joined her to explain that they would spend the night anchored in the harbor and take the ship into dock the next day.
On Saturday afternoon of August 17, the crew manned the capstan for the last time, pulling the ship into the wharf with a loud chorus. The entire deck swarmed with all sorts of people, from customs agents to friends.
Jimmy came over to say good-bye to Cara and Andrew, who showed his disappointment in losing his new friend.
“Where will you go now?” she asked the sixteen-year-old.
“I’ll be off t’ visit my da for a bit, then . . .” The young man shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe I’ll find myself back wit’ the cap’n again. Captain Masters is as good as they come, ma’am. I’ve heard frightful yarns about how bad a sailor’s lot can truly be on board most ships. It made me glad I was on the Valiant. So I’d be more than happy to sign on under the cap’n.”
“Then perhaps we will see you soon.”
“Maybe, ma’am.” He petted Bud one last time, shook Cara’s hand, then Andrew’s, and left the ship with his canvas bag over his shoulder.
While Bud sat next to her, Cara kept Andrew at her side, unwilling to let him out of her sight and risk losing him in the crowd. Boardinghouse runners pestered her, insisting upon taking her luggage on the carts they’d brought to the docks. She refused their offers, sometimes having to be almost rude with them.
In a very short while, each crew member departed with two years’ wages. Everyone else soon followed, leaving only Keoni and Blake, who was officially turning over the Valiant to the shipkeeper from the countinghouse.
As the Kanaka knelt down to give attention to the dog, he looked up at Cara. “Our chests have been sent ahead to a house where we stay whenever we are here in Boston. You should find it to be comfortable accommodations until we leave for Mystic in a few days. And as for Andrew here—” He turned to the boy. “You will a
ctually have your own room with a real bed.”
Andrew asked, “Do I still get to sleep with Bud?”
“Certainly not in the bed with you,” answered Cara, but she saw a wink from Keoni which made her wonder if they were conspiring to bend the rules a little bit.
Blake walked up to the three of them. “Time for us to go.”
“What have you done with the papers from the Mystic?” asked Cara, aware of his intention to deliver the news of the wreck to the ship’s owners.
“They are with my belongings. I will pay a visit to the company Monday morning, after I have had an opportunity to bathe and make myself a bit more presentable.”
Though Cara was eager to be on their way to Connecticut, she accepted the necessity for Blake to wrap up any and all obligations first.
“The Mystic is headed home.”
Blake had walked into the parlor Monday afternoon, interrupting the tea and conversation between the proprietress of the house and several ladies, including Cara. Dressed in a plain white blouse and dark skirt that must have been borrowed, Cara set the cup in the saucer, clattering the china as she put it down on a low table in front of her.
“Pardon my ill manners, Mrs. Barnes, but this is rather important news to us.” Aware of half a dozen pairs of female eyes perusing him, he strode to the center of the well-appointed room and extended his hand to Cara. “But will you please excuse my bride?”
“Certainly, Captain.” The attractive redheaded woman smiled demurely as a couple of the ladies tittered nervously at the audacity of a male invading their cozy parlor.
Blake nodded to the women, bidding good day as he escorted his wife to their private chambers.
“How? When?” asked Cara, after he closed the door. She practically pounced upon him. He kissed her first, then gave her the full account of the information.
“The owners told me that another of their merchantmen had been loaded with hides and prepared to leave San Diego when the Mystic was blown ashore. Apparently they sailed back to San Pedro to inspect her damage, determined that she could be refitted, and put their first mate as captain of her. They believe she could arrive as early as next month.”
Mystic Memories Page 27
