The Pirate's Coin

by Marianne Malone

  “It’s okay. I get it,” he replied. “Is that why you asked me about my memories of me? Are you having trouble remembering me?”

  She typed another lie. Not really.

  Jack plunked down on Claire’s bed, hardly making a dent in the comforter. Ruthie could still see him and hear him and that gave her hope.

  But that hope came into confrontation with the fact that so many new memories were filling her mind, like wind rushing in through an open window. She still had memories of the magical Thorne Room visits—that was more than encouraging—but now a nice old lady named Mrs. McVittie, who knew her father, had given her an old key. And Ruthie had been using it, by herself, to sneak in under a door near Gallery 11 that led to a guards’ locker room.

  Another way in!

  Ruthie had two conflicting histories in her head—visits to the rooms that included Jack and visits by herself alone! She was dizzy with trying to hold on to them both, feeling each account competing for dominance.

  As new memories entered her mind, she shook her head, unwilling to let these narratives gain a foothold in her memory. It felt like trying to remember a dream during the day, when only snippets can be latched on to, and then even those little morsels disappear. But she desperately wanted to keep the history of Jack and the life she had known firmly planted. She had to stay awake and keep talking to Jack.

  “Tell me about the first time we snuck into the rooms,” Ruthie suggested. Jack obliged and told the story of whom they’d met and how they’d climbed the book staircase and the duct-tape climbing strip. They talked about school and birthday parties, about Caroline Bell and catching Pandora Pommeroy. They even went over the events of the previous morning, when they found Isabelle St. Pierre and learned of the secrets she’d been keeping.

  “And don’t forget about Phoebe and Kendra,” Jack began, telling Ruthie point by point what they’d discovered. Ruthie could barely take it all in and she felt as though everything they discussed had happened to a different girl named Ruthie, in some other life. What would happen to the things she used to hold important, like helping Kendra’s family with this ledger that Jack had just reminded her they’d found? In her new life, that dilemma didn’t exist!

  They whispered back and forth to each other all through the night. It was the longest night of Ruthie’s life. She became more and more aware of the presence of time, its very nature newly complicated and confusing. Time had always been like a steady, predictable stream to her before all this, but in this strange loophole, the stream moved fast and swirled at some turns and at others was blocked and barely moving. In the hours from dawn until she could leave for the museum, time was as unmoving as a frozen river in winter.

  “I want you to call when you’re ready to come home. Your father or I will come to get you, okay?” Ruthie’s mom said as they stood at one of the entrances to the park, near the big silvery band shell. Katie Hobson and three other girls waved to Ruthie from the grassy area several yards away.

  “I will, Mom.”

  “Are you sure you feel well?” her mother asked one more time.

  She answered honestly. “I didn’t sleep much last night. But I’ll be fine.”

  It felt strange at first for Ruthie to be with a new group of best friends, but fresh memories were seeping in—slumber parties and homework groups with these girls, movies and shopping trips—washing away the strangeness. She liked these memories; they were warm and comfortable and fun. And they were coming into sharper focus with brighter colors, while Jack’s colors were fading, his edges becoming soft and diffuse. The more vivid her new life story became, the paler Jack grew.

  Ruthie tried hard to fight it, but this new version of her life lured her. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Jack, in his ghost-like state, was standing shoulder to shoulder with her, nearly attached to her, she could have easily lost him altogether. The bright sunlight seemed to permeate Jack, and even though she could see him, he cast no shadow whatsoever on the sidewalk next to him. Ruthie feared with each passing moment that he was in danger of disappearing altogether.

  At 10:25 Jack said, “Ruthie, the museum opens in five minutes. We have to go.” His voice sounded weak and far away, as though it were coming from the end of a long tunnel. She almost resisted leaving, but Jack opened his palm and let the coin flash in her face. “C’mon, Ruthie. Now!” She made an excuse to Katie and the others about not feeling well and headed across the street toward the museum.

  By the time she was standing in front of the bronze lions, Jack was almost entirely invisible. She climbed the steps and entered the lobby.

  Jack was gone.

  Disoriented, Ruthie wondered what she was doing there by herself. Why did I tell Katie and the girls I don’t feel well? Why did I leave?

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of light. What was that?

  Oh, right. Go down to the Thorne Rooms. I have to find … someone.

  Ruthie walked down the grand staircase, remembering that the key was in her pocket. Her usual route into the rooms was clear in her mind: under a door about twenty feet to the right of Gallery 11 (far enough that she wouldn’t spontaneously shrink) to a locker room used by the guards and then under another door that led to the access corridor. She had the oddest sensation that this was the first time she had ever entered the rooms this way. But that’s not possible, she thought. This is the only way I’ve ever gone in.

  She reached for the key in her pocket, wrapping her fingers tightly around the warm metal. Simultaneously she felt something grab her free hand. The magic swirled around her, and not only did she shrink to five inches but a rush of sensations flooded over her. Not as firm as memories, but the feelings of them. And as those feelings became stronger, Jack appeared next to her, faintly—almost like a hologram—but nevertheless visible.

  “Jack!” she almost screamed.

  “Quick, under the door!”

  20

  A BOLD LASS

  “WHOA!” JACK EXCLAIMED, MARVELING AT what to him was a brand-new way to enter the rooms. “I didn’t know this existed!”

  Ruthie fought hard to keep the two histories of herself clear—like having double vision—so she imagined two compartments in her head.

  “Yeah,” she began tentatively, “it’s some kind of locker room. There’s almost never anyone in here. Behind that door there”—she pointed to a door a few feet away—“is how you get to the information desk and another door that leads to the European access corridor.”

  “How do we get to the American corridor? Do you know?”

  “Yes. There’s a vent, on the floor. We go under and in on this side.”

  “Great,” Jack said. “You’ve got to hurry. Who knows how long I’ve got.”

  Ruthie led the way under two more doors and down the corridor until they came to a floor vent. Ruthie remembered that she kept a knotted piece of string tied to the grate. It hung down about a foot (twelve feet to them and as thick as rope). It took Jack a few feet to get the hang of it, but Ruthie appeared well practiced. They clambered to the bottom and into a long dark passage. It was just like the duct they’d used on the other side, but this was under the floor of Gallery 11, instead of running above the ceiling. It also was frighteningly dark and Jack was definitely invisible in it, but they held hands and ran all the way. When they reached the end, the faint squares of light from the dioramas glinted through the grate. Another knotted rope was waiting, tied tightly to the grate.

  “Good planning, Ruthie,” Jack said. In no time they were in the American corridor very near room A12. “How do we get to the ledge?”

  “I have to get big. I hid another knotted rope length over there.” She pointed to a ball in a corner. “Stay right here.” Ruthie got big, retrieved the ball and hung it from the ledge with a hook she had fashioned from a paper clip, letting it unwind as it fell to the floor. She shrank again and together they climbed the knotted rope. They entered room A12 cautiously, then dashed into the closet to change
into the eighteenth-century clothes.

  “Maybe I don’t need to bother to change into these,” Jack said.

  “Don’t even think—of course you need to change,” Ruthie insisted, throwing the yellow dress over her jeans and T-shirt. But she felt far more anxious than she let on.

  “I wonder what’s gonna happen when I’m out there,” Jack said when the two finally stood in the fenced-in garden.

  “Only one way to find out. C’mon!” she said, and threw open the gate.

  The sun was bright and Jack was hard to see, like a clear glass of a very pale liquid. But as they reached the gate, it happened again—he disappeared completely!

  “Jack!” Ruthie cried, reaching into the empty air in front of her. She looked for some telltale sign of him, or at least the flash from the coin. She put out her hand, palm up and open for her invisible friend to clasp, but she felt nothing.

  Ruthie had no idea what was happening. She guessed—she hoped—there was just enough magic in the coin to keep Jack maybe not visible but alive. But she knew there was no guarantee that whatever powers it had would last forever. Maybe the last few minutes—shrinking and making their way into the corridor, climbing the rope—had simply been the last ounce of magic from the coin? Was it too late? Had she seen Jack for the last time?

  Ruthie couldn’t give up! Lifting the annoying skirt so she wouldn’t stumble, she flew along Main Street.

  When she arrived at the pier, out of breath, she saw the plank was not in place for her to board the Clementine.

  “Mr. Norfleet!” she hollered. “Are you there?”

  Nothing. All was quiet except for the sound of the ocean gently sloshing at the sides of the vessel. The sails hung limply in the still air, as if the ship were asleep. She yelled again and then a third time. At last, Jack Norfleet appeared along the rail, looking down at Ruthie.

  “Mr. Norfleet, I have to talk to you!” Ruthie shouted.

  “Your father couldn’t find the time to come himself?”

  “It’s about something else.” Even from the pier she could see his dark eyebrows rise.

  “Stand aside,” he directed.

  The plank shot down to the pier and Ruthie hurried up. Once again he gave her a hand to hop down to the deck. “Where’s the Tucker lad?”

  Ruthie hadn’t prepared what she would say. She had envisioned this conversation taking place with Jack, who always had the right words. But his asking for Jack was good news in itself. It meant that that part of her history was still intact! It hadn’t been erased … yet.

  “I came by myself,” she began, “because I was upset by something you said yesterday.”

  He listened without changing his stony expression.

  “When I asked you if you had a family … you said you wouldn’t ever have one, because you’d already lost enough,” Ruthie’s voice cracked.

  “Aye.” Jack Norfleet leaned away slightly. “And why is this a matter of your interest?”

  Ruthie’s throat tightened, the futility of the mission nearly overwhelming her. “You seem like a brave man. You shouldn’t be scared of life.”

  “You’re a bold lass!”

  “I think it’s terrible that you are alone. You have to be brave enough to make your own family!” Ruthie heard hysteria creeping into her voice. Calm down, she told herself. You won’t convince him this way. But it was no use and tears filled her eyes. “You have to!”

  “What do you know of life and loss?”

  “I know more than you think,” she said. She tried to keep from crying.

  “You surprise me, Miss Stewart!”

  Looking him in the eye, she saw glimmers of Jack’s expression, just as she’d seen when they’d met him yesterday. The resemblance was a subtle but powerful reminder of Jack, inspiring her to continue.

  “It’s just that you make these beautiful ships. You named this one after your mother. Don’t you want to have more people in your life to name them after and descendants who will be inspired by you? Don’t you think your mother would want that?”

  Norfleet’s broad shoulders slumped for a moment. “I am accustomed to my solitude.” He sighed. “There is some truth to what you say. But it would be a rare woman who would accept me as I am and be my wife.”

  “All I can tell you is that it’s better to have family than to be lonely.”

  He turned away from Ruthie. “I have work to do.”

  Ruthie didn’t know what more she could say.

  She climbed up to the plank and made her way down to the pier. Jack Norfleet leaned over the railing and with hands on hips called, “Good day, Miss Stewart.”

  Ruthie trudged back to Main Street, frustrated by her inability to tell him the truth and worrying that she sounded like some crazy kid. Why would he take advice from someone like her, someone he hardly knew? She clutched the cloth of her skirt while she walked, unaware of the tightness of her grip.

  “Why, hello again!”

  Ruthie looked up to see Miss Wilshire coming in her direction. “Hello.”

  “ ’Tis a fine day, is it not?”

  Ruthie nodded miserably. The only thing she had noticed about the day was how brightly the sun had shone on—or rather through—Jack at the last moment she saw him. She was in no mood to stop and chat.

  “Fortune is smiling today; I found your friend’s knife on the ground yesterday and hoped to have the opportunity to reunite him with it. And now here we meet!” She reached into a pouch hanging off her waistband and pulled out the beautiful blade. “Would you return it to him for me?”

  Seeing the knife only reminded Ruthie of Jack and she shook her head. “I can’t,” Ruthie managed to say. “Please give it back to Mr. Norfleet. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  “Are you certain?” Miss Wilshire asked, her head atilt.

  Ruthie could only nod, fearful that if she opened her mouth again, she would begin to cry in earnest.

  “Oh. Of course. Goodbye, then.” And she went on her way.

  Ruthie arrived at the gate. She knew she had been rude. But what did it matter? This was all in the past anyway; she would never come back to this moment or this place. Her chance to change the course of history—again—was over. She had done the best she could, and if she’d failed, at least she had failed while trying.

  Ruthie stood still. She felt hollow. She didn’t want to go back through A12, back to the museum, back to her life. Which life would it be? The one with Jack, or the one without him?

  21

  MIX AND MATCH

  RUTHIE UNLATCHED THE GATE. NO sign of Jack. Slowly and deliberately she walked along the garden path to the door, hoping with every step to see or feel some evidence of Jack. But nothing had changed. She placed her hand over the spot on her skirt that covered her jeans pocket to see if the key was warming. It wasn’t. She wanted a sign that something was different, that magic was at work.

  Making her way back to the closet, she stayed alert to any hint or vibration, any whisper, any slight glint. She saw nothing.

  Ridding herself of the voluminous dress, she felt heavy still. Whatever was going to happen, she hoped it would be quick and that she wouldn’t have to stay in this agonizing limbo. If Jack didn’t exist anymore, maybe it would be better—less painful—to have no memories at all of him. She hoped that once she left this room she would never return. Now she understood how Jack’s mom must have felt about the ocean. Funny how the memory of when Jack told her about that seemed so vivid at this moment.

  It was when she left the closet that something happened. Ruthie’s mind felt a slight shift of equilibrium, as though the memories with Jack numbered the same as those without him. Probably just because I’m still in the room, this portal, she thought, where I’m not exactly in the past or the present.

  But then she felt the dream sensation again, when you feel the images of a night’s dream slipping away. Only now … could it be … the memories of being best friends with Katie Hobson were dimming. She was blanking on the o
ther girls’ birth dates. And Jack’s loft was coming into focus!

  Next, through the outside door to A12, she saw a flash and she ran out of the room toward it. In the garden, near the gate, a faint outline appeared in the space in front of her. Slowly, it took form—he took form—and gained substance. It took several moments before he was all there, still pale, but really there, the coin flashing in his hand.

  “Jack!” She threw her arms around him. A warm flood of relief rushed through Ruthie, from her heart to the tips of her toes. She nearly lost her balance from the wave of elation. It was like having a nightmare and then waking up and knowing it was over—only much, much better!

  “You did it!” Jack exclaimed.

  “I … I didn’t think it was going to … work.” She could barely speak.

  “It must’ve!” He patted his torso, then stretched his limbs like someone just waking. “I’m here!” Ruthie stood back to look at him. He smiled his Jack smile and said, “Thanks!”

  “Are you all right?” Ruthie asked, and reached for his forehead. “Ha! Not cold anymore!” she declared. “How do you feel?”

  “I feel like I fainted. Or fell asleep in the middle of something. But I feel pretty good.”

  Old memories of Jack swept into Ruthie’s head, crowding out the newer ones without him, like the clear fresh air that arrives after a summer storm. As they went back through the room, the coin started to flash more wildly than they’d ever seen it. But they hardly noticed because they were so happy Jack was real again.

  As they left the museum, the rush of city sights and sounds enveloped them both and it felt good. They crossed Monroe Street and headed toward the park. They found no concert taking place and Katie and the other girls were nowhere to be seen. The sunlight bounced off the planes of the silvery band shell in all directions and Ruthie noticed—gratefully—what a good strong shadow Jack cast.

  “I’m starving!” Jack pointed across Michigan Avenue. “Let’s go to the deli.” They made their way past the giant Bean—the Cloud Gate sculpture—and the public fountain and down some steps toward the street.