The Lady of Tarpon Springs

by Judith Miller

  Nico didn’t miss the alarm in his engineer’s voice, but he couldn’t leave a man behind. He glanced over his shoulder. “Give Markos another few moments to surface.”

  The engineer raised a fist toward the oncoming spouts. “They wait for no one, Nico!”

  Panic seized him. Should he jeopardize all his men for the life of one? Never before had he been forced into such a position. “Please, God. A little direction. A little help.” His murmured prayer lifted on a massive gust of wind that sent him careening to the side of the boat.

  His gaze dropped and settled on the churning water. “There!” he shouted while pointing into the water. “Look! Air bubbles!” He waved two of the deckhands forward. “He’s coming up. Drop the ladder!”

  Nico and the deckhands helped the diver up the ladder and onto the boat while the line tender struggled to hoist the heavy sponge-filled net. Atticus stumbled to the line tender’s side and helped him lift the bag onto the boat while the two deckhands worked to remove Markos from his diving gear.

  Organized chaos reigned until the sails had been hoisted. Nico shouted for the engineer to turn the boat. “We need to sail at a ninety-degree angle to the waterspouts’ movement.”

  While Nico continued to shout orders to the crew, he silently prayed that the waterspouts would move toward shore. Most fair-weather spouts dissipated rapidly upon landfall, though there were no guarantees. These two were huge and could cause significant damage if they didn’t quickly dissolve. Even at this distance, the water churned and roiled beneath the surface, rocking the boat like a child’s toy.

  Nico strained about and caught sight of the other two boats. Both had turned about, all three of them now turned away from the spouts in a ninety-degree angle that took them farther into the Gulf. Still, the waves heaved the vessel up and down like a cork.

  On shaky legs, Atticus returned the flags to the storage chest fastened along the starboard side. He clutched the edge of his seat. One look was enough for Nico to see the terror in the younger man’s eyes.

  Nico signaled for him to come aft where he was manning the tiller. “Try to keep calm, Atticus. We’re going to be fine. We’re sailing opposite the waterspouts, and there’s not a storm in sight. I’m sure you’ve seen your share of these things in the past.”

  Atticus nodded. “I have, but I was on land and they didn’t come anywhere near Tarpon Springs. We did have that hurricane back in ’96—the one my father told you about—but back then I was young enough to think nothing could hurt me. I’m a little wiser now.”

  “We’ll be late making it back to Tarpon Springs, but I’ll get you there safe and sound. If I let anything happen to you, your sister would find out you were with me, and we both know that wouldn’t sit well.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  By the time Zanna arrived at the docks, the auction was already in progress. Men with pencils and slips of paper in their hands were advancing from one group of sponges to the next. They murmured to each other and didn’t seem to notice her. The auctioneer called for all bids on Lot Number One. Several men scurried forward and shoved one of the papers in his hand before the auctioneer made the final call. After looking through the slips of paper, he announced Mr. Burgess the winner.

  As the bidding continued, the skies began to darken in the distance. There’d been no sign of Nico or the boats. One of the buyers nudged another man and pointed to the sky. “Looks like a couple of giant waterspouts are forming out over the Gulf.”

  The other fellow nodded. “You’re right. Hope none of our boats are out there right now.”

  Zanna’s chest tightened. Not only were Lucy’s boats and the spongers in danger, but so was her brother.

  Lord, keep them safe. I trust in you.

  The auction had ended hours ago, yet Zanna remained at the docks, watching and waiting, determined to be here when the boats arrived. Her father had come to the auction warehouse looking for her when he’d first spotted the waterspouts. He’d wanted to offer reassurance that the men would come back unharmed. His words had calmed her, but as the hours continued to pass without any sign of their return, she’d begun to waver.

  Shortly after her father departed, the men at the auction house had exchanged stories of their experiences—times when they’d been out in the Gulf and waterspouts had arisen like huge serpents determined to chase their boats back to land. She’d wanted to cover her ears as they spoke of men pulled overboard and lost to the deep, but something inside caused her to listen. Now each of those terror-filled events raced to the forefront. What if the men hadn’t seen the waterspouts in time to escape? What if their boats had been damaged and they were stranded, unable to make it back to shore? What if they were injured and unable to render aid to one another? What if the roiling waters had capsized their boats? What if, what if, what if . . . her mind raced with an onslaught of tragic possibilities.

  “Sorry, Miss Krykos, but I’m closing for the night.” Ned Francis, who owned the auction warehouse, stood beside her with several keys dangling from a leather strap. She looked up at him, but her feet felt bolted in place. He arched his brows. “Miss Krykos?” He waited a moment, and when she still didn’t move, he stooped down beside her. “I really gotta lock up. If you want to sit out on the dock, I can let ya borrow that old wooden chair over there. You’ll have a better view of the harbor from out there anyway.” He gestured to a chair that looked like it might collapse if anyone sat on it. “Want me to put it out there for ya?” She nodded but still hadn’t moved a muscle by the time he returned to her side. He leaned down and cupped her elbow. “Let me help ya up.”

  The gentle push at her elbow propelled her to her feet. She stumbled across the dock and dropped into the chair, her gaze still set upon the horizon. She reached for Mr. Francis’s hand and grasped it tight. “They’ll come back, won’t they?”

  His smile didn’t lessen the worry that dulled his dark eyes. “You know the Greeks are some of the finest sailors in the world, Miss Krykos. If they can’t make it back here, nobody could.”

  He gently tugged his arm from her grasp. His answer hadn’t delivered the assurance she needed, but she released his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Francis. When the men return, I’ll put your chair over by the door.”

  He touched the scarred wood. “Given the condition that chair’s in, it won’t matter none if it goes missing.” Mr. Francis’s footsteps echoed on the wooden planks of the dock, though she didn’t turn to watch him go.

  Zanna couldn’t be certain how long she’d been sitting there, but the sun had set and a full moon now shone among the twinkling stars. The moonlight and stars would surely help the men navigate. She should be thankful for the moonlit night, but instead of thanksgiving, anger filled her heart. Why had this happened? Atticus was on one of those boats, and this was the first voyage for fifty strangers in a new land. It wasn’t fair. She rested her elbows on her knees and cupped her face in her hands. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she swiped at them with her sleeve.

  “Zanna! What are you doing down here?”

  She whirled around to see her father running toward her, his heavy footsteps resounding on the boards. “I’m waiting for the boats, Papa.”

  His breath came in short gasps. “You can’t sit out here all night. Come home. We have been worried. Your mother thought you had gone to Lucy’s for supper, but as the evening wore on, we became more and more concerned. I stopped at her office. There was a sign on the door that said she was out on a call.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “Come along, Zanna. Sitting here won’t make them return.”

  “I can’t leave, Papa. They’re out there suffering. I can’t go home and settle into a warm bed as though nothing has happened. Atticus may be in trouble. Aren’t you worried?”

  “Worry doesn’t bring them home. Except for your brother, they are good sailors who have weathered storms in the past. They are in God’s care, and we must trust He will bring them home.”

  “Trust i
n the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.” Her papa’s words were a reminder of the Bible verse she and Lucy frequently recited to each other. Lifting her eyes toward heaven, she silently asked God’s forgiveness. Her father was right. Her brother and the other men were in God’s care. She needed to trust Him. Her fretting wouldn’t provide them with any help. The men needed her prayers, not her worry.

  She stood and grasped her father’s hand. “Let’s go home and pray for the men’s safe return.”

  Zanna stood and shaded her eyes. She’d been at the dock all morning, and her fear had increased even more than the heat and humidity.

  “Your mother was concerned when you didn’t come home for the noonday meal.”

  At the sound of her father’s voice, Zanna wheeled around. “I’m sorry, Papa. I told her I was going to keep watch for the boats.”

  He placed his muscular arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “All the women in my life are worriers. My mother, my wife, my daughter—all of you.” He shook his head. “The Bible tells us that our help comes from the Lord—not from worrying. Am I right?”

  “Yes, Papa, but that’s easier to say than to do, especially when you fear more than fifty men might be dead.” She didn’t add her concern over the loss of the boats and how that would affect Lucy. The loss of property was unimportant when one considered the tragedy of so many men having perished in the Gulf.

  “If you remain out here on the dock for much longer, someone may try to charge you rent.” He chuckled and tightened his hold on her shoulder. “You need to eat or I will start to worry about you.”

  Zanna knew her father’s ways. He was doing his best to ease her fears and lighten the mood. She turned toward him, rose up on tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “I’m not hungry right now. I’ll go back to my office in an hour or two and then I’ll stop by home for a quick bite to eat.” She rested her cheek on his shoulder and remained in his embrace longer than usual, aching to absorb some of his strength.

  With a suddenness that startled her, he jerked his arm. “Look, Zanna!” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “Over there.” She pulled away as he stretched out his arm, pointing toward the horizon. “Do you see the boats?”

  She squinted and shook her head, unable to see anything beyond the glaring reflection of sun on water. “I don’t see anything, Papa. I think your eyes are playing tricks on you.”

  He moved behind her, placed his hands over each of her ears, and turned her head ever so slightly to the left. “Now do you see them?”

  “No, Papa. I don’t see anything that resembles a boat.”

  Her father blew out a sigh. “I am an old man. It is my eyesight that should be failing, not yours.” He dropped his hands, turned toward the open door of the auction warehouse, and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Ned! I’d like to borrow your spyglass.”

  The warehouse owner appeared at the door, then strode toward them with the leather-encased instrument in his hand. “Think you saw the sponging boats coming in?” He shaded his eyes and pointed the spyglass in the same direction her father had indicated. “Sure enough, all three of ’em headed for home.”

  Frustration set in. Zanna still couldn’t see them. She extended her hand toward the spyglass in Ned’s hand. “May I?”

  “Sure, just put it to your eye and look in the direction I pointed. You may have to adjust it a little.”

  Excitement swelled in her chest. “They’re out there, I see them!” She moved the spyglass away from her eye and looked at the two men. “Can you believe it? Finally!” She couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across her face. “Do you think any of them are injured?”

  Her father reached for the spyglass. “No need to worry about injuries now. If any of the men need medical care, we’ll know once they arrive at the docks.” He lifted the spyglass and peered in the direction of the boats. “There’s a good wind, and they’re moving at a nice clip. They’ll be here before we know it.”

  “Do you think I should go and see if Lucy’s in her office? If any of the men are sick or injured . . .”

  “My daughter, the worrier.” He gently squeezed her hand.

  “This isn’t about worrying, Papa. It’s about being organized and prepared. If anyone needs treatment, it would be helpful at least to know she’s in her office.”

  Ned gave a nod. “She’s right, Jurek. I can send one of the boys from the warehouse to see if Doc Penrose is in her office.” He turned to Zanna. “Want him to tell the doc why he’s checking on her whereabouts?”

  “Only if she asks.” Zanna didn’t want to cause her friend needless worry.

  “Are you going to wait until they arrive, Papa?” The wind whipped at her skirt and wrapped it tight around her legs.

  He studied the river, then shrugged. “I won’t accomplish much work if I leave. By the time I get home, I’d have only a half hour or so before I need to head back here. I want to be here when they arrive.”

  She arched her brows. “To make sure Atticus is safe?”

  “To see that all the men are safe and if the boats have suffered any damage. I can lend a hand if there are repairs needed. I like Nico, and I want the spongers to succeed. It will be good for the town. Besides, it’s nice to have Greeks living nearby, don’t you think?”

  She tipped her head in a faint nod. Having the Greeks in Tarpon Springs had proved far more difficult than she had imagined. If they hadn’t arrived earlier than expected, she likely would have forfeited the position as manager. That had been her plan before her conversation with Lucy was interrupted by that fateful telegram. If only she’d spoken up a few minutes earlier, these worries and problems would belong to someone else. Then again, if she wasn’t managing the business, she’d likely be on a ship to Greece with Yayá. She shuddered at the thought of her grandmother scouring the cities and hillsides of Greece to find her only granddaughter a suitable husband.

  The clatter of running footsteps on the dock was soon followed by Lucy’s arrival at her side and a quick greeting. “What’s going on, Zanna? The messenger from the warehouse didn’t seem to know why I might be needed on the docks.” Her forehead creased with concern. She glanced about. “Is someone injured?”

  “No. At least not that we know of.” She pointed toward the boats. “Those are your boats approaching in the distance.”

  Zanna detailed her concern that bad weather had seemingly delayed the boats’ return and her fear that some of the men might be injured. By the time she completed the tale, the boats were nearing the dock. The workers from the warehouse had joined them on the dock. The spongers waved and shouted, their voices filled with excitement. Zanna scanned the boats, uncertain where she would locate her brother—and Nico.

  Her father stepped close to the dock’s edge and called to the men in Greek. “Any injuries? We have the doctor here if anyone needs medical treatment.”

  The Crete and Anastasi were the first to dock. The St. Nicolas followed and maneuvered into position on the other side of the large dock, closer to the auction warehouse. Once the crews of the Crete and Anastasi had communicated all was well aboard their boats, Zanna rushed to the other side of the dock, where she caught sight of Nico and Atticus. A wave of relief washed over her. From what she could see, neither of them appeared to have suffered any ill effects from the voyage.

  Her brother waved both arms overhead and grinned like an impish schoolboy. “We made it safe and sound.” Atticus jumped onto the dock while the rest of the crew remained on board to perform their final duties. “You can’t begin to know how exciting that was, Zanna. I got to watch Nico and the other divers.” He pointed to the sponge-filled nets. “Look at all the sponges they brought back.” He raked his fingers through his dark hair. “I’ll be the first to say I was sure scared when those waterspouts came out of nowhere. Did you see them out there? They were huge. And the waves!” He took a gulp of air. “The boats took a beating. I don’t know how Nico and the others were able to keep
them afloat.”

  Zanna didn’t miss a word Atticus said, but her eyes were riveted on Nico. She didn’t know whether to thank him or pummel him. Her relief was overcome by the fact that he’d gone on this first expedition without her knowledge. And, even worse, he’d taken her brother along without her permission? Clearly he held no respect for her as manager, or he wouldn’t have done either.

  Then again, the safe return of the men was proof of Nico’s abilities.

  Her emotions continued to roil as her father drew near and patted Atticus on the shoulder. “You had a lot of excitement for your first time on a sponging boat.”

  “And his last time, as well.” She glared at her brother. “You may have had Papa’s permission to go out on the boat, but you went without my knowledge. You knew I wouldn’t have agreed, so you went behind my back.”

  “Now, Zanna, take a minute to be thankful your brother is safe.” Her father grasped her brother’s arm. “We need to go home and let your mother and Yayá know you’re safe. They have been worried about you.”

  Atticus grinned at Zanna. “And I know you were worried about me, too, little sister—even if you won’t admit it.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You won’t have to worry about my going out in the Gulf again. This voyage was enough to show me that I don’t want to be a diver. I enjoyed seeing how the crew handles things, but my future is going to be on dry land.”

  “I hope that’s true, but if you ever . . .” Before she could scold her brother further, their father waved her to silence and led him toward home.

  She watched the two of them with their heads close together as they walked away before she strode to the warehouse door. Mr. Francis had agreed the men could store the sponges in his warehouse until morning. The crew members had unloaded the sponges and their gear from all three of the boats and were scattering toward town when Nico finally climbed off the St. Nicolas. Zanna remained in place, watching and waiting, her mood wavering between anger and relief.