by Philip Roy
He got up, went to the next room and clicked on the light. Angel and I followed him. The room was filled from top to bottom with model ships. They were everywhere—on the floor, the walls, window sills, tables, bookshelves, even hanging from the ceiling. I stared in awe. They were beautiful. My father was a ship model artist.
He picked up a submarine. I recognized it immediately. “That’s the Nautilus,” I said.
His face brightened. “You know it?”
“Yah. It was the first nuclear powered sub. It was the first sub to go under the arctic ice to the North Pole.”
He looked a little excited now but was pretty good at containing it. He brought the sub over and put it in my hands. It was about three feet long. It was very beautiful. Angel slid her hand under my arm, reached over and touched the side of the sub as if she were patting a cat. “Can I hold it too?”
He looked worried. “Uhhh … I don’t know. Maybe you’d better not; it’s a little heavy.”
She made a face. She was disappointed. I watched to see if he would notice her disappointment. Nope. He never saw it. For some reason I couldn’t accept that. I didn’t know why; it just bugged me. I turned and put the submarine into her arms. “It’s not too heavy. You can hold it. Just be careful.”
“Be careful,” he echoed.
She squinted at him. “Of course I will be careful, Daddy. What do you think I am, clumsy or something?”
I remembered her dropping her school bag. It was a good thing he had never seen that.
“How long have you been making models?”
“Uhh … ever since I was seven or eight, I guess.”
I looked all around the room. There were ships of all sizes, shapes and types, from destroyers to aircraft carriers to supertankers. There was even a Viking ship with oars. I saw a fishing boat. On its deck was a tiny seagull. “Do you like seagulls?”
“Yes.”
That was something else we had in common. “Have you ever been to sea?”
“No.”
I could guess why. For a moment I wished I could take him to sea and show him what it was like. But this was not the time. Maybe there would be another time. I hoped so. I turned to Angel. “We probably should go. Your mom is waiting.”
She frowned and handed the sub back to him. We went out and he followed us to the door. He looked sad. “Will you come back and visit me again?”
I would. I knew I would. “Yes.”
“Of course we will, Daddy. Of course we will.”
She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. He looked like there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t get the words out. He stuck out his hand and I took it. Our eyes met for the second time. “I have something I want to give you,” he said.
He went back inside. Angel and I stood at the door and waited. I was glad we had come.
He came back with a small envelope. “I want you to have this.”
He stared at the envelope and shook as he passed it to me. He took my hand again. “I am sorry I let you down,” he said.
“You didn’t… “Angel started, but I interrupted her.
“You didn’t let me down. I have a wonderful life.”
His eyes welled up. I shook his hand and bit my lip.
“Will you write me?” he asked.
“I will. I promise.”
Then I let go and took Angel’s hand and we went out the door. Her mother was waiting. I saw her look up from her book and smile at us. She had waited so patiently. She was a wonderful mother. If my mother were alive, I figured she would have been just like that.
She would have. I knew it.
I sat in the back seat this time and Angel sat in the front. As the car pulled out, she turned around and leaned over the seat. “What did he give you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to open it?”
“I guess so.”
The envelope was old and thin. It was sealed with tape. I had to tear it open.
“What is it?”
“A picture.”
Inside was a photograph. I held it up and stared at it. Two people were standing in front of an apple tree. A man and a woman. The tree was full of apple blossoms. She was wearing a bright yellow dress and her hair was long and dark. He was wearing a brown suit. She was smiling and bursting with energy, you could see it on her face. He was shy and awkward, but you could tell that he was in love with her. It reminded me of Ziegfried and Sheba. It was a happy day.
“What is it?”
“A picture of my mother and father.”
“Can I see it?”
I passed it to her. I saw Antoinette take a quick peek at it. Then she reached back and squeezed my hand. I looked out the window.
“She’s pretty,” Angel said.
I thought so too.
Epilogue
SHEBA’S COVE WAS shrouded in darkness when we sailed in. The moon and stars were wrapped in fog. I knew her cove so well I could tell exactly where we were just by the feel of the sub. When I opened the hatch, Seaweed burst out like a bat. Hollie and I climbed out, jumped onto the rock, stood up and breathed in the island air. The air of Sheba’s island had a unique smell, a very pleasant mix of fog, wood smoke, sweet flowers, goats and spices. How I longed to sail to the places where those spices grew. And I would, very soon now.
It was the middle of the night. I didn’t know if we could sneak inside without waking her. Sheba was a light sleeper. I crept up the rock as silently as I could. Hollie crept behind me, keeping an exact distance and stopping when I stopped. He was pretty sneaky when he wanted to be. Seaweed stayed by the sub.
The kitchen light was on. Maybe she was up. Or maybe she had been leaving the light on for me. It was a gentle blue light. Maybe she was raising new tomato plants in the kitchen. I took in the outline of the cottage at a glance. There were enough animals here to start a farm. There was enough love here to heal the world, it seemed to me. It was a haven of love. It was a sanctuary.
I crept up to the window and peered in. She wasn’t there. She must have been sleeping. The cockatiels were lined up on a wire above the stove, their bellies shaking with each breath. Edgar, the kitchen goat, was curled up like a dog beside the wood box. Marmalade, the cat, was sleeping on top of him. Sheba’s book of flowers was open on the table. She had been reading. A large pot was sitting on the counter. She must have been soaking beans. That meant she was expecting Ziegfried. I hoped so. I felt a deep happiness to be back.
Ziegfried had been right; it had only taken a month. Sheba had been right too; I had survived and come back richer than before. Much richer. Discovering Angel was the greatest treasure I could find, greater than all the treasures I would ever find beneath the sea. Meeting my father gave me a better sense of who I was and where I had come from. I needed time to think about everything he had said but I already felt that I liked him and wanted to get to know him.
I would write. I would take the time to think of exactly what I wanted to say, and then I would write it all down in a letter and mail it to him. And when I came back from the Pacific, I would visit him again, and Angel and Antoinette: my new family.
As I stood and stared at the magical cottage, wondering if I should try to sneak in without waking Sheba, or return to the sub till morning, I felt a hand come down upon my shoulder. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Alfred?”
I turned to see the towering figure behind me. Her warm, loving arms wrapped around me and pulled me tight. I should have known. You don’t sneak up on an oracle.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank the many wonderful students and readers I have met in schools and libraries, especially those who have taken the time to write to me. Your response to these books is invaluable to me and greatly appreciated.
Invariably, I arrive at the doorstep of Ron and Veronica Hatch with a sack on my back filled with phrases, images and fragments of a storyline going someplace. I always leave with a polished nov
el in hand. It is an elevating experience and I am grateful.
I wish to thank the incomparable Julia, Peter and Thomas, the most important people in my life, who are boldly setting about to make the world a better place to be and are constantly inspiring me with their example. I also wish to thank my dearest friends: Chris, Natasha and Chiara, whose home and friendship is my secret haven; and the lovely and nature-loving Diana, Maria and Sammy; my dear and dedicated friend, Zaan, creating great works of art on the other side of the world; and my inspired and joyful buddy, Hugh. All of these people keep me on a path straight and true.
As always, I must express my deepest gratitude to my mother Ellen, my first reader and first inspiration, for her tireless love and support. I also wish to thank sweet Dale for bringing such joy and happiness into my life. And thanks to the young and intrepid Jake, for his kindness, wisdom and courage.
Finally I wish to recognize the support of the Province of Nova Scotia through the Department of Tourism, Culture & Heritage.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Raised beside the sea in Antigonish, Nova Scotia, Philip Roy celebrates the sea in most of his stories. He also loves submarines. The Submarine Outlaw series grew out of a combination of those interests and his joy of travelling around the world. Educated in music and history, with a healthy dose of the classics, especially those great epics of old, he strives to create entertaining and enlightening stories in the modern day that sit on top of classical themes like a ship upon a vast ocean. These stories now bring him into the classroom where he enjoys meeting the bright stars of the next generation. Just so, his experience of being a writer has become richer many times over. Philip is now busy working on Tales of the Pacific, book four of the Submarine Outlaw series.
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