Courier of Love

by Della Kensington

  Their union having so abruptly ended and the need for discussion so keenly felt yet denied by the circumstance, the morning was torturous for her. She wanted to sleep from tiredness. She wanted to fly with excitement.

  …

  As the cannon’s encrusted shaft broke the water’s surface the combined cheers of the tiny group triumphed over the noisy engine of the hoist. Though small in size the cannon was of considerable weight and the crew carefully manipulated its mass to the reinforced platform on the deck. Water glistened over it and washed across the feet of the jubilant salvers. Christina found herself hugging and being hugged by everyone and someone began to squirt champagne across the group as glasses were being passed.

  Clay was suddenly holding her from behind; his strong tanned arms were recognizably burned into her memory. As he squeezed her he looked out into the faces of the other men, his embrace seeming to acknowledge his relationship with her. Christina’s body felt limp.

  His voice was teasingly humored, “So tell us Christina, what will you be doing now with the knowledge gained this morning from your new discovery?” He pressed lightly against her body.

  She flushed at his comment and his touch and self-consciousness clouded her eyes. She playfully swung her elbow back into his side and feigning an injury, Clay released her while doubling over to hold his ribs.

  She bowed towards Clay and turned toward the others, “Gentlemen and gentlemen…” she held her hand up to discourage applause that wasn’t about to occur. “I suggest that we proceed with the search…,” she gestured toward the cannon, “…before we begin to share the accolades so richly deserved by all. If you must however, continue to credit me with this discovery I shall, of course, reluctantly you understand, still accept your hugs and another glass of champagne.”

  The men cheered, hooted and clapped and raised their glasses and Christina found herself again being sprayed with champagne.

  Arthur spoke above the rest and with exaggerated animation jumped onto the cannon’s platform and symbolically touched his glass to its surface. “One for all and all for one, sayeth D’Artagnan the Archeologist.” He dodged as the others sprayed more champagne and threw wet towels in his direction, laughter filling the mid-day air.

  Clay was still standing behind Christina, his powerful hand resting on her shoulder, his gentle laugh warming her body and mingling into the high spirit of the group.

  …

  The removal of the hardened marine growth from the cannon’s bore was a slow precision-ridden task. Christina handed Arthur and Clay differing chisels and archeological tools as they took turns tediously removing the cannon’s centuries of disguise. As the material chipped slowly away, anticipation built and time sped by. Longer and longer tools were used in the cleaning process and as their length began to approximate the depth of the bore, the tension of the group could be read across their faces.

  Christina’s heart beat seemed beyond her control and her hands moistened the tools as she handed them to Clay, who had relieved Arthur in the task of removing debris from deep within the bore of the cannon.

  “A little more light here,” he instructed and a slow promising smile began to erase the hardened intensity of his face. He stopped, frozen in his gaze. He leaned slowly back and expelled air from puffed cheeks. He gestured towards the bore, a smile lighting his eyes and raising excitement through his companions.

  Words left his lips in disbelief as he looked up into Christina’s eyes. “There is something there…there really is something there…” His voice trailed off as his sculpted chest swelled as he sought some relief from the tension of the task. Handing the tool to Arthur, he started to rise “…you want to finish here?”

  Arthur declined, his voice filled with excitement, “No, you’re doing fine.”

  Clay turned to Christina. “Christina…?” he queried, offering her the probes.

  Her hands were shaking with excitement and she lifted them away from Clay, laughing nervously, “No, no, no…I’ll hold the light.”

  Clay turned back to the task and Christina’s hand threaded past his cheek as she moved the light to his direction. Clay was hardly breathing. Perspiration crossed the bridge of his nose and dripped onto his thighs. He suddenly sighed loudly and his head fell back in the same gesture of release that Christina had witnessed hours earlier.

  “Okay…now that longer probe.” His hand extended towards the polished instruments.

  From deep within the cannon’s shaft the grating sound of metal could be heard moving up its length. To brace herself Christina placed her hand on the shaft of the cannon and swallowed deeply and dryly as Clay pulled a small object, about the size of a package of cigarettes into the brightness of the tropical sun.

  The object was heavily pitted but intact, a small lock and hinges still discernible.

  Clay, holding the object, turned to Christina and rose to his feet in a single gesture. Without hesitation he kissed her forehead lightly, tenderly and then looking deep into her eyes said, “I believe Christina that this is yours.” His eyes were once again caressing her, his voice quieting her impulse to shriek with excitement at the dull patina of the treasure, its contents still unknown and perhaps only a myth.

  She reached out, and for a moment their hands joined together around the tiny box that Clay held before him. Christina’s heart swelled with the emotion of the moment and her eyes moistened with feeling.

  Moving to the cabin, the more precise tools required to preserve the delicacy of the box were skillfully handled by Arthur whose face was tense with the task. The other men stood around him silenced by interest and anticipation.

  Christina sat across the tiny table from Arthur handing him the various probes and lubricants. She was keenly aware of Clay’s breathing and as he was standing and watching near her shoulder the heat from his leg seemed to burn against her skin.

  Beneath Arthur’s fingers the little container’s lid suddenly moved a fraction of an inch and Arthur released an entrapped breath as he looked up and over to Christina. Placing the box unopened on a soft pad in the center of the table Arthur gestured with an open palm, “Christina, will you do the honors?”

  With an appearance of slow motion Christina’s moistened hands moved across the plane of the table towards the small mystery. The silence of the group was broken only by the sounds of the sea outside the cabin. Years of speculation, fantasy and laborious research were now to be answered in the simple movement of her hand and the thought of it spun hesitancy through Christina’s arms.

  Christina took in a single breath and exhaled deeply. Her fingers came to rest upon the box, its surface cold and foreign beneath her touch. She flashed a questioning glance over her shoulder into Clay’s eyes. He was looking directly at her as if she, instead of the small container, was the pending fireworks display. A smile, filled with confidence accompanied his encouraging nod.

  Holding the base of the tiny chest against the table Christina’s fingers began to lift the resistant lid of the mystery and as she did there came into view the sight of a heavily decayed, but still intact reddish fabric, long protected from its watery adversary by the sea life that had sealed the seam of the box.

  Arthur handed Christina a stainless probe and her hand began to wield it carefully and in a manner that disguised her trembling sense of anxiety.

  As the tip of the probe explored and then moved a small fragment of the fabric a tiny shaft of dull green light gathered and reflected through the cloth into Christina’s eyes. Sunlight from the nearby window was suddenly mirroring on a facet of a still partially-hidden jewel.

  A groan of delight escaped Christina’s lips and her body was being mesmerized by a tiny laser of color. She was barely aware of the sounds of excitement around her. Her mouth dried and swallowing became difficult. The image of the expression on her father’s face when he first told her about the ring flashed into Christina’s mind and a feeling of pride and completion began to well through her spirit.

&n
bsp; Christina moved the fabric again. The group erupted in exuberance. The Spanish girl’s gold and emerald message gleamed magically in the daylight for the first time since she had probably kissed it and sent it blessed with hope to her love over three 300 years earlier.

  Emotion swept through Christina and her hand lifted in disbelief to her tear-flooded eyes. Clay’s arm cradled her against his hip. She lifted her head back and wiping her eyes looked up at him and smiled.

  He gestured towards the ring, “I think you should try it on Christina but first let me take a picture of it in position. You want close-ups of the cover fabric don’t you Arthur?”

  “Yes, yes…and then several of the tools removing the fabric as we expose its full face.” Arthur’s expression was alive with excitement.

  Moving aside as Clay stepped forward with his camera, Christina’s eyes remained riveted on the ring. Clay shot multiple pictures as tools the size of dental instruments cautiously removed the fabric. Once exposed the ring’s radiance captured every neuron of attention within the room. Light danced across its surface; rapture swelled the emotions of its audience. The ring’s delicately sculpted setting held a large emerald surrounded by diamonds and sapphires that radiated brilliantly in the bright sunlight.

  As Clay finished, Arthur prompted Christina to lift the ring from the box, but Christina found herself hesitating, almost as if touching the ring would be to desecrate the young girl’s undelivered message so long delayed in its time capsule near the shipwreck. As long as it remained untouched the fate of the lovers remained somehow suspended.

  Where her fingers could not, Clay’s hand took over and with an approving nod from Arthur, Clay gently reached for the ring and in one movement raised its lustrous surfaces before the awaiting eyes of the group. With his other hand he took Christina’s right hand and lovingly slipped the ring on her trembling finger.

  The magic of the moment encircled Christina’s thoughts into a completed sphere of long awaited dreams and hopes. Her spirit seemed to lift her, carry her through a colored spectrum of feelings as if her entire life had led her to this event. Her hand was being held, passed, caressed and admired by the laughing, joyous group of men and she suddenly threw her head back and let out a shout of pure happiness. She thrust her hand high into the air and her face glowed with warm satisfaction as she looked at the jeweled golden treasure, its facets seemingly lit from within, as was Christina herself.

  Chapter 19

  As the boat docked, friends of the captain, Arthur and Clay collected in the business of securing the boat and removing equipment. Though no one, of course, had been made aware of what they were looking for, their preparations and trip had piqued much local interest. At least twelve people mingled into the tasks of organizing the closure of their journey.

  The boat seemed crowded with people and Christina’s need to be with Clay, to talk with him, was being thwarted by curiosity over the cannon and the business of gathering up personal possessions.

  Clay, coming below and escaping the confusion on the deck, appeared at Christina’s bunk. She was attempting to pack her bag while avoiding the questions on deck from several people she didn’t know. His arms were loaded with camera equipment and a duffle bag. Seeing him like this struck Christina with the realization that they, at least for the moment, were parting and their days together, which had led to the beauty of the morning, were ending.

  “I guess that you and Arthur will handle all of the details of registering the cannon and ring with the authorities…,” he paused as if searching for words. His speech seemed hesitant, unsure for the first time since she’d met him “Can I help you with anything?” he gestured to her bag.

  “No…no…I’m fine.” She felt clumsy; self-conscious. She realized that their early morning encounter was in some way rendering them both uncomfortable in their parting. She busied herself with folding an article of clothing and looked away from his gaze. “I guess all of the excitement is over.” The observation was empty; filled with avoidance.

  “How many more days will you be here?” Ignoring her meaningless remark he moved toward her.

  She turned and looked up into Clay’s face. Seriousness had clouded his eyes.

  “I’m…ah…I’m going to leave on Tuesday.” She swallowed audibly, “...only four days….”

  His head nodded in acknowledgement but he remained silent. She wanted to hold him and question him about his feelings but each word they spoke increased her feeling that some sort of uncertainty was building between them. They began to share a wordless exploration of each other’s expressions.

  From far behind Clay’s shoulder, Arthur began calling Christina’s name. Clay looked in the direction of Arthur’s voice and nervously clearing his throat said, “We haven’t had much of a chance to talk have we? I have something to do tonight and tomorrow but I’ll be finished by tomorrow evening.”

  Arthur opened the galley door and called her again. Not taking her eyes off Clay’s face Christina’s voice raised, “I’ll be right up.”

  Clay continued, “Maybe we could go back out to the beach for a late night picnic.” He lightly touched her chin.

  Christina’s heart danced and she closed her eyes and absorbed the warmth of Clay’s hand as it lay against her face.

  Footsteps sounded on the galley stairs. “Clay…you down here?” It was Joe.

  “Yes, in here Joe, I’ll be with you in a minute.” His eyes returned to Christina’s face and searched expectantly across her features. “Tomorrow night?”

  Joe appeared in the doorway, “Clay…oh, I’m sorry,” he uttered remorsefully.

  The moment slipped from their grasp as a blur of below-deck activity began and diluted their parting into gestures of politeness and half-lingering glances.

  Christina was scarcely aware of leaving the boat and she and Arthur’s journey back to the cottage, the houses and landscape passing invisibly before her eyes. As their car was nearing the driveway to the house Arthur interrupted her thoughts. .

  “Well, Christina, it would appear that our trip was successful for you in a variety of ways”

  She flashed a smile in his direction, “Was it that obvious?”

  “Not to anyone who didn’t know you,” he said returning her smile.

  “Oh Arthur, I really am in love.” The confession left her lips with such unexpected easiness that she felt stunned by the meaning of her own words and her hand self-consciously closed over her mouth.

  Arthur laughed in accepting amusement at her admission. “Easier than you thought…huh?”

  Christina rolled her eyes up and tilted her head back. A breeze rushed through the silken depths of her hair “Oh, I just know that in some moments today the ring hardly even mattered.”

  She had in fact felt almost ambivalent about its discovery, its find marking the end of a wonderful fantasy that had occupied so much of her life. She also knew that her stay in the islands and her relationship to Clay – a relationship tied directly to the search for the ring - had come to a close. This link between them however, no longer mattered she assured herself. Hadn’t he said that he would see her tomorrow night? Christina found herself feeling simultaneously excited, sad, elated, and worried and this mixture of emotions suddenly reawakened her old fears about the risks of loving anyone.

  …

  Arthur and Christina swept into the house with news of their discoveries and proudly displayed the mythical ring before Agatha and Jonathan’s bedazzled expressions.

  To Christina’s curious surprise, Agatha produced a jewelry monocle from the desk and cautiously inspected the jewels under its enlarged vision.

  “Flawless…absolutely flawless,” she exclaimed and like an appraising jeweler moved the ring out before her at arm’s length. Sunlight from the terrace reflected off the terrazzo floor and illuminated the inner colors of the ring from below.

  Without taking her eyes from the lustrous stone Agatha offered, “I’m very proud of both of you.” She turned th
e ring between her fingers. “Jonathan, bring a bottle of Dom Perignon, would you please.” Her eyes remained on the jewel. “Christina, my dear, please don’t lean on that chair.” She paused, her surveillance of the ring reeling her attention back to silence for only a moment.

  “Emily Sinclair called you,” Agatha continued. “…such a dear thing…wants to meet you for lunch tomorrow.” Agatha was holding the ring under the glass again. “I left the message in your cottage on the little table by your bed where you’ve collected all those…,” she paused again, “…well, souvenirs I suppose, though I can’t imagine that’s exactly the right word.”

  Jonathan brought the bottle of champagne on a deliciously prepared tray of cheeses, fruits and crackers and as Agatha squeezed the ring into Christina’s palm she patted it in a patronizing manner and said, “It’s lovely, very, very lovely. Your father will undoubtedly be delighted, quite delighted. Arthur, please.” Agatha signaled Arthur with an empty goblet and a silence fell across the group. Each of them sitting back into the rattan chairs near the large open windows.

  “You’ll be leaving in a few days Christina and I feel we have hardly had a chance to become the close friends I had hoped… you and I have been so very busy, but I am going to make that all up. I am going to have a little dinner party for you tomorrow night and I absolutely insist that you help me with the menu.”

  Christina glanced quickly at Arthur, “Oh, Agatha, that’s very nice of you, but I sort of have other plans…” She felt awkward, but pleased with the reality of the excuse.