A Sea Too Far (26 page)

“Charles Town?” Rhonda repeated. “Do you mean Charleston?”

“Oh, no,” Warren said positively. “It was Charles Town. That’s what everybody called it.”

Rhonda and Morgan exchanged worried looks, but Warren continued his tale before they could frame another question.

“When we arrived in Charles Town, Blackbeard took a group of the townspeople hostage,” Warren explained. “But the townspeople came back with some militia and captured Blackbeard. That’s when Mary was slashed with the sword. I stopped fighting and helped her. I stitched her wound, and after she healed, we broke Blackbeard out of the jail.”

Morgan’s eyes grew wider as he listened to the increasingly fantastic story gush from his son’s mouth. He turned to his wife and slowly shook his head in bewilderment.

“Mary and I sailed out of Charles Town harbor with Blackbeard, and we found the
Queen Anne’s Revenge
. Blackbeard wanted to sail to another place in Carolina, but he let us go with Master Oakes in the sloop, and we finally sailed to Nassau.”

“So you ended up in Nassau,” Morgan said, trying desperately to make sense of his son’s fantastic tale.

“Yes,” Warren continued. “That’s where we met Anne Bonny and Captain Calico Jack Rackman. Anne’s husband told Governor Rogers that we were still pirates, and that’s why we couldn’t get pardons. So we sailed to Jamaica and raided a Spanish merchant ship.” The young man paused. “Can I have a glass of juice? I’m thirsty.”

Rhonda walked to the kitchen in a daze. She was unable to comprehend what could possibly have happened to her son. “Wait until I get back before you tell anymore,” was the only comment she could manage.

Warren took the glass from his mother’s hand and drained the juice without stopping. “That’s where I got the sword,” he said. “And the pirates voted me a full share of the bounty. I fought one of the Spanish sailors and knocked his sword out of his grasp. But then all the pirates started getting drunk; so Mary and I sailed to the beach in a dinghy.”

“You and Mary . . . sailed off alone to a beach,” Rhonda said uncertainly. “What . . .?”

Warren shook his head. He paused in thought before beginning again. Flashes of the happy memory of his time with Mary darted through his mind. He waved away the poignant images with a dismissive hand and skipped ahead.

“After the British navy captured Calico Jack and Anne Bonney and the rest of the crew, Mary and I sailed away from Jamaica and tried to return to Nassau. We ran into a storm and one of those waterspouts dropped right on us. The sailing dingy was pulled into the cloud and we spun around wildly. I couldn’t hold on, and I smashed my head on the side of the boat. When I woke, I was in Warderick Wells. The park ranger was insistent I not leave alone, but he did point out the way to sail back to Serenity Cay.”

“Darling, why don’t you go upstairs and take a hot shower and lie down,” Rhonda suggested tentatively. Her son’s fantastic tale had unnerved her normal composure. “I think it’ll make you feel better.”

“I’m going to walk down to the clinic,” Morgan said to Warren. “I think I’ll see if the doctor is available. Maybe we should have him look you over to be sure you’re okay. It sounds like your . . . adventure . . . was really . . . something. After you get some rest, you can tell us all the details.”

“That’s a great idea,” Rhonda added. “You wouldn’t mind if the doctor checked you out, would you, darling? You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’m fine,” Warren protested. “But maybe I could use a a shower and a nap.”

“Run along, then,” Rhonda said. “When you wake up, I’ll have a nice brunch ready. Hopefully the doctor can get here by then.”

Warren scampered up the stairs. Conchshell slid from under the chair and followed her master.

Morgan sat in silence. Rhonda held her head in her hands. She started sobbing. “Is he sick?” she muttered. “Did something happen to him out there? And where did he get those bizarre clothes he’s wearing, especially that billowing red shirt? He must have landed on an island somewhere.”

Morgan stood. He punched his fist into his palm. “I’m going to pull the dory up on the beach,” he said. “I guess Warren was too tired last night to do it. Then I’m going to the clinic. We’ve got to discover what’s wrong with our son. Does he have a concussion? Did he suffer a brain injury when he supposedly hit his head?”

Morgan opened the porch door and stepped down to the beach. His mind swam with questions and fears.

Rhonda sat motionless on the couch, quietly weeping until she heard Morgan call her name. As if in a trance, she stumbled off the porch and approached her husband standing beside the dory.

Morgan’s expression was a mixture of bewilderment and amazement. He was holding Warren’s sword in one hand. In the other he held the heavy pouch of gold coins and precious jewelry.

“Look what I found in the dory,” he said simply. “Perhaps Warren hasn’t lost his mind after all.”

~39~
 

The delicious smell of cooking bacon woke Warren shortly after noon. He bounced down the stairs and jumped on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter.

“I’m starving,” he said. “What are you making?”

Rhonda turned from the frying pan of crispy bacon and sausage links and kissed her son warmly on the cheek. “I have a three-egg western omelet just as you like it,” she said. “I guess you smelled the bacon and sausage.”

“My favorite,” Warren said enthusiastically. “Thanks.”

Conchshell pranced down the stairs and walked to her bowl. The Labrador pushed the plastic dish into the center of the kitchen and released a playful bark.

“Hey, Mom,” Warren laughed. “Look who’s dropping hints she’s hungry, too.”

Warren walked to the pantry and removed two cans of dog food. He opened them and spooned the contents into the Labrador’s bowl. “Here, girl,” he said. “You haven’t had any canned food in a while. I wonder if you prefer it to fresh goat over an open fire.”

Rhonda started to ask her son if Conchshell really ate goat while they were away, but she hesitated to pose the question. She and Morgan had talked extensively while Warren slept. They had agreed to tread very gingerly with him about his absence. They did not want to challenge his veracity or question his honesty. They would explore the details of his escapade at a carefully measured pace.

The odd clothes he wore, the genuine pirate sword in the bottom of the dory, and the bulging pouch of genuine gold coins and authentic ancient jewelry were all indisputable proof that Warren had actually been somewhere during his absence. His report of cavorting with pirates, raiding merchant ships, orchestrating a jail break, sword fighting, and sailing to Jamaica might or might not be true. But apparently in Warren’s mind the events happened. What would be the advantage of arguing against his amazing tale when the only tangible evidence supported his story?

Warren wasn’t crazy. He was the same nearly sixteen-year-old rambunctious boy he had been before the hurricane, with the possible exception that he now possessed a somewhat more mature demeanor.

“After brunch, Shelly and I are going bonefishing,” Warren said. “I think we’ll try that beach to the north. We haven’t explored that flat in a while.”

“That would be wonderful, darling,” Rhonda said. “Your father and I have some things to do around the house. We’ll grill some fresh fish this evening when you get home. You can tell us more about your adventure, if you want.”

Warren jumped from the stool and carried his empty plate to the sink. “The whole thing was so exciting,” he said. “I almost wish it didn’t end, except I was missing you and Dad.”

“Go ahead, dear,” Rhonda said. “I’ll clean up. I know you and Shelly want to get to the flat.”

* * *

Warren walked slowly down the beach, keeping his attention on the extensive shallows stretching to the east. His seven weight rod was clutched in one hand. A #4 Spawning Shrimp fly dangled from a 10 lb. fluorocarbon leader. The tide was low, and Warren studied the little sloughs that were carved into the sand. These depressions brought flooding water when the tide rose and drained the flat during the ebb. The deeper troughs were used by bonefish as channels to access and egress the shallow area.

Conchshell dashed along the beach, sniffing the sand, exploring clumps of seaweed, checking out clusters of flotsam and individual pieces of jetsam.

Neither Warren nor his dog saw the lone figure slowly walking barefoot in the tiny wavelets half a mile ahead.

Warren scanned the flat with intensity, searching for signs of feeding bonefish. He looked for protruding tails flashing in the sunlight or an area of slight discoloration caused by fish rooting in the bottom and muddying the water with disturbed sand.

He stopped, drew a deep breath and looked up into the endless expanse of cloudless blue sky. Warren was thrilled to be home. He was ecstatic to see his parents again. He had amassed amazing memories to treasure for the rest of his lifetime. But his heart ached with a gnawing void. He missed Mary.

The young woman had become more than his best friend and a full partner in his adventures. She had awakened him to the possibilities of love.

Warren smiled as he recalled his mother’s suspicious reaction to his mention of the afternoon on the beach at Point Negril. But Mary was more than a mentor. She was his ideal for a life companion. Where was she? Where had she gone when the dinghy was hoisted from the ocean’s surface and spun wildly in the air by the powerful waterspout?

The gentle easterly breeze wafted across the flat and carried the fresh scents of the ocean toward the shore. Conchshell raced ahead of Warren, exploring the beach and vegetation along the perimeter. When the Labrador reached a point directly behind the solitary figure walking pensively in the surf, the dog stopped immediately. Curious, Shelly approached the person with her tail wagging.

The young woman bent over and scratched the Labrador behind the ears.

Conchshell eagerly licked her tanned cheek. The prescient dog immediately recognized the beachcomber.

Warren looked idly at Conchshell as his dog walked up to the solitary figure. “You’re acting bold today, Shelly,” he said to himself. More typically, the Labrador was somewhat circumspect around strangers until they had demonstrated kindness and interest.

Warren tilted his head and squinted his eyes to better focus on the figure stooped over his dog. An unexplainable force began pulling him along the beach. For a moment he felt as if he were caught in a powerful magnetic field which was summoning him toward the stranger.

Warren initially resisted the unseen energy, anxious about the invisible force seemingly beyond his control. He instinctively hesitated, fighting the urges of his feet that wanted to march toward a person he had never met.

The tawny haired young woman stood erect. She was wearing a white bikini bathing suit. The brief halves of the bottom were knotted by simple strings tied across her slender hips. A pair of small triangles covered her breasts.

Warren increased his pace. His breathing became shallow and his heart started to pound, first with anticipation, and then with irrepressible joy.

The bathing suit was a complete surprise. The familiar body was not. Warren immediately suspected the young woman was Mary. His heart sang with joy.

Warren wanted to race the remaining distance and grab the young woman and squeeze her in an everlasting embrace. But he wasn’t completely positive. Could it be true? How did Mary get to Serenity Cay? What if he were mistaken? What if the young woman just looked like Mary? How embarrassing would it be to grab a perfect stranger!

Warren approached. His eyes were wide with amazement. His concentration was riveted on the young woman’s face. Then he dropped his attention to the area just below her bikini bathing suit top. A thin, white, horizontal scar was unmistakably visible.

Warren glanced at the young woman’s left hand. Gleaming from the third finger was his gift of the emerald ring.

It was true. It was Mary!

“Is that a fishing rod you have there?” Mary said with a coy smile that sent Warren’s heart flying through his chest.

“Yes,” Warren replied, fighting the urge to touch and hug the woman he so recently feared he might never see again. “It’s a fly rod. I use it for bonefishing.”

“Bonefishing?” Mary repeated with a mischievous grin across her face. “I’ve heard it’s fun. How would you like to show me what it’s all about?”

Warren’s delighted smile spread from ear to ear. “I once promised a beautiful young woman that I would take her bonefishing. It wasn’t too long ago.”

“You did? What was her name? I think I’m jealous.”

“Mary,” Warren said with a laugh. “I think her name was Mary.”

The young woman turned to Warren and looked directly in his eyes. Her face glowed with affection. Her heart pounded with happiness. “What a coincidence. That’s my name,” she said playfully. “Mary.”

“And my name is Warren.”

“I know,” Mary said, her voice suddenly serious. “It was my choice to follow you here.”