Decision and Destiny (15 page)

“Does he ask about her when he’s awake?”

“I don’t think he has to. I think she is with him always, and he happily accepts her presence.”

John didn’t respond, his eyes shadowed as he looked down at the sleeping boy, and Charmaine knew he’d fallen into his contemplative mood again.

They turned to the sound of laughter and the girls racing toward the blanket. Yvette reached them first. Out of breath, she greeted John by dropping a finely shaped seashell in his lap with the word, “Look!”

“A very nice discovery,” he said, holding it up for inspection.

“How far did you travel to find it?”

“Oh, not too far. A few miles or so.”

“A few miles?” he queried, receiving a shrug.

“You know, Yvette,” Charmaine interjected, “if you place the opening to your ear, you’ll be able to hear the sound of waves crashing upon the shore.”

“Now why would I do that when I’m standing right here and can hear them without some stupid old shell?”

John chuckled. “You were gone all that time and only collected one shell?”

Yvette turned a triumphant smile upon Jeannette. “See? I told you he’d ask that question!” She produced a badly battered chalice she had concealed in the folds of her frock. “This is the real treasure
we found!” she bragged, handing him the tarnished item. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

“Yes,” he agreed as he studied it, the encrusted jewels sparkling in the sun. “Where did you find it?”

“Over by the reef. It was buried in the sand, but I saw something shining, so I decided to investigate. Do you think it’s valuable?”

“Valuable? Why, this may be the Holy Grail itself!”

“John,” Charmaine admonished, “don’t blaspheme!”

“Blaspheme?” he objected. “Mentioning the grail isn’t blasphemy.”

“What is the grail?” Jeannette asked.

Charmaine explained it was the cup Christ had used at the Last Supper, expressing her doubts Yvette had found the genuine article.

“But is it valuable?” the girl pressed again.

“Let George have a look at it,” John suggested with a chuckle.

“He knows almost as much about religious artifacts as he does money. The two together should really interest him.”

“Where do you suppose it came from, Johnny?” Yvette asked.

“Well, now, I’m not certain, but I have a good idea.”

“Where?”

“It is probably a relic from the shipwreck that brought that other ‘relic,’ Father Benito, to our shores some fifteen years ago.”

“You never told us about a shipwreck before!”

“That is because it wasn’t something to brag about. If Paul and I had known whom we were dragging from the surf, we would have left him to drown. But we didn’t find out he was a priest until it was too late.”

Jeannette spoke before Charmaine could protest. “You saved his life?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Again Charmaine was on the verge of a reprimand, but what good would it do? “What about the others?” she asked instead.

“There weren’t any survivors, other than Benito.”

His eyes grew distant as if he could see it all before him. “It was a terrible night, fog covered the entire island, and a fierce storm was rolling in. The water was rough, the coastline invisible, the lighthouses useless. The ship crashed into the reef, probably near where Yvette found this. The town’s men signaled the alert and came to the house, demanding the aid of the bondsmen. Then Father was off, forbidding us to leave the grounds. But Paul, George, and I weren’t about to miss all the excitement. What did we know of devastation and loss of life? So, we sneaked out of the compound and reached the shore before most of the men. George saw him first, floating in the surf. Paul dove in before we could stop him. I knew I’d have my head handed to me if he drowned, so I plunged in after him. We dragged the body out together, fearing we’d rescued nothing more than a corpse. We realized he was alive when he moaned. The tide washed many others to shore the next day, all dead. Little of the wreck was recovered, until this.” He studied the chalice again and shook his head. “Benito remained on the island. Father offered him the post of chaplain, and when he recovered, he decided to stay. He wrote to his bishop in Rome and gained permission to minister to our sooty island souls.”

“Humph!” Yvette snorted. “You should have let him drown.”

“Yvette!” Charmaine scolded, appalled by the corrupt remark. She turned on John. “Do you see where your twisted gibes lead?”

“I see,” he muttered, massaging his brow, “so let us drop the nasty subject.”

Yvette snatched the chalice from him and put it in the picnic basket for safekeeping, declaring she would not return it to Father Benito. If he hadn’t missed it in fifteen years, then it belonged to her.

“We saw a boy swimming!” Jeannette volunteered.

“Yes,” Yvette nodded, “and I wanted to join him, but Jeannette said she would tattle on me if I went in the water.”

“It’s a good thing, too,” Charmaine said. “Proper young ladies don’t swim.”

“That means it’s fun,” Yvette rejoined scornfully. “It’s unfair that
proper
young ladies are never allowed to do anything that’s fun.”

“Would you really like to learn to swim, Yvette?” John asked.

“Yes! Oh yes!”

“Very well then, take off your shoes and stockings and get out of your dress, but leave on your petticoats, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Do you really mean to teach me?” Yvette didn’t wait for her brother’s affirmation. In a matter of minutes, she was standing on the blanket, barefoot and clad only in her undergarments. “Well? Let’s go!” she cried. With a jump, she was off and running.

“Yvette!” Charmaine gasped. The ruse had gone too far. “Yvette, come back here! You’ll ruin your petticoats and—”

“Who cares?” she called back. “We’re rich! Besides, I have a hundred other ones just like it in my armoire!” She was already knee-deep in the bubbling surf of the cove, squealing as the waves slapped against her legs. She took a step farther out, and Charmaine shifted uneasily and began to rise.

John stopped her. “Leave her be,” he chided gently.

She looked up at him, and her eyes grew wide, for he had doffed his shirt and was now bending over to pull off his boots. “Are you serious about this?”

“Of course. Yvette will be fine. She has the good sense to wait for me.”

The boots were tossed to the far side of the blanket. His socks followed, leaving him barefoot as well. Next came his belt, and to Charmaine’s utter humiliation, he began working at his trouser buttons, as if he fully intended to peel them off right there, in broad daylight. “Sir!” she gasped, quickly averting her gaze, mortified by what seemed a diabolical chuckle.

“Come, Charmaine, take a look. I know you’re dying to.”

“I’m not!” she objected, looking to Jeannette, whose eyes were trained on him, a bewildered expression giving way to a wide smile. She pulled the girl down beside her, certain she’d die of shame. “I’ll never forgive you for this!”

“For what?” he asked and, stepping before her, laughed the louder when she clamped her eyes closed. “Such modesty, even for a woman! What will you do, my Charm, when you have a husband?”

“Put your trousers back on!” she demanded. “Please!”

Crouching before her, he pried free the hands that cupped her eyes. Though they remained closed, he coaxed them open with the words, “I
have
them on.”

She took in the cut-off breeches the field workers wore, and her temper flared. “I’m sure you’re quite proud of yourself, tricking me like that!”

“Perhaps, but it wasn’t planned. Once again, you’ve brought it all down upon yourself, my Charm. You concluded the worst without allowing me the chance to explain. Do you really consider me so low as to disrobe in front of my own sisters?”

“Oh yes, you had it planned,” she returned, “or you wouldn’t have been wearing those—those things beneath your trousers in the first place!”

“I was wearing them, yes, but not to embarrass you. I had hoped to enjoy a swim today. That’s why I chose this particular spot for our picnic.”

Defeated, she refused to say more.

“And you, Jeannie?” he asked. “Would you like to learn to swim, too?”

“I don’t know if I should,” she faltered, not wanting to cause her governess further distress. But she grew exuberant when Charmaine encouraged her to go.

“It is so warm!” Yvette shouted as they approached, standing waist deep in the surf. “And there are so many fish! Hundreds of them!”

Jeannette dashed ahead, but as the first wave lapped at her feet, she squealed and scurried toward the sand. Then, with arms raised, she danced toward her sister. John followed, and together they made their way farther out, until the girls were shoulder-deep. There they commenced a splashing fight, dousing each other gleefully. When Yvette noticed her brother’s hair was still dry, she shouted: “Let’s get Johnny!” and turned on him. But he dove into the next wave, resurfacing some feet away, drenched. “I’ll show you!” she protested. With that, another battle ensued, the girls showering him with a salty deluge that pelted his face and stung his eyes.

“Careful, Yvette,” he warned, “you’re setting yourself up to get dunked!”

“Don’t threaten me!” she jeered, splashing him harder, screeching when he dove for her, laughing triumphantly when she dodged him. But he continued to stalk her, and with his second lunge, she scrambled to shore, laboring against the strong undertow. “You can’t catch me!” she teased, miffed when he ignored her and waded over to Jeannette instead. It wasn’t long before she rejoined them.

John took them beyond the breaking waves where they could ride the undulating swells. Clinging to him, they squealed each time they were lifted and dropped, not truly swimming, but swimming all the same.

Pierre awoke to a hearty appetite and ate greedily. He gazed out at the water, and his face lit up. Standing, he pointed to his siblings. “Look!”

“Your sisters are learning to swim.”

“Me, too!” he declared, pulling off his shoes and socks. He ran toward the water as fast as his little legs would carry him. No sooner had he reached the shoreline and he was fleeing the bubbling surf that chased him up the beach. When the water receded, he planted himself where dry sand met wet. There he stood, mesmerized by his sisters’ antics.

Yvette continued to throw water into John’s face, knowing he
wouldn’t dunk her out there. Charmaine laughed aloud as the man sputtered and objected. She waved merrily back at Jeannette, who had spotted them at the water’s edge.

When they tired of their play, John began to teach them to swim. Yvette mastered the strokes with ease, but Jeannette remained timid, clutching John repeatedly. Later, the threesome headed toward the beach, emerging from the breakers. They were soaked from head to toe, a sight to behold with tangled hair and clinging garments.

“Mademoiselle Charmaine,” Jeannette heaved, “you should have come swimming, too! It was wonderful!”

“And easy!” Yvette added.

“So I see,” Charmaine said, looking from the excited twins to John. He was pushing back a mop of hair from his saturated face.

“Yvette,” he called, pointing to the horizon, “I think you forgot something.”

With a frown, she squinted out to the water. He snatched her and dragged her back into the churning waves, swiftly dunking her under. She came up sputtering, her eyes shooting daggers that stifled Jeannette’s hearty guffaw. John laughed harder. “It’s not funny!” she fumed.

“Just evening up the score. Next time, you won’t splash me every second.”

“You make it sound like a terrible sin!”

“Do I? Well, then, you’ve been absolved.” He reached heavenward. “Repent and sin no more!”

“Who do you think you are anyway—
John the Baptist
?” With that, she sloshed to shore.

Charmaine looked at John, who seemed to have met his match; he had no retort for his precocious sister. He shook his head and laughed anew. Then Yvette was forgotten as he noticed her at the water’s edge, his gaze as purposeful as his approach, his bare chest glistening in the blazing sun. She looked down at Pierre, who was
squatting at her feet and scribbling with his finger in the wet sand. She picked him up and faced John again, quelling the urge to step back, somewhat fortified with the boy between them.

He smiled down at the lad. “What is that in your hand, Pierre? Some hidden treasure?” The boy giggled and shook his head. “Can we see it?” John probed, poking at the pudgy knuckles.

Pierre pulled his fist away, grazing Charmaine’s cheek and spilling its contents into her windblown hair. To her horror, the “treasure” moved, scrambling to safety in her dark tresses.

“Get it out!” she shrieked, sending Pierre into a fit of laughter. She deposited him on the ground, her hands flying to her head, blindly searching for the tiny intruder, recoiling when she touched it. “Get it out!” she cried with each tug of her locks, imagining the cocoon it wove. “Please get it out!”

Now she had an audience. “What’s wrong?” Yvette asked.

“Miss Ryan has just made a new friend, and he’s building a nest in her hair.”

“You’re absolutely no help!”

“I didn’t think I was permitted to touch your hair, or perhaps you’ve changed your mind.”

“Just get it out!”

“Very well,” he chuckled, “now that I have permission, let’s see where our little friend has disappeared to…”

Her eyes riveted to the flex of muscle in his arm, and her stomach fluttered as he placed a palm against her temple and raked his fingers through her long hair. Those butterflies soared when his thumb caressed her cheek. “It’s somewhere in the back!” she hissed, pulling away from his tormenting hand, unable to meet his eyes. He stepped behind her, working at the tangled strands on her neck, lifting and separating the thick curls, unafraid of what lay beneath.

“There it is!” Yvette directed. “See—the hair is moving!”

Charmaine groaned in misery, but in the next moment, the nasty incident was over. The twins screamed and jumped back as her
unwanted “guest” toppled out of its knotted lair, hit the sand, and scrambled to the safety of the breaking waves. It too, had had enough.