[Flying Dutchman 01] - Castaways of the Flying Dutchman (37 page)

“So, you see, my friends, my client is the owner of quite a considerable area, of which Chapelvale village is merely the center! Mark Milestone East, and an arrow pointing downward, that was all the clue we had to go on. But our united efforts brought about its successful conclusion. Remarkable!”

The magistrate took Mrs. Winn's hand. “Remarkable indeed. Madam, may I be the first to congratulate you upon your elevation to the squirearchy. You are, through the help of your friends, a very fortunate lady!”

The old lady blushed, fidgeting with her ecru linen gloves. “Why, thank you, sir. My late husband, Captain Winn, always said that the price of true friends is above that of gold. I wish he had lived to see himself as Squire of Chapelvale. He loved our village dearly, even though a great deal of his life was spent away from it, at sea. When things get back to normal, I am going to do something he would have approved of. I will grant to all the people of Chapelvale that piece of land which their home stands upon, house, shop, business, or farm. I can do that now that I legally own all this land, can't I?”

The magistrate rose to leave. “You can indeed, marm!”

Dai Evans came hurrying in with a tray of drinks, elderberry wine, beer, and lemonade, which he began serving to the party.

“Wait, sir, join us in a toast to our new squiress!”

Smiling, the magistrate raised his glass. “I'm not sure squiress is right, but whatever it is, I'm sure Mrs. Winn will perform her duties admirably, with all of you as her friends!”

Will Drummond raised his glass. “Aye, that's the toast. Friends.”

As the company clinked glasses they chorused together. “To friends!”

Celebrations at Evans Tea Shoppe, and throughout the village, went on into the mid-noon. Now every villager was his or her own landlord, owning the actual ground their house or business stood upon. The square resounded to the noise of happy folk, who had occupied the marquee previously set up for those who had planned the destruction of Chapelvale. Amy Somers was watching Blodwen Evans coaxing her brother to take on yet another portion of ice cream, when she noticed that Ben and his dog had slipped away during the merry-making.

She found them sitting in the alley together, enjoying a respite away from the bustle and noise indoors. The dark-haired girl sat next to Ben, her back against the wall, noting how he and the dog were looking at each other.

“You two are talking together, I can tell.”

Ben shrugged. “We're just exchanging a few thoughts, feeling happy for Miz Winn and the village. Old Ned looks happy, doesn't he?”

Amy stroked beneath the black Labrador's chin. “Yes, he looks very happy indeed. I'll just sit here and be happy with you both.”

Mischief danced in Ben's blue eyes, as he sighed peacefully. “All you need for real happiness is the sun on your face and a friend by your side.”

The girl smiled fondly at him. “That's nice, but what about Ned?”

The strange boy smiled back at her. “Ned's the friend I was talking about.”

She dived on him, pummeling away playfully. “Ooh, you rotter!”

Ben giggled helplessly. “Mercy please, I meant you, too!”

The dog threw a thought in. “Go on, m'girl, teach the cheeky young pup a lesson!”

ONE MONTH LATER.

SUMMER ROLLED ON TOWARD AUTUMN. One morning after breakfast, Ben and his dog accompanied Winnie into the village on her weekly shopping trip. They sauntered into the square together, Ned slightly ahead, carrying the woven cane basket in his jaws. Ben stared at the ground, scuffing the dusty cobbles. Winnie watched him with some concern.

“What is it, Ben, you don't look too cheerful today. Do you feel ill, is that it?”

The quiet boy flicked his hair aside and managed a smile. “Oh, I'll brighten up, I suppose. Didn't sleep too well last night, that's all. I'm all right, really.”

The old lady's hand caressed his cheek. “You're thinking of leaving, aren't you.”

Ben took the basket from his dog's mouth and handed it to her. He could not explain the dreams that had been haunting him for the past two nights. Booming waves, hissing surf, creaking rigging, and the slap of wet sails against taut ropes. Vanderdecken's ranting voice and his mad eyes. In his dreams the angel's voice echoed clear again.

“When you hear the toll of a church bell, you must leave this place and travel on!”

The boy turned his clouded blue eyes away from the old lady. “You do your shopping, Miz Winn. I'll go over to the almshouse and see how the new project's coming along.”

She watched him walking across the square with Ned trotting alongside. A boy and his dog. A sudden sadness descended on her, and she called after her strange friend.

“I'll see you at Evans Tea Shoppe for lunch, Ben.”

Without turning, he waved his hand.

As Ben dropped his hand, his big, black dog licked it. “I know, you don't have to tell me, mate, we share the same dreams, remember?”

Ben scratched the dog's ear gently. “Aye, we've left a lot of places behind in our travels, but this village and the friends we've made here . . . I tell you, it's going to be hard to leave Chapelvale.”

Looking up, he saw Alex waving to them from the almshouse door.

Almost everybody was there. Amy threw an arm around Ben's shoulder, leading him into the building. Sheaves of reconstruction blueprints were laid out on the table. Jon, Will, Mr. Braithwaite, and Mr. Mackay were studying them. Amy coughed, waving her hand at the dust that was floating about. She called to Regina and her friends. “Stop that sweeping for a moment, please. Could you start carrying those benches outside?”

Her brother wrinkled his nose. “Oh, all right, bossy boots. Come on, Regina, Tommo, let's take this big one between us.”

The old seaman took a pencil from behind his ear and made a minor adjustment to one of the blueprints. “There, we can extend the evening tea garden out into the old graveyard at the rear.”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Evening tea garden?”

The girl nodded. “Wonderful idea, isn't it? Dai and Blodwen Evans are employing Hetty Sullivan to run the tea garden five evenings a week, after the Tea Shoppe closes in the late afternoon. They'll be supplying her with the materials, of course. Hetty's delighted with her new job. Show him the other plans, Curator Preston.”

The old ship's carpenter assumed a mock dignified attitude. “Ahem, that's my new title, y'know, Curator Preston, of the Preston-Braithwaite Collection. I'm going to be Caretaker Handyman, too. Good, isn't it, I never had that many high-flown titles in my sailin' days. Mrs. Winn wants the old almshouse to be part of our village life, not an old ruin moldering away unused at the corner of the square. Apart from rethatching the roof, and the addition of a window or two, the outside'll look pretty much the same, nice an' quaint.

“But inside there'll be the collection, the cross, chalice, candlesticks, and deeds, all in display cases, together with the story of how Chapelvale was saved. We all get a mention in it, even good old Ned. Then there's the evenin' tea garden and an extra room inside for any village meetings, dances, young people's events. We're even gettin' a small library—Mr. Braithwaite will be in charge of that. A proper little village hall for everyone to use, eh, lad!”

The boy shook his friend's big, tattooed hand heartily. “Sounds wonderful, mate. When will all the rebuilding work start?”

Mr. Mackay interrupted. The dapper little lawyer was positively beaming. “First thing Monday morning, m'boy! My friend the magistrate and I visited the firm of Jackman Donning and Bowe in London last week. We came to an amicable agreement with them. This morning I received by special post a check for a considerable amount. Together with the express wish that the name of Jackman Donning and Bowe never be associated with past events in Chapelvale and the hope that all will be forgotten.”

Mr. Mackay actually performed a small dance of triumph as he pulled forth the check and waved it over his head. “Sufficient funds for our almshouse restoration fund. The workmen arrive with materials on Monday morning, eight o'clock sharp!”

Mr. Braithwaite looked up from a list of new books he was studying. “Quite, er, very good, very, er, er, good. Yes!”

Will Drummond picked a crowbar from a wheelbarrow of tools he had brought from the farmhouse. “Aye, lad, meanwhile 'tis our job to clear all the rubbish from this almshouse an' make it ready. Here y'are, Curator Preston, the crowbar you asked for, sir!”

Jon hefted the long curved iron, moving to the center of the room.

His blue eyes twinkled as he winked at Ben.

“You can lend a hand later, shipmate, but first there's something I've got to do, just to satisfy my own curiosity.”

The boy gave his friend a puzzled look. “Of course I'll help, but what's the crowbar for?”

The old seaman looked up at the ceiling. It was cracked, damp-stained, and bellied. “Ever since I first docked at this almshouse I've wondered what that big, ugly hump atop of the roof could be. I ain't going to let no team o' strange workmen find out afore I do. So cover your eyes an' mouths, everybody. There's goin' to be a load of old dust an' rubbish an' whitewash comin' down.

“Stand clear now, pals. Here goes!”

Whump! Bump! Thud!

A mess of dried rushes, twigs, old plaster, and limewash showered down. Ben and the others shielded their eyes and nose. Jon shaded both eyes with a hand as he battered furiously at the growing gap in the ceiling.

Crack! Whump! Thud! Whack!

He stopped a moment and stared into the huge, dark cavity he had made. “Push that table over here, quick!”

Suddenly Ben knew. He grabbed Ned's collar and hurried outside. The black Labrador sensed it, too. They began running to get as far away from the almshouse as possible, both knowing that they would not outdistance the sound of inevitable fate.

The ground beneath Ben seemed to sway, like the deck of the
Flying Dutchman
, and cold sweat broke out on his face, like seaspray. The distant hiss of escaping steam from a train pulling into the station sounded as if it were the gales off the coast of Tierra del Fuego, so long ago, so far away.

“Leave this place, do not stay to watch your friends grow old and die one by one, while you are still young. You must go!” At the sound of the angel's voice, the dog increased his speed, pulling at his master's hand on his collar, dragging Ben along with him.

Jon stood on the table. He had not noticed Ben and his dog going; amid the curtain of dust and falling rubbish, neither had the others. Will climbed up alongside the old ship's carpenter, holding up a lighted lantern. “What is it? What's up there, Jon?”

“It's a bell, Will! That's what the hump was, a little bell tower. Our new village center will have a bell! Listen!” The old seaman swung the crowbar and struck the inside of the bell.
Booonnnnggggg!
The sound of the bell boomed out over Chapelvale.

As the brazen echoes reverberated far and near, a baby cried.

Eileen popped her head through the back window of the almshouse, looking none too pleased. “Stop that noise this instant! I just got little Willum nicely to sleep out 'ere, now you gone an' wakened 'im, poor mite.”

The old man lowered the crowbar sheepishly, stating his excuse. “But, marm, that's the first time the bell's sounded in nigh on three hundred years!”

Eileen stood with her hands on her hips. “Oh is it now, well, let it be the last for the moment. Get down from that table, Will Drummond, an' you, too, Jon Preston. Standin' up there like two naughty children, covered in dust an' muck an' I don't know what. You should see yourselves!”

Will climbed from the table, dusting himself off. “Sorry, my love, you go an' have a nice cup o' tea at Evans, I'll get Willum back to sleep again.”

Amy could not help smiling at the two big men, now friends. As Jon got off the table, she brushed whitewash flakes from his beard. “Go on, the pair of you, take Eileen over for tea and crumpets. I'll see to Willum.”

Jon threw his arms about Will and Eileen. “Come on, you two, let's do as Amy says—my treat, though!”

They were halfway across the square when Jon noticed his friend's absence. “Wait, I'll go an' ask Ben if he an' Ned want t'come to the Tea Shoppe with us.”

Eileen gave him a playful shove. “Go on with you, what does the lad want with old fogies like us? Ben's prob'ly lookin' after little Willum with Amy. Leave the young 'uns to themselves, you great fusspot!”