Plundered Christmas (19 page)

As we half walked, half ran, I asked Justin if his Uncle Frank had caught up to them to help them search for Juliana and Jelly.

“No,” said Justin, confused. “Did he say he was coming to help us?”

“That's exactly what he told me.” The unanswered question hung between us. What happened to Frank?

I got to the boat with Justin and things were astoundingly quiet, except for the helicopter blades slowly whirring down by the house. “James?” I called, stepping onto the dock.

The yellow boat bounced slowly on one side and the Banet yacht on the other side. The yellow craft was about a third of the size of the yacht and looked like a toy next to it.

I looked at Justin. “You said your dad was here?”

He looked around. “Yea. He was right on the bridge—right there.“ He indicated the prow, right in front of a glassed in tower. “He had Miss Juliana caught good and proper and had her arms behind her back. He sent me to get you because she wouldn't talk to him. Anytime he asked her a question, she'd just cry.”

There seemed to be a lot of that going on. Now, I'm not against a good cry, especially if one has a reason to mourn or it seems like the world's turned upside down. However, it did seem like the women around me were crying at the drop of a hat and about the oddest things.

“Well, take me on board to where your dad was last.” I followed Justin onto the gangway and up onto the yellow boat. While certainly large enough, it didn't appear in the greatest condition. The yellow paint, on closer inspection was cracked and peeling. The name on the side, had a couple of A's, a B and some squiggles, but I couldn't make out what it intended to say. In general, it seemed seaworthy, but in need of an extensive overhaul.

We searched the front of the ship where James had been. I could see no sign of him anywhere.

Then Justin gave a strangled sound of surprise. “What is it, honey?”

I turned to see him looking at a red spot on the deck. That could have been anything. Spilled paint even. But someone had used that red to write four letters HLEF.

“Dad's been hurt!” Justin said.

Was it losing a dog and my husband in less than an hour? Was it only sleeping appropriately when drugged? Was it not having much more than coffee to keep me going all day? I don't know. But I did something uncharacteristic for a Jeanine. In fact, I don't think I'd ever done it before. But right there, staring at the letters HLEF and thinking anything other than the Bible reference, His love endures forever, I crumpled into a heap on the deck of that boat.

 

 

 

 

12

 

I have been told that you don't dream when you faint. I beg to disagree. I didn't realize that I had passed out. I did realize that I saw things.

I was home. Our Christmas tree was lit and glowing. The light from it seemed not just to radiate from the bulbs, but from the core of the tree itself. As the light grew, it came out to fill me and everyone else in the room.

Before I knew what was going on, we were singing. Each of us sang a different Christmas carol, but somehow they blended and grew into the most beautiful song I've ever heard. With every note, I felt peace and love weave themselves through me until where they started and I ended was indistinguishable. I was whole, healed in every sense of the word.

“Miss Jeanine,” someone splashed some cold water on my face. “Miss Jeanine.” Someone shook my arm.

“Mom!” Justin sounded a bit panicked.

I looked up into the concerned face of Charlie.

“Wh-a-at happened?”

The sound of my voice seemed to give energy to my eleven-year-old. “You went boom down onto the deck. I'd never seen anything like it. One minute you were looking at Dad's blood and the next…” He kept talking, describing the blow by blow replay from his vantage point.

I didn't really listen too carefully. I was remembering the tree and the song. “There's still time for Christmas.” I rolled to my side and leaned on my elbow.

“Are you certain you should be getting up, ma'am?” Charlie asked, gently pushing on my chest, I suppose to get me to lie back down.

“I'm fine, Charlie. More than fine, actually.”

I pushed myself the rest of the way up, stood and stretched. I did feel good. Not even hungry at the moment. “HLEF,” I said. I pointed to the letters my hubby had written. I knew it was a clue. Yes, he had gotten hurt. But he was alive. I knew that, too. And the flickers at the back of my brain, thanks to the knock on the head, were getting closer to the front.

I walked off the boat with Charlie and Justin following me and protesting. I stayed close to the dock because that's where the letters were written on the map. But I also realized that they were written before the dock was ever constructed. Under the wood planks, where they linked to the mainland, I saw it. A large flat stone. And in one corner, engraved in the rock, the letters HLEF.

“Charlie! Justin! Come help me with this.”

Justin, who had been following me around anyway because he thought his mom had lost her marbles, was at my side in a moment.

“Help me lift this stone!”

“But what about Dad?” he said. Then immediately, “It's just like the one in the field!”

I was already on my knees under the shadow of the planking above, scraping away. “Your dad left this clue. It's important. We'll find what's here and immediately inform the authorities. I do think three Coast Guard officers, plus all the rest of us, are more than enough for this murderous ghost.”

Justin dug with me.

Then, a little slower or more reluctantly, Charlie got down on his knees and helped us, too.

The stone was already loose enough to pull up without a lot of extra effort.

“Was this why Margo was down by the docks, Charlie?” I asked.

“Yes'm,” he mumbled.

“But she never had the chance to pull it up because our ghost, whoever he is, showed up.”

The older man didn't say anything. I think he still blamed himself for Margo getting hurt.

We lifted the stone. Underneath, was a small cavity carved into the earth. Inside that, sat what looked like a little treasure chest.

“Does anyone have gloves?” None came forward. The bottom edge of my T-shirt was already quite dirty, so I stretched it out and used the edges of it to pull up the chest. It was locked, but had a slide catch. If I guessed the right three numbers, it would open. HLEF. Psalm 136. I tried 1, 3, 6 and heard the successful click. Gingerly, I pried the lid open; inside, was another scroll. And beneath, an ancient-looking leather-bound Bible.

 

****

 

The year of our Lord, 1725, January

It has been over three years since my escape from the prison cell. Though I have only been off this island when James and I have worked our new trade with the ship, Father would have let me know if the authorities still sought me. They do not. For all purposes, Anne Bonny, the pirate queen is dead and gone.

The ghost ship, though, lives and we do well. While not as bloodthirsty as my years as a pirate, it has excitement and profit enough. Soon, I must take another respite from our career. James and I expect another child soon. This one will be truly James' own. Will he treat little Margo any differently when he has a son of his own? I am certain the babe is a boy. My mother would have said it is because I carry him low. However, I say it because of the face I see in my dreams. Little James. I know we will name him after his father.

The ghost ship had an amazing season before I found myself with child. We cornered and plundered a Spanish galleon that had managed to get itself lost within our waters. On a foggy night, we stranded its men near Cuba so that they would survive and continue to tell the tale, but not before we had managed to clear their hold of two hundred barrels of rum and a good-sized chest of pieces of eight.

James buried the chest on Banet Island. It will be our back up in case the trade or the other treasures fail. He assures me that no one will find it. I alone, and the servant who helped him bury it, know of its location. He did choose well. No sane person would ever want to dig where he planted it.

Father will sell the rum off gradually for us. We have made him abundantly wealthy. He has told me that one of his mistresses is due to make him a father once again. I have to laugh at that. He will soon be a grandfather thrice over and now with the white hair firmly established on his crown, his loins will bear fruit again. My father, in all these years, has never changed his ways.

Oddly enough, though, I have. After the galleon was marooned, we found ourselves with a stowaway. A little Catholic priest, Father Joseph, who had been on the ship, escaped both our notice and the butt of our swords. He followed us back to our ship. Unfortunately for us, the man knew the King's English. He pled God's mercy once we discovered him. We had nearly made it to Banet Island by that time. We could not very well send him back to his flock—not once he had seen our flesh and blood, neither of which should ghosts possess. As I near my time, he spends much time talking with me.

If he has his way, the little man will win James and me to God.

What would we do then? I wonder. For this priest is quite convincing in his messages about our given livelihood and the error therein. Father Joseph has an annoying tendency to call anything that violates the Ten Commandments as sin. And though James and I are quite careful to avoid harming anyone with the ghost ship, we have murdered in our past lives. As noble and adventurous as we attempt to make our current escapades, thieving has its name called in God's summation of what not to do.

In the pretext of learning better English so that he can help translate and negotiate for our “trade” Father Joseph has given me a Bible. Where he came across an English Bible in his travels, I know not. For his own worship, he uses the Vulgate. As I near the birth of the infant and my days of confinement, what else have I to do but to teach the man what he wishes to know?

However, something happens to me as I read the words on the pages. Many of these words I heard over the years when mother took me to service, but somehow, reading them has a different effect upon me.

I read yesterday about the birth of the Lord in Luke. I found myself weeping. What I would have given to hold that holy Child!

Have I been more wrong all these years than even I knew?

Anne of Banet Island

I pulled up the Bible and another letter fell out. The childish scrawl was big and clear.

The year of our Lord, 1729, January

Dear Grandpapa,

Since the birth of little George, Mama has not been well. Father and I do not know how long she will be a-bed. So he agreed that I could write the last missive to you with Father Joseph's help.

You have never met me. Mama and Father named me Margaret after Mama's mother. She told me that she still misses her to this day. Do you miss her, too?

You may wonder why we said this is the last missive. Father and Mama have given up pirating and have settled down to an honest life on the island. They no longer need to keep a record to report to you because there will be nothing to report. Father has made secret restitution to as many as he could find, released the crew who would not turn to the new ways, and has received a contract with the governor to use the Ghost as a transport ship, supplying the governor's house and table.

Much of the changes come because of Father Joseph. Father (as in my father) often says that for a Spaniard he is a decent man. Mama says that anyone who loves and believes the Bible as Father Joseph does cannot be bad. I do not remember much of the time before he joined us. However, Mama has told me some things about her temper and the things she has done in her life.

She is sorry. She has asked you and God above for forgiveness. God's she says she knows she has, yours she may never know this side of heaven.

Mama has given me the job of telling my brothers and all the future Banet children about their new life. The old life, the old Anne Bonny, must be forgotten and become simply a story of the high seas. Anne Bonny, she says, no longer exists. You would not recognize your girl if you did come to visit our island. She said you would notice most that the temper has gone. She has peace.

James and Anne Banet, my parents, are honorable citizens and loyal to the crown. The past, the rest of the letters, buried and hidden forever on this soil, must remain missing. They must! Only if Mama focuses on the future and the mercy she has been shown, will Mama mend.

She says that the future is the real treasure. She looks for Thomas, George, and me to build a family that will look to God in all things.

Do you understand what she means, Grandpapa?

Father Joseph tells me that I must wish you well in the closing. He says that when people go on a journey they say “Godspeed,” or “Go with God.” I do wish that for you because you are Mama's father. I hope you love God as much as Father, Mama, and Father Joseph do. Then, if you do, I will see you in heaven someday.

Your granddaughter, Margo

 

****

In two more locations on Banet Island, we would find two more of Anne's letters. But this one of a Margo who was the great-grandmotherly ancestor of the Margo I knew, explained so much. Fear of the past colored the Banet family.

 

 

 

 

 

13

 

Justin, Charlie, and I took the box into Miss Margo. She already looked much better. “Someone had tampered with the ointment I prescribed,” the doctor said. “Just enough of an amphetamine to mirror a heart attack.”

I handed the little treasure chest to Mary rather unceremoniously I'm afraid. “It will do you and your mom good to read everything in that box.” I turned to the officers, all three of them now present in the great room.