Time After Time (222 page)

“Can I help?”

“May I,” she corrected him, having picked up the habit from Tristan. “Of course you may.”

He grinned at her with all the enthusiasm and energy of a little boy, and Caralyn’s heart swelled with love.

“What if it’s not here?” Temperance whispered.

“It’s here,” Caralyn said. “It has to be.”

“But what if it’s not? What if—”

“Temperance, stop!” Caralyn drew in her breath and held it while she mentally counted to ten. “I cannot allow myself to believe this journey has been for nothing. The treasure is here. It must be.”

The woman nodded but remained silent, although the expression on her face mirrored her doubt. With a conscious effort, Caralyn ignored her companion’s skepticism and gave her attention to the activity on deck.

Within a short span of time, the boats were loaded with every thing they’d need—shovels, pickaxes, machetes, lanterns, candles, ropes, and pulleys. The boats were lowered to the water.

White-crested waves propelled them toward the shore with ease. Socrates and Mad Dog jumped from the bobbing vessels and pulled them onto the sand with the swell of the surf.

Once on the beach, Tristan offered her his hand to help her from the boat. Caralyn smiled at him, the heat of his touch warming her soul. She studied the tree line then closed her eyes and pictured Pembrook’s mural in her mind. When she opened them again, she saw exactly where the path had been, or at least, where Pembrook had placed it in his painting.

“We should start there,” she said as she drew Tristan’s attention and pointed toward a spot directly in front of them.

“Are you certain?”

“As certain as I can be. If you close your eyes and remember the mural, you’ll see it, too.”

He did as she requested. A grin spread his mouth as his eyes flew open. “You’re right.” He chuckled then grabbed her around the waist and brought her closer to plant a light kiss on her nose.

Caralyn giggled and pressed her hands against his chest, leaning into him, although she knew she shouldn’t. She felt, rather than saw Temperance watching her with disapproval, and yet the solid hardness of Tristan’s body against hers infused her with desire. Despite her companion’s censure, the promise in his eyes made heat rush to her face. She pulled away, although with great reluctance. “Later,” she whispered for his ears only. Oh, yes. Later.

Tristan quirked an eyebrow, perhaps already thinking about later, then turned from her. “Gather around, men.” He and Graham started handing out shovels, ropes, lanterns, and other tools. He saved a small gardening trowel for Jemmy and pressed it into his son’s hand, much to the boy’s delight. “I want you to stay close to me,” he said. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye, Papa.” The boy grinned, his smile beaming in his little face.

Tristan ruffled his son’s hair and returned his expression, then directed his attention to the men around him. “I believe we’ve found the path—or what’s left of it—that Pembrook depicted in his mural. Stay close. Stay alert. If you see something, anything at all, we’ll check it out.”

Caralyn’s breath caught in her throat as he held out his hand, despite the glare Temperance sent their way. “Ready?”

“Lead the way, Captain.”

Armed with machetes to cut their way through the thick underbrush, the crew followed behind Tristan and Caralyn in single file. Graham brought up the rear, as was his wont. The voices of the men carried in the breeze, and Caralyn smiled at the dreams they had once they found the treasure. Socrates planned to open a tavern sometime in the future when his body could no longer tolerate life at sea. Mad Dog wanted a ship of his own. He’d make an excellent captain, she knew. Coop dreamed of making and selling barrels and crates from his own shop, preferably on one of the islands in the Caribbean where balmy breezes kept the temperature perfect. Graham, not surprisingly, wanted to search for other treasures.

Birds squawked, and startled from their perches, flew off to find sanctuary against the intruders of their green world. Rustling noises in the dead leaves underfoot led Caralyn to believe snakes or feral pigs or other dangerous creatures inhabited this island, and a shudder shook her body. She took a deep breath and concentrated on keeping her eyes straight ahead.

Patches of blue sky appeared more visible as the tropical jungle receded. In due course, the forest opened into a verdant valley full of tall, wavering grasses, a multitude of colorful flowers and the palm trees that were so prevalent in the Caribbean. More cedar, mahogany, and logwood trees dotted the landscape, their limbs creating leafy canopies and offering shade to the sweaty, thirsty explorers. Mountains rose to the north, east, and west, their craggy cliffs impossible to scale.

A small lake shimmered at the base of the mountains like an emerald glimmering in the sun, just like the painting in the cave, but there was nothing else here—no statues, no chapels, no arrows pointing to the treasure—just an open plain interrupted by huge masses of jagged black and rust-colored rocks.

Caralyn’s heart hammered in her chest. Though beautiful, the landscape before her was nothing less than overwhelming. “Where do we start?”

• • •

“Porkchop!”

The captain’s voice rose to the crow’s nest where Porkchop stood watch . . .and daydreamed. For three days, he’d barely moved from his perch except to take short meals and relieve himself, but his time being at the top of the mast didn’t bother him much. After all, he had the chance to watch Caralyn aboard the
Adventurer
when she returned from the day’s excursion. Though exhaustion overwhelmed him, the sight of her lifted his spirits immensely. She, at least, gave him reason to keep the spyglass to his eye.

He sighed and wondered why in hell he continued to obey the captain’s orders. In Porkchop’s opinion, Entwhistle had gone daft, and he feared what the man had in mind for Trey, the girl, and the crew when, and if, they found Izzy’s Fortune.

His eyes, dry and gritty from lack of sleep, worry wrinkling his brow, he folded the spyglass, stuck it in the sash around his waist, and climbed down to the deck. “Aye, sir.”

“What have you to report?”

“Nothin’. They ain’t found the treasure, least not that I kin tell. They’re lookin’ tired an’ dirty, an’ they ain’t dancin’ or celebratin’.” He sighed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. If Trey and his crew didn’t find Izzy’s Fortune, what would the captain do? Porkchop had done his best to keep Entwhistle on the
Explorer
, but he wondered how long that would last. The man seemed hell-bent on taking the longboats to the island and searching himself. And he wasn’t above hurting someone to get what he wanted.

Porkchop wasn’t concerned as much for Trey’s crew as he was for the women, especially Cara. Spirited and feisty, he imagined she would stand up for herself if Entwhistle confronted her. She couldn’t know about the captain’s cruel streak, wouldn’t realize crossing him could result in her death.

He watched the captain pace in front of him, his quick steps revealing his impatience and frustration better than words ever could. Red-faced, a muscle ticked in his cheek and his hands balled into fists. Porkchop’s belly twisted with worry.

“Get back up there!” he ordered after a long time, his breath wheezing in and out of his chest.

Porkchop climbed back to the crow’s nest with haste, grateful to be out of the captain’s line of sight. He settled himself, raised the spyglass to his eye, and waited for the lovely Caralyn to once again appear and make his miserable life a little more bearable.

• • •

One day turned to two, then four, then before Caralyn realized, a full week had come and gone. Every rock formation had been checked for caves, every small indention in the earth dug into with shovels and picks and long wooden poles, and still they were no closer to finding the treasure.

Frustration and fear ate at her like the insects that left welts on her body. Tired, aching not only in her body, but also in her soul, Caralyn pushed and persevered, as did the rest of the crew. The men were losing faith as was she, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from searching until each rock had been overturned, every inch of ground had been explored.

The only ones who hadn’t lost faith, the only ones whose bodies did not throb with pain were Jemmy and Hash. While Hash kept a kettle full of hot, filling stew aboard the
Adventurer
, Jemmy, full of energy, dug here and there in the earth, wherever his little heart desired, happy to play in the dirt.

“This is impossible,” Temperance whispered, her voice full of the frustration Caralyn shared as she tossed another shovelful of dirt to the side. “How are we ever going to find the treasure this way?”

Caralyn closed her eyes for a moment. Her back, shoulders, and hands hurt from shoveling. Indeed, several blisters on her palms had broken and now screamed with pain. Perspiration soaked her clothing. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes and looked at her companion.

Temperance hadn’t fared much better. Perspiration mixed with dirt smeared her cheeks, forehead, and the clothes she wore. Wispy tendrils of auburn hair escaped the bun at the back of her head and were plastered to her face. Panting from her exertions, her hands wrapped in the bandages Stitch had applied for her, she stuck the shovel into the dirt and pushed on it with her foot the way she’d been shown.

Caralyn leaned against a tree and took a sip of water from the jar Hash had so thoughtfully given each of them. She glanced over at Tristan and Stitch several yards away as she tilted the jar to her lips. They looked as exhausted and as filthy as she. The rest of the crew were scattered throughout the valley, their voices rising now and then over the sound of shovels meeting rich, loamy soil.

Tristan glanced up. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and yet he smiled at her. That smile warmed her to her toes. Renewed energy crackled through her, and she moved away from the tree to stick her shovel in the earth once more.

“Miss Cara! Miss Cara! Look what I found!” Jemmy darted through the tall, wavering grass and slid to a stop in front of her.

Caralyn grinned. She couldn’t help it. Not a spot on his clothing or his body remained clean. Indeed, he seemed to have found a mud hole and bathed in it.

“Where have you been?”

“Diggin’,” he replied, the ever-present smile on his face widening. He held up the small garden trowel he’d been given.

She ran her fingers through his dirt-encrusted hair and tried to wipe the mud from his face, but the boy was having none of it. He stepped out of her way with all the agility and enthusiasm of an eight-year-old.

“What did you want to show me?”

“This.” He held out his hand. A ruby the size of a peach pit twinkled in the middle of his grubby little palm.

Caralyn bent down on one knee to be eye level with the boy. “Where did you find this?”

“Is it special? Did I do good?”

“Yes, Jemmy, it’s very special. You did well. Can you show me where you found this?”

“Uh huh.” The lad eagerly nodded then shoved the ruby in his pocket and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

Caralyn followed the boy through the grass, her heart pounding as she tried to keep up with him. Though he’d only found one gem, it still might be proof Izzy’s Fortune was here.

“I found it right here.” Jemmy pointed to a hole he’d dug in the earth beside a huge outcropping of uneven, rough rock. Dreams of riches beyond her belief making her hands shake, Caralyn slammed the point of her shovel into the small pit he created and continued to dig, making the hollow wider and deeper.

Twenty minutes later, breathless, the sores where the blisters had broken on her palms now bleeding, she stopped and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. She leaned against the rock, the jagged edges scratching her back. She’d found . . . nothing. She wanted to cry at the impossibility of ever finding Izzy’s Fortune, not with acres and acres of lush, grassy plains to search. They didn’t have time. They only had a day or two at the most before they had to set sail for England.

Heart heavy with the knowledge she’d have to honor her father’s promise to marry a stranger, tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision.

Then everything changed in an instant. Hope and faith returned to her heart as she gazed into the valley. The landscape shimmered through the veil of moisture in her eyes and the outlines of the rocks and trees became somehow familiar. Recognizable. She’d seen them somewhere before.

Caralyn’s body shook, trembled so violently, she thought she might be physically ill. The tears disappeared as quickly as they’d come.

With her last ounce of energy, she climbed to the top of the rocky ridge. She stood motionless as she tried to reconcile the image before her with what she remembered.

“Miss Cara?” Jemmy called to her then clambered up to join her. He stuck his hand in hers and squeezed. “Miss Cara? Are you all right?”

She swallowed over the lump in her throat then leaned down and kissed the boy on the cheek.

“What are you kissing me for? I didn’t do nothin’.” Jemmy made a face as he tried to wipe her kiss away.

“I kissed you because I’m happy. Because I think I know where the treasure is. Let’s go get your father.” She scrambled from her perch and jumped the last three or four feet then caught Jemmy in her arms as he jumped too. “Tristan!” she shouted as she started running through the tall, wavering grasses, Jemmy’s hand in hers. “Tristan!”

Tristan dropped his shovel and turned as Caralyn launched herself into his arms, almost knocking him over in her exuberance, but she didn’t care.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she giggled as she kissed him over and over. “I am wonderful, in fact.” She planted more kisses on his face, on his lips as her arms wrapped tighter around his neck.

“What happened?” Temperance joined them, breathless, her red face full of concern and censure. She raised an eyebrow as her gaze swept over Caralyn in Tristan’s embrace, but she said not a word.

Caralyn related the events that lead her to climb to the top of the rocks and what she’d seen when she got there. “I think I know where the treasure is.” Caralyn returned her attention to Tristan, released her hold on him and asked, “Do you remember the pages from Pembrook’s journal? The ones that were stuck together?”