The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons (23 page)

“Do you think we're lost?” I whispered. Marni stared into the distance, biting her lower lip. Walter frowned.

“
Farzad—when will we get to Stuart?
” Coleman sang.

Farzad reined in his camel and spun around, shaking his head so angrily his cheeks jiggled. “Why you ask that? You don't trust Farzad? No you sing now!” he barked, pointing a trembling finger.

We exchanged doubtful glances and followed, but our confidence in him waned and disappeared like the water in our canteens. Consulting the map we'd brought proved useless, as there were no real landmarks to establish our location. Food was scarce—we were hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. Could it be we'd come this far across the sea only to be lost in the desert? That the grasp of the curse had stretched across the water and over the sand?

The worst moment of all was when we wound up back at a spot we'd been before—facing a striated canyon of brick-colored stone, palms and ghost gums at its base.

“You've led us in a circle!” Walter shouted. I'm sure he would've throttled Farzad, if he'd had the strength.

“You no like, get off camel and go,” Farzad retorted.

“Look!” I exclaimed, shielding my eyes with one sunburned hand. At first I thought the faint wavering outline of a small camel train threading its way along the precipice of the canyon might just be a mirage. But staring at it, I experienced a pull, deep in my chest.

Huma must have felt it too. Without so much as a tug on the reins, she turned and started toward it, with all but Farzad following. I barely noticed his ranting as we left him there, so focused was I on the three ghostly riders draped head to toe in flowing wispy robes. Their silhouettes flickered against the backdrop of red rock and sky, nearly transparent, more of a suggestion than a reality. The hypnotic effect of their spectral garb blowing in the breeze brought to mind the rippling sails of a phantom ship. Closer and closer we were drawn, as though reeled in by an invisible line.

At a distance of several camel lengths Huma stopped and we faced these unearthly travelers. They stared out from beneath the filmy shrouds that covered their faces, their features visible, but blurred, dream-like. “
Mother . . .”
I mouthed the word through dry lips, unable to produce a sound.

“
Yes, darling . . .”
I felt the words rather than heard them, soft, like a gentle breeze against my face. Beside her, Father gazed at me, his veiled features a mingling of pride and sadness. I wanted to dismount, to run to them, but I knew this was a divide I could not cross. It took me several long moments to drag my attention from them to take in the third phantom rider. He grinned slyly. Of course! The king of diamonds.

The threesome reined their animals around and took the lead, seemingly gliding above the surface of the arid red earth. I cast a look back over my shoulder to assure that Marni, Walter, and Coleman were still behind me. Wide-eyed and silent they rode along while Farzad hightailed it in the opposite direction, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake. Our untouchable guides led the way, always well in front, an unbridgeable gap between us.

To our right, off in the distance, I spotted two more white-clad specter cameleers, one riding tall and regal, the other short and lumpy. I knew, even from their faint, shadowy profiles, who they were—the queen of spades and the queen of diamonds.

This entourage escorted us across miles and miles of wasteland, in a rhythm all their own. Strangely, there was no need to stop for reprieve or sustenance of any kind. Day and night blended together in a constant glowing twilight, as though time was standing still. We trekked on, inexplicably refreshed, our stamina never diminishing. That, and the great relief I felt—the fact that they revealed themselves to all of us had to mean that their existence was no longer a secret I was bound to keep.

Then, as the sun finally began to rise, their images began to quiver and become less and less clear, until they dissipated like morning mist. We gasped as we found ourselves alone, overcome with a powerful hunger and thirst, in an even stranger landscape than the one we'd been in.

Our sure-footed camels picked their way across a flat open space, tufts of spinifex grass here and there, the paprika-colored earth pitted with craters. Holes, three feet wide by at least six feet deep, had been dug just about everywhere, the loose soil piled haphazardly around the perimeter.

“Where are we?” Walter asked.

“‘Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty,'”
Coleman sang. Marni chuckled.

“This is a
whole
different kind of holy!” I said, and we all laughed. Nervous laughter. Why had they led us here, only to leave us?

“Stop right there! Where do ye think yer goin'?”

A man had appeared out of nowhere, leveling a rifle at us. He squinted through the scope, walking closer and closer.

“You can put that down,” Marni said. “We mean you no harm. The fact is, we're lost. On our way to Stuart.”

The man lowered the gun a smidgen. “And what would bring you to Stuart?”

“I'm looking for my aunt Prudence.”

He cocked his head. Stepped back, lowered his firearm. He studied me, a parade of expressions tramping across the ruddy, sun-weathered face beneath his wide-brimmed hat.

“Prudence,” he said.

“Prudence Simmons.”

“Ye look to be her spittin' image,” he exclaimed. “Didn't realize she was expectin' visitors. Aiden Murray,” he continued, extending his hand. “Caretaker.” I'd forgotten about the flute in my pocket until it began to hum. “Yep, this is the homestead, all right. The holes?” He shook his head. “Crazy talk about buried treasure. Hell on the livestock, and not a trinket or silver coin to be found!”

“We're actually here? My aunt is here?” Relief washed over me.

“Come on,” Aiden said. “I'll take ye to the ranch. Look like ye can use a little grub, a hot shower.” We loped along behind him, his words like a balm to me. “First belonged to the grandfather. Before my time. A real character—gold prospector, then made a fortune in the opal mines. When he went back to the island, my family was left in charge. Raised sheep. Cattle.”

“The island?” I asked.

“Emerald Isle,” Aiden replied. “Ireland. Died on the crossin' is how I heard it. Ship went down—took 'is secrets with 'im. My family's been 'ere ever since. Miss Prudence saw fit to keep us on, happy to say. One hell of a woman, that one! Our arrangement's worked well, except for these blasted holes.”

Baaaaaaaa! For an instant I expected to see Ida. Instead, a long-haired, dirty-white sheep bleated from inside a crater. “See what I mean?” Aiden said, throwing himself on his belly and hoisting the dumb beast up by her front legs. The sheep scrambled off and we continued on.

Finally, behind a small grove of ghost gums, a long low ranch house appeared. It had a peaked metal roof and white gingerbread trim around the deep covered porch that ran the length of the building. A set of double doors was set dead center, floor-to-ceiling windows on either side.

We dismounted on wobbly knees, and Aiden led the camels to a corral beside the barn. Marni squeezed my shoulder. Walter stretched and casually ran his hand under the hair at the nape of my neck, giving it a tousle. Coleman hung back, whistling a senseless meandering tune through his teeth. Aiden returned, and hopped up the steps to the house.

My heart thumped uncontrollably. After all this time, I'd never actually imagined how this would be. Aiden raised a huge iron knocker and rapped it several times. “Aiden, here,” he called. “Got ye some visitors, Miss Prudence!”

“Visitors! Who in the world . . .” The voice wafted through the windows, rendering me weak. Tears welled. Marni and Walter pushed me forward as the door swung open.

S
he started out, then froze, her smile dropping into open-mouthed awe—or perhaps shock. One hand flew to her lips and she grabbed hold of the railing with the other. “Lucy?! Lucy, is it really you?” She flung her arms wide and I took the steps two at a time. In an instant I was in her embrace, so tight it left me breathless. I smelled her lemony curls, falling across my shoulders and mingling with my own. Her hands flew over my face and hair, then down along my arms, as if to confirm that I was real. Finally, she held me at arm's length, devouring me in an incredulous once-over.

“The letter they sent said you were
dead!
” she cried. “Drowned—all of you!” A furtive look swept across her face as her gaze shifted over my shoulder. “Edward! Edward and Johanna?”

I touched her hand. One look at me and she knew. “The curse! Of course!” She wrapped her arms around me again and buried her face in my neck. “Well, thank God for you! A miracle!” She sat back and ran her fingers through her hair. Grabbed hold of my hands and squeezed, as if concerned that if she let go I might disappear. “I'm seeing you, touching you, and still it's hard for me to take in!” She glanced at Marni, Walter, and Coleman.

“My family—yours now too,” I said. “Marni, who rescued me—twice—from the sea—and Walter. Walter's sister and brother, and Addie—we left them back in Adelaide with our ship. And this is Coleman. He sings!”

“
Pleased to make your acquaintance,
” he crooned, bowing deeply.

“I'll be off then,” Aiden said, “to bring in your bags. Then there's sheep to shear and the like . . .”

With a friendly wave Pru sent him on his way. I saw her suddenly, as my friends must have. Tall. Willowy. Nothing demure or reserved about her. Her hair, a long wild mane of unruly red curls that refused to be tamed into a bun or braid. It gave her a wild, feline look—like a lion. She was smartly dressed in tailored beige linen trousers and a flowing white blouse, a large opal pendant at her throat. The legs of her trousers were rolled to midcalf, revealing tightly laced, high brown boots. A brimmed leather hat hung behind her at the ready. Stacks of gold and silver bangle bracelets jingled at her wrists each time she gestured dramatically, which she did every time she spoke—an arresting accompaniment to her words. “In!” she commanded. “So much to tell, I can hardly wait. . . .” She led us into a spacious room, sparsely decorated. A simple sofa and a number of oak rocking chairs, a Persian rug, a kangaroo pelt hanging on the wall beside built-in bookshelves. Coleman's eyes lit up at the upright piano in one corner.

First she tended to our aching bodies. The luxury of a warm bath—clean hair, skin free of dust and sweat! The scent of lavender instead of the musky, dank smell of camel! Each of us was assigned a room, with a snug bed wrapped in crisp white sheets. Clean clothes were produced, something to fit each of us. Tea in the kettle. Scones on china plates. A bowl of fruit. Soup on the stove. Flowers in a vase.

Around the table we did our best not to gulp and guzzle, but, oh, the taste of civilized food! Pru laughed, taking obvious pleasure in satisfying our great hunger and thirst. A walk about the property and outbuildings. When the combination of ample food and deep fatigue set in, Marni, Coleman, and Walter retired for their first comfortable night of sleep since we'd left the
Lucy P.
Pru and I lingered, wanting to stretch a few more minutes out of this amazing day. Finally, when my yawns became as prevalent as words, Pru led me to my room. Tucked in, lying in the enveloping darkness, I gazed at my aunt in the doorway, silhouetted in the light from the hall, her hair framing her face in a halo of bronze. “Good night, Lucille,” she said quietly.

“'Night, Aunt Pru.”

She remained a moment or two more, the two of us memorizing each other again before she quietly closed the door.

The next day, all of us quite revived, Pru, Walter, Coleman, and Marni got to know one another better, describing the way the paths of our lives crossed. We shared the full scope of our adventure around the breakfast table—a morning meal that lasted until lunch! Coleman sat, riveted, hearing, for the first time, along with Pru, the story of the day it all began—Father, Mother, and I going for a sail, the storm rolling in, the Brute—Walter's father—in his capsized boat, the attempted rescue. I relived it all again, the near drowning, the incessant barking of our beloved Pugsley, being overtaken by the icy water, waking to find Aunt Margaret and Uncle Victor in charge . . . my mouth filled with bitterness at the memory. I watched Pru's face as I spoke of the magic of my parent's love that protected me, and saw nothing but wonder. Her eyes flashed when she heard how her wretched brother sent me away to Marni, then gratitude transformed her features upon hearing of Marni's care, and shock at the account of the final storm that sent our mansion crashing into the sea. Coleman, too, blinked his eyes in astonishment at the saga he found himself part of. He gestured toward me, singing, “
Bravest gal I ever did see—a heart as big as the ocean . . .
”Marni and Walter added details about the transformation of mansion to ship, and the trials, tribulations, and supernatural aspects of our voyage.

Pru reached across the table and covered my hand with her own. “I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you—that you had to endure all of this alone!” An array of emotions flashed across her face—sadness. Anger. Stubborn determination.

Walter glanced from Pru to me, and back. “Sometimes you two look so much alike I think I'm seeing double!”

I smiled, and placed my other hand on top of Pru's. “We're in this together now,” I said. “That's all that matters!”

“At last,” Pru answered, “someone in my family who shares my quest! Lucille—you and I
will
discover the secret to unlock this curse, the consequences of which can no longer be denied!”

“Yes.” I nodded emphatically.

Marni rose. “I'm sure you two Simmons women have much to discuss in private. The rest of us can entertain ourselves for a bit.”