Chapter 5- Returning
An old-fashioned kerosene lamp hung from the ceiling of the National Sailing Museum’s drydock. The flame flickered, giving light to shadows. The history of sailing lay all around, old sails slightly moldering, ancient engines that smelt of oil. In the far corner where the lamp lent most of it’s light, a short table stood covered in cards. Two gray haired men sat playing poker. They'd both seen better days, but were certainly not ready to call in quits just yet.
Their surroundings spoke of a secret past that never existed, this corner devoted to the legend of piracy. Upstanding citizens had their portraits hung here. Men like Sir Francis Drake whose lives were taught in school. However, it seemed as if the curator of this particular museum held a fancy to another legend. Stories of a gal thrilled the schoolchildren that snuck inside during school hours. The one that mothers would threaten tomboys with. The one that every young sailor was sure he could defeat. Her portrait was never painted, yet almost perfect replicas of her things hung prominently on the wall. Only one would know the difference, and that would be the pirate herself.
Christy Moppet smiled as she walked in the darkness. She hadn’t forgotten how to break and entry after all. Not that she’d ever tell her children she knew. Her children…they'd be fine with Father, perfectly fine.
She paused just out of vision range. The lantern above cast only a small circle of light. The two men never noticing that something was different. Why should they? Christy read outside that the museum had closed hours ago. Perfect timing for what she wanted. A bang on the table brought her back to her senses.
“Macdullah! You no good lyin’ thevin’ cheat! I sawed that ace up yer sleeve. Admit it. I got you this time!” the man on the right screamed, leaping up and down and pointing.
“Now calm down. You saw no such thing. There never was and never has been a card up my sleeve. There hasn’t for the past eleven years. Now sit down before you get the police after us ya fool,” Mac leant his chair back on two legs and placed his hands behind his head.
“Precisely," Mother said. "He keeps them in his pant’s leg, Dooley. You mean you haven’t figured that out?” Christy laughed and stepped into the light.
“Well blow ol’ Dooley down! It’s you girl. How ya been? Ain’t ya not allowed to be within a hunnert miles of us? Ya got any action….wait…Up his pants' leg!” Dooley screamed and ran over to check Mac's pant’s leg. Rolling it up revealed a shower of cards. All of them were Ace of Spades.
Christy threw back her head and guffawed along with Mac. It felt good to her to forget being a lady, and a Mother, and almost act like one of the boys again.
“How ya doin’, girlie? I outta hang you buy yer toes givin’ me secret away like that. So yer got that husband of yers back off the sea then? How's my godson?" Mac fought laughter long enough to ask.
Christy chuckled some more and pulled up an empty crate, “To answer in order from the beginning; I’m fine, Since when have I listened to the rules, I’m fine again, yeah precisely, and Vic’s getting too big for me. Turned fourteen not long ago. He’s taken to hijacking ice cream trucks and the like, and the twins are a little too big for their Mother. I’ll be sending them off to school soon.”
Dooley finished gathering the Ace's and dumped them on the table. He sat down, and caught eye contact with Mac for a second, and they both eyed the girl in front of them suspiciously. She was up to something. Dooley stood up. "Coffee," he said, and set about providing it. Strong and bitter was the way he made it. To outsiders it was terrible. To a pirate it was nectar, right up there with rum.
Christy took a long swig and placed her cup on the table. Looking up she saw both waiting patiently, “I’m here for my things, Mac, and to extend an invitation to you and Dooley alike. I’m going to sea again. If’n you want you can join me as my first mate. Help me round up the boys and the like. Dooley I want you to build me another ship and then be my cook. Money is no object. I want the best.”
“Did you ever tell Bo that I have yer real sword and chest?” Mac drunk his coffee and raised his eyebrows.
“There are some things he needn’t know, and a whole lot of things he needs to learn. If he wants to check out the chest, he'll find my sword lying right there with the fakes.”
"Adam?" Dooley said more as a statement than a question. "What about he?" ?
“Oh, he'll be here. But we’ll be long gone by the time he arrives. Or if we aren’t, they'll think we are. I’ve still got a thing or two up my sleeve."
"And your pants leg," Dooley muttered.
"Neither my brother nor my husband know that all these years I’ve kept myself sharp in all my abilities," Christy went on. "Both think I’ve been busy being a housewife. Got any more of this stuff Dooley?” Christy shoved her cup at the man holding the pot.
“What about a boat?" Mac asked. "You'll need something bigger than the lil girl we took to sea yesterweek."
Dooley banged his cup on the table, coffee splashing. "No need to wait fer me to build ya a ship. I was going to use this baby in the museum if you waited any longer to come around. Ya know my fee though,” Dooley motioned toward the wall that held a secret door.
Without even looking down Christy pulled out a small bag, the sides bulging out in every direction. She threw it on the table; upon impact the bag opened and out spilled gold coins. Dooley picked up, inspected the coins. Very good. He greedily pocketed them, and held his hand forward in a fist. Mac placed his on top. Christy joined. A silent pact.
"Let's shake this baby!" Dooley shouted. Mac reached underneath a glass case that held a sword. The wall shook and swung inward as Mac motioned for the other two to follow. The door closed, and the lantern went out leaving no sign that anyone had just been there.
Inside, Mac lead the group to a small room that held nothing but a cot, a chest, and a single mirror. He nodded towards the chest, and left the room to give her some privacy.
Christy stared around her in amazement, smiling wide. She was home.
She felt in a whirl, touching old relics of her past, a comb, a brush, a blue baby bonnet embroidered with a skull and crossbones. And finally, there was a perfectly polished wooden box. Christy reached behind her head, twisting her fingers around the clip that held her hair up. She squeezed the clasp, and shook her head back and forth, hair falling around her shoulders. She lifted the top of the box, and gazed down on one of the most beautiful swords ever to be made. One designed to fit only one hand.
“Been a long time hasn’t it, girl?”
The voice echoed like a memory of a dream, it came from behind her, and within her. From inside the mirror, and herself.
Christy waited for, something, but it didn't come. Finally she spoke without looking behind her towards the engraved mirror. “Hello Nicky."
"Hello yourself."
Christy shut her eyes. "I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“I can. You may have banished me from you, but you can’t ignore me forever. It’s a fire that burns inside. You crave it. You want it so badly you can taste it. I’m you and you are me. We belong together, we work together.”
Christy rose to look at the mirror. Inside, a slightly younger version of herself stood, one eyebrow half cocked in a questioning, almost mocking manner. Her hair was cropped off, barely visible underneath a red bandana. This was the piece of herself that lived inside, but occasionally tried to mesh together with her present life, “Look I’m here to save the world," Christy said, then quickly added, "As cheesy as it sounds.”
“Don’t you think I don’t know that? The only company I may have in here is Moppet, but I am you, you know. I know all about Randall. That and I also know that without me you’re never going to reach the island.”
“Which is why I’m asking you that if you can stand working with the other half of you. Mother and Nicky or as you like to put it…Christy and Nicky both acknowledging each other and being me.”
“You mean…we can be us again? No fighting for the front. Just being ourself again?”
“I can only fight one war at a time," Christy said in way of reply.
Nicky extended a hand, towards the glass from beyond the glass. Her fingers pressed through the waxy glass like thick water. Suddenly, the hand burst free, and an arm. Christy stepped closer, reached forward. Fingers touched, clasped. And Christy held her hand, pulled her through the mirror and out beside her.
Both stood face to face. On one side a woman who beat the odds and broke the rules in pirate garb. The other stood as a mother in her long skirt and flowing hair. Tears glistened from both eyes. Mother pulled her hand back, suddenly shy. “We work together from now on. You had your time when we were young. I’ve had my time with Bo and the kids. Now we are together like when…”
“When we were a little girl. Watch out world here we…I mean I come. One thing though." Nicky smiled, and Christy shivered. "If we’re going back to sea, then we cut the hair. You know it gets in the way as much as I like it long.”
Oh!" Relief flooded through Mother, a stipulation that was no sacrifice. Her hair, she could, and would, willingly loose her hair. “I agree the hair has to go,” Mother said. And she grasped the other woman's hand once more, pulled her towards herself, and wrapped her arms around her shoulders in an embracing hug. And slowly, just like the movies, the one seemed to melt into the other. For the first time since she became a teenager she felt good. Things were right. No more fighting herself. She turned to the mirror and gazed at herself.
Her eyes seemed to sparkle with and inner glow. Her stance was straighter, more confident. Yet there was the same love and patience that Mother held onto at all times. Smiling wide, she was happy with what she saw. No more denying who she was. No more hiding. Now it was time to find Randall.
From the trunk she gingerly picked up the sword and flung it around. Her timing was slightly off. There was plenty of time for that. Setting it aside she lifted a white shirt and black pants. Quietly she changed. The shirt fit snug so it was out of the way of ropes and rigging, but airy to keep her cool. Twine was still needed to hold the pants tight. At the bottom of the trunk lay a pair of shears. Taking a ribbon she tied her hair back up in a tight ponytail. Swiftly she cut above it and her long hair dropped to the ground together and apart. Once again Mother turned to the mirror and picked up a tiny rubber band. Her new haircut left her hair barely reaching her chin. Hair pulled tight and bandana on looked right with something missing. Chuckling quietly she reached under and pulled a tiny shock of hair out to frame one side of her face. Now she was ready with only one more thing left missing.
Nicky never wore anything other than the necessary. She turned to the wall where a nail held a single gold chain Moppet had once worn. Moppet, not Father. Christy lifted it gently from the nail, held it for a long time between her thumb and fingers, and then simply, slipped it around her neck.
Later, Christy shaded her eyes as a giant, iron-hinged door creaked upwards on rattling chains. Mac, complete in sailing clothes, put an arm around her shoulder. "See that girly? See that!"
The great door that had once been a wall thudded to a stop against the roof, and a screech of machinery screamed. Christy walked forward, staring up and up at the giant, sheet covered hulk that lay proud before her. Even covered by the white sheeting the outlines of the most elegant ship on earth could be traced.
Dooley chewed on a straw, and clapped Mac on the back. "She likes it."
"She loves it," Christy called over her shoulder.
Mac nudged Dooley in the ribs. "And it does me good to see she finally acknowledging herself completely. I always told her Mother she'd be difficult, but not nigh impossible to control that girl."
Dooley nodded. "Aye."
Christy walked towards them. "We're gunna do this. It's been a long time. I have a lot to refresh. Mac, your student is ready."
"Ach, you learn fast. We'll get right on it, but first. Dooley, get some ale, boy. We have a ship to christen."
"Ale? I'll do you one better you ol' polecat. I've been keepin' me some champagne for this, straight from the flagship of the Mandelboat Cruise. Remember that, eh?"
Christy winked. "Maybe you should keep your straight from the flagship champagne to yourself, Dools. Nothing fancy for this lady, this gal's going to be a pirate ship."
Mac laughed, and took a bottle of rum from Dooley, shaking it up and popping the cap. Pirates were a superstitious ritualistic bunch. These three weren’t any different. For luck they took a swig before breaking the bottle.
"To long life," Mac said.
"To the gold and glory of old days and the ones yet to come," Dooley smacked his lips, passed the bottle to Christy.
"To friends and family lost and found." She took a swig making a face as she swallowed. " Man that’s awful stuff. How long have you had this? Since the Civil War? Ach, never mind that, I christen thee The Reunion,” and with that she broke the bottle.
Halfway across the world Beauregard Moppet sat straight up in bed. For him the past day had been a nightmare. He'd eventually gotten to work, taking the twins with him, when he found a note stating: " Dear Moppet and Harvey, this is a nate to inform you that due to some serious tax-problems, the police are taking over our division temporarily, and you shall be working for them until the debt has been paid. Have fun, we are off to the Bahamas, Management." And to top it off he couldn't even stick to paperwork, due to budget cuts free newspapers had been removed from the office for re-sale.
His co-worker Mr Harvey had taken to the police work exactly the way sugar doesn't take to tea. And there was another thing that went wrong, the office was all out of sugar. "You mean SuZan is the serial sugar stealer Su Crose?!" Harvey had muttered. "Pretty sweet operation she's got going there... I always wondered who was stealing the sugar out of my tea! Stealing sugar - I won't stand for that in this office. That's an offence worthy of the cane! What do you think Mr Moppet one lump or two? As for SuZan, we must cast'er out for this! Now that would be the icing on the cake…"
Then there had been the nextdoor neighbor's eyes turning red and him attacking Father outside his house, followed swiftly by the twins appearing on his head, Mr Cole holding him responsible for a broken door, and the nanny's brother Jack inviting a Mob Boss for dinner…"Make that Bob Moss," Jack had corrected after informing him.
Now, in the middle of the night, with dark shadows playing over the empty bed covers on the other side of the bed, Father missed her. He missed her more than even he knew.
Father threw off the covers, and walked to the stairs that led to the attic. He climbed them slowly, and dug out the box of memories. Mother's trunk. He lifted the lid and touched one of the most beautiful swords in the world. Nicky's sword. He closed his eyes.
Suddenly, a familiar knock on the front door. Father stood up, shaking his head, he must have fallen asleep. The knock sounded again. "Mother?"
Bo Moppet leapt down the attic stairs, and rushed down the next flight to the ground floor, grabbing open the door. "Christ-- Adam? Your, er, knock is very Christy…ish…"
Mr Cole lifted a thick black eyebrow. "Do you know where she is?"
"She…has a job."
"A job? What?"
"Out of town," Father said. "Well, out of this town, it's in some town. Or a city, even, it's a big job. And…"
Mr Cole stared at Father, evaluated his state of undress, and waved at the door. "Shall we go inside? And tell me, do you always sleep in pajamas with pink bunny's on them?"
"Well…I…uh…er…umm…Come in…no…usually just wear bunny slippers,” Beau opened the door and motioned for Adam to enter.
"I'll put this bluntly," Adam stated. "Do you think Christy is with Mac?"
"With Mac? Her Uncle Mac? First mate Mac? That Mac? Apple Computer Mac? No wait I had it right the first time."
"Yes, exactly," Adam said.
Father blinked. Vic called from the top of the stairs. "Call me an idiot, but, are we all having a party here without inviting me?"
Adam turned to Vic. Father touched Adam's shoulder, and spoke under his breath. "If she was with Mac she'd have taken her sword, it's still in the attic."
"Er, Dad, I can actually hear you from here. And it's not in the attic. Mom said that she didn’t want it here. Didn’t trust herself. Oh, you do know you’re wearing pink bunnies…don’t you?”
“I know I’m wearing pink bunnies! That’s not the issue here! Where does your mother keep her sword? Vic this is vitally important. If she's gone back to sea…the paperwork will be phenomenal." Father looked at the floor. The paperwork…yeah, right.
“Hey don’t yell at me, you’re the one with the pink bunnies. She’s kept it in her trunk with all your stuff Dad,” Vic rubbed the sleep from his eyes and replied.
“Vic where does your Mother keep her sea trunk?” Adam asked gravely.
“Not here, Uncle Mac has it always has. It’s Saturday and I’m going back to bed. Call my agent Ted if you need me,” Vic yawned and started to make his way upstairs. Bo turned to Adam as they both shared the same look. In a flash they were out the door and in the car, pink bunnies and all.
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