Spirits of the Pirate House (15 page)

CD into the player. “What say to a little
Magical Mystery Tour
?”

Chapter
Fourteen

It was hot at the
bus stop. The boys, at Ronnie’s suggestion, had worn a floppy tee
shirt over their baggy bathing suits because it was possible to get
sunburn on your back if you were snorkeling on the water’s surface
for an extended period. Besides, it was bad form in Bermuda to go
shirtless in public, even if you were on your way to the
beach.

LouAnne had thrown a flowered cover-up over
her one piece that matched her red Phillies baseball cap. “Gotta
get used to these new flip-flops,” she muttered. “Not too many
beaches in Gettysburg, if you know what I mean.”

“What, no bikini?” said Bortnicker
mischievously, eyeing the outline of her bathing suit under her
cover-up.

“Tell you what, Bortnicker,” she shot back,
“I’ll buy a bikini here if you wear a Speedo.”

They looked over at T.J. “I’m staying out of
this,” he laughed.

Soon a pink bus labeled “Dockyard” came by.
The teens hefted their dive equipment bags and towels and climbed
aboard, showing their passes to the bus driver, a young black man
in a crisp uniform. “Afternoon, folks,” he smiled. “Looks like a
snorkeling expedition here.”

“You know it,” said Bortnicker.

“Well, move to the back and find a seat. This
bus will fill up like a sardine can by the time we reach the Royal
Dockyard.”

The boys sat together and piled their bags on
the seat next to LouAnne, who sat across the aisle. Sure enough,
with every stop along the South Road beaches, more people, mostly
tourists, came aboard, most of them happily exhausted from riding
the ocean waves. Before long the boys had given up their seats to
an elderly couple and stood, gripping the handles on the corners of
every seatback.

“Mike didn’t want to come, huh?” asked
Bortnicker.

“Nah,” said T.J., swaying slightly as the bus
negotiated a curve, “he’s trying out the underwater camera in the
hotel pool, and then it’s off to Hamilton for a little free time
with that girl he met.”

“Not bad.”

“The perks of being a TV star, man.”

“Do you guys know where this beach is?” asked
LouAnne from her window seat.

“Ronnie says it’s near this bridge when
you’re almost at the Dockyard. It’s like a cove, so we won’t get
the waves like at the beaches along the coast here.”

They passed through Somerset and stopped just
past Dora’s Corners, where Ronnie Goodwin stood talking to an older
woman. She helped the lady aboard, then made her way to the trio of
Americans in the back. And though she was wearing a tie-dyed long
tee-shirt on top, it was clear that Ronnie Goodwin had no such
inhibitions about wearing a bikini. Bortnicker cut his eyes
sideways at T.J., a smirk on his face, then noticed LouAnne
frowning at him.

“Hi, guys!” said Ronnie, squeezing in beside
the boys in the now jammed vehicle. A couple more people came in
behind her, so that she was practically glued to Bortnicker.
“Sorry,” she said. “We’re pretty packed in, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” said Bortnicker, who didn’t seem to
mind at all.

LouAnne just shook her head.

“We’ll be at Treasure Beach in ten minutes,
max,” she assured. “Then it’s just a minute’s walk from the bus
stop.” True to her word, they arrived shortly thereafter.

There was actually a little picnic area under
some palm trees that sat on a bluff overlooking the small beach.
The waves barely rippled, and the shallow water gleamed green. The
group staked out a picnic table just short of the protective rock
jetty and took in the scenery.

“Gorgeous,” said LouAnne, peeling off her
cover-up. “Hope I put enough sunscreen on.”

A second later Ronnie had shucked her tee
shirt and was sticking a toe in the water. “Like a bath,” she
reported. “So, are we snorkeling?”

The boys, doing their best to avoid staring
at her curves, began rooting through their dive bags and laid their
equipment on a beach towel. Ronnie, who’d brought her own mask,
snorkel and flippers from Blue Lagoon, was set. In a matter of
seconds she and Bortnicker, hand in hand, were negotiating the
jetty down to the spit of sand that constituted Treasure Beach.
Which left T.J. and LouAnne, who was settling in on a picnic bench
with a paperback and a bottled water.

“Cuz, I, uh, brought an extra set of stuff
for you,” offered T.J. “Courtesy of Capt. Kenny.”

She looked at him over her sunglasses. “I
don’t think so,” she said.

“Just do this much for me,” he said. “We’ll
walk in up to our knees, and you can float there to see what it’s
like. I’ll stand right next to you, I promise.”

“T.J., I—”

“I’ll take care of you,” he said with
sincerity so deep that she couldn’t say no.

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot,” she said
nervously. “But if I don’t like it—”

“We’ll come right out, and you can go back to
your book. Deal?”

“Deal,” she sighed.

They sat at the water’s edge and put on their
flippers. T.J. helped his cousin adjust her mask and attach the
snorkel by means of a rubber ring. He taught her how to spit on the
inside of the glass, smear it around, and then rinse before putting
the mask on. “Then you just take nice, easy breaths and float
along, gently kicking your flippers. That’s all there is to it,” he
said confidently.

“Let me try,” she said. “Stand right here
next to me, okay?”

“Yup.”

She first knelt down in the sand, then slowly
got horizontal and actually floated next to him, her arms at her
side. Suddenly she popped up and tore off her mask.

“What’s the matter?” T.J. cried in alarm.

“A fish! I saw a little itty-bitty fish, and
it was ... gold and black! Swimming right below me!”

“Pretty cool, huh?” he laughed with
relief.

“Yeah.”

“Take my hand,” he said, seizing the moment.
“We’ll swim together. I won’t let go. I promise.”

She readjusted her mask, nodded her head, and
tentatively offered her hand. They waded in a bit farther and then
they were floating, kicking as one, gazing down at the plethora of
fish, rocks, and coral that inhabited the cove’s waters. T.J. felt
a joy that was hard to describe—he didn’t know if it was from the
pride he had in knowing his cousin trusted him with her life, or of
sharing in her wonder as a whole new world opened up to her. Soon
they were skimming along where the water was ten feet deep or more,
but neither seemed to care. It was perfect.

After what seemed like hours they turned back
toward shore, but they hadn’t gone far when LouAnne stopped
abruptly and pointed below. T.J. followed her finger to the bottom
where a small octagonal bottle lay. It was of a purple hue and
looked to be quite old. He gave her a signal to stay put, then
jackknifed downward and plucked the bottle from the seabed in a
graceful swoop. T.J. kicked hard for the surface, cleared his
snorkel with a sharp toot, then took his cousin’s hand again to
resume their trip to shore.

When they reached the shallows, T.J. and
LouAnne sat, masks tipped back on their heads, examining their
find. “Looks like 1800s, maybe earlier,” he said. “And the glass
stopper’s still in it! Incredible!”

“I think it’s handmade,” said LouAnne. “See
how uneven it is? Wow.”

“What are you gonna put in it?” asked
T.J.

“You want me to have it?”

“Of course. Why’d you think I dove down for
it?” He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling in the sunlight.

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
“Know what I’m gonna call this? My wish bottle. Whenever I wish,
I’m gonna say it into the bottle and then put in the stopper to
keep my wish safe.”

Suddenly T.J. was overcome; by what, he
didn’t quite know. “Sounds good to me,” he managed, trying to play
it off. “I hope you’ll at least wash it out first.”

“Of course, silly!” she said. “Let’s go find
Bortnicker and Ronnie and show them our treasure!”

As it turned out, Bortnicker and his diving
mate had found their own collection of odds and ends on the sandy
bottom, including some nearly complete china tea cups and most of a
dinner plate.

“Where does all this stuff come from?” asked
T.J.

“Who knows?” said Ronnie. “There are
shipwrecks all over the place around here, T.J. The different
currents just drag this stuff around, and it ends up here. Makes
you feel quite the explorer, doesn’t it? But I must say, LouAnne,
that bottle you brought up is quite a find.”

“T.J. got it for me, actually,” she replied,
beaming at her cousin.

“How’d you like snorkeling, LouAnne?” asked
Bortnicker. “Was it cool?”

“Better than that,” she replied, holding the
purple bottle to the sunlight.

“Enough to make you learn SCUBA?”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

“Well, what now?” asked T.J. “We were in the
water over an hour.”

“Guys, I have an idea,” said Ronnie. “Why
don’t we towel off, pack up and take the next bus the rest of the
way to the Royal Dockyard? There are lots of cool shops and such,
and we could catch a late lunch at this pub called The Frog and
Onion. Sound good?”

“We’re on it!” piped Bortnicker
enthusiastically. “To the Royal Dockyard we go!”

The boys put on some dry tee shirts they’d
brought, and the foursome made their way back to the bus stop,
where another pink vehicle came along shortly. Fortunately for
them, this bus wasn’t as packed as the last one. Bortnicker and
Ronnie sat together, as did the cousins.

“So, why is this place called the Royal
Dockyard?” asked Bortnicker.

“Well,” said Ronnie, “after England was
defeated in your War for Independence, they needed an Atlantic
naval outpost, so this was built in the early 1800s. They shipped
in convicts from England to help build it. It continued to serve
the Royal Navy until after World War II. Then it wasn’t used for a
while, but in the 1990s the government started revitalizing it and
making it acceptable for docking cruise ships.

“The main fort has become the Bermuda
Maritime Museum, which we can check out if you like, but there are
some other attractions as well. We can nip in to a few if you don’t
mind a bit of walking.”

“Sounds cool,” said T.J. “I’ll text Mike and
Dad and tell them not to wait dinner for us. Mike’s supposed to be
grilling some tuna steaks.”

The bus pulled up near the clock tower at
King’s Wharf and disgorged its excited passengers. All four of the
teens took turns lugging the snorkeling equipment as they wandered
about in the Maritime Museum, where artifacts and interactive
displays guided them through the island’s history. There was even
mention here and there of Sir William Tarver. Ronnie, who’d
obviously been paying attention during history class, was eager to
add her commentary, which was understandably pro-Bermudian. Then it
was on to the Dolphin Quest, where people could have the
opportunity to feed and swim with dolphins, and the Bermuda Clay
Works, an art center where they watched the crafting of pottery and
other art objects.

After a pub lunch at The Frog and Onion in
the Old Cooperage Building, it was on to the Clocktower Shopping
Mall, where tourists milled about in search of items ranging from
fine china and Irish crystal to Scottish woolens and all manner of
craftwork.

By five, they’d all had it and returned to
the bus stop for the return trip to Southampton. LouAnne nudged
T.J. and discretely pointed over to where Ronnie was dozing, her
mop of curls resting comfortably on Bortnicker’s shoulder.

As she rose to disembark at her Somerset
stop, Ronnie reminded the Americans to be at the dive shop by ten
the next day. “We’ve got a pirate wreck to explore tomorrow!” She
bounced down the aisle and off the bus, her energy magically
restored.

Back at the hotel, the teens quickly showered
and joined Mike and Tom Sr., who were plowing through their tuna
steaks. “You’ve gotta try this, guys,” said Tom Sr. “Mike made this
marinade that’s a killer.”

“Don’t mind if we do,” said Bortnicker,
pulling a couple of clean plates out of the kitchenette
cupboard.

“None for me, thanks,” said LouAnne. “I’m
still full from The Frog and Onion.”

The boys, who could seemingly eat around the
clock, forked hunks of tuna steak onto their plates and dug in. “We
had a great time today,” said T.J. “We visited a really cool spot
for snorkeling and found some neat stuff. Want to see?”

“Sure,” said Tom Sr., sipping his iced
tea.

LouAnne produced the china pieces that
Bortnicker and Ronnie had brought up then proudly showed off her
perfume bottle.

“Cool!” said Mike. “This is like a perfect
warm-up for tomorrow. Who knows what you’ll find on that wreck
site?”

Bortnicker then went on to describe their
exploration of the Royal Naval Dockyard with Ronnie Goodwin.

“This girl sounds pretty interesting,” said
Tom Sr. “Will she be on the boat with you guys tomorrow?”

“She usually handles the shop when her dad
has a charter out on the water,” said Bortnicker, “but I wouldn’t
be surprised if she ends up with us.”

“Really?” said Mike. “Any particular reason,
Bortnicker?”

He blushed and quipped, “The girl has an
obvious fascination with history.”

They all had a laugh at that one.

“Well,” said Tom Sr., “I guess this is as
good a time as any to tell you that the committee has accepted my
proposal for the renovations at the golf club. So, for the next few
days I’ll be putting together the team that will be doing the
actual building and interviewing local contractors. Lots to do.
I’ll get away when I can.”

“Right,” said Mike. “So let’s meet downstairs
at 9:00 a.m. sharp tomorrow. Make sure you have all your diving
stuff, and I’ll pack the cameras. I tried out the underwater
camcorder in the pool, and it works great. You’ll be filming,
LouAnne?”