The Treasure of Maria Mamoun (18 page)

Maria smiled. “So on that date, maybe a constellation of a queen will line up with the right spot, and that's where we dig!”

“What constellation is a queen?” Paolo asked.

“You're asking the wrong girl,” Maria said. “I don't know anything about constellations. You couldn't even see stars in the city.”

“Well, that's what you're going to have to figure out while I'm doing summer school work,” Paolo said. “You said you know how to use the library computers.”

“But figuring out the queen won't do us any good if we can't get those sails,” Maria said.

“Okay, so whoever has the first chance to steal the key from Frank's pocket, takes it. Agreed?” Paolo stuck out his hand.

Maria had never stolen anything in her life before the rowboat. Now she was an accomplice to the theft of the yacht club sailboat and was signing up to pick Frank's pocket.

“Come on, Maria. You can't expect to get pirate treasure without being a bit of a pirate yourself,” Paolo said.

“Okay,” Maria said. “But that's the last thing we steal.”

“Except this boat,” Paolo reminded her.

“Except this boat.” She stuck out her hand and shook.

 

23

O
NWARD
 … O
NWARD
!

The next morning, Maria woke up expect
ing to see Paolo down at
The Last Privateer
,
key in hand. She walked Brutus to the beach and played fetch the ball for as long as he would stand it. But Paolo never showed.

Maria didn't go onto the boat. It felt a bit lonely without Paolo. Which was strange, because when she'd lived in the city and had no friends, she'd rarely felt lonely. Or at least she'd never noticed she was lonely.

Mr. Ironwall pretended to be cranky about her coming back from the dog walk so late, but in fact her later arrival was better for him. He was more awake and already cleaned up and ready for company. Maria tried to bring him something every time she visited. Today she had a purplish shell, a blue flower whose name she did not know, and a strange object that looked like soft vertebrae on a spindly spine.

“Ordinary clam—the Wampanoag made wampum from them—cornflower, and a whelk's egg case.” One by one he identified her offerings and had her line them up on the windowsill beside his bed.

“You know a lot about nature and stuff,” she said.

“Not really,” Mr. Ironwall said. “I've just been alive for a long time and one picks things up.”

“Do you know about outer space? Like stars and planets?” she asked.

“A little. Why?”

“Well, for instance, do you know if there is something with a queen? Like a star, or a planet, or maybe a constellation?”

“What makes you ask about the Queen?” He looked at her through narrowed eyes, as if he were trying to figure something out. “That's a rather obscure way to refer to Cassiopeia.”

“I don't know; just something I heard someone say.” She got up quickly and opened the window so she would not have to face him. Mr. Ironwall sounded suspicious. Perhaps, as Paolo said, all Islanders knew about Captain Murdefer—and maybe some, like Mr. Ironwall, knew about the message on his map. After all, he was his great-great- (no one knew how many greats) grandson. She would have to be more careful not to give too much away.

“Smell the beach roses!” she said to change the subject. “They're blooming all over the dunes. I could bring you a bouquet.”

“No, leave them for the bees,” he said. “But I'll take some hydrangeas.”

“You should come outside,” Maria said. “You can see the roses from the back patio. It's so sunny and lovely out.”

“Perhaps tomorrow.”

“How are we going to get you to the Fourth of July celebration if we can't get you out the door?” Maria said.

“You have a point. And perhaps I should see it one more time before I die,” he said. “Or at the very least, the town should see me. After all, rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated.” He gestured to the newspaper on his nightstand. “Now read to me about the festivities they are planning.”

But after she read the newspaper to him for a few minutes, she looked over and saw that he'd fallen asleep. She sat with him until her mother returned.

*   *   *

After lunch, Maria hunted the grounds for Frank. She found him in the garage, cleaning the mower. His jacket was slung across the tool bench; the keys to the Old West Shed bulged in the right breast pocket. She did not have the courage to pick his pocket with him right there.

“Whatcha up to?” he asked her.

“I was just wondering if there was a way to get Mr. Ironwall out of the house. You know, like I could take him around the yard in his wheelchair or something?”

“That would be really nice, Maria.” Frank wiped his oily hands on a rag. “But I'm not sure he's up for it.”

“Maybe he could become up for it. If we took it slow.”

“I'll talk to your mother and Joanne. See what they think.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She cast one more look at the jacket, but there was still no way to reach the keys without him seeing.

She swung past the shed, and it was locked as usual. The sails, two white bundles in the back, sat on the other side of that locked door.

Maria spent the rest of the day in a comfortable notch she'd discovered in the beetlebung tree, reading
True Pyrate Tales
. Black Sam Bellamy captained the
Whydah
, which sank off the Cape with the largest treasure ever found in modern history. Edward Teach, also known as Blackbeard, terrorized New England. Apparently he buried a large treasure off the coast of New Hampshire—not too far away. It was never found. Maybe if they couldn't find Captain Murdefer's treasure, they could go for Blackbeard's. But she didn't have Blackbeard's treasure map.

Maria laid the book in her lap and looked over the golden lawn. It was definitely summer now. June was nearly done, and soon it would be the Fourth of July—and then July 16, when the Queen would tread upon the door. At least now she knew who the Queen was—Cassy O'Pee-a.

Maria climbed down and headed for home. The late afternoon sun baked the beach roses and spread their scent throughout the estate grounds. Butterflies fluttered in the milkweed and honeysuckle. When she let herself into the cool, shady cottage, Celeste was already in the kitchen, chopping onions. The smell of freshly baking pita filled the small house and made Maria's stomach rumble. She hadn't realized it was so late, but her mother didn't question where she'd been.

She took glasses down from the cabinet over her mother's head.

“What are we eating? Do we need bowls or plates?” Maria asked.

“
Tonight, we have a
meze
with
hummus
,
tabbouleh
, and
mujadarah
.” Celeste exaggerated the rolled
r
and smiled triumphantly. “So, plates.”

“Yay!” Maria did a little dance. Tante Farida had sent a big box of Lebanese food: real Turkish coffee and cardamom pods to flavor it, brown lentils, red lentils, bulgur,
za'atar
,
halwa
,
halloum
, and a bunch of other things they couldn't find on the island.

“How'd you get Hattie to let you cook?”

“I told her you'd requested your favorite dish. Actually, I think Hattie was insulted.”

“Uh-oh.” Maria put the glasses on the table and went for plates.

Celeste stopped chopping. “Maria, we have to talk about something.”

“What?” Maria set the plates on the table and went back for silverware.

“I want you to stop bugging Mr. Ironwall about the Fourth of July,” Celeste said.

“I'm not bugging him. He wants to go.”

“He doesn't. He just wants to make you happy.”

“Why would he want to make me happy?” Maria said.

“He likes you. You talk to him. You're probably the only person in the whole house who isn't paid to, and you still do it. It's very kind of you, Maria. Don't think I haven't noticed.”

“Well then, let him come with us!”

Celeste shook her head. “Frank says he hasn't gone out in years. I can't even imagine how we would get him out of that room, much less into town.”

“We could anchor his wheelchair in the back of Frank's truck. I could ride in back with him.”

“And what if, heaven forbid, he gets hurt?” Celeste asked.

“And what if he insists on going?” Maria answered. “He's your boss. You have to do what he says.”

“We'll see.” Her mother dumped the onions in a frying pan. “Now move your
taztouz
and stir these onions. It's about time you learned how to make this.”

*   *   *

Paolo wasn't on the beach or the boat the next morning either. After taking Brutus for an extended walk, Maria delayed as long as she could before she headed over to Mr. Ironwall's room.

To her surprise, she found Celeste and Frank struggling to get Mr. Ironwall from the bed to his wheelchair. Maria joined Hattie, who stood in the corner, worriedly watching. The old man dangled midair in the canvas seat of the Hoyer Lift. But the transfer wasn't going well. Mr. Ironwall had turned an odd shade of green. He vomited violently into a pink plastic basin held to his face by Celeste, while Frank wrangled the wheelchair in the narrow space allowed by the bed. Sweat beaded Frank's red face. Maria noticed his sleeves were rolled up and his jacket was nowhere in sight.

“Don't worry, child. It happens when we get him out of bed,” Hattie whispered, jutting her chin at Mr. Ironwall. “Before your mom came, I once helped Joanne get him up. He had to see a doctor off-island. He puked up a storm. All that movement—he's not used to it. It's kind of like he gets seasick.”

Frank said, “We've got to get him back to the bed.”

“No!” Mr. Ironwall shouted. “I've gotten this far. It can't get any worse!” He paused to retch into the basin. “Oh, just lower me already.”

Celeste lowered him into the wheelchair. After a few moments of shifting him about and cleaning him up, she said, “There, that wasn't so bad!”

“That was a train wreck,” Mr. Ironwall said. He rinsed with some mouthwash Celeste offered and spit in the basin one more time. “But it is done. Wheel me out,” he ordered Frank.

Frank pushed the chair and Mr. Ironwall down another hall Maria had never noticed, to an ornate elevator. It announced its arrival with a “ding,” just as if it were in an apartment building. They all crowded in and dutifully faced front.

“Well, isn't this cozy,” Mr. Ironwall said.

Frank turned a key and the door shut. Soft, wordless music came from a speaker in the corner.

Maria looked down at Mr. Ironwall smiling in his chair. He looked up at her. “‘Girl from Ipanema,'” he said. “I thought it would be funny to have an elevator that played elevator music in my own home.”

“It kind of is,” she agreed.

Ten minutes later, when he and his chair were parked on the back patio and Maria was seated beside him, Mr. Ironwall took her hand and patted it. “Don't worry, I have nothing left to lose. I am completely empty inside.”

“Why were you so sick?” Maria asked.

“Orthostatic hypotension,” Celeste answered for him. She placed a shawl around his shoulders, despite the hot sun.

Mr. Ironwall waved his hand dismissively. “A fancy way of saying if you lie down too long, you can't get back up. Let that be a lesson to you.” Mr. Ironwall fixed a steely eye on Maria. “Pursue your dreams! Your destiny! Onward … Onward!” He lifted his fist as if he were urging his wheelchair into battle.

“Are you okay?” Celeste asked him.

“Yes. Now go inside and gossip with Hattie. Your daughter and I have gossip of our own and we don't need nosy parkers listening in.”

After a few backward glances, Celeste left them.

“I didn't realize it would be so difficult…” Maria began.

“Before you start to worry”—Mr. Ironwall held up a belaying hand—“rest assured. The good Dr. Singh told your mother she is to get me out of bed and into the chair every day. We spoke to him this morning. Best thing to prevent blood clots and further strokes.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “The air is lovely out here. You were absolutely correct. Now read me that paper.”

Maria opened the
Vineyard Gazette
and read him a story about a proposed roundabout at some contentious crossroads. By the time she got to an article on hidden beach plum trees, he had fallen asleep.

She put the paper down and gazed out over the roses to the ocean beyond. Because of the swell of the hill, the beach and the dock were hidden, but the masts of
The Last Privateer
showed over the scrub. If she hadn't known it was there, she might have mistaken it for two very tall, very bare tree trunks.

Maria closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sun.

Then she heard a hiss and opened her eyes—Paolo was peeking over the stone balustrade of the patio.

“I got them,” he whispered. Frank's keys flashed in his hand. Suddenly, he ducked. Celeste was coming.

“He fell asleep again,” Maria said to her mother. She was careful not to look where Paolo was hiding.

“I hate to wake him,” Celeste said. “But I should take him inside before he gets too much sun.” She frowned. “Anyhow, the doctor says it's good for him, even though it's difficult. Though perhaps it will get better as he gets used to it.”

“Do you want me to help?” Maria asked.

“No. I can call Hattie or Frank in. Frank got us walkie-talkies.” Celeste swung her hip so Maria could see the black box clipped to her waistband. “You go find something fun to do. I'll see you tonight.”