Once Upon a Remembrance

  He doused the lamp beside the bed and the room fell into endless black. The sound of him breathing felt incredibly intimate. Eventually his breath evened out in sleep, but Isabeau lay awake, every muscle stiff and tense. Carefully, she rolled over, wondering why she was tormenting herself with wanting this man. She was becoming obsessed! Isabeau fluffed the pillow behind her head and wedged it against the wall. The sky had just begun to lighten through the small porthole when exhaustion finally overcame her.

  #

  As one day rolled into the next, Isabeau roamed the deck, keenly observing the men at labor. Although she was not allowed off the ship at any of the harbor stops, she watched the activity on the docks in fascination. She listened, too, to the stories some of the sailors spun at night under the stars. Many of them seemed to fall under the category of tall tales, which she was certain were embellished for her benefit, but she enjoyed them nonetheless.

  Well into the first week, she offered to make dinner for the crew. No small undertaking, but she'd enjoyed putting together some hearty beef stew. Cooking was an activity she thoroughly enjoyed in her own time but rarely made the time to indulge. She managed to find enough ingredients to add biscuits for the stew and the dinner turned out a big hit.

  Hawk expressed his appreciation for her efforts, and at times she caught him watching her. She watched him also, but kept a low profile, not wanting to get in his way. The crew's respect for him was obvious. Her opinion of him grew enormously when she heard stories of how he'd helped one family or another get on their feet. He cared about the people in his life, whether it was family or employees. She had seen evidence of it herself in the way he treated his employees, not afraid to get his hands dirty and help out when necessary.

  In the afternoon, when the heat in the cabin became unbearable, Isabeau had fallen into the habit of reading on deck. There was always a breeze and a shady place to be found. One of the seamen, Joshua, had eventually fashioned an awning for her out of old sailcloth.

  Isabeau had read several of the books in Hawk's cabin and had even taken to studying the tide charts and maps. He had explained to her the various lines and configurations on the maps, but some of it was still a bit beyond her understanding.

  Isabeau questioned him extensively about life at Hawk's Den, trying to find something in the information that might give her a clue as to who might want to harm him.

  "It's interesting," he stated at one point. "You are habitually unconcerned with the hardships imposed on young women in your circumstances."

  "But that's just it," she said quietly, "I'm from another time. The restrictions of here and now do not concern me. I plan to return to my time." If she said it enough he might start to see the truth of her words.

  "It's rather ironic that I had always thought of myself as somewhat old-fashioned," she admitted, "yet the rules pertaining to women in these times I find somewhat stifling."

  Hawk had looked up from writing in his journal and leaned back in his chair. "Humor me. What did you do in your time?"

  "I'm a photographer. I take pictures of people and places. I miss having a camera," she said wistfully.

  "And I imagine you are very proficient at your photography," he stated.

  "I'm gaining experience all the while, especially since I began working with Leif. He's been a professional photographer for over twenty years."

  "And you have traveled?"

  "Yes, I've done a lot of traveling. That's how I came be at Hawk's Den. Pierce had renovated the house and grounds and we were there to photograph it."

  "What is it like in your future?" he asked curiously.

  She smiled. "I live part time in the city, part time with my mother in the Catskills."

  She looked at Hawk to gauge his reaction but he appeared in pain, his hand up to his temple.

  She hurried to his side. "Hawk?"

  He put up his other hand, keeping her at bay. Isabeau watched him struggle with obvious discomfort.

  "Have you seen a doctor lately?" she asked quietly.

  "Of course, about three weeks ago. They could find nothing physically wrong."

  Tentatively, she said, "Did you see -- anything -- this time?"

  He looked at her strangely, the dark blue irises dilated. "I searched for you in this other time." The words jolted her. "I could not find you."

  Fear dropped her stomach to her toes."What does that mean?"

  "I don't know. I saw this place and I searched for you to no avail." Abruptly, he rose and left the cabin.

  #

  Isabeau leaned over the deck rail, searching the crowded harbor yard for a familiar face. She had still not been allowed to go into town. Hawk was concerned with her reputation, even though she had no such concerns.

  She spotted him returning to the ship just as the sun disappeared at the edge of the horizon. He walked tall, his dark hair slightly ruffled by the breeze blowing off the water. As he ascended the gangplank, she stifled the urge to skip across the deck to meet him but made herself wait for him to come to her. Under one arm he carried a small box.

  "I have something for you," he said, grinning.

  "Really?" She lifted her brows, excited by the prospect of a gift he had selected.

  He swept his arm to the side, pointing back toward the gangplank.

  She turned to see two young boys pulling a two-wheeled handcart with boxes stacked one upon the other.

  "For me? But Hawk --"

  "You cannot continue to wear the same skirt," he said, then instructed the boys where to find the cabin. When they returned with the hand cart empty, he gave them some coins and they went happily on their way.

  "You bought me clothes?" she asked, surprised by his consideration.

  "A young lady at the seamstress shop assured me she would provide you with the latest fashion; some day dresses and evening wear, all the essentials a young lady would need."

  "But how did you know my size?"

  Giving her a quick, sweeping glance, he merely lifted a brow. The heat moved into her cheeks, and she laughed and grabbed his hand.

  "I -- I don't know what to say, but thank you. Everyone has been so kind and generous to me," she lowered her voice, steadied it, "and you, especially. I don't know how I can repay you."

  "No repayment is necessary." He offered her the box under her arm. "This is something I think you will really enjoy."

  She accepted the box, her fingers trembling with excitement. "This feels like Christmas," she said slowly, looking down at the box and then up at Hawk. The expectant grin on his face upped her anticipation.

  "Open it," he said, his smile indicating he was as excited as she felt.

  Isabeau lifted the deep lid from the pale brown box, shaking it slightly so the bottom began to drop. She noticed a company mark on the side and couldn't help the squeal that escaped. "Oh, my gosh, oh, my gosh!" She pulled the top off to reveal the box-like camera inside. "A camera." She handed him the empty box and turned the camera this way and that.

  She had limited experience with antique cameras in her time, but this was a brand new camera in 1894, black with a textured finish. Wide-eyed, she said, "Hawk, this is so thoughtful, so wonderful. I am just -- just speechless that you have given me a camera." Embarrassed, she rubbed a fingertip at the corner of each eye. She looked down at the camera. "This is just so perfect," she added in a husky voice.

  "Now you can take pictures," he added with satisfaction. "The film is already loaded. The merchant at the store assured me when you have used the film, we could post the camera back to Rochester, New York and the pictures will be made."

  "And my new wardrobe! I can't believe you went to the expense."

  "Let us go and see if everything meets with your approval," he said, a lilt in his voice.

  Isabeau clutched the camera, then led the way down to the cabin. She wished she had something to give Hawk in return for his generosity. In the corridor, she turned to him impulsively. Pressing the camera to her chest, she moved cl
ose and gave him a tight hug. His arm came around her shoulders as she whispered, "Thank you, again."

  #

  As they neared New York, Isabeau got her first taste of a storm at sea.

  Waking one morning, she looked out the small porthole window and was surprised to see the sky colored an angry purple-grey. Until now, the sun had been bright the whole of their journey.

  Hawk was already gone from the cabin, which was also unusual, since he had started eating breakfast with her over the last several days. Isabeau thought of the early morning as a blessing and a curse, since she pretended not to notice him getting dressed, and he acted as if she weren't there.

  She went up on deck briefly, taking her camera and standing at a vantage point on the upper deck. Snapping several shots as the crew scurried to secure the ship, she stared in fascination at skies painted deep purple as if by an angry hand. The ship began to pitch and the sea lashed across the wooden deck. Lightning flashed in startling jags across the horizon, punctuated by roaring wind and thundering booms.

  "Isabeau!" Hawk yelled, running to her. "Get below now. Hurry."

  Quickly, she gripped the rail at the stair landing and half-slid, half-jumped down the remainder of the stairs, opening the cabin door and slamming it shut as the ship pitched once more.

  She held onto the desk chair, then sat down, her heart thumping with fear. Before long, the weather took a fierce downturn. The ship groaned and creaked, reminding her of just how frail a vessel was in the midst of an enormous ocean. One of the men came to the cabin to warn her to stay inside as they were precariously close to the eye of the storm. They tossed and rolled with the turbulent waves and the lash of the winds. As time moved slowly, streaks of light snapped like snakes across the sky -- keeping her transfixed at the window. 

  The storm's intensity continued to grow to what she feared were unreal proportions. When the ship rocked violently, tossing her onto the cabin floor, Isabeau began to experience real fear. Rain and seawater lashed the porthole glass. There was no visibility.

  Clutching the sides of the chair, which thankfully was nailed to the floor, she closed her eyes. Swallowing continuously, she hoped the feeling of sickness would pass. Never had she felt nauseated right from her toes to her ears.

  If she'd been the adventurous type, she thought unhappily, she'd be up on deck with Hawk right now, riding out the storm in all its glory. As an earsplitting crack of thunder sounded, Isabeau gripped the wooden spindles even harder and hunched down in the chair.

  By the end of the day, her fascination with the storm had fled, and she had retreated to the bed. Rolling her face into the bed pillow, she found the scent of Hawk filling her nostrils, somehow reassuring her. Surely she hadn't been brought to a different time so she could drown at sea?

  Huddled under the bedcovers, Isabeau felt an intense cold seep into her bones. She supposed it was fear. If the ship went down, she'd be stuck in the cabin with no chance of escape.

  An extra blanket lay on the trunk at the foot of the bed. All she had to do was reach out. It seemed a monumental effort, but she managed to drag it up over herself.

  #

  Isabeau woke to intense heat along her stomach and right side. Whereas earlier she had been chilled, now she curled up against the furnace like heat.

  "Mmm, that extra blanket was well worth it," she murmured. "I could stay like this forever."

  "You do that innocently enough," a husky voice murmured.

  Isabeau opened her eyes to stare at the dark whiskered face so close to her own.

  "Sorry," she mumbled. She rolled away, but his arm caught her and brought her back to him as deep, warm laughter rumbled in his chest. Unaccountably, she relaxed against him, seeing his eyes darken with sensual interest.

  "The storm is over?" she managed, astounded by the intense silence.

  "Yes, this time," he remarked softly, settling on an elbow. The covers fell away from him, the dark curling hair of his chest very close to her hand.

  "This time? Do you mean we're in for another one?" she whispered incredulously.

  "Such squalls aren't uncommon this time of year," he replied.

  Isabeau curled her fingers, but in her imagination she traced swirls over his skin. She looked at his flat stomach and lower, then jerked her head up and scooted closer to the wall. "Is there another storm coming?"

  "There's little chance we'll be seeing a second one today. It was just a baby this time," he remarked, his mouth curled with amusement.

  "Well, it was enough for me. I feel like I could jump out of my skin." Was it really just the storm? she wondered, watching him ease from the bed. She was actually surprised to notice the rather modern-looking undergarment he wore. It looked almost like a pair of linen shorts.

  "There's a good chance we'll arrive in New York within the hour."

  She sat up straight. "Seriously? Oh, my gosh, I have to get dressed right away. My first sight of 1894 New York. Unbelievable. I have to bring my camera."

  #

  As the ship sailed into the harbor, Isabeau spotted several large ferries and many smaller boats in the waterway. The ferries she found particularly interesting since many appeared brimming with humanity. When she saw the Statue of Liberty in the distance, a hard ache squeezed her throat. She found it difficult to suppress the emotion she felt upon seeing the Lady Liberty. In that moment as they drew near, she experienced a deep appreciation for the immigrants traveling through this harbor from their far-away shores. She took several pictures as they passed her, the dull copper vividly outlined against the blue sky.

  Wonderfully absent was the haze of pollution that she equated with the city, especially on such wet, foggy days. It was a different sight from what Isabeau knew -- a city so much newer in the year 1894. There were numerous vessels docked at the quay, but none as large as theirs.

  "I will not be gone long," Hawk said. "You are to remain on board until I return." When she would have protested, he added, "You must promise me to remain on board. It is for your own safety."

  #

  Champing at the bit, she paced the cabin, peering occasionally out the porthole at the familiar yet strange skyline of this earlier New York City, in which of course there were no skyscrapers.

  Hawk expected to be gone several hours. She had whiled away some of the time by packing his belongings and then the new clothes he had purchased for her. There was nothing left to do except wait, and waiting had never been her strong suit.

  Isabeau rummaged through his charts, unrolling a few, realizing there was nothing of interest to her. It was when she had neatly banded them together with a short length of string that she noticed his small leather journal in one of the desk's pigeonholes.

  Hardly daring to believe he had left it behind, she touched a finger to its dark exterior, the gold mesh band glinting at her. Gingerly, Isabeau picked it up, turning it over in her hand. Lifting the green stone clasp, she released the band.

  She shouldn't read it, but part of her had to. There had been so many opportunities, and she had resisted them, but she felt compelled to read it now. Taking a deep breath, she sat in the desk chair. Resting the journal on her knees, she began on the first page.

  1878, April 2, I fear I shall never live to see land again…

  #

  After an indeterminate length of time, Isabeau surfaced from her reading to hear voices and booted feet crossing the overhead deck. It had taken several minutes for the sound to penetrate her concentration. She tilted her head, listening, her mind still caught up in what she had just read.

  She hadn't been able to stop reading once started.

  The written words haunted her, giving her an insight into the man. He'd faithfully kept this journal since he'd been kidnapped as a boy. He'd written an account of the two years he'd lived at sea as nothing more than an indentured servant. She pressed the book to her breast, unable to shake the disturbing events he'd written about.

  The dates following his injury three mont
hs ago the tone of the writing had changed, and obviously, so had the man. It had been deeply private what he'd written, uncertain of his identity, grasping at common day occurrences but finding no connection to his own life. Isabeau closed the book, deeply ashamed she had given in to temptation and read his private journal.

  The sound of approaching footsteps propelled her into quick action. She secured the band in place and placed the journal back where she had found it.

  Guilt flayed her. She'd have to own up and tell him she'd read part of his private journal.

  Stepping onto the top deck, Isabeau was relieved to see that while the rain had subsided, the grey skies had not.

  An uneasiness gripped her. Someone was on deck -- she could sense it -- but all was now silent.

  She walked as quietly as she could along the deck and down the stairs into the belly of the ship. As she rounded the corner, she saw a man crouched in the galley with his back to her. He wore a brown coat, frayed and dirty, and he had matted brown hair which stood up here and there on his head.

  His furtive actions told her he did not belong on board. She backed away, her heel making a slight scraping sound. The man spun toward her, splashing clear liquid from the pail he held.

  "You're trespassing," she said angrily.

  With a muttered oath he lunged to his feet and toward her. Isabeau saw the butts of two pistols tucked into the waist of his pants, but then the man pulled a knife from his boot.

  She ran, glad she had taken track in school. Her right foot caught a brass spittoon, sending it skittering lopsidedly ahead of her.

  She scooped up the spittoon and flung it behind her, having the satisfaction of hearing the man yelp in pain. Isabeau dodged a work table, her hands gripping the wooden countertop as she pulled herself out of his reach. With a wild yell, the man jumped up and slid over the counter toward her.

  She darted toward the door, hopping sideways as the man lunged to grab her feet.

  "You should have gone ashore with the others." He cornered her, his grin showing a row of broken teeth. "But no matter. I'll entertain you, missy."

  With a screech she hardly recognized, Isabeau threw the closest thing to hand, the cook's heavy kettle. It glanced off his shoulder and gained her precious seconds. Dropping to her knees, she crawled under the wooden counter, squeezing between chairs and sending them skittering. Her arms and shoulders stung from being so abused, but she didn't stop.