* * * * *
Once again, Ritcherd found himself at the pier, gazing out to sea as if it might give him the answers. He closed his eyes and lifted his face toward the sun high above him, finding a degree of comfort in thinking that Kyrah could feel the warmth of the same sun. He pondered the endless hours he’d spent combing this hole of a town for a clue—any clue—as to where he might find the woman he loved. He’d prayed more than he ever had in his life, and something inside of him refused to give up the hope that she was here somewhere, just beyond his reach. The gulls and other sea birds sang and performed their usual rituals, as if they somehow shared his grief. He became lost in their song, wishing for the thousandth time that he could fly.
“Might ye be a cap’n?” A gruff voice startled Ritcherd from his thoughts, and he turned to see a scruffy-looking old man with gray whiskers that far outnumbered the hair on his head.
“Aye,” he replied, “I’m a cap’n.”
“I thought so,” the man said simply, then turned and walked away.
Ritcherd followed, having to take big steps in order to keep up. “Why did ye want t’ know that?” Ritcherd asked.
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got lots o’ time,” Ritcherd said with a sad note in his voice.
“I suspected ye might,” the old man said as he came to a wheeled cart where fruits, breads, and cheeses were displayed. Sitting down near his wares, he put his legs far apart and eyed Ritcherd curiously.
“Tell me yer story,” Ritcherd urged as he sat down close by.
“Well, I thought ye might be a cap’n by th’ way ye been comin’ t’ the pier every day and gazin’ out t’ sea that way.”
“Do all cap’ns do that?” he asked, amused by the theory.
“Certainly not,” the man said with a bit of a smile, and Ritcherd liked him. “But I recall a woman who did.”
Ritcherd’s heart raced. “Tell me!” he insisted, and the old man looked as though he’d expected such a reaction.
“She were a pretty ’un. Dark, curly hair; tall and kind o’ sweet lookin’. Mighty out o’ place in a town like this. She came every day t’ th’ pier and looked out t’ sea. When a ship ‘d come in she’d stand way back ‘n watch everyone get off, kind o’ bitin’ ’er lip like she was full o’ nerves or somethin’. She’d always get somethin’ t’ eat. Little bits o’ things ’ere an’ there, an’ she liked to talk about th’ birds.”
Ritcherd discreetly wiped a hand over his face in an effort to keep from showing how this affected him. He had no doubt this man was talking about Kyrah. He watched the old man closely, trying to comprehend her being here as he described her so well.
“One day I asked ’er who it was she was waitin’ for. She was kind o’ quiet, but she looked out to th’ sea and said: ‘the cap’n o’ my ’eart.’"
The old man was silent for a moment and he scrutinized Ritcherd carefully. He seemed certain he’d found the right captain by the emotion Ritcherd couldn’t possibly conceal. “She told me ’er name was Kyrah.”
Ritcherd looked into the old man’s eyes, then he turned away when he felt his emotion beginning to overcome him. There was a long moment of silence before the man went on.
“There was a day she come to th’ pier and looked extra sad. She always looked sad, but this day it was worse. I asked ’er what was up, and she said she couldn’t wait another day. She told me she was in trouble and she was gonna . . .” The man paused, seeming hesitant to go on.
“What?” Ritcherd insisted.
“She was gonna be gettin’ married.”
Ritcherd’s heart leapt into his throat. It was the last thing in the world he had expected to hear. His chest became constricted and he found it difficult to take a breath. He wanted to yell at the old man and tell him he was crazy. But even if he could have found his voice, he had no reason to believe this man would lie to him. His eyes were too genuine, too filled with concern.
When the old man went on, Ritcherd did his best to force the pain away in order to focus on what was being said. “I asked ’er why she was gonna marry someone who wasn’t the cap’n, and she just repeated what she said afore. She said ‘I can’t wait another day. I’m in trouble.’ She said they would be leavin’ ’ere, but she didn’t tell me where she was goin’. I ain’t seen ’er since.”
Ritcherd pressed a trembling hand over his mouth to keep from crying out. Kyrah was married. She was gone. She should have been his. They should have been together. What had gone wrong? It took everything inside of him to keep his composure as he numbly stood up and offered the old man a handshake. “Thank you, sir,” he managed to say as he swallowed his grief. He could fall apart later.
“I wish I could o’ done more.”
“Thank you for being here for her when she needed someone to talk to,” he said, then quickly bit his lip.
“Twas my pleasure, Cap’n. Ye don’t see ladies like ’er much in a place like this.”
Ritcherd offered him some money but the man held up his hands. “I don’t want no money, Cap’n.”
“I don’t want it either,” Ritcherd said, throwing it down on the bench where he’d been sitting as he walked away.