A Whisper of Danger (27 page)

He touched the ends of her hair. “I hurt you a lot, Jessie. I broke the bonds of trust we had built. I don’t deserve the faith you’re putting in me to watch over Splint. But I’m thankful for it. I won’t let you down this time. I promise.”

“Okay,” she whispered. She took his hand and squeezed it. His eyes shone as bright and blue as the water behind him. “Thank you, Rick.”

As she pulled away, he lifted his head to the balcony above. “Hey, Splint!” he called. “You up there, buddy?”

There was a moment of silence. “Yeah.”

“Thought so. Didn’t your mom teach you not to eavesdrop?”

“I can’t hear a thing you’re saying, no matter how hard I try. You’re talking too quietly.”

Rick gave Jess a wink. “Then I guess you don’t know the big news.”

“What? What big news?” Splint’s head appeared over the balcony rail.

“I’m picking you up at seven sharp tomorrow morning. Bring your trunks, a T-shirt, a hat, and your notebooks. We’re going treasure hunting.”

To the whoops that echoed off the walls of the verandah balcony, Rick walked out to his motorcycle. “Tomorrow, Jessie,” he said.

“Tomorrow, Rick.”

“Do you think everything’s going to be all right?” Jess asked Hannah. They were sitting on the verandah just after lunch the next day, sipping mango juice and listening to the waves crash on the cliffs. “As hard as I try, I can’t put all this out of my mind. I’m so worried about everything.”

“Ehh,” Hannah murmured. “The worry is written on your face like the words in a book. I understand that. Many things have happened to you in Zanzibar, and some of them are troubling. But in Jeremiah it is written, ‘ “For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”’ I believe God loves you and me,
toto
. When a father loves his children, he can use even the worst problems for good.”

Jess smiled at the elderly woman. “You’ve always had so much faith, Mama Hannah.”

“Not always. We all are little children in the Lord. We are growing, learning, becoming wise in him.” Her dark eyes searched Jess’s face. “But before we can even begin to grow in faith, we must first be born. Tell me,
toto
, do you feel this life inside you? Where are you in your walk?”

Pondering the question, Jess took a sip of her juice and let the cool orange liquid run down her throat. On the surface, her walk through life looked very good. She had spent the morning in her studio bedroom. The impala book was coming together beautifully at last, and she felt confident that her lavish illustrations equaled or surpassed her previous work.

Hunky had brought her a bundle of mail from the Zanzibar post office that morning. A letter from James Perrott was filled with snippets of verse from the author’s new proposal,
Kima the Monkey and the Jealous Jackal
. James had wanted to know if Jess liked his idea. Did she think a jackal would make a good character? Jackals were carnivores, he reminded her. Would they run into the problem they’d had with Hungry Hyena, who had been more interested in eating poor Kima than in resolving his own problems? Did Jess think she could paint a jackal? Would the creature be vivid or boring? On and on. James Perrott had never been known for concise writing.

Jess loved the fact that her life was regaining a sense of normalcy. She was working steadily. Communication with the business world wasn’t proving as difficult as she had feared. Splint was staying busy and mostly happy. Bills were being paid; food was on the table; school would be starting soon.

Other than the looming specter of an unsolved murder and the disconcerting presence of a long-lost husband, things were fairly average. She had to laugh at the image.

“Where am I in my walk?” she repeated Hannah’s question. “Well, I’m in the middle of a murder investigation and a hunt for sunken treasure. But you know what? I’m all right, Mama Hannah. Yesterday I was up in my room alone, and I . . . I sort of just gave up. I realized I couldn’t be the lord of my own life anymore. It wasn’t working. I’ve been so hard and angry.”

“Bitter.”

“I’ve been choking on bitterness.”

“Choking nearly to the death of your heart.” Hannah studied the line of palm trees growing on the edge of the cliff. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with emotion. “I thank God he has opened your eyes at last. Many years ago, you gave your life to Christ,
toto
. At that time, I believed you were born into his kingdom. Do you remember it?”

“Yes,” Jess whispered. “I was very young, but through your words I came to understand my own sin and my need for forgiveness. You taught me how to surrender my will and submit to Christ. After that, I believed I was growing, Mama Hannah. But then . . . then I met Rick.”

“Ehh.”

“I guess I stopped growing.”

“Even the children of God can permit sin to creep back into their hearts. Like small vines from a bitter root, the unforgiveness wrapped around you. I saw this. Many times . . . many times, I have begged God to release you from these vines.”

“He has, Mama Hannah.”

“Has he? Have you forgiven your husband?”

Jess cringed at words she still could not accept. “I’ve forgiven Rick. But I can’t think of him as my husband. I can’t think of him as Splint’s father. I can’t let him back into my life.”

“He is in your life already.”

“Then I can’t let him into my heart.”

“What holds you away? Memories of the past?”

“Fear of the future. I don’t know what life would be like with Rick. I can’t imagine us ever . . . ever . . .”

She was lying. She knew it even as she spoke. Not only could she imagine it, she
had
imagined it. Now she faced the truth—even as she struggled with the concept—that she could easily picture herself in Rick’s life—and in his arms. Though she tried to repress the images that had been sneaking into her mind for weeks, she had to admit that she could see herself and Rick together again, loving each other, building a home, creating a family. In spite of herself, she was as drawn to those images as she ever had been. But look what had come of her childish trust in the future!

“It scares me,” she said finally. “I can give up my anger. I can let go of the bitterness. I think I’ve even forgiven Rick. But I’m too scared to place any hope in a life with him.”

“Remember,
toto
. We are called to place our hope in Christ. Solomon, that wise king, wrote, ‘Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when dreams come true, there is life and joy.’ I believe there is life and joy ahead for you. But I think you must put the hope in the right place. As the apostle Paul told that young boy, Timothy: ‘Our hope is in the living God, who is the Savior of all people, and particularly of those who believe.’”

Again, Jess had to smile at Hannah’s beloved words. To Hannah, the Bible was always so real. She called Solomon “that wise king.” Timothy was always “that young boy.” Job was “the poor man Satan attacked.” David was “the man God loved.” These people walked through her life and spoke messages as real and vivid as those of any living person. Hannah breathed the Bible. Scriptures, prayer, and fellowship with other Christians were her nourishment. If only Jess could follow her example.

“I’ll try,” she said. “I’ll try to put my hope in Christ. I guess he’ll show me what to do about Rick.”

“Of course he will show you.” Hannah’s brown eyes twinkled. “Perhaps he is doing so already. Look now, the boy comes with his father.”

Jess glanced in the direction of Hannah’s gaze. Rick was striding across the lawn, Splinter draped across his back like a lanky Ichabod Crane on his horse. The boy had his head thrown back toward the sunlight, and he was laughing at the man’s efforts to tote the weighty burden toward the house. In all her life, Jess had never seen her son so filled with joy.

“Mom!” he shouted, spotting her and giving a wave. “Mom, you’ve got to come down to the boat! Guess what? We found the
real
mother lode! The captain’s quarters! We came all the way back to get you. We need you.”

“They need you,” Hannah said, giving Jess a soft smile. “You need them. God knows this. And he will supply all your needs from his many riches in glory, because of what Christ Jesus has done for us.”

Jess kissed the dark chocolate cheek. Hannah had been more than her caretaker all these years. She was her mentor. Her friend. Her mother.

“I love you, Mama Hannah,” she said.

“Ehh,” the old woman said. “Go now,
toto
. Your family calls you.”

T
HIRTEEN

Something about Jessie was different. Rick noticed it immediately— in the way she carried herself, in the way she spoke to Splinter, in the way she looked at Rick. And she did look at him. Often.

Even though he had prayed Jessie would come out onto the diving boat again, he hadn’t really believed he could talk her into it. Splinter had taken care of that, convincing his mom that the salvage project needed her artistic skills if history were to be recorded accurately. The kid’s powers of persuasion were impressive. By the time Splint had finished, Rick himself was convinced that the sunken ship was the discovery of the century.

So here Jessie was in the boat, lounging on one of the padded benches with her sketch pad propped on her knees. A big straw hat with a yellow scarf tied around the band shaded her eyes. A filmy sea green tunic, its hem drifting around the deck in the soft breeze, covered her bathing suit. Her slender arms curved over the white paper as she rendered a faithful copy of the wine bottle that had just been brought up from the captain’s quarters. And her long legs with their delicate toes . . . it was about all Rick could do to force himself to concentrate on his diagram of the shipwreck.

“What did you tell me you call this kind of glass?” Jessie asked, lifting her head and fixing him with those mesmerizing violet eyes. “It’s so strange the way it’s shedding.”

“Onion skin. Glass that’s been aging underwater for years peels off in layers like an onion.”

“I’m finding it hard to sketch.” She held her drawing at arm’s length. “These pictures I’m doing for you aren’t going to be displayed in public anywhere, are they?”

“I’ll be using them for research purposes.”

“Why don’t you just take photographs?”

“That’s the way I’ve always done it. I take pictures first on-site underwater, and then I shoot the artifacts again up here. But it’s never as good as a sketch.” He left his maps and charts to join her on the bench. “Your pencil captures things my camera can’t. Your artist’s eye notices details a photograph would miss. See this ridge in the glass? Could be nothing—an insignificant bubble. Or it could be a mark made by the glassblower. Something like that can teach us a lot. On your sketch, you’ve shaded in the ridge. In a photograph, it would blend right into the bottle’s surface. I’d miss it.”

Jessie turned the wine bottle around. In spite of a thin crust of coral on the bottom and a couple of barnacles, the artifact had a hypnotic quality. Its peeling glass captured the afternoon sunlight and scattered marbles of green light across her bare legs.

“I would feel a lot better if I could label my sketch,” she said. “For example, see how the bottle’s lip juts out right here, but on the other side it’s uneven? I can’t really show that in the drawing.”

“Write down all the details you observe. Anything we can add to the provenance will help.”