The Treasure of Maria Mamoun (11 page)

“I suppose so. Still, it looks kind of interesting.” Maria put the book on the counter.

“You interested in anything else?” the salesgirl asked.

“Just—” Maria stopped. “Well, do you have any maps? Like for sailing?” An idea was beginning to form. If she could find a map, a modern map, to compare with Captain Murdefer's map, one that
looked
like his map, instead of those useless ones on the boat, then she could tell where his treasure island was.

“They call them charts. Maps are for on land; charts are for at sea.” The girl headed to the rear of the store and Maria followed. “You want framed? We also have these, this guy paints ships on them, people like 'em—I don't know, I think they're kind of weird.”

The salesgirl gestured to a series of gilt-framed nautical charts with sailboats painted on the water. All were of the same triangular island. The same triangular island of Captain Murdefer's map.

Maria felt her cheeks burn. But the salesgirl didn't notice. She was riffling through a long drawer filled with colorful charts.

“Here's one. It's got the whole island, Nantucket, and part of the Cape.” She held it out to Maria.

Maria stared at it. It was a crisp, detailed, modern rendition of Captain Murdefer's treasure map. There was the main triangle, and off in the northeastern corner the three smaller dots representing the tinier islands where the X was drawn.

At the top in black, block letters it said
MARTHA'S VINEYARD
.

“This is Martha's Vineyard?” Maria asked. “On this chart and in those paintings?”

“Yeah.” The girl made it sound like “duh.”

“I just got here.” Maria blushed.

“Look, see?” The salesgirl pointed to the chart. On the northeast side was Oak Bluffs, and south of that was Edgartown, and at the very bottom Mr. Ironwall's private estate stretched between a “Great Pond” and the sea. It even said in small black letters:
IRONWALL ESTATE
.

It seemed an impossible coincidence. But the more she thought of it, the more sense it made. After all, the Vineyard had been Captain Murdefer's home. Of course he'd want to keep his treasure close.

“Can I have this? I mean, how much does it cost?” Maria had no idea how to judge the modern chart's quality. It seemed much more detailed than the captain's map, so that was probably good.

“Nineteen ninety-five.”

“I'll take it,” Maria said.

“You want anything else?”

“How much are compasses? One that works, but not too expensive.” Maria pulled out her wallet. “I only have seventy dollars.”

“Sounds like you're going sailing.”

“No,” Maria protested. “Not me. I can't sail. I've never been sailing. My dad does, though. Well, not really my dad, but—” She did not know why she was going through the effort of lying to this piratey girl whom she would probably never see again and who was not even listening. Already the salesgirl was leading her to another part of the store.

“Well, we've got some handheld compasses for around twenty bucks. They're in that case.” The teen-pirate pointed.

*   *   *

When Maria returned to the supermarket parking lot, she found her mother and Frank already waiting.

“What did you get,
chérie
?” Celeste pointed to her bags.

“Just some souvenirs.”

“Your mom tells me you're curious about Paolo,” Frank said. “Well, you're going to get to meet him. You're coming to our house for dinner Friday.”

As he went around to the other side of the truck, Celeste made a face at Maria, something halfway between a grimace and a goofy smile.

Ugh.

Maria liked Frank just fine, but she didn't feel like hanging out with his nasty nephew. Maybe she could get out of it. She'd have to ask her mom when they were alone.

But when they got home, Maria rushed upstairs to compare her chart to the treasure map. And by dinner, her head was so filled with visions of pirate treasure that she completely forgot to ask if maybe her mom actually didn't want her to go to dinner at Frank's house after all.

 

16

T
HAT
S
ORT
OF
G
IRL

Maria woke to the sound of Frank's golf cart crunching to a stop on the driveway, just as it did every morning. Captain Murdefer's treasure map, the new chart of the island, and
True Pyrate Tales
were scattered across her quilt. She'd fallen asleep comparing the two charts, reading true pirate tales, and imagining her future.

Captain Murdefer's treasure would certainly buy them everything she ever wanted. She could already picture their house. Not too big—she and her mom didn't need to be cleaning a big house, and after all, it was only the two of them. But they could finally buy a nice car. She wondered if her mom even wanted to drive. They'd definitely have a pool—then she'd really learn how to swim. And she could go to any college she got into, a private university even, with ivy hanging off the stone walls, and football games, and a massive library.

If she were the sort of girl to have adventures, she would go looking for that treasure. She'd fallen asleep wondering if she were that sort of girl. She awoke not knowing the answer to her question. She'd never had the chance for an adventure before.

The morning sun was streaming through the porthole above her bed. The lovely smell of coffee, cinnamon, and sugar wafted up the stairs.

She had to get dressed and walk Brutus. She had to visit with Mr. Ironwall and eat lunch with Hattie. It wasn't as if she could just chuck it all and boat out to Treasure Island instead, could she?

Would she, if she could?

“It's about time, sleepyhead,” Celeste said when Maria came down.

Frank and Brutus were standing in the kitchen. Frank held a mug of coffee.

Celeste gave Maria a look. “You woke up so late—are you sick?”

“No, just tired. I stayed up late reading.”

“Brutus has been whining. He thought you forgot him.” Frank put his mug in the sink and tossed her the leash.

“We have to go.” Celeste looked at the kitchen clock. She kissed Maria quickly on the forehead. “There's coffee cake from Hattie. See you tonight.”

Maria waited until the noise of the golf cart faded. Then she stuffed three apples, four bottles of water, and a hunk of wax-paper-wrapped coffee cake into her backpack and ran off toward the beach with Brutus.

It was a beautifully sunny morning. Delicate wildflowers—yellow, blue, and purple—dotted the tall grasses on either side of the broken-shell drive. Small white moths fluttered about. Birds she didn't recognize sang songs she'd never heard. She wished she knew their names. Back home, in the empty lot on Rev. James A. Polite Avenue, there had been so few names to know: Queen Anne's lace, chickadees. Here, on this vast estate, there were so many things to know the names of. Birds and fish and shells and strangely shaped items that washed up with the bracken. She picked up interesting bits and put them in her pocket. Maybe she would show them to Mr. Ironwall later.

As she ran Brutus around the beach, her eyes kept cutting toward the sailboat. It bobbed at the dock, the morning sun glinting off the ripples around its hull. The tent looked like it hadn't been disturbed since she left it yesterday. Maybe she really had scared Paolo off.

*   *   *

After Brutus's walk, Maria offered to sit awhile with Mr. Ironwall so her mother could run down to the kitchen for a coffee break. Mr. Ironwall acted as though he needed to be convinced to allow Maria's visit.

“Well, at least she may be a diversion of sorts from my busy schedule,” he said. He sniffed and waited for Celeste to shut the door behind her.

“Go ahead, make my day,” Mr. Ironwall said to Maria.

“What?”

“Clint Eastwood,
Sudden Impact
.” He frowned. “No? Never heard of it? I suppose you weren't born yet.”

Maria shrugged.

“Fine then. What shall we talk about?”

“I found this.” Maria showed him a peach-colored shell, delicate as a baby's fingernail.

“The Wampanoag call them jingle shells. I don't know the scientific name.” Mr. Ironwall laid the shell aside. He folded his hands and waited.

“How about this?” Maria held out a black rectangle with four thin, curled appendages extending one from each corner. It felt strangely like leather and smelled of low tide.

“Mermaid's purse,” Mr. Ironwall said. “An egg case for creatures like skates and dogfish.”

“Dogfish?”

“It's like a small shark,” Mr. Ironwall explained. “Now, I'm done playing the role of biologist. Entertain me with some scintillating news of the world beyond these walls.” He waved his hand idly about.

“Um, we went into town yesterday,” Maria said. “Frank drove us. I got an interesting book about pirates. Apparently they were all over around here, burying treasure, sinking…”

Mr. Ironwall gazed at the wall over her head. “When I was a boy, we often went looking for lost pirate treasure.”

“Did you ever find any?”

Mr. Ironwall frowned as if she were ridiculous. “Of course not. But that didn't stop us from trying.”

He closed his eyes and kept talking. “There was a slew of us—cousins from off-island, local children whose parents worked here. All ages. We would pack up supplies and sail off to the outer islands and camp for days at a time, digging around.”

“What are the outer islands?” Maria interrupted.

“Guano-covered rocks,” Mr. Ironwall said.

“Guano?” she asked.

“Bird poop,” he said.

“Are they far?”

“No. Not really.”

“Could you tell me about them? Like a story or something? A pirate treasure story?” Maria asked.

“I don't tell stories.”

“But you just did. Well, you almost did—about you and your cousins hunting for pirate treasure.”

Brutus lay on the bed between them, and Mr. Ironwall kept one hand on the dog at all times. Now he turned his focus to Maria.

“You should be outside playing. Instead of talking to me.”

“I don't play,” Maria said. “But I guess I should go. I'll call for my mom.”

“Yes, do that.” Mr. Ironwall put his hand over his eyes. “I want to be alone.”

Maria stared at him.

He peeked through his fingers at her.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “I'm not that rude. Garbo,
Grand Hotel
. Your cultural education is severely lacking. Now, shoo.” He waved her off.

*   *   *

After a quick lunch with Hattie, Maria headed back to the
Privateer
. On the walk over, she collected bouquets of milkweed, honeysuckle, and beach roses. If she found Paolo on the boat, she'd just turn around and leave. All the way there, she crossed her fingers and really, really hoped he wasn't there. And to her great relief she found the boat wonderfully, peacefully empty.

The bright afternoon sun shone through the tent and filled the cabin with soft light. Maria placed her little bouquets in the blue-enameled coffee mugs about the cabin. The sweet scent chased away the mustiness. She aired the cushions out on the sunny beach, then remade the beds and fluffed the pillows. She cleaned the windows with vinegar that she'd taken from the kitchen, then scrubbed the sink with baking soda (again, borrowed from Hattie's kitchen supplies) and seawater. Freshened and cleaned, the cabin felt quite homey.

Now she sat at the tiny table, reading. She liked the warm smell of the wood and the cool smell of the ocean, and she liked the gentle rocking motion. The noise was constant: creaking timbers and blowing wind, waves slapping the hull, but it was all good noise, calm noise. With all the noise, the cabin wasn't nearly so lonely as the empty cottage.

True Pyrate Tales
told of many pirates, privateers, and wealthy merchant vessels in and about these waters. Quite a few of them had wrecked, but only the
Whydah
had been found. There was an intriguing chapter about Captain William Kidd, who had started out as a privateer, but had turned pirate. Supposedly he buried gold at Money Head on Hog Island not too far away, and maybe another treasure on Nomans Land, an uninhabited island a few miles south.

She slid the book away and pulled Captain Murdefer's map from her backpack. She wondered if Mr. Ironwall and his cousins might have found the treasure if they'd had the chart. They had a sailboat, and the skills to sail it and permission to camp for days at a time, but no chart. She had the chart, but no boat or skills or permission to camp. And no helpful cousins.

Twice twice two,

Then twice that more.

Take one from the first,

The Queen treads upon the door.

What did it mean?

She sighed. The afternoon sun shone rainbows through the stained glass window. Maria packed up her books and charts and garbage. The treasure would have to wait for another day. Or forever, unless she found a way to get to the outer islands. Maybe Frank knew someone with a boat. But if she spoke to Frank, he'd tell her mom, and she'd say the treasure didn't belong to her and even if she did find it she couldn't keep it. No, it was definitely not something to get adults messed up in. She would have to do it herself. But how?

As she climbed over the
Privateer
's rail to the dock, she saw the answer to her questions. The dinghy. It was the sort of boat that didn't require sailing skills. She'd already inspected it. It had both its oars; its hull was sound. It was small enough for one person to handle. There it lay, overturned on the deck, just waiting for her.

But it would have to wait some more. What had Mr. Ironwall said? It's not too far to the outer islands? She figured she would need a whole day to get there and back. And she needed to pack supplies: food, a shovel, warm clothing. She would do it tomorrow. She
would
be the sort of girl who had adventures.