Voyage

Voyage

by:

Melissa K. Andres

Prologue

October 23, 1878

A slow, steady pitter-pattering.  Little droplets of water beaded her hair, skin and dress.  Forks of lightning, brilliant and buzzing.  Thunder rolled across the sky piercing her eardrums, seeming to crack the world in half.  The storm was creeping in like a black beast across the horizon.

The winds from the belly of the beast screamed more than howled, driving the rain faster, harder, and stronger.  Its savageness threatened to drown the world.

Another brutal clap of thunder, this one reverberating around the ship; echoing eerily.  A numbing coldness gripped her heart as she held the little china doll to her chest.  Salt burned her lungs as the gale turned to a booming deluge.  Loud.  The torrent falls as stones.  Waves thrash the hull and rock the deck, causing the ship to sway, going up and down, left and right.  She tried standing tall and brave but was knocked off her feet.  The crew laughed and joked; quite relaxed.  The skipper said all would be fine.

But he was wrong.

Nature’s suppressed anger was realized that day.  Total darkness prevailed blotting out the moonlight and twinkling stars.  The sky, along with all crew members and the thirty-nine passengers aboard the S.S. Montbretia were drowned.

Chapter One

Present Day

Good morning, class.  My name is Chae Leeton and I will be your instructor.  Scuba is a gear-intensive sport because, let’s face it, you’re not designed to swim, see, stay warm or most important, breathe underwater.  If you want to explore what’s beneath the surface you have to adapt and dive gear allows you to do just that.  I slid my body into the swimming pool and looked up at the sunbeams streaming through the overhead skylight.  I know you’ve each gone through your academics training.  Beginning dive students then progress on to Confined Water.  You’ll now learn to manage yourselves and your dive equipment underwater.  You’ll be instructed on finning, mobility and entering and exiting the water.  Seated, ladder and giant step.

An older gentleman in The Dive Center group raised a hand.  Name’s Graham Rosenblom, Miss.  Do these rubber suits come in any other color? he asked.  Black is so boring.

I had been instructing Confined Water Courses for the better part of three years now.  I thought I had heard it all but this was a first.  Mr. Rosenblom?  I’m sorry but black is what we provide here at the center.  I don’t think the color of your dive suit will hinder your performance.

I’m seventy-five years old, the man clicked his teeth together.  I don’t really perform anymore, if you know what I mean.

Several students tittered, stirring up small splashes in the chlorinated water. 

I rolled my hazel eyes and sighed.  Suits are needed as thermal protection for divers.  We we’ll learn about this and a plethora of other dive equipment as well.  Masks, snorkels, fins, dive computers and Buoyancy Control Devices or BCD.  Who can tell me what that is?

A young woman with curly auburn hair raised a hand.  My name’s Peg Schofield, Miss Leeton.  A Buoyancy Control Device is the jacket that scuba divers wear to control their buoyancy and to carry their tank.

Very nice, I nodded my head and smiled.  Knowing what each piece is called and what it is used for though isn’t enough.  We need to apply that academic knowledge so why don’t we begin?  Is everyone ready?

Nervous chatter floated across the pool.

Breathing apparatus?  I pointed to each person in turn and they nodded in affirmation as gear was located and adjusted.  Kyle Conner, Drew Harris, Jordan Metters ... 

Each student ducked beneath the water’s wetness.

I groaned.  When had my life become so mundane?  So ordinary and humdrum?  As a child I had longed to be a mermaid; to live among the frothy waves, the seaweed and the strange sea flowers.  I became interested in diving at a very young age.  Even now I long for the vast realm of aquatic adventure, the color and beauty of enchanting reefs and the thrill and mystique of underwater museums. 

But the known and unknown dangers of the oceans had forced me to become a land-lubber; forced me to relinquish my maritime dreams. 

Sputtering coughs, snorts and wheezing pulled me back from my melancholy thoughts.  It was the old man.  Graham Rosenblom.  Oh, Lord.

The first rule of scuba, Mr. Rosenblom:  Never hold your breath.

Excuse me, May Haverhill called.  Excuse me, Chae?  The gray-haired woman, the toes of her sensible shoes peeking over the ledge of the swimming pool, waved her arms.  You have a telephone call in your office.

Mr. Rosenblom’s labored spasms began to diminish.

Can you take a message please, Mrs. Haverhill? I frowned.  My class isn’t quite over.

The man said it was urgent that he speak with you. The Dive Center office manager straightened her thick glasses and held her long floral skirt out of harm’s way with an age-spotted hand.  He said his name is Holden Effler.  Do you know who that is?

I did although I didn’t want to admit it.

If you don’t want to talk with him, what shall I tell him?  May Haverhill cocked her head as if she were scolding an unruly child.

My brow furrowed.  Tell him...tell him...Oh Hell, tell him to hold on a moment.  I stared into the eyes of the students staring back at me.  Why don’t we take five, class?  I’ll be back momentarily.  Please don’t try diving without me.

Pressing the speaker button, I attempted to mop small puddles from my desktop with wads of Kleenex.  Whadda ya want, Effler?

Well, a happy Hello to you too, Leeton. The masculine voice on the other end of the line was upbeat and cheery.

I’m in the middle of a class, I growled.  Make this quick, huh?  I ran my fingers through my long strands of damp dishwater blonde hair.

Wow, we haven’t seen each other or spoken in, what, four years now and you want to make this quick?  Gee, Leeton.  Holden Effler was taken aback but not totally surprised.

Three years, ten months, five days, six hours and, I looked at my antique wall clock, forty-seven minutes to be exact.

Yeah, I guess you can be exact.  He cleared his throat.

I repeat, whadda ya want, Effler?

Give a guy a break, will ya?  It took me a while to track you down.  I need you.

A long pause followed.

Leeton, you still there?

A slight gurgling sound escaped my throat.  What for?

Now, don’t hang up on me and don’t say no just yet, he pleaded.  We’ve found a wreck site and I really could use your help in exploration and recovery.

You know I can’t do that, Effler.

Chae, Springboard Explorations needs you.

No you don’t.  You have an excellent nautical crew.  Mac Lewis, Daw Hanson, Rick Garza, Hogan Webb, Austin Poole, Larson Mitchell...

Gender challenges were tough.  I’m a small woman.  But I did miss working alongside the guys, proving myself, earning their respect. 

Daw Hanson is on paternity leave.  His wife just had a baby girl and Hogan Webb is on his honeymoon in the Bahamas.

Hogan got married?  He was a self-confirmed bachelor for life.

Yep, to a tiny little thing.  Her name’s Bethany.  I think you’d like her.

She dive?

No, she’s actually from Texas, I think.  She’s in to horses.  Anyway, Mac Lewis is out too.  He broke his leg trying to teach his nephew how to ride a bike.  Holden Effler chuckled.  So, as you can see, I’m short-handed.  I need you.  You’re highly trained and very experienced.  Leeton, you’re the best there is.

I plucked a handful of Dive Center brochures from the corner of my desk.  Rainbow-hued fish flit about a vibrant coral reef, a diver floated in the bottom left corner of the glossy paper, watching the intriguing sea life.

Will you just think about it, huh?  The sea is in your blood, remember?

Experience unparalleled adventure and see the world beneath the waves.  Discover the wonders of the aquatic world.  Awe-inspiring.  Team of professional instructors.  Join today!

I’m sorry.  What’d you say?  I tore my eyes from the printed literature.

I will call you back in a few days.  Think about it, Leeton.

No need.  I can’t.  My voice was wavering.  I just can’t. 

Holden Effler sighed audibly.  Only seventy-six unprovoked shark attacks occurred world-wide in the past year; just eleven of the attacks, all nonlethal, involved divers or snorklers.  In other words, your chances of getting injured again by a shark while diving are minute.

Holden. I was tired and irritated.

I remember from years past a particularly eager young diver who was seemingly obsessed with the desire to dive deeper.

I’ve changed.

Have you really?  Can you honestly tell me that you enjoy standing waist-deep in a kiddie pool day after day begging people to put their face in the water?  Is that your passion now, Leeton?

That’s not fair, Effler.  That is so unfair. I turned my back to the wall, tears flowing down my cheeks.  My job here pays the bills.

Lots of people have jobs that just pay the bills.  You’re better than that.  I know it.  You know it too.  I’ll call back in a couple of days.  Think about it.

Before I could utter another protesting word, Holden Effler cradled the phone receiver with a thunk.  He did need me.  He was counting on me.  He wasn’t lying when he had said I was the best.  I always had been.  I always would be.  I’m not saying that in a bragging, conceited way; it’s just a fact of life and nature.

I rubbed my left shoulder.  I just couldn’t go back.  No historic relic, ordinary or unique was worth the pain and heartache I had endured.  None. 

Yet, Holden’s words rang in my ears, over and over again.  ‘Is that your passion now, Leeton?’  ‘Is that your passion now, Leeton?’  ‘Is that your passion now, Leeton?’

No.  Certainly not.

Pushing my bare feet back into my fins, I flip-flopped back to the side of the training pool and addressed my students.

Graham Rosenblom raised both hands into the cool, piped-in air.  I’m all wrinkled.  Oh my God, Miss Leeton, I’m all wrinkled.  He proceeded to look at his fingertips.  Imagine that, a wrinkled old man that’s all wrinkled.  He feigned terror.

The class tittered at the gentleman’s antics.

No, this was not my passion.  Certainly not.

Chapter Two

I found myself standing on his front walkway; a public dock.  Houseboats are boxy structures but the finished cedar exterior had weathered into a timeless silver that showed off its sleek, cool contemporary lines.

The deck, with an overhang like a front porch, welcomed ordinary folk with a row of glass fishing floats, a weathered length of braided rope twisted into a nautical knot and a mobile made of clinking shells strung on a clear monofilament fishing line.  Four resin chairs and a table topped with a rustling bamboo planter sat invitingly.  The briny touches worked well.  It made my heart smile.  I couldn’t believe Holden Effler had finally fixed up the old place.

My tapping on the front door went unnoticed.  I tapped again.  Louder.  When there was still no response, I twisted the doorknob and stepped inside.  Hello?

An old-fashioned life ring, its still decipherable but peeling ship’s name, Pegasus, hung in the main salon. The re-purposed circular end of a wood cable reel used as a coffee table was polished with several coats of shellac gleamed brightly in the filtered sunlight.  A rusty metal pelican cutout on the painted panel over the sofa reminded me of the real bird perched on a piling just outside the window.

The walls, ceiling and trim were painted in shades of white and carried a sense of lightness to pale bamboo floors.  The galley and salon merged sporting a breakfast bar with backless stools and white granite counters.  White subway tile was used as a galley backsplash and continued in the bathroom as well.  The shower stall had floor tiles of elegant, cultured marble.  I was most impressed with the high portholes in the bathroom and bedroom.  A stained glass reef scene inset admitted a play of colored light into both.  Breathtaking was the only word I could conjure.

As I stood in admiration, I heard voices.  I hadn’t thought Effler to be home.  I followed the sounds.

Many archeologists today say that we ‘treasure hunters’ are only out for profit and will plunder a wreck site to get to it.  Springboard Explorations is a conservation operation.  The artifacts we recover are handled with the utmost integrity.  We map every wreck we find.  We are thorough in our investigations and documentation.  Every artifact we’ve ever found is in an online database.  We use only state-of-the-art technologies in stabilizing and preserving our finds.  I consider us to be passionate preservers of history; public servants, so to speak.

The short, bearded, bespectacled man sitting before Holden Effler nodded but remained silent.

Unique items are donated to various museums but other objects are sold in order to fund our expeditions and substantiate our paychecks.  I am quite a stickler for ethical practices.  The company’s founder eyed his prospective applicant.  I do have one archeologist on staff at present, a Mr.Titus Strahl, but am looking to hire another.  We are about to be uncharacteristically busy.

Maybe I can be of some assistance, Mr. Effler?

Both men turned to find me standing in the doorway.  Holden stood mouth agape.

Chae?

That’s what my mother named me.

What a sight for sore eyes, Holden whistled.

I waved off the compliment.

Mr. umm, what was your name again? Holden returned to his seat.

The hopeful candidate responded with a whiny, grating voice. Brinker.  Cecil P. Brinker.

I would like to introduce you to Springboard’s star employee, Miss Chae Leeton.  He held his hand out toward me in presentation.

Now, I just took an extended vacation from The Dive Center, Effler.  I didn’t say I would stay on here permanently.

You will.

Chae Leeton?  That name sounds familiar, Mr. Brinker studied my face.  Weren’t you attacked by a shark awhile back?  He stabbed an index finger in my direction.  Everyone around the world was keeping tabs on you; thought you were going to die.  I wondered whatever happened to you.

I’ve wondered that myself, Mr. Brinker.  I’ve wondered that myself.  My eyes flicked to numerous black and white photographs of wreckage sites lined along Effler’s otherwise appealing office walls.

As Cecil P. Brinker exited the interview, Holden crossed the room and shut the door.  I’m so glad you’ve changed your mind.

I haven’t, I said.  Not exactly.

What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?

I rushed to change the subject. Ol’ Cecil there seems like a pretty pleasant guy.  Are you going to hire him? 

"No.  He’s still in college.  Still wet behind the ears, if