By Niamh McAnally
Links to all chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6
Chapter 4: St. Barts
Charlotte hung suspended mid-water, captivated by the graceful sway of the soft gorgonian corals in the currents off the coast of St. Barts. Although the underwater world wasn’t as silent as non-divers assumed, the hiss of her breathing, and the sounds of bubbles belching their way to the surface, was soothing. For the first time in days, she felt relaxed. Between her concern for her baby nephew’s recovery from a fall, the disappointing news that her brother’s family couldn’t visit as a result, and Freddy the parrot’s incessant squawking, she’d had little sleep. But Logan said he had un autre plan pour disposing of le perroquet. She couldn’t help but smile at her husband’s attempts to learn French, recalling his expression when they’d reached Île Fourchue two nights ago. Despite his Duolingo lessons, he didn’t get a chance to practice a word of her mother tongue. Theirs was the sole sailboat in the mooring field, and only goats roamed the hills around the collapsed caldera.
Yet when they’d arrived in St. Barts, they met the delightful Birdy, owner/operator of Island Diving, who was happy to chat in both French and English. He offered to take them on this morning’s dive. Charlotte was swimming to his left, Logan on his right. It was a beautiful February day, but the sun’s rays couldn’t penetrate to this depth. Charlotte switched on her flashlight. The muted green and blue hues exploded into vibrant reds and oranges. The beam bounced off fish scales, creating silver and gold flashes as they darted about. She searched for her favorite, the French angel, but saw no sign of its distinctive dark oval shape adorned with yellow flecks. Several parrotfish were busy chomping on coral; it seemed, even here, she couldn’t escape the aviary world. As she turned away, her light caught something unusual protruding from a patch of sand. She descended a few feet and hovered, careful not to harm the delicate ecosystem of this marine park.
But the object was not of the natural world, nor had it been added to provide an artificial reef. Using her breathing to fine-tune her buoyancy, she dropped another couple of inches and waved her hand across it. A cloud of fine silt rose, uncovering more. It was about a quarter inch wide and two inches long. There were letters. S E L. “Sel?” Why would it say salt? Unless it wasn’t French? Curious, she continued, revealing more letters. She wondered if… She wanted Logan to see it, but Birdy had signaled it was time to surface. Charlotte snapped a quick photo and joined the ascent.
“Birdy, regarde!” Charlotte showed the picture when they were back on the dive boat. “Look what I found. Could it be—”
“Ah, oui,” said Birdy, a grin tickling his lips. “You have seen a great treasure.”
“I knew it! It’s Selene, n’est-ce-pas, the goddess of the moon?
Birdy winked at Logan.
“Quoi?” Charlotte asked, puzzled.
“We found one too,” said Logan.
“Really? Let me see your shot.”
“I do better,” said Birdy, pulling something shiny from his buoyancy compensator. “Eh voilà!”
Charlotte stared at the silver object sticking out of his closed hand, the same thin shaft, the same inscription, but then Birdy uncurled his fingers like a magician and revealed the bulbous end.
“A spoon?”
“Sorry to disappoint you, ma chérie. Oui, a spoon.”
“What? Who has a spoon named after her?” Charlotte asked, in mild disgust, yet she was intrigued enough to want to meet this woman and return it. “Do you know anyone named Selene?”
Birdy smiled. “Yes, I know a Selene.”
“Really? Where can we find her?”
“She might be gone.”
“Oh.”
“But she might not.”
“What does she look like?”
Birdy scratched his bald head. “Let me see. She’s très belle. Such pretty blue—”
“Men!” Charlotte scoffed.
“And she’s about fifty-three, I think.”
“Formidable!” said Charlotte. “We’re looking for a pretty, blue-eyed woman in her fifties. That should narrow it down!”
Birdy could no longer hold in his chuckle.
“Non! It’s easy, peasy. Venez avec moi!” He started the engine and headed toward shore.
“Can we pass by our boat on the way?” asked Logan.
“Bien sûr!”
After a brief stop at s/v Market Play to pick up Logan’s bag, they docked on the west pier. Once everything was hosed down, Birdy led them around Gustavia’s U-shaped harbor. The red roofs, enticing restaurants, and classy shops gave the town an upscale feel. Charlotte tried not to ogle the mega yachts or the sparkly flip-flops arranged in rows at the end of gangways. While Logan was a successful day trader, she knew the day they could own a vessel complete with monogrammed staff would be… um… never.
“Ça va, Birdy?” a crew member hailed.
“Bordering in excellence,” Birdy called back.
The road climbed out of town. At the roundabout at the top of the hill, Logan set down his bag and caught his breath, while Charlotte satisfied her thirst. The panoramic vista below them was spectacular. However, Birdy pointed upward. A twin-prop aircraft passed just a few feet above their heads. Charlotte could see the whites of the pilot’s eyes as he descended down the steep embankment onto one of the shortest and most dangerous runways in the world. The plane came to a halt just shy of the beach.
“Don’t tell me, Selene is on that plane?”
“No, over there!” Birdy said, handing her a pair of binoculars. Charlotte scanned the water, until her gaze fell upon a blue and white trawler.
“It’s a 53-foot Selene,” said Birdy, “you can return the spoons to them.”
“Tu te moques de moi!”
“No joking,” said Birdy, who loved to joke.
Charlotte wondered about these people. Were they so wealthy they just tossed out expensive silverware after every meal? Or, was there some other reason the spoons ended up underwater? She vowed to find out.
Just then, the bag on the ground wiggled.
“Mon Dieu, what’s that?” said Birdy.
“Ah, yes,” Logan replied, unzipping the bag. “You have been so kind; we wanted to leave you with a gift. Birdy, meet Freddy,” Logan announced.
“Birdy is a Freddy; Freddy is a Birdy! New home, new home!” the parrot screeched.
For the first time since Charlotte and Logan had met him, Birdy didn’t smile.
Links to all chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6
Irish-born author Niamh McAnally and her husband, Gary, spent six years sailing through the Bahamas and the Caribbean islands. Log on to www.caribbeancompass.com to follow the remaining installments of Falmouth Freddy and the Cruising Kanes. To learn more about McAnally’s published works, visit www.thewriteronthewater.com.
