Voyage of the Dreadnaught: Four Stella Madison Capers (11 page)

“
Believe me, I could say the same
thing about you, dearest.”

“
Me? I don't think I've done much of
anything amazing in my entire life.”

“
Oh, I don't know. I'll never forget
the way you looked catching old Gerry before he fell on the floor.
You're always the first to jump right in whenever something goes
wrong. Remember when you wanted me to sign that petition to save
good literature?”

“
I remember I interrupted you when you
were working on your hero book. But I didn't know that back
then.”

“
Ah, I needed a good interruption
right about then. I was getting too stuffy. You know, it takes an
amazing woman to bring out the best in a man, and that's what
you've done for me.” Then he gave her an affectionate squeeze.
“What a match we are, Stella Madison Henry—I have a feeling we're
going to make a great team!”

***

Author's Note

Every once in a while, someone comes along
who can see the world through eyes of great understanding. If that
person is also a good communicator, they can help many people
during their lives. But if that person also happens to be an
artist, the world may keep their treasures throughout generations.
Art—whether music, painting, literature, or drama—touches the heart
faster than anything else. Especially if it's beautiful. And most
especially if it mirrors some universal feeling that resides within
the heart of all humanity.

Such was the case with Alfred
Tennyson, who is one of the nine most quoted writers in the
Oxford Dictionary of Quotations
. A
poet who ultimately became appointed by royal decree as the Poet
Laureate of England and Ireland, he possessed the rare talent of
not only being able express the deeper feelings of human
experience, but to express them in a way people did not want to
ever forget.

As the son of a pastor, raised in a moral
home, he was blessed with a wonderful sensitivity and compassion
for others. Being able to write about these feelings so beautifully
became a mirror of common emotion that resonated throughout the
world, even during his own lifetime. A good example is the quote at
the beginning of this story, which states in so few words, one of
the deepest perplexities of life that we all eventually grapple
with.

While it is human nature to seek after
truth, it is also one of our strongest impulses to try and separate
ourselves from things that are false. So, anything that helps
enlighten which-is-which for us, is a real gem. Such wisdom,
distilled down to its purest thoughts can be a great comfort during
times of deepest stress, or sorrow.

In seeking out an appropriate quote
for the subject of
The Pushover
Plot
, I discovered that Alfred Tennyson was the author
of many other wonderful quotes I had written into my notebooks over
the years. So, the research for this little bit of truth I like to
tack onto the end of each story, was more like a surprise visit
from an old friend.

Maybe you will find that true, as well.

You can read more of Alfred Tennyson's work,
for free, at:

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/8601/8601-h/8601-h.htm

as well as many more places on the web, and
in printed books throughout the world.

LOST IN THE
WILDERNESS

Stella Madison Caper

#5

To those who might suddenly find
themselves wandering through wilderness places—may you be refreshed
more than terrified.

“
I have never been lost,
but I will admit to being
confused for several weeks.”

Daniel Boone

Stella Madison opened the door to the
after-deck, and a blast of cold wind hit her face. Why did Millie
want to meet out here? The galley of the
Dreadnaught
was so
much more comfortable and cozy. Of course there was always someone
else passing through it.

“I brought us some tea, Millie.” She set the
tray down on a small table between two deck lounges.

“Oh, thanks, Stel.” Her former landlady set
her knitting aside and tightened the black-and-white checkered
scarf under her chin that she had wrapped around her auburn
hair.”Something hot would be good about now.”

“It's awfully cold out here.” Stella pulled
her periwinkle blue knit cap down lower over her fluffy white hair,
that was just long enough to tuck under, and zipped her jacket all
the way up.

“We're in Alaska, now. Mason says we have
been ever since we crossed that Dixon Entrance, with all those
fishing boats we had to dodge in and out of. Said if we didn't have
to go all the way to Ketchikan to get back through customs, again,
we could be almost to the lodge by now. Mmm... Orange Spice. My
favorite.”

“Mine's the Moroccan Mint. Except Orange
Spice just seemed warmer this morning.” She sat down in the other
lounge and unfolded a green wool blanket over her lap.”Captain
Stuart sure brought home a lot of souvenirs from his Navy days.
Every lounge chair on this boat has one of these. Thank
goodness.”

“They're Army-issue. I think half the things
aboard he got from one of those old Army surplus places back
home.”

“Well, looks aren't everything. They're nice
and warm, anyway. Imagine being almost to the lodge, Millie. I can
hardly wait to see it.”

“Me, either. It will definitely be a load
off my mind to get on solid ground, again.”

“I thought you liked living on the
boat.”

“I do. It's got all kinds of ambiance. And
that galley is heaven to cook in. It's the ocean I'm scared stiff
of. Don't think I ever will get used to it.” She set her cup down
and picked up her knitting, again.

Stella was about to take another sip of her
tea when she realized her friend's project was a sock with such an
enormous tube it would go way past a person's knee, already.
“Millie, who on earth is that for?”

“This? Oh, it isn't for anybody. I just knit
to settle my nerves. The only thing I ever learned to do was socks.
Way back when I was ten. Took me half the trip even to remember how
to do it because it's been that long since I practiced.” As if to
prove the point, she began to unravel it, again.

Stella gasped at seeing the thing disappear
into a heap of wrinkly gray yarn right before her eyes. “But all
that work—wouldn't you rather have something to show for it? Give
them away for Christmas, maybe.”

“They're not good enough for that. They
always turn out crooked, or something. But a person has to resort
to some form of therapy when they're scared half out of their mind
most of the time. Wouldn't you say?”

“I guess it depends on what you're scared
of. The colonel says if it's something evil, you just tell it to
buzz off, because you don't want anything to do with the dark side
of supernatural. But if it's something legitimate, like the ocean,
I don't blame you. I was scared stiff, myself during that storm we
had. And I don't like it when it gets rough and choppy, either. But
it must at least make you feel better that we're almost there.”

“The truth is, Stel, I'm even more scared
about getting there. Because of the bears. Mason says just make a
lot of noise and stay in groups. On account of they don't want
anything to do with us, either.”

“Well, that sounds reasonable, don't you
think?”

“Not as reasonable as having a loaded gun on
my belt.”

Stella wasn't sure if she would be more
afraid of Millie walking around with a loaded gun than a bear, but
she didn't mention it.

“Bears you can shoot. But the ocean...” She
got to the end of unraveling her sock and started casting on new
stitches, again. “The ocean is so unpredictable and... big. I
really don't know how Stuart even finds his way around in it.
Especially without radar.”

“We don't have radar?”

“Too expensive, and he never had the
funds.”

“For heaven sake, I didn't know that.” She
felt a twinge of apprehension at the very thought. “He's so
confident about everything, I just assumed.”

“Used to be confident. Which is really why I
asked you to come out here, Stel.” Millie stopped working, and
looked her right in the eye. “Something is wrong with Stuart. He
hasn't been himself, the last couple of weeks.”

“Well, he does have a lot more to worry
about than the rest of us. The
Dreadful
being his boat, and
all.”

“It's the
Dreadnaught
, not the
Dreadful
. Sometimes I think you enjoy calling it that.”

“I do. It's such a monstrosity of a thing.
Although I have to admit it has its charm. I'll probably be won
over by the time we finally get there.” She took another sip of her
tea, and noticed Millie had dropped two stitches by the time she
went back to her knitting. “But Captain Stuart has such peculiar
ways, I don't see how you can tell if he's his normal self, or not.
He's one of the most abnormal people I've ever known.”

“I can tell, all right. He only ate half his
linguine and clams, the other night, and that's one of his favorite
meals. He never used to miss when I made it back home.”

“Maybe he's just not used to all our
home-cooked meals. Didn't Mason say he lived mostly off boiled
eggs, crackers, and sardines?”

“That and junk food. Which is why I decided
to make hamburgers and fries for our celebration, tonight. That's
his other favorite. The rest of of us won't mind as long as we
barbecue, and fill things out with your New England baked beans,
and Lou's fruit salad. If he doesn't eat any of that, we'll know
something's definitely wrong. You think?”

“I'm thinking what would we do if anything
happened to Captain Stuart. Maybe the rest of us should try to
carry more of the load for a while. Could be he's coming down with
something and just needs a rest.”

“Could be. But I'm going to keep my eye on
him during our Alaska celebration. Then slip him a good physic if I
think he isn't quite right.”

“Why, Millie—that's an awful thing to do to
somebody. You should ask, first.”

“He wouldn't take it at all, if I asked.
Better just to slip it into his tea.”

The celebration started somewhat early that
night, because the fog rolled in so thick they were forced to pull
over into the nearest cove and anchor. Such places were numerous
throughout the islands, and they were pure wilderness. Something
that had little effect—other than offering spectacular scenery from
every angle—to the small community of friends aboard the
Dreadnaught
.

Even fuel stations, which were few and far
between the farther north they got, didn't really matter so much.
Captain Stuart said they had enough to make the entire trip just on
their original fill-up back in California. It was the one thing
they wouldn't scrimp on, and the main reason they opted to all sign
on for extra “shipboard duties,” rather than go to the added
expense of hiring a professional crew. They also had the option of
using the sails, which cut down considerably on fuel expenses all
by itself.

Except there hadn't been much opportunity to
use those sails. Going north, the wind was almost always “right on
their nose,” as the Captain called it, instead of on either side or
behind them, where they could actually get some use out of it. Not
to mention a sailboat of this size took practically a full gale to
get it really moving (having been built more for ocean crossings).
Not that they hadn't had to wait out a lot of gale-force weather
pocketed away in some deserted place like this one. It's just that
the combination of narrow channels, crazy strong currents and
tides—as well as those gale-force winds—made for nightmare
situations with such a novice crew. No matter how good everyone's
intentions were.

Yes... Captain Stuart most probably had a
lot on his mind.

Stella was thinking about all these things
as she took her pot of New England baked beans out of the oven and
set it at the back of the stove to keep warm. The men were out
under a covered portion of the deck, overseeing the barbecue, and
Millie was busy setting the huge table. Which looked especially
lovely with the overhead kerosene lamp lit (dark clouds had moved
in and it was already starting to rain), and a little blue pot of
artificial white daisies the two of them had picked up in some
dollar store at their last stop in Canada. Now, with nearly all of
the long trip behind them, and their crossing back over into the
U.S., earlier this afternoon, it was time to celebrate. They were
finally in Alaska!

Even Millie seemed to have forgotten her
dark worries of the morning, and cheerfully tucked one of those
white daisies, that had fallen out of its setting, into her
bountiful French twist as she hummed the same two lines of the old
fifties classic,
Blueberry Hill
, over and over, again.