The Treasure of Maria Mamoun Read online

  “But that’s pretty far. We can do that another day,” Frank said. “Today we’ll just drive through Edgartown, then swing through Vineyard Haven and into Oak Bluffs.”

  Edgartown was just a few blocks of stores and restaurants clustered by the waterfront, but it seemed full of people. Employees in blue-and-white uniforms bustled around the Harbor View Hotel, parking cars and carrying bags, while a couple of young women in red-striped aprons shared a cigarette in the alley beside an ice-cream shop.

  “Edgartown is busy,” Celeste said. “And it’s not even summer.”

  “You should see Oak Bluffs in the high season. Come summer it’s impossible to find parking. But I’ll show you the lot behind Reliable Market.”

  After showing them Edgartown, Frank took a roundabout route through Vineyard Haven and Oak Bluffs. The outskirts of Edgartown had the cheaper Mexican restaurant that stayed open all winter; Vineyard Haven had the Brazilian buffet where all the shipyard employees ate. Oak Bluffs had the Flying Horses: the oldest carousel in the country. Up Circuit Avenue was the best ice cream—they even had lobster flavored. And if you didn’t like ice cream, they had chocolates. And there, along the Oak Bluffs waterfront was Nancy’s, where the president once got takeout.

  “We should make an afternoon of it,” Frank said. “They’re open now. You want some clam strips?”

  Maria looked at her mom. She could tell Celeste was thinking about it.

  Celeste said, “I think maybe I just want to pick a few things up at the supermarket.”

  “Come on,” Frank said. “In a couple weeks we won’t be able to get a table. And if we ride the carousel now, it’s empty enough that we stand a chance of catching the brass ring. You get a free ride if you do. I’ll treat.”

  “Thanks, but no,” Celeste said. “We really just want to shop and then head home for an early night.”

  “Well, maybe some other time.” Frank pulled into the supermarket parking lot. “We have a little while still before the day-trippers start to come.” He got out to open the door for Maria.

  “I’ll meet you back here in an hour,” he said to Celeste. “I’m just going up the road to the hardware store.”

  Maria felt a bit sorry for him as he drove away. He shouldn’t have said he’d treat. That made it like a date, and her mom never dated. In her whole life, Maria had never seen her go out with a man. She’d have to advise Frank to try a different approach. As she thought that, she realized she was kind of rooting for him. He was nice enough, and he made her mother smile.

  In the supermarket, Celeste picked up a box of cereal, tsked, and put it back. “Everything here is so expensive,” she said.

  “I don’t know why you’re even buying food,” Maria said. “Hattie keeps cooking so much.”

  “I hate mooching off her.” Celeste pushed the cart along. “She has so much on her plate.”

  “You mean with Paolo?”

  Her mother looked at her as if she were trying to figure something out.

  “What?” Maria asked.

  “Nothing. I was just wondering—are you lonely, chérie?” Celeste asked worriedly.

  “No! Why would you even ask?”

  “Well, it’s just because you mentioned Hattie’s son, I thought—” Celeste interrupted herself. “Two dollars? They’re crazy!” She put a can of chickpeas in the cart anyhow.

  “I’m never lonely,” Maria said. “And even if I was, I wouldn’t want to hang around with some dumb boy who gets in fights all the time.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Celeste said. “I don’t think you two would be a good match anyhow.”

  “Mama!” Maria said. “A match?”

  “I meant as friends, of course. You’re too young for anything else.” Celeste smiled apologetically. “It does sound like he gets in a lot of trouble.”

  Maria considered asking her mother what she’d heard about Paolo’s trouble, if there was something other than fighting, but then felt weird. She didn’t want her mom thinking she was obsessed with him or something. Because she certainly wasn’t.

  “This is nice, no?” Celeste said, picking up a head of garlic. “Shopping together like we used to.” She smiled absently at Maria. “We could make chicken and rice tonight. And hummus. If I can find tahini.”

  At the end of the aisle, a large plate glass window opened up on the main street of town. Maria saw across the street a store with nautical things in its window. Maybe there was something she could buy for The Last Privateer. Anyway, she figured that if they were in town she should at least go somewhere more interesting than a supermarket.

  “Can we go across the street when we’re done?” Maria asked. “That store looks kind of cool. And I brought my dog-walking money.”

  “Why don’t you go over now and I’ll meet you later in the parking lot,” Celeste said. She was distracted by the price of lemons. “Just don’t be long, okay? I don’t want to keep Frank waiting.”

  The store was mostly a cheesy tourist trap filled with fake pirate paraphernalia and corny T-shirts. Maria was about to leave when a book caught her eye. The lurid illustration showed a pirate straddling a treasure chest, flintlock pistols smoking. Blazoned in red calligraphy was the title: The Whydah—A True Tale of Pirate Treasure. She took it off the shelf and opened it.

  “You like pirate stories?”

  Maria turned to find a large young woman dressed in black lace and sleeved with colorful tattoos. She had a barbell pierce at the bridge of her nose and two rings in her lower lip.

  “I don’t know,” Maria said. “I was looking for something about privateers. Do you know if they’re some kind of pirate?”

  The girl seemed not to have heard her. “It’s true, that book. When the Whydah went down, it had like five tons of gold, silver, and jewels on board. Only two people survived.” She smiled, as if this dismal survival rate made her happy. “And this guy, Barry Someone, found it like thirty years ago—right off the Cape.”

  Maria remembered they’d taken the ferry from Cape Cod. A prickle rose at the back of her neck. Maybe not all pirates buried their treasure in the Caribbean.

  “It’s really nearby,” the tattooed girl was saying. “There’s a museum about it in Provincetown. That’s such a cool town. Last summer, I went there with this guy…”

  “So you know a lot about pirates in this area?” Maria interrupted. “Have you heard of Captain Murdefer?”

  “I dunno. Maybe. New England was crawling with pirates; I can’t keep them all straight. And witches. You interested in witches? We have some really cool Wiccan stuff. You should go to Salem—that is such a cool town…”

  Maria looked back at the book. “Do you have any books about pirate treasure that hasn’t been found? Like where it might be?” She didn’t even want to admit to herself what she was hoping.

  “Let me see.” The salesgirl trolled the shelves. She wore a ring on every finger, and on some fingers two. Maria thought she looked a little piratey in all that jewelry and black lace. Maybe it was a job requirement.

  “There’s this one.” The girl held out a slim paperback. “True Pyrate Tales. But if they knew where the treasure was, someone would have found it by now, right?”

  “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

  THAT SORT OF GIRL

  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 sa
id. “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.