Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
Trevon chuckled.
Vedette had been begging for Trevon to carve a face in a turnip or pumpkin ever since the previous month when he had told her the old Irish tale of Stingy Jack. He had explained several times that the pumpkins in the field must ripen well before they were picked. Though no one knew that Trevon Navarrone and his wife, Cristabel, would never want for wage or money, still they lived the life of a common farmer and his family. Certainly the riches they cached meant they would never suffer for want of necessity—even for want of luxury if they had so chosen. But the simple life is what Trevon and Cristabel most wished for. Thus, the pretense of needing a good crop to sell at harvesttime or for winter stores must progress.
Still, as Trevon gazed into the pleading, violet eyes of his daughter, he knew he could not refuse her again.
“Very well, love,” he agreed, laughing when Vedette and her cousin hugged with delight. “Just one. The biggest one you can find. I will carve the face in it for tonight, and your mother can makes pies tomorrow. Just one now.”
“Yes, Daddy!
Just one,” Vedette giggled as she and Raphael skipped toward the pumpkin field.
“Uncle Trev,” Raphael called, having paused in his skipping.
“Yes?
What is it, boy?” Trevon asked.
“My daddy says there is a new family in town.
They are speaking with him now…and he thought that I should tell you,” Raphael explained.
Trevon frowned—a familiar discomfort traveling up his spine.
“Thank you, lad. Now run along with Vedette…but be careful. Have James help you with the pumpkin.”
“Aye,” Raphael said.
Trevon dropped his hoe near a row of cornstalks and hastily strode toward the houses. If Baskerville had wanted Raphael to tell him of the new family, then it may be he had been recognized.
As he approached the front of the houses—one shared by
Trevon, Cristabel, and their children, the other by Vienne, Baskerville, and theirs—he saw two men and two women standing steeped in conversation with Baskerville, Vienne, and Cristabel.
“Hello,” he said as he approached.
“I’m Trev Navarrone.” He offered his hand to first one man and then the other, nodding to the women before exchanging worried glances with Cristabel and Vienne.
“Navarrone, is it?” one man asked.
“Aye,” Navarrone answered.
“I am Zachary Sutton
, and this is my wife, Abigail,” the man offered. He gestured to the man and woman also in attendance; they were younger in age, and the resemblance the younger man bore to his elder assured Trevon that they were father and son. “This is our son John and his wife, Molly. We have recently come here from Rochester.”
“Welcome,” Navarrone said.
Zachary Sutton frowned—studied Baskerville and then Trevon a moment.
“Trev Navarrone
,” Zachary Sutton inquired. “Are you perchance Trevon Navarrone…also known as Navarrone the Blue Blade?”
Instantly, Navarrone chuckled, shaking his head as if utterly amused.
“Aye,” Baskerville chuckled as well.
“And I can be your quartermaster…Captain.”
Cristabel and
Vienne both forced amused laughter as well. Yet Zachary Sutton smiled above his frown.
“Oh, forgive us
, Zachary,” Trevon said, sighing with mirth. “It is I am always astonished when people inquire of me as to whether I am that privateer we all knew as Navarrone the Blue Blade some years past. It flatters me in truth. Yet I can tell you, however, I am only a simple farmer…one who loves this country and the beauty of Salem.”
Zachary smiled
, as did his wife and the others. “Forgive me, sir,” he said. “Abigail is always telling me my imagination is overactive these days.”
“There is nothing to forgive, sir,” Navarrone assured the man.
“As everyone else, I like to believe the pirate Navarrone’s ship was not abandoned to the sea as some believe it was.”
“Yet it was found by Jean Lafitte,” Zachary’s son John suggested
, “empty and sailing of her own will.”
“Yes…yes
, it was,” Trevon said. “But I like to think the
Merry Wench
was not sailing of her own will but rather that Navarrone the Blue Blade and his faithful privateering crew were sailing her still…only unseen.”
“Do you mean to say…sailing it as ghosts?” Abigail Sutton inquired.
“Exactly, Mrs. Sutton,” Trevon assured her. “It’s a much more intriguing notion to think the captain and crew of the
Merry Wench
were somehow vanquished by death and continued to sail their ship as ghosts…than it is to think they simply vanished and became shop owners and farmers. Do you not agree?”
Again the Suttons all smiled
, obviously amused by Trevon’s tale.
“Indeed,” Zachary said.
“You see, Abigail,” Cristabel offered, “your husband is not the only man here in Salem with too great an imagination.”
“I am glad to hear it
,” Abigail said.
Trevon glanced to Cristabel—caught the glimmer of delight in her eyes.
“We’ll be off then,” Zachary Sutton sighed. “We are simply out and about to greet our new townspeople. Enjoy your day.”
“And yours,” Baskerville offered as the four newcomers strolled away.
The moment the Suttons were distant enough to be deaf to conversation,
Vienne giggled. “Oh, Cristabel! My mother will purely delight in hearing of this! As will yours,” she said.
“Indeed they will,” Cristabel agreed.
It was not the first time townspeople had inquired of Trevon if he had once been the pirate Navarrone the Blue Blade. Ever did he deny it; ever did both Cristabel’s mother and Trevon’s find humor in such goings-on.
Trevon smiled as Cristabel nodded.
The sound of her giggle sent a thrill to warming his heart, and he knew he must have her alone for a time. He thought of how similar Vedette was to her mother, how it was said young Vortigem so looked like his father Trevon, even at only two years—and he bathed in delight that it was so.
“Does your mother have Vortigem?” Trevon asked his wife.
“Yes,” Cristabel assured him. “I am certain she is spoiling him with too much honey.”
“Then come with me, love,” Trevon said, taking her hand.
“The leaves are just turning. Let us have a walk and linger beneath their beauty. They will be gone all too soon this year.”
He watched as Cristabel’s eyes warmed—twinkled with love and anticipation.
“But wait, Trevon,” Vienne said as Cristabel and Trevon turned to leave, “have you seen Raphael?”
“Yes.
I relented and sent him and Vedette in search of the largest pumpkin in the field that I may carve a face for them in it tonight,” he answered. “They had orders to have James accompany them.”
Suddenly, there skipped along the air the sound of children’s laughter.
Trevon chuckled when he heard James’s laughter as well.
“Oh, there they are,”
Vienne said, standing on the tips of her toes and gazing toward the pumpkin field.
“Then Cristabel and I will return shortly,” Trevon said.
He paused, sighing as he smiled at Baskerville. He placed a hand on his friend and brother-in-law’s shoulder. “It’s a good life, is it not, my friend?”
Baskerville nodded.
“Aye, Cap’n. That it is.”
“Come along, love,” Trevon said then.
As he and Cristabel approached an ancient oak whose leaves had blushed crimson, he asked, “And do you feel the same as Baskerville?
Do you feel it’s a good life for us? Are you happy?”
He knew what her answer would be
, yet sometimes he still feared he had not been a good enough husband to her.
Cristabel paused—turned to Trevon.
Wrapping her arms about his neck, she smiled up at him.
“I could never have imagined such happiness, Trevon,” she whispered, “or such love and passion as I have known with you.”
Trevon smiled. “And you do not miss the adventure of being a pirate?”
Cristabel giggled
, kissed his chin, and shook her head. “No. Never,” she told him. “And anyway…you have not changed, you know.”
Trevon frowned.
“What do you mean? I am a farmer now. In secret a sinfully wealthy farmer…but a farmer is still far different than a pirate.”
“It is only your occupation that has changed, my darling,” she said.
“Not you. You are still as wild and untamed as ever you were, love. You still thrill me as thoroughly as you did when first you kissed me.”
Trevon grinned.
“You mean when first I kissed you and you put a dagger to my throat, vixen?”
Cristabel kissed his cheek
, a breathy giggle escaping her.
“I only pulled the dagger because I feared
—” she began.
“That I would ravage you?” he
queried.
Yet she shook her head.
“No. For fear that I would allow you to ravage me.”
Trevon smiled
and took her mouth in a moist, impassioned kiss. He felt something brush his face and broke the seal of their lips to glance up into the limbs of the ancient maple. A large ruby leaf floated down, caressing Cristabel’s forehead.
“It appears autumn is nearly spent, love,” he said.
He smiled as Cristabel placed a warm palm to his cheek. “Fear not, my love,” she said. “It will come again. And if you become impatient in waiting for its return…” She lowered her voice and added, “You have my permission to slip into the root cellar and unearth some of the rubies planted there. You can imagine they are autumn leaves…let them sift through your fingers and bring you joy.”
Trevon tightened his embrace of his wife.
“There is nothing more beautiful to me than you, Cristabel Navarrone. Nothing of more value than Vedette and Vortigem…and their beautiful pirate-bride mother. I love you.”
“And I love you, Navarrone the Blue Blade,” she whispered.
He kissed her then—there beneath the ancient Salem maple—as soft drying leaves fluttered down about them like a rubied, autumn snow…
###
As I was growing up, there were a few movie genres that I always, always adored. Every weekday I’d rush home from school in time to watch
Dialing for Dollars
.
Dialing for Dollars
was the afternoon movie type show (not to be confused with the after-school special type). At the beginning of the show, a host would give the viewing audience a secret word and number (I think it was called “the count and the amount”). Then the host would select a phone number out of a bowl and dial it. If the person who answered the phone had been watching the show, they would know the count and the amount and would win whatever the amount was! It was totally exciting—a real nail-biter! Because if whoever the host dialed didn’t answer, the amount of money would go up. I’m telling you, you’ve never known such wild anticipation! (Note of interest: Years later—after I was grown up and married with children—I was checking in at the airport one day, and my travel agent was none other than the old
Dialing for Dollars
local host! I was totally starstruck and told him so. He smiled and seemed flattered when I told him that I had watched him almost every day for years. The places you bump into celebrities, right?)
However, having told you all that pointless trivia for the sake of nostalgia, I must tell you that the main reason I rushed home to watch
Dialing for Dollars
was for the movies. Back in the olden days (you know—the 1970s and ’80s) there weren’t a lot of movies on TV—usually just the Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights and something on Saturday night maybe. But good ol’
Dialing for Dollars
was perfect for this lifelong movie buff!
Certainly there were particular movie genres that interested me more than others.
For example:
1.
Anything romantic, especially old ’40s and ’50s musicals
2.
Anything set before, during, or after the Civil War (with the exception of
Love Me Tender
—Hello!? Elvis dies in that one!)
3.
Anything with cowboys who were tough, cool, and capable of surviving no matter what the odds (The old Clint Eastwood spaghetti westerns were my favorite!)
4.
Anything with a Christmas theme (especially any and every version of Dickens’s
A Christmas Carol
—though
Scrooge
starring Albert Finney is my ultimate favorite)
5.
Old black-and-white monster movies—the classics—but especially anything
Dracula
or vampire-themed