The Sea Hawk (31 page)

AS SHE HAD on so many nights since returning to Tybee Island, Julia found herself drawn to its sandy beaches. The cool October wind floating off the ocean ruffled her short hair and she shivered slightly. But it wasn't only the fall sea breeze making her shiver. She was certain the
Georgia Peach
was
Le Faucon de Mer.
She had been on the ship, walked its decks, seen it in its glory, with its stunning captain standing on the wheel deck smiling into the sun and wind. Was it possible Simone had journeyed to the coast of Georgia searching for Julia? In the distance, the beacon of the Tybee Island lighthouse swept relentlessly out to sea, guiding lost sailors home once again. Longing to regain what she lost, while not sure it ever existed, Julia felt warm tears trickle onto her cheeks.
If you made it this far, come back to me now and let me touch you just one more time.

Chapter Twenty-six

IT WAS A brisk mid-November Sunday. Julia spent the morning writing reports on the progress of the cleaning and preservation of artifacts brought up from the
Peach
site by Damian and Frankie. She had refused to accompany them on their dives, but couldn't give them a believable explanation for her refusal.

For over a month she spent her nights, alone in the quiet of her home office, combing the Internet looking for any mention of Simone Moreau or
Le Faucon de Mer
. But not even her deepest searches revealed anything about the woman or her ship. Julia wracked her memory for possible avenues for her search. Montserrat. Moreau. The Battle of New Orleans. Martinique. There were nothing more than vague generalities concerning the pirates and privateers operating in the Caribbean in the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries. Her hopes were raised when she stumbled over a brief notation in a footnote mentioning Captain Louis Rochat. Other than the observation he hadn't been a very nice man, something she already knew, his footnote in history revealed nothing of value. She read biographies of Jean Laffite and Edward Livingston. Finally, following nearly a month of frustration, she was forced to abandon her search and attempt to return to reality.

By noon Monday she sat at her desk at the Institute putting the finishing touches on her article describing the excavation of the
Peach
and the efforts of Institute scientists to preserve another small piece of history. The Board of Directors of the Institute had already announced a public display of the artifacts scheduled to open the following January. She would have to supervise the construction of displays and the printing of materials to distribute to the press and brochures for visitors to the display. She wished she could tell them what she actually knew, but there was still the chance it had all been a hallucination based on people she may have seen at some point in time and brought into the fantasy her mind created. Thinking about the possibility that any portion of her adventure may have been true gave her a thumping headache. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples with her fingertips.

"I brought your mail up from the lobby," Frankie said, strolling into Julia's office.

"Anything interesting?"

"Maybe this one," Frankie said, turning a cream-colored envelope over in her hands. "Looks like an invitation to a wedding or something."

"I don't know anyone getting married. Probably junk mail. Just toss it in the circular file in the corner."

"It's not addressed to Occupant or Current Resident. Nice handwriting though. Hey! There's one of those cool wax seals on the back. I haven't seen one of those since I was in high school."

Julia's headache wasn't getting any better and she wasn't in the mood for inane conversation about handwriting or junk mail. "Then open the damn thing and then toss it."

"Oooh. Someone's a little touchy this morning," Frankie said.

"I've got a horrendous headache brewing. Sorry."

"It's nearly time for a lunch break. Maybe you're just hungry," Frankie offered as she laid the envelope on the corner of Julia's desk.

"Maybe. Well, aren't you going to open it?"

"It's not addressed to me."

Snatching the rich-looking envelope, Julia glanced at it briefly before running her index finger under the back flap and popping open the wax seal. "Someone wasted a lot of money just to try and sell me swampland in Arizona. So where do you want to go for lunch?" she asked, sliding what looked like an invitation from the envelope.

"How about Billy Bob's?"

"Burgers again? Don't you ever get tired of eating that crap? Your arteries have got to be clogged with fat by now."

"I'm still a starving grad student until January, remember?"

Julia read the engraved invitation and picked up the envelope, studying the front and back, carefully examining the wax seal. There was something unsettling about it she couldn't put into words. "Ever heard of a place called Montserrat Farms?" she asked.

"Nope. I'm not into cows and pigs."

"It's an invitation to a horse show featuring quote 'the finest in Arabian horses this side of the Mississippi River' unquote."

"Someone wants to sell you a horse! Boy, do they have the wrong gal, unless it's a seahorse," Frankie said, moving to read over Julia's shoulder.

Julia ran a fingertip over the raised monogram embossed on the top center of the invitation. "Does this look familiar to you? The initial, I mean," she asked.

"It's fancy, that's for sure. You gonna go?"

"I don't know. How about you and Danny go with me? It's the weekend after Thanksgiving. Unless you've got other plans."

"We can't afford plans and neither of our parents can afford to fly down until Christmas. So why not? Might be an interesting way to kill an afternoon."

JULIA HAD ACCEPTED the invitation, but now as she waited for Frankie and her husband Danny to pick her up, she was having second thoughts. The Savannah area had been her home for the last six years and she had never heard of Montserrat Farms. Of course, there was no reason she would have. The breeding horse and fox hunt crowd were not a part of her world.

The weather hovered in the mid-fifties, comfortably pleasant for late-November. Julia rubbed her forehead absently, once again absorbed in thoughts concerning events that couldn't have happened. She was grateful when the chiming of her doorbell brought her back to the present. Grabbing a lightweight down vest from the hall tree, Julia opened her front door to greet Frankie.

"You're early," Julia said.

Glancing at her watch, Frankie shrugged. "Maybe we'll get a chance to see the horses up close and personal if we get there a little early."

"Do you ride?" Julia asked as she pulled the front door closed behind her.

"I have, but certainly nothing as disciplined as dressage," Frankie said while they walked to Danny's car. "I've seen it on TV, of course, but can't imagine the amount of patience it must take to train a horse that well."

"It takes a special rapport between the trainer and the horse," Julia said, opening the back door of Danny's Jeep Cherokee.

Montserrat Farms was located in the gentle countryside ten miles west of the Savannah city limits. Julia exchanged idle chit-chat with Frankie and Danny for the relatively short drive. She loved the area the map indicated as the farm's location. Two miles from the main entrance to the farm, a stark white fence enclosed pastures, occasionally interrupted with copses of trees covered with Spanish moss. A half mile from the entrance, Julia smiled at the sight of foals frolicking in the pastures. She frowned to push away thoughts of Simone with her horses when Danny signaled to turn onto the main road of the farm.

A long straight road led them to the main buildings which were canopied by large old trees that had lost their foliage for the winter. In a few months the trees would begin to fill with new leaves again, creating a shadowy tunnel for visitors.

"It must take a small army to keep the grounds looking this good," Danny observed. "Must be a well-paying business."

Finally, the Jeep rounded a gentle curve and they saw several buildings ahead. Looking around, Julia identified three long brick, red-roofed buildings that looked as if they might be stables. The three buildings formed spokes around a matching octagonal building she assumed was a training arena. Smaller buildings, all with similar architecture, dotted the grounds. As Danny pulled into a marked parking area and turned off the ignition, she opened the back door and climbed out, stretching her legs.

"I don't think I'm going to need this vest," she said, pulling it off and tossing it back inside the Jeep.

Frankie shaded her eyes with her hand to look around and said, "That must be the main house. Cool architecture. Looks a little like the old homes we saw in the Caribbean on our honeymoon, doesn't it, Danny?"

"Well, it's not your typical architecture for around here, that's for sure," Danny agreed.

Julia turned to follow Frankie's gaze. Surrounded by brick-outlined gardens and standing in a small grove of trees, a paved walkway led to a two-story building with a red roof. Crème-colored shutters stood open on the second-story windows. A screened-in front porch covered the entire front of the house. Turning away quickly, Julia lowered her head to catch her bearings as she leaned an arm against the side of the Wrangler.

"You okay, Julia?" Frankie's concerned voice asked.

Taking a deep breath, Julia pasted a smile on her face and nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. It's just that that house seems familiar in some way. As if I've seen it before somewhere."

Taking Frankie's hand, Danny said, "Let's wander down by the stables before we find a seat in the arena."

Julia followed the couple and wasn't surprised that the horses they saw were magnificent animals.
The fastest and most beautiful in the world
, Joaquin had announced proudly. There was something noble and haute about the way they stood quietly and regarded the strangers staring at them. By the time the trio made their way into the arena and climbed into a seating area running three quarters of the way around the earthen floored arena, Julia began to relax and chatted amiably with Frankie and Danny about their work at the Institute and Frankie's doctoral dissertation. There was still work to be done on the
Peach
, but nothing urgent enough to prevent Frankie from completing her studies. She was a careful and meticulous scientist and had feelers out to several agencies and museums for possible positions.

At exactly two o'clock a stately-looking older man strode into the arena and brought a wireless microphone to his mouth. For a moment Julia half-expected to hear a booming voice such as the ones used by ringmasters in the circus. But there was no music and the man, dressed in a black top hat, black riding jacket over a stark white shirt, camel riding pants and dark brown riding boots, spoke with a melodic, soft voice.

"Welcome to this exhibition of the dressage quadrille. The art of dressage has been practiced in Europe since before the time of Charlemagne. Developed as a military tactic for battle, the earliest practitioners of dressage strenuously trained young military officers in the maneuvers you will see today. Armies, traveling in columns of two to four horses, were trained to act in absolute unison when facing an enemy.

"The most famous schools for training in the dressage were the Saumur in France and the Spanish Riding School in Austria. The Spanish Riding School was primarily what its name implies, a riding school, while the Saumur incorporated military tactics as well as riding skills. Today in modern competition riding for the dressage, judges look for a number of points on which to evaluate riders and their horses. Judges look for proper spacing between the animals, how well they move together as a unit as well as the alignment of the animals both laterally and longitudinally. Other things taken into consideration are the impulsion or energy of the horse, the degree of submission of the horse to the rider, and, for groups, how well they perform as a unit. For the single dressage, important points to watch for are the even gait of the horse, the alignment of the rider over the horse, and most importantly, the seemingly undetectable commands the horse receives from its rider, as if the horse knows exactly what it is doing without assistance.

"Today you will see a demonstration of both group and single dressage. The groups will perform two, three and four column maneuvers, crossing one another's path closely, fanning into a position as if to meet an enemy in battle, and the cloverleaf pattern. In the single dressage, the horse and rider will make their way around the arena in straight and oblique lines, change gaits at various points to show the virtually motionless control the rider exhibits. Hesitation to obey a command from a rider would receive negative scores from judges in any competition. There is a degree of trust and rapport that must exist between the horse and rider in order to give a flawless performance.

"While many of you may be familiar with the famous Lippizaner Stallions of the Spanish Riding School, the horses you will see performing today are all Arabians which were sired, raised and trained here at Montserrat Farms. They are the descendants of horses brought to this country nearly two hundred years ago. Although many are now owned by others, most are stabled at Montserrat Farms when not competing and they have been rewarded many times for their skills. Ladies and gentlemen, the dressage quadrille!"

For the next hour and a half horses entered the arena single file, in pairs, threes, and fours and performed a series of complex maneuvers in which they passed through a column of horses and reformed. Their turns, movement, and pace were so well synchronized they seemed to Julia like waves moving across the arena. Although she was certain the riders were making minute commands with their hands, they were undetectable, and the riders seemed to be no more than mannequins placed on the backs of the powerful animals. Each round of maneuvers was explained as they occurred and received appreciative applause at the end. After a short intermission for drinks, the single dressage began. The riders and their mounts were introduced as they entered the ring and went through their paces. Some of the riders were obviously young students, but their performances were virtually flawless. It was apparent to the observers that their instructor had been successful in training them to a high degree of competency. After the last rider acknowledged the audience and the applause faded away, the announcer stepped back into the center of the arena.