Chapter 16
Daisy adjusted her backpack as she stepped out of the camper van, Frankie tugging eagerly at his leash, tail wagging a mile a minute in anticipation of the day’s adventure.
The Berkshires in summer were beautiful, the air so fresh you could taste it, and filled with the scent of wildflowers and pine.
Careful to lock the van after Callan got out, she looked around at the half empty parking lot.
“If we were here on a Saturday, this lot would be packed. Looks like we won’t encounter too many people today.”
They started down the trail, dappled sunlight filtering through the dense canopy overhead. The forest was alive with the sounds of chirping birds and the rustling of squirrels as they hiked, enjoying the breeze.
As they walked, Frankie darted between them, his nose to the ground, exploring every new scent and sound. She had let him off the leash, knowing he’d come back if she whistled.
While they followed the trail, they talked about the foods they both liked. She told him about the fascination with sports, and after a while she even shared a couple of her more pleasant childhood memories. Callan told her how his mother was always singing while she hung out the laundry or cooked.
That was the thing. Her childhood wasn’t awful, but nor was it what she’d call good. Like the time her parents returned from Morocco and took her to a hotel where they stayed for a week, soaking up the sun by the pool and playing games. A good memory.
Then there was the time they told her they were off to Spain the day before her birthday. Daisy spent her tenth birthday with the neighbor across the street who checked in on her a few times a day. She didn’t even get a cupcake to celebrate. A sad memory.
Now an adult, she understood their thirst for adventure but wondered why they’d bothered to have her. When she asked, her mom laughed and said it was the thing to do, to marry and have at least one kid and that she should be grateful for all the freedom she had compared to other kids.
As they walked, a rustling in the bushes caught their attention. A deer, its coat a soft brown, emerged cautiously, eyes alert. It was just as exciting to watch Callan as he went still, holding his breath, not wanting to startle the creature, as it was to admire the deer.
Then a branch snapped, and the deer bounded off.
Eventually, they found a perfect spot for their picnic.
A small clearing with a view of the mountains in the distance.
Daisy spread out a blanket and unpacked lunch: sandwiches, fresh fruit, a bag of crunchy Cheetos which Callan loved, along with plenty of ice water for all of them.
Callan sat, stretching his legs out in front of him with a contented sigh. “’Tis verra beautiful.”
But when she turned to see what had caught his attention, he was looking right at her.
A buzzing sensation crawled up her neck as she blushed, handing him a sandwich.
They ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds the gentle breeze, birdsong, and Frankie munching on a dog biscuit.
“Imagine if we could just stop time, stay here forever,” Daisy mused, leaning back on her elbows.
Callan turned to her, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve spent so much time thinking about where I belong... but mayhap it’s not about a place or a time. Perchance ’tis about the moments we choose to cherish.”
Daisy reached out, squeezing his hand gently. “I couldn’t agree more.”
The way he talked, the things he said, she wanted to believe him, that he truly had traveled through time, but the skeptic in her wouldn’t get on board.
They spent the day exploring, laughing as Frankie attempted to chase butterflies and squirrels, and pausing now and then to admire the scenery.
As the day gave way to afternoon, they headed back to the camper van.
“Today was perfect,” Daisy said as they neared the van.
“Aye, it was,” Callan agreed. He seemed more relaxed since they’d left Boston, not on guard all the time.
As they drove, Daisy glanced in the rearview mirror, the Berkshires receding into the distance as she drove onward to their next destination, and one step closer to Callan reaching the end of his journey.
Would he want to stay at the beach? Come back to Boston with her? Or would he vanish back through time, leaving her alone?
After practicing a few more times, Callan was ready to aid Daisy with the driving.
“Where to?”
“Mystic Seaport. It’s a museum that’s about a two-hour drive from here that’s in Connecticut.”
This driving was more difficult than it looked. He constantly worried someone would crash into them, or that he would press the wrong pedal, sending them careening off the road to their deaths. Callan wanted to die in battle or the in the arms of the woman he loved, not in a carriage accident.
The scent of the sea carried on the breeze, making him inhale deeply through the open window.
“The scent of the ocean makes me think of Blackford.”
She turned to look at him, her hair braided and a smile on her face. “Tell me more about the castle and your brother.”
“He’s an arrogant bastard,” he said with a grin.
Talking about it helped to keep his mind off worrying about the other drivers, so he told her about rescuing Lucy, finding out she was married to William, his half-brother, and how William had accepted him, offered him a place at Blackford. A place to belong. Family.
As they drove into town, Daisy directed him to the seaport, which was bustling with activity. There were a great many ships in the harbor. Gulls cried overhead, and the water lapped against the rocks.
“There it is, Mystic Seaport Museum,” Daisy pointed at a building.
The wooden ships with their intricate rigging and vast sails made him wonder what it would be like to sail around the world.
“Turn in here.”
A man met them as they did. “That’ll be ten dollars.”
Callan blinked as Daisy handed over the money.
“Ye have to pay to leave the van here? Why?”
The man shrugged. “It’s the way of the world, brother. Everybody’s trying to hustle.”
Callan just shook his head as he parked the camper van away from the other vehicles and they set out to explore, Frankie straining at the leash.
It cost money to go to the museum. Everything here cost money. No wonder he saw people on the corners with signs begging for aid.
They paid and went inside, looking at the exhibits. There were sea creatures made from glass, the craftsmanship so fine, Callan wished to touch them, but there was no touching allowed, a man said with a scowl as he followed them around to make sure they kept their hands to themselves.
As they wandered through the Mystic Seaport Museum’s new exhibit on maritime carvings, Callan was particularly drawn to the vibrant figureheads that once adorned the prows of 19th-century ships.
“Daisy, look here,” Callan said, pointing towards a display that described the origins and craftsmanship of ship figureheads.
“It says that Dutch and English ships were the first to sport figureheads like the ones we see today. Lions and unicorns were favorites of the English navy, while Dutch naval ships often featured red lions.”
Daisy, reading over his shoulder, nodded. “And it seems the Spanish ships preferred saints as their figureheads, hoping for blessings and safe passage. It’s fascinating how each culture had its own ideas on how to protect their ships.”
Callan’s gaze lingered on a particularly majestic figurehead of a lion, its mane intricately carved.
Daisy read the information. “It says that by the 18th century, ship-carvers crafted figureheads that depicted a wide array of subjects, both human and animal. But the advent of steam power in the late 19th century changed all that. Since steam-powered ships didn’t need rigging for sails, there wasn’t a natural place for figureheads anymore. ”
“That’s a shame,” Callan mused, his voice tinged with regret. “Something beautiful lost to the future.”
There was a carousel hippocampus on display, the mythological figure of a sea horse with two forefeet and a body ending in the tail of a fish. He wished to see such a creature as there were many magical creatures that made their homes in the water.
He greatly enjoyed the Charles W. Morgan, a whaling ship built in 1841, old in this time, and yet over five hundred years from his own time until it would be built.
“The USS Constitution that we visited in Boston is the only older commercial ship built in America that’s still afloat,” Daisy read from one of the tiny white signs.
They enjoyed walking through Seaport Village, the breeze keeping them cool as they wandered from shop to shop. At the shipyard, Callan watched as men worked to preserve the old ships, a reminder of what came before. ’Twas good to remember, to never forget.
A sudden commotion had a man pointing. Frankie, who had been quietly enjoying a dog biscuit, was now engaged in a tug-of-war with a bold seagull. The biscuit, unfortunately, was proving a prize too tempting for the bird to ignore.
“Frankie! No, leave it—oh, dear…” Daisy laughed as the gull, triumphant, made off with the biscuit, leaving a bewildered Frankie to stare after it with betrayed eyes.
Callan couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene. “Seems you’re not the only pirate around these parts, Frankie.”
Soothed by attention and another biscuit, Frankie forgot the gull as they continued exploring.
As the afternoon wore on, turning to dusk, they made their way back to the van after enjoying dinner at a place on the water. The sight of the ships growing distant in the side mirror left him with a sense of contentment. He had enjoyed seeing parts of this vast country.
Callan would miss this world … and her when he went back to his own time. She made him laugh, her beauty at times made it hard for him to breathe, and his heart told him to stay here. With her. But if he did, he would not have a chance to know his half-brother.
Not ready to try driving the metal beast at night, he switched places with Daisy.
“Tell me more about this New York City,” he said.
She handed him a bag of pumpkin seeds, crunching away. “It’s around two and a half hours from here. I thought we’d go ahead and get there tonight. We’ll find a spot to camp and then explore tomorrow.”
Frankie was curled up in his bed asleep, worn out from the hike and sniffing everything in Mystic. Not to mention his encounter with the seagull.
“I’m so glad we decided to take this trip together. It’s like we’re in our own little world, far away from everyone else.”
Callan blinked. “There are people everywhere we go.”
She pursed her lips. “Not exactly what I meant, but okay.”
After they had been on the road a while, Daisy pointed.
“I need to stretch my legs and use the facilities. We’ll stop at the rest area. I think they still have paper maps. You’ll like looking at one.”
Callan looked puzzled as she explained the concept.
“So, ’tis a place to stop and... rest?” he asked, his Scottish accent making the words sound almost like a song.
Daisy nodded. “You can grab a snack, use the restroom, and stretch your legs.”
Callan followed her out of the van, looking at the people coming and going, and eyeing the vending machines.
They found a spot for Frankie to run around, the dog eagerly trying to make friends with everyone passing by.
As they resumed their journey, he saw lights in the distance. The buildings looming against the sky, much taller than the towers at Blackford.
“’Tis like nothing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured. “Such tall buildings.”
The traffic increased as they neared the city, the sounds of honking horns and the hum of engines filling the air, making Callan blink as one taxi driver swore at another, honking and waving his arms out the window.