Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Grandad stands beside me, smiling like a child on Christmas morning.
Both gape at the small yet large ocean liner docked in front of us.
The S.S Charlotte sways in the waters of the English Channel.
Shining so brightly in its fresh, colored paint of white and navy.
Grandad said he wanted nothing but the best for our expedition; I never thought that would also mean sailing on a brand-new ocean liner.
The past few weeks have gone by in a blur.
“It’s happening, Thena,” Grandad mutters, shaking his head. I take hold of his hand, relishing in the moment together.
The crew hustles around us. The sea breeze gusts in every direction. Flags whoosh with fervor, and seagulls above struggle to fly against the wind. My wool skirt and the sleeves of my blouse flail around my legs and arms.
Thankfully, I’m wearing a matching wool vest, or my shirt would be whizzing away like the flags on the dock and ships.
If it weren’t for my cloche hat, my brown hair would fall out of its usual loose bun in no time.
Mentally, I send out a thank-you to Evangeline for making my wardrobe wearable in all weather conditions.
One wouldn’t think a small ocean liner carrying five scholars to the Mediterranean would require a tremendous amount of baggage, but we academics must pack double the usual load.
The majority consists of our reference materials—notation journals, published papers, and novels on all seven sites—as well as our specialized equipment: trowels, brushes, sieves, buckets, and containers of every size, everything an archaeologist could possibly need.
We are well known for being the heaviest travelers in the world.
A car horn beeps behind us, and two closed cars make their way down the dock toward us. Despite wearing a hat and sun goggles, I shield my eyes from the sun to see who has arrived.
A woman with dark black hair and olive skin emerges from the first car, wearing a helmet-style hat with pink florals and a simple, loose-fitting white dress with sleeves that reach her elbows.
She makes her way over to us with effortless grace and an air of confidence.
Looking at her, I would say she can’t be more than fifty years old.
I’m not certain what takes me aback more: her beauty and confident manner, or the fact that I’m now standing in the presence of Dr. Amina Baccar, esteemed historian and linguist.
“Dr. Baccar,” Grandad says once she reaches us.
Then he does something I’ve never seen him do with another woman before: he extends his hand for her to shake.
Dr. Baccar shakes his hand with enthusiasm. “Lord Claremont! What a delight to see you again, and during an extraordinarily exciting time, too.” I can hear a slight accent when she speaks with a fluid, soft tone.
“It’s an honor to have you join us on this expedition.” Grandad smiles. "I hope your journey here to Dover was uneventful.”
“Indeed, it was. Thank you.”
Grandad gestures toward me. “This is my granddaughter, Clara Fairfax. Clara, this is Dr. Amina Baccar.”
I quickly extend my hand for her to shake.
“Miss Fairfax, I’ve heard so much about you from Lord Claremont. I read your paper about the persistent discourse of the existence of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon—very impressive.”
I bite the corner of my bottom lip, suppressing a grin from forming as I nod.
“And may I ask what your take is on the matter of its existence, Dr. Baccar?” Her answer will tell me whether we’ll get along on this expedition or not.
She smirks. “Oh, it existed, of course. There’s no argument about that. And please, call me Amina.”
Satisfied with her response, I smile. “Call me Clara.”
“Oh, please be careful with that,” Amina calls out as two crewmen pass us by, carrying a large chest onto the ship. “I have some fragile instruments in there.” She winces as we watch the men struggle to carry it aboard.
“I may have overpacked,” she mutters. “I should get on board and start unloading. It may very well take me the whole duration of this voyage to unpack everything I’ve brought with me.” She smiles. “Pleasure to meet you, Clara. I look forward to working with you.”
I watch in stunned silence as she heads toward the ship.
Here is a woman who is everything I ever dreamed of being—a respected historian and scholar.
I cannot imagine how hard she had to fight, how many expectations she had to defy, to get where she is today.
As I watch her board, I try not to let my hopes rise at the prospect of Amina becoming a mentor to me, or even a friend.
Grandad nudges my arm. “See, Thena. I said you would like her, didn’t I?”
A laugh escapes me as I shake my head. It can be quite annoying how right he can be, and admittedly, he is right most of the time.
I sneak a side glance at him as he takes in the sight before us.
He looks twenty years younger; his deep wrinkles and fine lines seem to have vanished entirely.
He stands straighter, far more assured of himself.
It’s as if the expedition has brought him back to a younger version of himself, one who always dreamed of this very moment.
A smile rests on my face as I watch my grandad come to terms with the fact that his dream is finally coming true.
A voice in the distance breaks our silence.
We turn away from the ship once more to greet the other scholar who has arrived.
Over ten years Grandad’s junior, Dr. Alarie makes his way toward us, his long legs giving way to long strides, and struggles to secure his hat against a sudden gust of wind.
He shakes Grandad’s hand, then offers me a slight bow in greeting.
I had forgotten how tall and slender Dr. Alarie is, standing nearly six feet and five inches. Even at my average height of five feet five, I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze.
“Lord Claremont. Miss Fairfax,” Dr. Alarie says with a French accent.
“It is an honor to accompany you on this expedition. Though I must preface that the chances of us uncovering any remnants from the Ancient Seven Wonders are low, given their demise from natural disasters thousands of years ago. But I do tend to always find a miracle on all the expeditions I join.” A side smile forms on his lips, and he winks at us.
“I’m not one to shy away from a challenge. ”
“Indeed, Dr. Alarie,” Grandad says. “Which is exactly why I’ve invited you. With your record and persistent determination, I’m confident we will find a discovery or two during our journey.”
Dr. Alarie nods, turning toward me. “And you, Miss Fairfax. I must congratulate you on finishing your degree in ancient history and archaeological studies. Studying two fields is not an easy feat to accomplish at Oxford. I hear you have a special interest in the Seven Wonders like Lord Claremont.”
“That is correct, Dr. Alarie. My interest started when I was five, after Grandad read to me about them, and my enthusiasm has grown ever since.”
“I imagine this expedition is just as important to you as it is to Lord Claremont. This is your first one, yes?”
I nod with confidence; the last thing I want is to be a burden on those who have much more experience in this than I do.
Being knowledgeable in certain topics is one thing; being tangible and clever in applying that knowledge into practice is another.
I may not have joined an archaeological expedition before, but I can learn and become a great asset to the team.
Dr. Alarie smiles. “Between Dr. Baccar and me, you will be an expert in archaeological searches in no time as long as you share your knowledge on the Seven Wonders with us. I do have to admit this is not my area of expertise.”
I’m nothing but relieved to hear Dr. Alarie’s words, and Dr. Baccar’s, too.
To say I’m intimidated by them would be an understatement.
I worried their presence might hinder my involvement in the expedition, knowing how some professionals look down on students or novices in the field.
It’s reassuring to know Grandad has selected two scholars who not only value learning and teaching but also treat everyone in the field with respect.
I wonder if the same sentiment will apply to our third scholar…
“That is where our expertise comes in, Dr. Alarie,” Grandad assures.
He gestures toward the ship, taking a step closer.
“Dr. Baccar is already onboard. We are waiting on our last scholar, then we will start our departure. Please go ahead and start making yourself at home. Luncheon will be served within an hour in the dining room.”
“Splendid!” Dr. Alarie exclaims, placing a hand on Grandad’s shoulder before boarding. “I brought with me a case full of the Cabernet from Bordeaux, which we both love so much—a thank-you gift for selecting me to accompany you on this expedition.”
Grandad grins, clapping Dr. Alarie’s shoulder. “Ah, thank you, my friend. You didn’t have to, but you sure know what my perfect gift is.”
Forty-five minutes after Dr. Alarie boards, I glance at my wristwatch and note that Mr. Ashford is indeed late. His tardiness doesn’t seem to bother Grandad, as if it’s something he’s expecting. I’m about to comment on his belatedness when I spot another car making its way down the dock.
My body goes rigid in apprehension. It's been some time since I last saw Mr. Ashford, and I’m uncertain how he will interact with me.
Will he remember me as a student from Oxford?
Or will he introduce himself, thinking I’m a stranger?
The intriguing thought of whether his appearance has changed slips into my mind, but I quickly shove it aside as absurd.
Why should I care if he looks any different?