Page 28 of Heart Marks the Spot

Twenty

Stella

We head out of the Intracoastal Waterway and the Cape Fear River between Southport and Bald Head Island.

The Bald Head Marina is full of yachts, glistening like new veneers in a giant, rich mouth.

Teddy’s family has property on the sound side of the island, a mansion so large that we can see it clearly from the deck of our boat as we pass by.

I went there once, years ago, in the off season, when most of the restaurants were closed and the hurricane shutters were already set into place on the majority of houses.

Zoe and I roamed the island on bikes with baskets, pedaling past streets with names like Edward Teach Wynd and Stede Bonnet Wynd, while Teddy and Gus bought steaks and lobster tails at Maritime Market to grill.

We talked of Blackbeard’s treasure while we ate; Ted drove the golf cart recklessly around the winding roads to Potato Beach for a bonfire and a dip in the sound.

Teddy’s mother, a woman who wore pearls unironically, had warned me that the jellyfish were bad before we’d left town, but I hadn’t heeded the warning and got stung.

Red welts along my arms and thighs were painful reminders of the trip for days after we’d ridden the ferry back to the mainland.

I glance down to where Teddy is showing Huck the dredge, a long tube rigged to a pump that helps improve the efficiency of our searches.

Huck looks up at me for an instant and it stirs a sensation akin to those jellyfish.

Despite the time that has passed, I can almost feel the memory of Huck’s hands stinging on my skin.

It would be smart to keep my distance.

Our boat is fifty-two feet long, closer quarters than it sounds, making the prospect of avoiding Huck almost laughable.

I return to the safety of work. There’s an instrument panel that requires my attention: weather to check; the Gulf Stream, wind speed and direction; the height of the surf; other ship traffic. I smear extra sunscreen on my face.

Teddy takes over at the helm in the late afternoon, and I retire to the galley to eat. Huck’s in the kitchen poring over a notebook while he drinks what I suppose must be a coffee from the aroma that fills the space. He glances up, just for an instant, and I avert my gaze.

“We didn’t really get a chance to talk on the way here from the airport,” he says, collecting his papers into a pile.

A lock of dark hair falls over his forehead and he pushes it back.

Back in the car, I couldn’t see him well.

Just a glance here and there in the sideview mirror, where objects are closer than they appear.

Now I have to face his full height, the solidness of him, the strong body I know the feel of, even if it’s covered with preppy clothes.

At least he isn’t looking at me. He doesn’t see my composure unraveling.

I pull out a jar of peanut butter and slices of bread and start making myself a sandwich while attempting to sound unaffected.

“We don’t have to talk. This is business, right?

I’m here to work, you’re here to work. We can just be coworkers.

” The knife I’m using to smear the peanut butter rips the bread.

“I guess I thought maybe we should clear the air.”

I mash the battered bread back together and turn.

“Why would we need to do that?” The harshness of my tone surprises me.

I don’t want him to know how impacted I was…

am. I soften the edge in my voice. “I just mean that there’s no point in dwelling in the past.” As soon as I utter the words, I’m aware of how ridiculous my statement is.

My whole life is about trying to unearth the past, but there’s no treasure between me and Huck Sullivan.

There never was. I change the subject and nod at the pile of papers next to Huck. “What were you working on? New story?”

“Kind of. When Ted and I connected about my joining the expedition, he shared a basic background and itinerary for the trip.”

“How much did he tell you?”

“He said that you’re searching for a Spanish ship called the San Miguel .” He pauses.

“And?” I ask.

“I was surprised, that’s all. I expected you to be searching for the Stolen Treasure and the Elephant’s Heart. I guess I was wrong.”

I start to smile. I can’t help myself…He remembers. “You’re not wrong. I am still searching for them,” I admit. The path of the Stolen Treasure has more twists than all of the Casablanca Chronicles put together. I have to take a minute to think about how I should tell the story to Huck.

“Remember Gunnarsson’s axe from Iceland?

” I ask, and Huck nods. “How the handle was covered in intricate designs? I didn’t really think anything of them at first. But when we examined it more closely, Teddy realized it was a pictograph.

That axe was supposedly a gift from the British king, and the engravings depicted what looks like a bunch of boats and a battle and a giant elephant with a red stone in its chest. In theory, it could mean anything, but for me, it confirmed what I’d suspected—England had been in possession of the fabled treasure and the Elephant’s Heart during the time that Gunnarsson had been alive.

” I get out my phone and scroll to a picture of the engraving to show Huck.

“Turns out that the red stone on the axe is a diamond. We had it verified.”

He shakes his head in amazement. “No fucking way. You’re right—it has to be the Elephant’s Heart.”

“Exactly. I had the same reaction.”

“Incredible.” Huck’s brows furrow.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s nothing. I’m just trying to understand how the English having the treasure ties to the San Miguel . Isn’t it a Spanish ship?”

“Good question. The fact that England had the treasure explained a strange passage I’d found a couple of years ago in a set of Sir Francis Drake’s personal letters in the UK’s National Archives.

The text detailed how he’d taken a horde of precious materials, among them a massive stone the color of blood, east to the New World.

Everyone we talked to figured it was a ruby, but Gunnarsson’s axe proves it wasn’t. ”

“Okay, so Drake brings it over here.” The look on Huck’s face is the same one I’ve seen before when he’s really into something and getting inspired.

I try not to think about how much I love that look, and instead focus my attention on how pale he appears in the dim light of the galley.

We are out on open water now, and even though our boat is large, the seas aren’t as calm as they had been.

Teddy’s previous announcement about Huck’s weak stomach on the whale-watching trip comes rushing back.

I quash the swell of sympathy. A little seasickness serves him right.

“What then?” he asks, gulping hard. The boat pitches and if I’m not mistaken, Huck’s skin goes green right before my eyes.

I turn to the fridge and take out a ginger ale. “Okay, well, years later, after a skirmish between England and Spain”—I hand him the can—“a report went out that the Spanish soldiers had stolen the Heart of England. But it was clear that the heart was something tangible…a precious red gemstone.”

Huck takes a sip of the soda. “Thank you for this. So that’s where the San Miguel comes in? I remember reading that it was part of the Spanish Treasure fleet in 1715…but the manifest I found listed sixty-two people on board and no real cargo.”

I’d been confused by the same thing at first. “You’re right.

The official manifest didn’t list any cargo.

There are reports that it was carrying a massive load of tobacco from Havana.

We know of a letter from the Casa de Contratación that basically indicates that they used a thirty-gun ship, which the San Miguel was, to pick up 1.

5 million pounds of tobacco because it would’ve delayed the owner of the 1715 treasure fleet, Antonio de Echeverz, to go back and get it.

That’s part of the reason why no one’s really gone after the San Miguel hard. ”

“Because there’s no treasure?” Huck sounds perplexed. He takes another sip of ginger ale. “I don’t get it.”

I smile. I want to savor both his confusion and peeling back the layers of this story.

“Well, that’s what everyone believes, or they think maybe there’s a small amount of silver and a couple of smuggled coins or personal effects.

But they’re wrong. A correspondence between Echeverz and the ship’s captain, Joseph Coyo de Melo, indicated that they were only going to carry ten tons of tobacco because he had more precious cargo to be collected and transported in secret.

The cargo is not a full inventory, of course, but he mentions several mines of gold, rubies, and emeralds.

There is also reference to a special present for the new queen from King Philip: the Heart of England. ”

“Unbelievable,” Huck says. “No wonder no one has made this connection. It’s so complex.”

“Definitely. We also think that even if they somehow made the link, which is doubtful, they are looking in the wrong place. There’re several documents that seem to indicate that everyone thought that the ship went down around St. Augustine.”

“Okay, yeah, I saw some things about that when I was researching. But you don’t think it did?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You found another letter?”

I shake my head. I’d shared a lot of things with Huck in Iceland, but I never told him about my mom’s map. Only Teddy, Zoe, and Gus know. And my dad, wherever he might be. I take a breath to steady myself. Huck’s here and because of that, he’s in this, whether I like it or not.