I took her hands from my face and kissed the tips of each finger, then I took her face in my hands and kissed her eyebrows and eyelids. I kissed her nose where her nostrils flared, her cheeks, her chin. her lips.
Suddenly, Daphne changed gear and the big motor car coughed and backfired, jarring us apart. Opari was laughing and, for some reason, I had tears running down my cheeks. I felt a weariness as heavy as the fog. I wanted to ask about Carolina and Nicholas, if anyone had heard from them, if anyone knew we had arrived. I wanted to ask about Sailor and Pello and Mowsel. The long car rolled through the market town of Romsey and then turned west toward Somerset. Willie was talking with Geaxi and I interrupted.
“Where are we going, Willie?”
I asked the question, but I had no real interest in the answer. I was almost falling asleep as I said it. I had my head in Opari’s lap, resting on her ancient shawl.
“Home,” he said. “Home to Caitlin’s Ruby.”
“And where is that?” I asked, closing my eyes.
“Cornwall,” Willie answered.
I nodded in my mind and fell asleep. I’m not certain if my weariness came from the inside or the outside. Either way, I surrendered and slept, dreaming my way through most of Devon. I slept soundly and dreamed wildly, but still listened to everything around me the way I’d learned in the twisted limbs of the old cedar tree, waiting for the sound of Jisil’s horse.
Opari slept with me for a few hours, stretching out beside me in the seat. Her breath was warm on the back of my neck and I listened to nothing else while we lay together.
It wasn’t until we were far to the west and the big limousine stopped for gasoline that I awoke to something I heard, and even then I stayed perfectly still. Willie had just finished saying something to Geaxi about relieving Daphne behind the wheel and driving the rest of the way himself. He opened the door and a fierce wind blew in along with a man’s voice, yelling to Willie from somewhere near the car, possibly a doorway or window. Willie yelled back. “What’s that, Tom? Can’t hear you in this wind.” I heard the man clearly. “A middle-aged man,” the voice said. “American, judgin’ by the accent — askin’ for you, Willie.” “Was it Owen Bramley?” Willie asked. “No, ’twasn’t him,” the voice said. “I’d of recognized him. ’Twas a fellow with a gray mustache travelin’ with a woman and child. Quite worked up, he was, sir.” At first, Willie had no response, then he said, “Thank you, Tom,” and stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. The man’s words were still sinking in when the door opened again and Daphne Croft climbed in, speaking as she entered. My face was turned away from her, but I assumed she was addressing Geaxi. I was certain she was referring to Star.
“That wonderful child is in love with this weather. Can you imagine? My goodness, I’ve lived half my life on this forsaken boot of land and I’ve never met one like her. How delightful. ” She paused and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is he asleep? I should have noticed—”
“It is all right, Daphne,” Geaxi said. “He sleeps through everything.”
Willie put the car into gear and we continued west. Daphne ignored what the man Tom had yelled to Willie and spoke instead to Opari.
“Now,” Daphne said, as if to calm herself, “you must forgive my manners earlier, my dear. I am always honored to meet another member of Mowsel’s family. Each time is a miracle. Each one of you is a miracle, my goodness.”
“I am the honored one,” Opari said. “Willie has great praise for you.”
“Yes, yes. Willie is a good boy, a good son. He is my youngest, you know. Born in China, a complete surprise, long after the others.”
“I have lived in China,” Opari said.
“Really? How long were you there, my dear?”
“A few years — longer than I expected,” Opari said softly, then laughed and Geaxi joined her. It was the first joke I had ever heard her make, at least in English, and I almost laughed myself.
Geaxi interrupted. “Daphne Croft — I would like you to meet Opari. She travels with the one who is sleeping in her lap, Zianno Zezen.”
The car jolted suddenly as it went over a rough patch in the road. Willie had picked up speed and Daphne turned to tap on the glass that separated him from us. I never moved.
Geaxi went on. “Tell Opari about where we are going, Daphne. Tell her the story of Caitlin’s Ruby.”
“Yes, do,” Opari said, then added, “My. irudimen?”
“Imagination,” Geaxi translated.
“Yes, my imagination has no compass in your land. Tell me of this place and, please, tell me more of Mowsel.”
“Well then,” Daphne began. “I shan’t waste a moment. We’ll be seeing Falmouth soon and Caitlin’s Ruby is not far beyond.”
I didn’t move a muscle. I wanted answers to other questions, but Opari was running her fingers through my hair, and besides, I’d always learned more from the story than the storyteller. Daphne’s voice was high and clear, almost musical, and she spoke in rapid bursts.
“Where shall I begin?” she asked.
“With Caitlin herself,” Geaxi said.
“Yes, well, of course. Where else? It all begins with Caitlin, doesn’t it? Caitlin Fadle, the Irish beauty said to have had hair as black as a tinner’s grave and eyes as blue and lovely as the first day of spring.
“No one knows where she was born. No one knows how she came to Cornwall, but she was first seen as a tiny lass in the streets of Truro, no more than six or seven years old, fending for herself, living on scraps, and sleeping where she could. By the time she turned twelve or so, she was known to have been in Penzance. It was the year 1595, the year Penzance was sacked by the Spaniards. Caitlin Fadle, it is said in one version, was merely one of many women and children stolen and taken by sailors, then sent to Spain. In another version, she is taken aboard, but only she, and only by the captain. In yet another, my goodness, she is slipped on board a Spanish gunboat and hidden below by a boy — a boy with a missing front tooth. In every version, she does not return for twenty years. She has been forgotten completely because she was never missed. She had no family in Penzance and yet, she returns — and here is the mystery — she returns saying she is searching for someone, but she never gives a name and never asks a question. She has many trunks in her luggage, all filled with clothes worn only at court and only by nobility. My goodness, she has suitors calling by the dozen and speaks to none of them. She has no money or letters of credit. For survival, she has only one thing — a ruby bigger than a man’s fist.
“She leaves the ruby with a man who is a stranger to her, a Scottish blacksmith named Bramley, and walks the shore of the harbor around Mount’s Bay and the inlets and creeks that empty into it. She walks the coast and cliffs to Land’s End and back, nine miles going and coming, always alone, always searching, but for what, for whom — she never says.
“Then one day she asks the blacksmith, ‘Who owns the property at the source of the creek that flows into Newlyn from the north?’ It is property that is difficult to reach both by land and sea, it is so remote. My goodness, the blacksmith tells her, that’s no place for a woman, no place at all. She tells him to sell the ruby to the merchants on Wharf Road and buy the land in her name, Caitlin Fadle. ‘Keep a tidy sum for you and your family,’ she says, ‘and I’ll use the rest to build it.’ ‘Build what?’ he says. ‘The waiting place,’ Caitlin tells him. ‘Me home.’ ”
At the mention of the name Bramley in Daphne’s story, I almost rose up and gave myself away. But I was able to remain still and she went on. Outside, I knew we were far from anywhere. The big car cut through the wind and weather and we neither met nor passed any other vehicle.