Mariah Stewart Page 7

  Jeremy pur­c­ha­sed two pa­per co­nes of the spun-su­gar con­fec­ti­on, and han­ding her one, sa­id, "You ha­ve to won­der just who tho­ught up this stuff."

  "It's aw­ful," she sa­id as nib­bled.

  "Umm. Dis­gus­ting." He ag­re­ed.

  "It's so sim­mer," she sig­hed. "Cot­ton candy and bo­ar­d­walk fud­ge."

  "Sal­t­wa­ter taffy and snow co­nes."

  "Bo­ar­d­walk piz­za."

  "Bo­ar­d­walk fri­es."

  "With che­ese."

  "Uh- uh. Old Bay se­aso­ning."

  "O­oh, that so­unds go­od, too."

  "May­be to­mor­row night we sho­uld just do bo­ar­d­walk for din­ner," Jeremy sa­id as they ar­ri­ved back at the mo­tel. "And la­ter, we can ta­ke on the rol­ler co­as­ter."

  "Not af­ter a me­al of bo­ar­d­walk fo­od."

  "Hmm, go­od po­int."

  "Oh, lo­ok. Pe­op­le are swim­ming in the po­ol the­re. Want to jo­in them?"

  He glan­ced at his watch.

  "Not to­night," he told her. "I ha­ve to get up early to­mor­row. And so do you."

  "I do?" She frow­ned. "Why?"

  "Be­ca­use the­re's so­met­hing we want to do."

  "The­re is?"

  He nod­ded.

  "How early?"

  Jeremy ap­pe­ared to be cal­cu­la­ting so­met­hing.

  "Well, if we want bre­ak­fast first, we sho­uld pro­bably me­et at the cof­fee shop he­re in the mo­tel by abo­ut fi­ve."

  "And if we don't want bre­ak­fast?"

  "Fi­ve- thirty sho­uld do it."

  "Are the wha­les up that early?"

  "Wha­les? Oh, no, that's not wha­le-wat­c­hing ti­me. That'll be la­ter in the day. This will be so­met­hing el­se. So­met­hing spe­ci­al."

  "What?"

  "It's a sur­p­ri­se," he told her. "You'll just ha­ve to wa­it till the mor­ning to find out."

  They stop­ped in front of Jody's do­or and she han­ded him her key when he re­ac­hed for it. He pus­hed open the do­or with one hand and tur­ned on the lights for her.

  "So. You ga­me? Fi­ve A.M.?" He as­ked as he gat­he­red her in his arms.

  "Yes," she told him as his mo­uth lo­we­red to me­et hers. "I'm ga­me."

  He kis­sed her un­til so­met­hing in­si­de him told him he'd bet­ter stop whi­le he still co­uld.

  "I'll see you at the cof­fee shop at fi­ve," he sa­id, clo­sing the do­or be­hind him.

  Jody drop­ped her sho­es on the flo­or and sat on the ed­ge of the bed and held up her hand. The thin band of mystery me­tal on her mid­dle fin­ger gle­amed li­ke the fi­nest gold. She lay back ac­ross the bed, daz­zled from kis­ses she co­uld still fe­el, right down to her to­es, and won­de­ring what in­c­re­dib­le sur­p­ri­ses to­mor­row might bring.

  Chapter 6

  "Ah, the­re you are." Jeremy co­uldn't help but grin as Jody half stum­b­led in­to the lobby at 5:35 the next mor­ning we­aring gray shorts and a ho­oded swe­at­s­hirt of the sa­me co­lor.

  "He­re's part of me, an­y­way." She co­ve­red her mo­uth to yawn. "The rest of me is still sle­eping pe­ace­ful­ly back in ro­om three se­ven­te­en."

  He han­ded her a tall car­d­bo­ard cup and sa­id, "You'll be wi­de awa­ke in a few mi­nu­tes, I gu­aran­tee it."

  "Is that cof­fee?" She snif­fed and sig­hed. At that mo­ment, it smel­led li­ke he­aven. She co­uld ha­ve wept. "Bless you. I ne­ed this. You're a prin­ce, Jeremy Nob­le."

  "I am in­de­ed." He to­ok her el­bow and gu­ided her thro­ugh the do­or and in­to the par­king lot.

  "It's still dark out. You know, back at the inn, I'm up every day by at le­ast this ho­ur. But for so­me re­ason, I just ha­ven't wan­ted to get out of bed all we­ek."

  "That's 'ca­use you know you're on va­ca­ti­on and you think you sho­uld be sle­eping la­te. But trust me. This will be worth get­ting up early for." He ope­ned the do­or to the Ma­xi­ma and step­ped back so that she co­uld sli­de in.

  She co­uld ha­ve told him that she'd gladly get up at fi­ve any mor­ning, just to lo­ok at him. In­s­te­ad, she as­ked, "What's this'?'r

  "You'll see." He grin­ned and tur­ned on the ig­ni­ti­on.

  They dro­ve thro­ugh qu­i­et stre­ets, tho­se sa­me stre­ets that just the night be­fo­re had be­en te­eming with li­fe. Jody sip­ped at her cof­fee, gra­te­ful for his tho­ug­h­t­ful­ness, and tri­ed to gu­ess what sur­p­ri­se he might ha­ve co­me up with.

  She ho­ped it wasn't de­ep-sea fis­hing.

  "We're al­most the­re." He glan­ced over and ad­ded, "You might ne­ed that ho­od. It might be a lit­tle co­ol."

  "Gi­ve me a hint."

  "Too la­te. We're the­re."

  He ro­un­ded a de­ep bend in the ro­ad and pul­led off to the si­de, to a cle­aring whe­re se­ve­ral ot­her cars we­re par­ked on a sandy lot li­ned with a nar­row row of scrub pi­nes.

  "This way," Jeremy mo­ti­oned to her, and in the gro­wing light she co­uld see that his eyes we­re dan­cing- with mis­c­hi­ef or ple­asu­re, she wasn't su­re which.

  Jody fol­lo­wed him down a path le­ading thro­ugh the spar­se stretch of tre­es, her cu­ri­osity pi­qu­ed.

  "I know. We're go­ing to watch the sun ri­se." She ca­ught up with him and tuc­ked her arm thro­ugh his, still hol­ding her cof­fee cup in one hand.

  "Yes." He grin­ned, and stop­ping at the end of the path, he po­in­ted stra­ight ahe­ad. "From a slightly dif­fe­rent van­ta­ge po­int."

  Jody stop­ped, drop-jawed, in her tracks, and sta­red at the brightly co­lo­red bal­lo­on that ro­se fifty fe­et abo­ve her he­ad.

  "It's a… it's a…" she stut­te­red and po­in­ted.

  "Hot- air bal­lo­on," Jeremy grin­ned, ta­king her hand. "You sa­id you wis­hed you co­uld see the en­ti­re is­land from up abo­ve. Well, this mor­ning you'll get yo­ur wish."

  "From the air," she whis­pe­red, hor­ri­fi­ed as she stum­b­led along be­hind him. "I'm not su­re that I re­al­ly me­ant that I wan­ted to see it from the air…"

  He la­ug­hed and squ­e­ezed her hand.

  "Alan Dem­ber?" He cal­led to the tall, thin man in­si­de the bal­lo­on's bas­ket

  "Right." Busy chec­king so­met­hing ne­ar the bur­ner, the man res­pon­ded wit­ho­ut tur­ning aro­und.

  "Yo­ur ad sa­id first co­me, first ser­ved."

  "You're the first," Dem­ber cal­led back over his sho­ul­der. "Climb abo­ard."

  "Climb abo­ard," Jody re­pe­ated dumbly.

  "J­ust swing yo­ur leg over. He­re, li­ke this," Jeremy de­mon­s­t­ra­ted and hel­ped her over the si­de.

  "We'll be re­ady for ta­ke­off in just a few," Dem­ber told them.

  "You're the pi­lot?" Jody as­ked an­xi­o­usly. "Are you cer­ti­fi­ed or wha­te­ver it is you ha­ve to be to fly one of the­se things?"

  Dem­ber la­ug­hed. "Cer­ti­fi­ed by the FAA, just li­ke an air­p­la­ne pi­lot. The bal­lo­on is re­gu­la­ted by the FAA, too, so it's su­bj­ect to in­s­pec­ti­ons and has to me­et cer­ta­in stan­dards, just li­ke a com­mer­ci­al jet. That ma­ke you fe­el any bet­ter?"

  "Not re­al­ly," she sa­id un­der her bre­ath.

  "Well, then, if you're re­ady, I'm re­ady," the pi­lot told them, a bit too che­er­ful­ly, Jody tho­ught.

  How co­uld an­yo­ne be that che­er­ful abo­ut go­ing up in­to the air in a bas­ket held aloft by a bal­lo­on?

  Jody lo­oked up abo­ve her he­ad to whe­re the enor­mo­us bal­lo­on se­emed to fill the sky. It lo­oked li­ke a party bal­lo­on. A very lar­ge party bal­lo­on, but a party bal­lo­on all the sa­me. She was just abo­ut to tell Jeremy that she'd wa­it for him on the gro­und when Dem­ber yel­led to the crew, "Untie her. We're go­ing up."

  "We're go­ing up." Jody clut­c
­hed at Jeremy's arm.

  "Wa­it till you see the sun co­ming up over the wa­ter, Jody. It's li­ke not­hing you've ever se­en, I pro­mi­se."

  "I've se­en it from the be­ach," she sa­id. "I li­ked it from the­re."

  The­re was a who­os­hing so­und from the bur­ner, and she felt the bas­ket be­gin to ri­se slowly. Pa­nic be­gan to over­ta­ke her, and she grab­bed the ed­ge of the bas­ket, then ma­de the mis­ta­ke of lo­oking down, rat­her than out or up. Be­low her fe­et, she co­uld see lights from the cars be­low.

  "J­eremy, we're in a bas­ket," she told him. "You can see thro­ugh it."

  "It's okay, Jody, it's per­fectly sa­fe."

  "Bas­kets are for flo­wers, Jeremy. Pot­ted plants. New­s­pa­pers and ma­ga­zi­nes. Bas­kets are not for clim­bing in­to and flying over the oce­an." Jody's eyes we­re clo­sed, her hands clammy with fe­ar, and it was then that Jeremy re­ali­zed she was truly af­ra­id.

  It had ne­ver oc­cur­red to him that she might be af­ra­id. He put one arm aro­und her and drew her to him, and with the ot­her brus­hed her ha­ir back from her fa­ce.

  "J­ody, it's okay. It's sa­fe, I pro­mi­se."

  "Whe­re exactly are we go­ing?" She as­ked, still not lo­oking be­yond Jeremy's chest.

  "Whe­re­ver the wind ta­kes us," the pi­lot nod­ded hap­pily.

  "Any idea whe­re that might be?"

  Dem­ber la­ug­hed. "It isn't qu­ite as ran­dom as you think. I get re­ports on wind spe­ed and di­rec­ti­on be­fo­re each flight."

  "Wind di­rec­ti­on. Spe­ed. Can't tho­se things chan­ge?" she mut­te­red.

  The­ir pi­lot nod­ded. "They can. They do, at var­ying al­ti­tu­des."

  "How do you con­t­rol this thing?"

  "By adj­us­ting the al­ti­tu­de of the bal­lo­on," he told her, and re­ali­zing that his pas­sen­ger was mo­re than just a lit­tle sca­red, to­ok her arm and tur­ned her to the bur­ner. "Now, if we ne­ed to ri­se abo­ve an air la­yer, we he­at the air in­si­de the bal­lo­on a lit­tle. If we want to co­me be­ne­ath a la­yer of air, we vent it, let a lit­tle of the air out to drop the bal­lo­on. We use li­qu­id pro­pa­ne gas, by the way, just li­ke a bar­be­cue. It burns qu­ickly, to he­at the air in­si­de the bal­lo­on qu­ickly, which al­lows me to ma­ke it as­cend or des­cend as qu­ickly as I ne­ed it to go. It's sa­fe, I pro­mi­se. I do this every day. I've ne­ver lost a pas­sen­ger yet."

  "That's re­as­su­ring." She nod­ded.

  "He­re now, hold on. We're go­ing up just a lit­tle hig­her."

  "Mo­re go­od news…" Jody squ­e­ezed her eyes do­sed.

  "J­ody, lo­ok," Jeremy sa­id gently. "Lo­ok at the sky. Did you ever see an­y­t­hing mo­re be­a­uti­ful? Co­lors mo­re glo­ri­o­us?"

  She pe­eked out aro­und his sho­ul­der, and in spi­te of her­self, an "Oh!" es­ca­ped her lips.

  "It's… it's li­ke flo­ating up in­to he­aven," she ex­c­la­imed. "Oh, Jeremy, lo­ok at the clo­uds. And the oce­an lo­oks so blue. It lo­oks blu­er from he­re. And lo­ok at the bo­ats out the­re… oh, it's ama­zing."

  Jeremy smi­led. He'd ho­ped that one lo­ok wo­uld ma­ke her for­get her fe­ar, and it had.

  "And lo­ok down the­re, at the way the wa­ves curl to­ward the sho­re…"

  Jody was re­al­ly lo­ose­ning up.

  "Can we go back over the town, over Oce­an Po­int?" She as­ked the pi­lot.

  "We will, on our way back to the la­unch pad. My in­ten­ti­on is to go on down to the end of the is­land, then swing back in­land a bit, then try to get back to whe­re we star­ted. If the wind co­ope­ra­tes, that's what we'll do. If it do­esn't, then our cha­se crew will me­et up with us at anot­her lan­ding si­te."

  "How will they know whe­re to find us?" She frow­ned.

  "Ra­dio," he po­in­ted to the flo­or whe­re the ra­dio sat bet­we­en his fe­et "But so far, the winds ha­ve be­en go­od. Spec­ta­cu­lar sun­ri­se, wo­uld you say?"

  "De­fi­ni­tely," she sig­hed.

  "Fe­eling bet­ter?" Jeremy as­ked softly.

  "Much," she nod­ded, and tur­ned in his arms to lo­ok in­to his eyes. "Thank you. This was a won­der­ful sur­p­ri­se."

  "I'm sorry that you had a few bad mo­ments the­re. I sho­uld ha­ve as­ked you first how you felt abo­ut hot-air bal­lo­ons."

  "I'm glad you didn't ask. I'd ha­ve sa­id no and I wo­uld ha­ve mis­sed this and I'd ne­ver ha­ve known what it felt li­ke to watch the dawn over the oce­an from the air. It's glo­ri­o­us, Jeremy. Ever­yo­ne sho­uld see this, just on­ce. Thank you so much for sha­ring this with me."

  "You're wel­co­me." He slip­ped both arms aro­und her and nud­ged her in­to le­aning aga­inst him, thin­king that the­re was so much mo­re he wan­ted to sha­re with her. So much mo­re he wo­uld sha­re with her.

  "And over the­re, off to the left, you can see all tho­se tre­es the­re," the­ir pi­lot was sa­ying abo­ve the who­osh of the bur­ner. "That's the start of the Pi­ne Bar­rens. Of co­ur­se, most folks aro­und he­re call it the Pi­ne­lands, or just the Pi­nes, sin­ce they know the­re's not­hing bar­ren abo­ut the area, which co­vers over a mil­li­on ac­res. In 1983, the Uni­ted Na­ti­ons de­sig­na­ted the Pi­nes as an In­ter­na­ti­onal Bi­os­p­he­re Re­ser­ve, 'ca­use the­re are spe­ci­es of plants back in the­re that are en­dan­ge­red or ex­tinct every pla­ce but he­re. If we we­re to get clo­se eno­ugh, you'd be ab­le to see that the Pi­nes are cris­scros­sed with a num­ber of slow-mo­ving stre­ams of fresh wa­ter. You ha­ve yo­ur swamps back in the­re-ce­dar swamps, mostly Ame­ri­can whi­te ce­dar. Wa­ter the co­lor of tea. Sphag­num moss ever­y­w­he­re. It used to be a big bu­si­ness, gat­he­ring sphag­num moss to sell. Still is, in so­me parts."

  "You know a lot abo­ut the area," Jody tur­ned to the pi­lot.

  "My mot­her was a Pi­ney," he told them. "Used to be a cer­ta­in stig­ma at­tac­hed to the word Pi­ney, but the­se days, pe­op­le are mo­re pro­ud than as­ha­med of the term."

  ''Why's that?" She as­ked.

  "I sus­pect it's just a mat­ter of co­ming to un­der­s­tand and ap­pre­ci­ate the cul­tu­re for what it is. Et­h­ni­cal­ly, the pe­op­le he­re are a won­der­ful mix. Ger­man, Scot­tish, Irish, Swe­dish. So­me Qu­aker, so­me Cat­ho­lic. Rus­si­ans. New En­g­land fis­her­men who ca­me so­uth to fol­low the wha­les be­fo­re New Jer­sey was even a co­lony. I've he­ard even Hes­si­an mer­ce­na­ri­es who de­ser­ted af­ter the Bat­tle of Tren­ton ca­me to lo­se them­sel­ves in the wil­der­ness. So­me still spe­ak the di­alect, back in the­re." Dem­ber tur­ned to Jeremy, who had be­en si­lent du­ring the pi­lot's re­ci­ta­ti­on, and as­ked, "You ever be­en?"

  Jeremy had not ex­pec­ted the qu­es­ti­on, and his eyes drif­ted over the en­d­less ac­res of gre­en that now spre­ad out be­low them li­ke a fan. "Yes. Yes, I ha­ve. But not in a very long ti­me."

  "Be­a­uti­ful, don't you think?" Dem­ber's eyes we­re shi­ning. "It's still wild. Pe­op­le too of­ten think of New Jer­sey as be­ing, you know, one over­po­pu­la­ted, pol­lu­ted city af­ter anot­her. If they co­uld only see this, the mi­les of fo­rest…"

  The pi­lot's vo­ice dro­ned on and on, ex­tol­ling the vir­tu­es of the Pi­nes and its his­tory. And all the whi­le, Jody was wat­c­hing Jeremy's fa­ce.

  His eyes fol­lo­wed the sea of gre­en be­low even when Dem­ber had swit­c­hed co­ur­se and had he­aded back to­ward the is­land. His fa­ce se­emed to­uc­hed by me­lan­c­holy, his smi­le go­ne, his mo­uth ta­ut, and he was, for an in­s­tant, a mil­li­on mi­les-or a mil­li­on ac­res-away.

  "… but right now, we're over the brid­ge le­ading to Oce­an Po­int. You see the bay the­re, and off to the left you can see the yacht club, the ma­ri­nas…"

  "J­eremy," Jody tug­ged on his sle­eve,
"whe­re did you go?"

  He lo­oked down at her, a sad­ness in his gray eyes, and sa­id simply, "Ho­me, Jody. Just for a mi­nu­te, I went ho­me."

  She wan­ted to ask him whe­re ho­me might be and why the tho­ught of it dis­tur­bed him so. May­be, be­fo­re the we­ek had en­ded, she might le­arn.

  "Now, right the­re's the park…"

  "Oh, and Jeremy, lo­ok! Down the­re. Right down the­re. The­re's the stre­et whe­re our old ren­tal ho­use was. The third stre­et in from the bay! The ho­use was right in the mid­dle of the block, the se­venth one… She co­un­ted the ro­of­tops. "The­re! That one! Back then, the ro­of wasn't blue…" She tri­ed to bring him back. "Do you see?"

  "Yes," he nod­ded idly, still lo­oking back over his sho­ul­der to the blur of gre­en that was di­mi­nis­hing in si­ze as the bal­lo­on he­aded in the op­po­si­te di­rec­ti­on.

  La­ter, when the bal­lo­on had lan­ded and they had than­ked the­ir pi­lot for a won­der­ful ri­de, as they sat in a di­ner-all chro­me and glass-and wa­ited for the­ir bre­ak­fast to be ser­ved, Jody sen­sed that he was still not com­p­le­tely with her.

  "Se­e­ing the sun over the oce­an li­ke that, the co­lors… that may ha­ve be­en the most un­for­get­tab­le mo­ment of my li­fe," she sa­id, ho­ping to draw him back.

  He nod­ded and sa­id, "Go­od."

  "What was yo­urs?"

  "My what?"

  "Most un­for­get­tab­le mo­ment."

  He sta­red at her for a very long ti­me, and she be­gan to reg­ret ha­ving as­ked the qu­es­ti­on when he rep­li­ed qu­i­etly, "I'm ho­ping it hasn't hap­pe­ned yet."

  Jeremy le­aned back as the wa­it­ress set down a whi­te pla­te from which an enor­mo­us ome­let thre­ate­ned to over­f­low. "May­be it will be this af­ter­no­on. You up for a lit­tle wha­le wat­c­hing?"

  And just that qu­ickly, he had put it asi­de-wha­te­ver it was-and kept it hid­den thro­ugh the rest of the af­ter­no­on.

  "This is in­c­re­dib­le!" Jody sho­uted to Jeremy abo­ve the lo­ud hum of the bo­at's en­gi­ne. "It's be­en so long sin­ce I've be­en out on the oce­an, I'd for­got­ten how much I used to lo­ve it."