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“MAN OVERBOARD!”
“Help! Help us please!” I called out to the men on the dock.
Our arrival and the resulting impact hit Romaso more strongly and much more quickly than I’d expected. He really should have been seated with me inside the gondola instead of standing facing the bow.
“That’s a fancy cruise liner,” one of the men responded. “How’d that boy manage to fall out?”
I ignored his question and frantically searched the water for Romaso. I disembarked and jumped onto the dock before the men had a chance to tie down the bloated black vessel.
“Romaso? Romaso!”
“He’s all right! We have him over here. The boy’s a good swimmer.”
I had no doubt about that. I carefully approached a very upset, drenched Romaso. He looked wildly about him, with his hands to his ears. Part of me had been afraid that something like this would happen.
“Does he speak?” the larger of the men asked.
“Thank you so much, sir. I can take care of him from here.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Thanks again. Oh, wait, actually. Can you please point me in the direction of the Halls’ estate?”
“Oh, so that’s where you’re headed? Should have figured that out given the liner you two came in. I’m surprised you don’t have an auto waiting. There don’t seem to be any other passengers aboard, either. Huh. Must be nice to have money.”
I winced, remembering that now I would have to explain what autos and cruise liners were to Romaso.
“The Halls’ estate, sir?”
“Yes, all right, I’m getting to that. There’s a road just on the other side of the beach to the right. Follow that road right up to the estate. You can’t miss it. I can see the chapel steeple from here. Are you sure he’s up for it?” The man nodded toward Romaso. “It will take about a half an hour on foot.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll sit here with him for a bit first. We’ll be fine.” Please, oh, please just leave us be, I yelled loudly in my head.
“Well, all right then.” The man wasn’t convinced, but he shrugged and walked off anyway.
I looked down at Romaso, who was sitting in a puddle on the dock, dumfounded, staring.
“Romaso?” I stopped and shook him gently. “Say something to me. Please, anything.”
“I...uh...this, this is the country of my, my Shirlyn?”
“Yes, Romaso. The sailor who pulled you out of the water told me how to get to her house from here. We’re close by, almost there.”
Romaso nodded and dropped his hands from his ears and winced as he stood up and looked around. “Too much noise, Siora.”
So that was part of the problem. Romaso wasn’t used to the sounds of all of the machinery, automobiles and motor-driven seacraft, although he looked at all of these unfamiliar things with curiosity and interest.
“I have so much more to explain to you about this place. Hopefully Shirlyn can help with some of it.”
“I cannot see her like this,” said Romaso while pointing out his drenched clothing.
I looked around. I had very little money with me, all in U.S. dollars.
“Oh, come on, Romaso! Shirlyn knows you’re from Venice where the streets are full of water. And, well, sometimes accidents happen. If she fell into the water before seeing you, you’d still want to see her, right? You wouldn’t care so much, would you?”
Romaso looked thoughtful but said nothing.
“It’s sunny out today and it will take about a half an hour to get to Shirlyn’s house. Maybe you’ll dry enough by then.”
Romaso remained still, his eyes flashing stubbornly through a pained self-consciousness. I understood that pain very, very well, so well in fact that I felt compelled to ask one of the sailors to give Romaso some dry clothing. The sailor accepted a couple of American dollar bills for the clothes. I didn’t know who made out on the deal, but at least Romaso was happier. He followed the sailor to a place where he could change out of his wet clothes while I thought about just how surprised Shirlyn would be when we showed up at her front door.
Romaso’s mood improved with each step toward the Halls’ estate. I got him talking again about Shirlyn, how she would giggle when Romaso would tell a story, her generosity with the gypsy children who roamed the marketplace, the way she impatiently twitched her nose when she disapproved, and always, always how she would return his gaze with eyes of dancing cinnamon.
I had often wondered what it would feel like for a novel to come to life. Not just in my own imagination, but to truly find myself personally interacting with the characters, with the ability to behold the scenery with my own eyes instead of from some dark place inside my head. As we walked along a tidy dirt path, flanked with tall, identically spaced trees, I could smell and taste the written world of Shirlyn’s pen unfiltered by the musty pages that she’d once turned.
In a short period of time, I’d not only been to places that I’d thought about, but also to those I never could have imagined on my own. The treasure of the travel glasses was not just in the method of their transport but in the endless possibilities of where they could take me. I began to realize that I could go wherever and whenever I dreamed. Just like Valcas said, I only needed to search for what I wanted most in that moment.
The Halls’ estate, besides being exactly where and when I needed it to be, was impressive. It was as expansive as a college campus. Smoothly paved sidewalks twisted around patches of bright green grass and sharply trimmed hedges. The sidewalks provided easy access to several lofty brick buildings. The main house was at least three stories high. Vegetables of unnatural shapes and colors intermingled with flowers and field greens. Most would consider this strange for a front garden, but I didn’t. I already knew who lived here, having already met the master of the estate, the man responsible for the odd agriculture.
“Shirlyn lives here?” Romaso gasped.
“Yes. This is definitely the place.”
Romaso frowned.
“Don’t worry. Like I’ve told you, Shirlyn cares for you—loves you—as much as you love her. She wrote about it, remember?”
I knocked on the large stone-framed wooden door and waited. The door opened slightly. A weary female voice called out. “Yes, what is your business here? The family is just home from their trip. We are very busy right now.”
“We are Calla and Romaso. And we’re here to see Shirlyn.” I couldn’t believe the precision of my timing.
“Miss Hall is still unpacking her things. I suggest returning at a later time.”
“Please, ma’am, tell Shirlyn that Romaso has traveled here to see her. He’s come all the way from Venice.”
“A traveler from Venice? Romaso, you say.” A sigh later. “Give me a moment.”
The woman never returned. Instead, the door swung wide open with a burst of giggles.
“Mona, why couldn’t you have just let them in? Romaso, oh I can’t believe it! I just can’t.”
My eyes bugged out of my head. Shirlyn was just as enchanting as Romaso made her out to be. At age sixteen Shirlyn was already model material. I could picture her face on the covers of popular fashion magazines. Shirlyn reached out to squeeze Romaso. He flinched in apology for his appearance—the sailor’s clothes didn’t fit him very well.
“Oh, don’t worry,” gushed Shirlyn. “We’ll get you something else to wear. You really are here! I would have thought that to be completely impossible.” Shirlyn paused.
I waited patiently for an introduction. Seeing that one would not be forthcoming, I cleared my throat. “Hello, Shirlyn. I’m Calla.”
Shirlyn regarded me suspiciously at first. She glanced over at Romaso, whose attention was fully directed to Shirlyn, then back to me. “Are you a relative of Romaso, or is there some other, uh, relationship?”
“Oh, nothing like that.” I blushed. “Romaso and I are merely travel companions. I brought him here. With his help I was able to find you.” Shirlyn would understand my double meaning. “You are exactly as he said you were, in Venice, back in the seventeenth century.”
“Oh, I see. Very good, then please allow me to thank you, Calla. Do come in. I’ll introduce you to my father. We haven’t been home for more than an hour and he’s already out in his workshop.”
“Thanks.” I grinned.
Shirlyn quickly ordered the female servant to take Romaso to a room where he could bathe and change clothes. She then took my hand.
“I’m not exactly sure what’s going on,” Shirlyn whispered, “but it must be very important. You’re a traveler, aren’t you? Poor Romaso must be so confused. Are you in trouble?”
“Yes, but I think you, your family, can help. Can I meet with your father now? I don’t know how much time I have to plan.”
“Certainly. Have a seat while I bring him here to the house.”
The front parlor was clean and quiet, sparsely but expensively furnished. I fidgeted with the contents of my backpack until Shirlyn returned, following closely behind a middle-aged man. His hair used to be brown then, I mused as I watched him walk toward me with a familiar footstep, the only marked difference being that his posture stood somewhat straighter.
“Well, hello there young miss. My name is—”
“Edgar...Edgar Hall.” I looked down at the red journal that was now in my lap. “Shirlyn told me about you too.”