Sophia awoke before Jack, gingerly disengaged herself from his embrace, and hunted down Rosa, the maid. Coins and a note were passed over, and when she returned to the bedroom Jack was getting dressed.
“We will stroll around town again today, tour the fort—” Jack sighed. “Maybe something will come to us.”
“Do not be discouraged, Jack. We know Captain Garvey wanted us to start here. I believe in the treasure, and I believe we will find what we need.”
“You’re right. We can’t give up yet, when we’ve barely started looking.”
After breakfast, they went out before the day’s heat rose, Sophia shading her fair complexion with a pink parasol that complemented her light muslin day dress. Thank goodness she hadn’t packed too many woolen dresses for this journey! Only the lightest of fabrics and underpinnings were comfortable in Florida’s tropical climate, and she marveled at the Spanish nuns she saw who were draped in heavy robes, yet never broke out in a sweat.
A few coins got them into the Castillo de San Marcos, a pockmarked and mustachioed sergeant conducting a tour in such heavily accented English that at points she needed Jack to clarify what he was saying. Sergeant Colon described with relish how the coquina built fort had withstood all attacks, including those of the perfidious English heretics a century earlier. He pointed to the cannonballs imbedded in the walls, absorbed by the soft stone rather than shattering it.
Sophia murmured appropriate noises during the presentation, but kept her eyes open for something that might bear connection to “a shipwright’s dream,” though it would have been unlikely inside the fort. Nothing presented itself, and afterward they walked down to the harbor, since, as Sophia said with some logic, the clue likely had something to do with ships.
“It was a good idea to visit the fort,” she acknowledged, “because the clue says whatever we’re looking for ‘stands sentinel,’ and the fort is the highest point in the town: ‘A shipwright’s dream in the Ancient City stands guard over the people. High above, the key is found to lead you to the next step.’”
Jack stopped in the street and Sophia gripped his arm to keep from stumbling.
“Say it again.”
Sophia repeated the clue, watching Jack.
“A shipwright’s dream…I’m an idiot, Sophia!”
“Oh, well, I usually do not go that far, Cap—”
“Come with me,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him, her parasol sailing behind her.
“Jack! Wait! I cannot keep up.”
He slowed his steps, but practically quivered with impatience as he hurried her along down Charlotte Street until they were at the Plaza. Sophia perked up when she saw their lemonade seller beneath the oak, and Jack pulled her over there and then abruptly released her hand, peering up into the tree’s branches.
“Do you want some lemon—”
He picked her up and twirled her about, dropping her parasol and making the lemonade seller smile a gap-toothed grin at their antics.
“A shipwright’s dream, Sophia! And here it’s been looming over us this entire time!”
She was afraid Jack had been out in the sun too long, and said so.
“A shipwright’s dream!” Jack said again, ignoring that last remark, and laughed aloud. “Sophia, do you know why the American frigate Constitution was called ‘Old Ironsides’ during the war?”
“The only American warship I recall is the Chesapeake, grandly defeated by the Royal Navy. We had a celebration in Portsmouth.”
“Then pay attention, my little Tory landlubber: American ships are able to withstand battle and the Royal Navy because of their construction with live oak. It is so hard they say cannon balls bounce off of it, and it’s greatly prized for building ships. This beauty in front of us,” he gestured at the tree towering over them, “is good solid, live oak, ‘the shipwright’s dream.’”
Sophia shaded her eyes and looked up into the tree. It arched wide over the edge of the Plaza, Spanish moss festooning its branches and wafting in the breeze like a crone’s graying locks.
“You think our clue is up there?”
“Yes. Remember, ‘high above the key is found.’” He looked around them at the busy Plaza.
“We will attract too much attention if both of us are looking up into the tree. Go get us some lemonade, please. Your beauty would distract anyone.”
He gave her a lopsided grin that made her heart stutter, and lightly kissed her on the lips, which made her flush and fumble for the parasol on the ground, not to smack him, but to hide her confusion. Jack’s high spirits were contagious and she was caught up in the excitement of being this much closer to the treasure, but remembering what awaited her later in the day sobered her.
“Well done, Jack. You see what you can discover. I will be back in a few moments.”
She returned with the lemonade and they walked around the tree, trying to look casual about it. The tree was massive, nearly sixty feet high, but its gnarled trunk offered footholds for climbing.
“Look, my dear, a hawk’s nest!” Jack pointed, then lowered his voice. “See that patch of red up to the northeast? I will wager our treasure that’s the next clue. But how to get it down without attracting attention?”
“First of all, stop staring up at it like it’s El Dorado,” Sophia said in exasperation. “Then come with me back to the house. I have a plan.”
* * *
After wrangling over Sophia’s plan, Jack finally agreed with her and rather grumpily joined her for lunch. He went to lie down afterward for the siesta, but she was too wound up and worked instead on sewing in the shade of the patio, keeping an eye on the clock. As soon as Jack left for his meeting with the alcalde and turned the corner to Government House, Sophia grabbed the plain woolen shawl Rosa had left behind and pulled it over her head, hurrying out in the opposite direction, following the instructions given her.
When Sophia entered the inn’s common room the conversation stopped for a few heartbeats while she stood inside the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom after the bright afternoon sunshine. Once she saw where she needed to go, she threaded her way between the tables, keeping the shawl close around her face until she arrived at a quiet corner. A gentleman rose and pulled out a chair for her at a scarred table holding a jug of wine and two glasses.
She seated herself and gazed at the man seated across from her.
“You are looking well.”
“It is good to see you, too, Sophia. It has been too long,” said Lord Whitfield.