The Voyage of Lucy P. Simmons by Barbara Mariconda Read Free Book Online Page A

skillet until crisp and brown and ably flipping eggs from pan to plate. This he did with the flair of a vaudevillian, much to Annie’s delight. I wolfed down my breakfast as Javan watched, puffed with pride. Each of us rinsed our plates and stacked them back in their proper place. Rasjohnny kept the coffee hot, declaring, “Java all day ’n’ night, come as you need it!”
    Ahead of the rest, I ran back through the companionway up to the poop deck and leaned over the rail. Early as it was, the pier was abuzz with activity. I squinted through Father’s spyglass, and the scene became magnified, the faces of passersby suddenly intimate, their lips forming words I could not hear. I studied the wharf, wondering where this stern man was going, or what that stout woman was laughing about. I swept a glance right, then left, a sudden surprise close-up of someone’s nose or ear requiring me to extend or retract the telescope. Unknowingly, people found themselves under inspection. Back and forth, I examined each shorefront pedestrian.
    A handsome woman in a stylish frock strolled along—something in her carriage reminded me of Mother. I adjusted the focus and drank in the sight of her, training the lens on her every move, following her graceful steps in an easterly direction.
    Suddenly, something peculiar happened. It was as though the tubular device took on a will of its own. Instead of continuing to keep the woman in my sight, some unseen power drew the scope in the opposite direction, as if guided by an invisible iron grasp. Frustrated as I was at the stubborn force that guided the spyglass, my heart thrilled—the magic! Was it back? I attempted to adjust the focal point at the woman, but no. I decided to cooperate, and the imperceptible energy shifted my aim toward the west.
    â€œWhat is it?” I exclaimed. As if in response, my eye was drawn back to the ocular cup like metal to magnet. The scope fairly buzzed in my hands. Of its own accord it telescoped in and out, finally bringing a small crowd of people into focus. Closer and closer, until all that filled my lens was an eye, an arresting translucent shade of green—the color of sea glass. Then the spyglass telescoped out, the eye assuming its place in the face of a man in khaki-colored trousers and shirt, his lips moving in conversation.
    To the left of the green-eyed man, a fleshy white face and thick neck jumped into view. It was Quaide. A look of concentration creased the width of his forehead. He gestured toward our ship with a beefy hand. Another companion to his right set my heart racing. Even though it was only the back of his head, he was unmistakable. Just as before, his greasy hair straggled from beneath the red bandana. He nodded and shot a glance over his shoulder. The raised scar slithered crossways over his cheek like a purple snake. Quaide thumped the scoundrel on the back. The green-eyed man nodded and withdrew a wad of money from his pocket. He counted out two, three, five, ten bills into each of their outstretched hands. Quaide stuffed the money into his pocket and began walking toward our ship. Scarface and the green-eyed man went the opposite way. So engrossed was I in this observation that I never heard approaching steps behind me. A blunt blow to my backside threw me into the rail.
    I spun around and was confronted by a scrappy brown-and-white creature, stomping its cloven, hoofed feet and playfully ducking its head. Annie ran up alongside. “Lucy, meet my goat! Look! She has blue eyes!”
    â€œWe’ve already met,” I said, rubbing my sore behind. The little goat tipped her head side to side and regarded me quizzically. She did have lovely sky-blue eyes with black elongated pupils.
    â€œBaaaaaaaaa.” Her short turned-up tail twitched and wagged.
    â€œI named her Ida,” Annie said. “She knows her name. Ida! Ida!” The small sure-footed creature scrambled up a set of steps to a