“Aye, it was,” Callan agreed. He seemed more relaxed since they’d left Boston, not on guard all the time.
As they drove, Daisy glanced in the rearview mirror, the Berkshires receding into the distance as she drove onward to their next destination, and one step closer to Callan reaching the end of his journey.
Would he want to stay at the beach? Come back to Boston with her? Or would he vanish back through time, leaving her alone?
After practicing a few more times,Callan was ready to aid Daisy with the driving.
“Where to?”
“Mystic Seaport. It’s a museum that’s about a two-hour drive from here that’s in Connecticut.”
This driving was more difficult than it looked. He constantly worried someone would crash into them, or that he would press the wrong pedal, sending them careening off the road to their deaths. Callan wanted to die in battle or the in the arms of the woman he loved, not in a carriage accident.
The scent of the sea carried on the breeze, making him inhale deeply through the open window.
“The scent of the ocean makes me think of Blackford.”
She turned to look at him, her hair braided and a smile on her face. “Tell me more about the castle and your brother.”
“He’s an arrogant bastard,” he said with a grin. Talking about it helped to keep his mind off worrying about the other drivers, so he told her about rescuing Lucy, finding out she was married to William, his half-brother, and how William had accepted him, offered him a place at Blackford. A place to belong. Family.
As they drove into town, Daisy directed him to the seaport, which was bustling with activity. There were a great many ships in the harbor. Gulls cried overhead, and the water lapped against the rocks.
“There it is, Mystic Seaport Museum,” Daisy pointed at a building.
The wooden ships with their intricate rigging and vast sails made him wonder what it would be like to sail around the world.
“Turn in here.”
A man met them as they did. “That’ll be ten dollars.”
Callan blinked as Daisy handed over the money.
“Ye have to pay to leave the van here? Why?”
The man shrugged. “It’s the way of the world, brother. Everybody’s trying to hustle.”
Callan just shook his head as he parked the camper van away from the other vehicles and they set out to explore, Frankie straining at the leash.
It cost money to go to the museum. Everything here cost money. No wonder he saw people on the corners with signs begging for aid.
They paid and went inside, looking at the exhibits. There were sea creatures made from glass, the craftsmanship so fine, Callan wished to touch them, but there was no touching allowed, a man said with a scowl as he followed them around to make sure they kept their hands to themselves.
As they wandered through the Mystic Seaport Museum’s new exhibit on maritime carvings, Callan was particularly drawn to the vibrant figureheads that once adorned the prows of 19th-century ships.
“Daisy, look here,” Callan said, pointing towards a display that described the origins and craftsmanship of ship figureheads. “It says that Dutch and English ships were the first to sport figureheads like the ones we see today. Lions and unicorns were favorites of the English navy, while Dutch naval ships often featured red lions.”
Daisy, reading over his shoulder, nodded. “And it seems the Spanish ships preferred saints as their figureheads, hoping for blessings and safe passage. It’s fascinating how each culture had its own ideas on how to protect their ships.”
Callan’s gaze lingered on a particularly majestic figurehead of a lion, its mane intricately carved.
Daisy read the information. “It says that by the 18th century, ship-carvers crafted figureheads that depicted a wide array of subjects, both human and animal. But the advent of steam power in the late 19th century changed all that. Since steam-powered ships didn’t need rigging for sails, there wasn’t a natural place for figureheads anymore.”
“That’s a shame,” Callan mused, his voice tinged with regret. “Something beautiful lost to the future.”
There was a carousel hippocampus on display, the mythological figure of a sea horse with two forefeet and a body ending in the tail of a fish. He wished to see such a creature as there were many magical creatures that made their homes in the water.
He greatly enjoyed the Charles W. Morgan, a whaling ship built in 1841, old in this time, and yet over five hundred years from his own time until it would be built.
