Part I
Prologue
Finley
January 31, 1998
“Tell me again about the prince and princess?”
Mummy smiled down at me, her face crisscrossed by shadows from the halo of wildflowers on her head.
“What kind of story would you like, dear?”
I let go of her hand, skipping down the dirt path and then twirling, my dress puffing out around me. “The one with rainbow dolphins!”
My own halo wobbled. I reached up to steady it. Mummy smiled—a really happy smile that made my tummy feel warm.
“Rainbow dolphins it will be, then.”
I held out my hand for hers, and we strolled down the grassy hillside. Overhead, the kingbirds cawed. Down below, at the bottom of the winding path, the ocean spread before us like a great, glittering blanket.
“It was a cloudy day,” Mummy murmured, “with clouds that foretold stormy weather. Perhaps a bit like this day. And it was the princess’s birthday.”
“Like mine!”
“A bit like your birthday.” Her lips curved slightly, showing me the dimple that I sometimes liked to touch. “This princess, with the red hair and the angel kiss on her big toe, and the gemstone staff for herding sheep, she woke up on that morning needing to see dolphins. It was what she wanted most for her seventh birthday—to see the lovely glitter rainbow dolphins that would jump right by the royal island’s coastline. They only swam about on the best sorts of days.”
I smiled. “Like our dolphins here?”
“Just like those—only showing themselves to the best people.”
“Like us?” I grinned, and Mummy nodded gamely.
“Quite. So, the princess asked her mother for a special treat—to go out on a magic boat and call the rainbow dolphins. The queen wasn’t sure at first if it would happen. The king had quite a few old, stodgy rules, and sometimes frowned on ventures such as that. But the queen and the princess wanted to go very much, and so they made it happen. They put on their crowns—” I smiled proudly— “and after the princess’s royal birthday celebration, they made their way down to the ocean for their expedition, wearing their finest clothes and in the finest of spirits. They knew they would see the rainbow dolphins.
“They arrive there at the docks and get on their boat. They’re going to get off, but there’s the prince! Prince Declan. He was at the birthday party at the café a bit before, but he stayed late, gobbling all the cake. He has a sweet tooth, you’ll remember.”
“Oh, yes.” I giggled.
“The queen pulls back up to the dock and Prince Declan hops in, and he and the princess exchange smiles, as best friends do. She says, ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ and he says, ‘Oh, of course. I would never dream of missing rainbow glitter dolphins on your birthday.’ So they set off, with their hats on—”
“What was everyone wearing?”
Mummy smiles, touching the skirt of her lilac dress. “Well, the queen wore a long, quite regal-looking purple gown. The princess wore her green gown with glitter and sequins. And Prince Declan wore blue.”
“Is blue his favorite color?”
“I believe it is.”
I stored that detail in my mind as the path flattened, tall grass fluttering around us. A cloud shifted in front of the sun. I looked up, and then out at the ocean—gray now, with more whitecaps and a slightly brownish tint in some spots.
“Mummy, what if there’s not time before the storm comes?”
“Oh—we’ll be fast. Gammy said she saw the dolphins earlier. We’ll go and be back straight away.”
Mummy’s mouth was pinched now as she looked out at the harbor.
“So they went on their boat ride,” I reminded her. “What did the prince say?”
“About what, my dear?”
“What did he say to the princess?”
“He…sang songs.” She smiled.
“He did?”
“Of course. The royal birthday songs.”
“What sort of royal birthday songs?”
Ocean sounds filled my ears—the slosh of water lapping at the island’s rocky ledge, the spray of waves clapping against the dock—and comfort filled me as we stepped onto one of the arms of Calshot Harbor’s semi-circle dock. To me, it always looked like two arms wrapped around a big, round basket—a pretend basket, of course—the hands almost meeting, but not quite. The dock’s arms jutted from the island’s ledge into the open sea, and through the small space where they didn’t quite meet, boats would pass into the shelter from the waves, docking along the inside of the arms.
Calshot Harbor was the only safe port at Tristan, and not a big or fancy one. Big ships couldn’t dock at our island at all. They’d anchor out a bit, and if someone wanted to visit, they’d have to hop into a dinghy.
Mummy told me that many other islands had beaches made of soft sand, where people would lie about in swimming suits, frolicking in the sun and wading in the water. Not our Tristan. It rose from the sea, a great behemoth chunk of brownish rock, its edges cliffs where the waves beat and currents raged, its center a cloud-swathed volcano. We had a mere patch or two of rock-strewn sand, and no one ever passed time there.
My Gammy always said Tristan was another world away, and I sensed that was tr
ue.
I’d heard tell of when the volcano erupted in 1961, and everyone was whisked away to England. How the Englanders thought we Tristan folk would gladly stay, but we came rushing back to sea as soon as the volcano settled down again. Perhaps it was another world away, but I didn’t know who wouldn’t love our island, with its cool winds and tingling fog, the cozy wool and sweet sheep, and the peak with smatterings of winter snow, and fishing boats and lobsters, and our cottages with lovely tin roofs. Surely it was the rest of the world that was really losing out, and not we proud and happy islanders.
Today a few boats waited at the dock, including our old skiff. We passed by a few men drinking ale and laughing, gathered ’round a bucket. I clutched Mummy’s hand. She smiled down at me, slowing as we reached our wee wooden boat.
“How did it get here?”
Mummy winked, and I knew the answer: Gammy.
Mum got in first and then took my hand to help me in. She held the orange life vest as I threaded my arms through the holes. It was cool and damp around my neck, smelling of salt water and mildew. I wrapped my hands around it, squeezing slightly as Mummy fussed with the snap of hers. When a piece of plastic broke off, she tossed it in the floor and shrugged.