Part 1 (1/2)
Wings of the Morning.
Kensington Chronicles.
Lori Wick.
During the nineteenth century, the palace at Kensington represented the n.o.ble heritage of Britain's young queen and the simple elegance of a never-to-be-forgotten era. The Victorian Age was the pinnacle of England's dreams, a time of sweeping adventure and gentle love. It is during this time, when hope was bright with promise, that this series is set.
8 maine coastline 1828.
the two little boys ran up the sandy beach, fiercely brandis.h.i.+ng their sticks as swords. As the older boy at the rear drew close, the smaller boy dashed up into the rocks to escape. He turned and shouted to his brother from his lofty position.
”It's my turn to be Clancy for a while. You can be the pirate.”
”No, I'm bigger, and that makes me a better Clancy.”
”But you're always Clancy,” the younger boy complained.
”That's because he always wins,” his brother told him logically.
The younger boy flopped down on the rock, his ”sword”
lying forgotten at his side. His brother climbed up to join him, their gazes stretching out over the Atlantic Ocean.
”Do you suppose Clancy really did all those things we hear about, the races and stas.h.i.+ng the s.h.i.+p's hold with gold and jewels?”
”Of course,” the older boy spoke with a.s.surance, although he had no proof. ”He was the best sailor in all the world.”
”His s.h.i.+p,” the younger lad had caught the fever now.
9”Please tell me about his s.h.i.+p.”
The older boy's chest swelled ”None faster in all the Atlantic. Why, his s.h.i.+p was the fastest s.h.i.+p in all the world.”
The younger boy let out a gusty sigh, as his gaze went to the sea once again.
”Do you suppose he's still alive?”
”Alive? Don't be ridiculous,” his brother scoffed ”Why, he'd probably be over a hundred years old if he were alive today!”
The younger boy looked so crestfallen, the older boy took pity on him.
”It doesn't matter. We know he was the greatest sailor to ever live. It's enough to know that he was born and raised in Maine and that there will never be another Clancy...”
”What's this, Papa?” the tiny moppet in the tub asked her attentive father.
He tickled her tummy before answering. ”Why, that's your navel, Smokey.”
The small three-year-old giggled and stood, dripping wet, to leave the tub. Her father, Clancy Simmons, was waiting with a piece of toweling. He wrapped her snugly and took the chair by the stove in his cabin, placing Smokey in his lap to keep her warm.
”I have five toes, Papa,” she told him proudly, as she examined the foot that protruded from the edge of the towel.
”You forgot a foot,” Clancy told her. ”You have ten toes.”
qr t”Po you have ten toes?” Smokey wanted to know. Her ***i;smokey gray eyes stared with rapt attention into his fc*4face.
ped, I do. It's how G.o.d made all of us.”
Bitted away, and within minutes Smokey was in her d back in her father's lap. The warmth of the sntle rocking of the s.h.i.+p lulled her to sleep just moments later. Clancy was standing over her bunk, watching her still form, when his first mate, Da.r.s.ey, joined him.
Da.r.s.ey stood quietly watching the bent, graying head of his captain and wondered at his thoughts.
”It's hard to believe she'll be four this summer,” Clancy spoke softly.
”Aye, Captain,” Da.r.s.ey agreed. ”My sister says they grow up before your eyes, but that it happens so fast you still feel as though it's been a magician's trick.”
”Vicky would have loved her to distraction,” Clancy went on softly. His mate had no reply.
”Well, now,” Clancy spoke bracingly after a short pause, obviously needing to pull his mind away from painful times.
”Here I am getting all soppy and putting Smokey in a wedding dress when she's barely out of wet drawers. I've got my G.o.d, my s.h.i.+p, my men, and years to enjoy my daughter. I would ask for nothing more...”
”I'm not asking you, Smokey; I'm telling you. Mr. Tucker is joining us this voyage, and you are going to study with him.”
”I don't need this Mr. Tucker. I like studying with Da.r.s.ey.”
Her small arms were folded across her thin chest, and her small chin was tilted aggressively.
”You're eight years old, Smokey--” Clancy's voice was gentle, ”long past the time you should know how to read and cipher. You've got Da.r.s.ey wrapped around your finger, and whenever you don't feel the need to study, you talk your way out of it. It will be different with Mr. TUcker.”
Smokey made no reply, and Clancy sternly held her eyes with his own. He expected her to yield at any time and admit that she needed training, but if anything her chin rose yet again, and Clancy knew that stern measures were needed.
”You'll not set foot in the galley, climb on the rigging, or
10.