Spirit Walk_ Old Wounds (Book 1) - Christie Golden [41]
As her image disappeared, to be replaced by the familiar Starfleet insignia on the screen, Harry Kim thought, Then why won’t you marry me?
Libby felt the smile fade from her face after she said good-bye to Harry. She wished with all her heart she could have said yes to his marriage proposal, but now was not the time. She had responsibilities that demanded her attention. The true irony of the situation was that the only thing keeping them apart was the fact that they were both devoted to serving the same organization heart and soul.
She took a break from work and let her mind wander as she got up and did some stretches. She thought back to the night when he had proposed.
Libby had convinced Harry to spend a few days with her in her beloved Maine, and they had had a wonderful time. On their last night, she took him to a small town called Castine that was rich in maritime history.
The weather had been beautiful. They had walked hand in hand past the eighty-five-foot elm trees that were among the oldest on the continent. A gentle breeze blew in from the harbor, bringing with it the smell of salt air and the cry of the gulls. They took the walking tour around the small town, and it seemed to Harry that every ten feet there was a monument or a house or a ruin or a plaque.
“Castine has been occupied for over seven hundred years,” said Libby. “Explorers from Champlain to John Smith have been here, and it figured in the American Revolution and the War of 1812.”
On Battle Avenue, Libby paused at one house. “This is Abbot House, built in 1802,” she said. “Abbot’s bride didn’t want to come here. When she did, she was greeted by a house with no front steps!”
Harry laughed. “That must have made it hard for Mr. Abbot to carry her over the threshold. These old houses and towns do have their stories, don’t they?”
“Oh, that’s just the start. At the Brown House on Perkins Street, the children in the 1800s reported seeing the face of a mad relative glowering at them from the ell window,” Libby said. “And Fort George Park—right over there, near the Abbot House—was the site of the first public hanging in the county. They say,” and her voice dropped to a whisper, “that on warm nights in August, if you listen very hard, you can hear the soft rat-a-tat made by the ghost of a drummer boy.”
Libby had been trying to spook Harry a little, but it was she who squeaked a moment later when he unexpectedly went “Boo” right in her ear. Laughing, they continued on to Libby’s favorite old house. “This is the Whitney House,” she said. “It was occupied by the British for a while. An officer there scratched the American flag upside down and wrote ‘Yankee Doodle Upset’ on one of the windowpanes.”
Harry laughed. “Where is it?”
“The windowpane? Broken, I’m afraid, in the late 1800s. Someone accidentally whacked it with the back of a shovel while clearing snowdrifts off the porch.”
“Oh, that’s too bad; I would have liked to have seen it. I guess nothing really lasts forever, not even in this town.”
Libby was pleased with his delight. Castine, only a few square kilometers, took great pride in its history, and as Libby knew he would, Harry loved it. They ended at a church built in 1790 that featured a steeple designed by Charles Bulfinch and a genuine Paul Revere bell.
The Maine Maritime Academy had long since been closed, but remained open as a museum. Part of it consisted of a large holographic area.
“We have time to visit,” Libby said. “You can participate in what’s considered to be the worst naval defeat in United States history and find out what it’s like to scuttle your ship.”
Harry wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think I’d want to know what it’s like to have to scuttle my ship,” he replied. “No, as much as I love holodeck simulations, I think I’ll just enjoy the real thing here. It’s harder to find.”
As they walked the decks of the old Pride of Maine, Harry mused, “You know, Admiral Janeway told Captain Janeway that Voyager would become a museum one day.”
Libby was confused. “I don’t understand.”
He laughed a little.
“Right before we