Jenna.” I wondered how I could introduce them without mentioning that Jenna and I were engaged, or that she had a history of dressing like a man. “We rescued her from some pirates on the voyage.”

Mother’s eyes opened a bit at that. “Pirates?” she asked. “That must have been terrible. Did they hurt you?”

Jenna shook her head. “Not really.” Apparently as eager to change the subject as I was, she curtsied. “It’s very nice to meet you, Miss…”

“You can call me Aniu,” Mother answered. “And it’s Mrs., by the way, even if…”

Jenna nodded. “Yes, Balto mentioned his father being gone. I’m very sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mother reassured her quietly.

I cleared my throat and pulled at my shirt collar. “And this,” I said, pointing to Ben, “is…” I stopped. Mother was staring at him, her eyes as wide as saucers.

“Kodan?” she asked. “Is it really you?”

“What?” I asked. “No, his name's Ben.”

“Ben…” Mother whispered softly. “That was the name he sometimes used at sea. Ben Gunn.”

“How’d ye know my last name?” asked Ben.

Jenna and I just stared at the two of them. “I think your mother might have hit her head while you were gone,” Jenna whispered to me.

Then Mother caught sight of Ben’s pocket watch dangling on its chain. He had kept it with him all the time since we left the island, though he'd confessed he had no idea why it was important.

“That watch!” Mother cried, holding up her locket. The two looked exactly alike! “It is you!” And to my surprise, she wrapped her arms around Ben and pressed the top of her head up under his chin. “Where have you been all this time?”

“Eh, ma'am,” said Ben, looking as if he wanted to escape, “I don’t think… well, I've a sort of idea that we’ve met somehow before, but…”

Mother looked like she might cry. “Your voice hasn’t changed a bit,” she whispered, seemingly oblivious to the actual words that voice was saying.

“You’ve met?” I asked, confused.

“I should hope so!” Mother stated emphatically. “Son, this is Kodan. Your father.”

I stared from one of them to the other, pinched myself to see if I was dreaming, and stared some more. Finally I focused on Ben… no, on Kodan. My father, who had gone away when I was just a pup? “Father?” I asked. “Is it really you?”

“Uh, I think there may be a mistake here,” said Ben a bit uncomfortably. “You look familiar, madam, but I can’t recall ever being married to you.” Turning to me, he added, “And I can’t say I recognize you at all.”

My mother’s face fell and she drew back enough to look him in the eye. “How can you have forgotten?” she asked.

“Ve know he is suffering from amnesia,” explained Doctor Boris, “So it is possible dat he is your husband.” Seeing the baffled look on “Ben’s” face, he added, “Or dis could just be misunderstanding.”

Mother couldn’t stop staring at the face in front of her. “I’d know him anywhere,” she insisted. She ran a paw over his beard, or at least what Jenna had left of it. “But what happened to your face?”

Boris cleared his throat. “That vould be the vork of new daughter-in-law.”

Mother froze, turning slowly to stare at me and Jenna. I glared at Boris. “Nice one,” I growled.

He shrugged. “You should not beat around bush, boychick.”

As she always did, Mother took the situation quietly. She quietly stiffened up like a board, her eyes quietly rolled back in her head, and she ever-so-quietly... fainted.

Epilogue

That was years ago. We rebuilt the Admiral Benbow with a few improvements, helped by the gold recovered from the voyage. Doctor Boris still visits us at least once a week, patients or no patients, for dinner and a quiet evening, and the Squire stops by now and then too. We even see Captain Orde once in a while, when he's in port. We always see to it he gets the best room in the house.

Father has recovered his memory, although he still occasionally slips into the broken English he used while on the island. Mother doesn't seem to mind though, she's so glad to have him back. I wish I could describe the look on her face as she was working with him reconstructing his past, the way she would just glow every time she described something and he actually remembered it. He remembers me too, now, and said one day that he felt bad about having been missing from most of my life. Me, I don't care that he was gone all those years, as long as he's home.

The portrait of him has been repaired by one of the finest artists around, but we keep that rolled up and tucked away now. In its place – in the same frame, even – is a painting we had made to celebrate when Doctor Boris declared Father's amnesia cured. It's a painting of all four of us: him, Mother, myself, and Jenna.

Speaking of Jenna, she lives with Mother's friend where we lived while the Inn was being rebuilt. Even though the Benbow has plenty of spare rooms, Mother and Father said it wouldn't be suitable for her to live here yet, since she and I are engaged. She visits often, though, and has been very helpful in the day-to-day comings and goings of the inn. She gets along quite well with Mother, and with the twins, my brother and sister. That's right, I'm a brother now. My brother's name is Ben, and my sister Jewel, a sort of memorial to the voyage that brought our family back together. Jewel's pretty mild and likes to just sit and listen, especially to stories. Ben, on the other hand, must be born for adventure, and trouble. But both of them are just great to have around.

Yet, as much as I enjoy the life I now live, with a complete family, my home back, and enough money that I know the inn will never be in debt again, I still often find myself gazing out to sea, thinking of the island and the adventure we had there. And often on windy nights, as I lay in bed listening to the gusts howling outside, I can still hear the tales of Billy Bones, the laughter of the pirates, and the voice of Long John Steele's parrot.

“Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!”

Author’s Note

I have taken some license with the original book to make it better fit the characters of the Balto series. With one or two minor exceptions, though, I have tried to make my historical references, if not all the literary ones, as true as possible to the original setting of Treasure Island, and in fact I was surprised to discover, rather late in the writing, one resemblance that occurred purely by accident: like my own rendition, the original Treasure Island was written as a serial, published between the years 1881 and 1882.

I have been told by a number of people that Treasure Island was a favorite of theirs, a fact which pleases me to no end. My hope is that if you haven't read the original, my own tribute will convince you to read it yourself. And if you have already read this Stevenson classic, pick up another and get started.