Cerulean Isle (15 page)
I locked the doors and half-carried Grant to his bedroom. He collapsed on the bed muttering, “The cooper’s nail is never dull, ahoy.” I retired to my suite.
For an hour or so, I stared at my collection of paintings and let my thoughts trail. Living among the rich culture of Grenada, I had developed a profound interest in art. I often scoured the marketplace for new paintings, primarily interested in renderings of sea life. I had exquisite likenesses of sea turtles floating within rippling blue worlds and silver-gray dolphins cresting from serrated waves. I adored the paintings of tropical fish schooling around castles of coral. Yet my collection was not complete. I had canvases of nearly every creature dwelling in the sea, except for my Mermaiden.
I blamed myself for this evening’s events. How could I have let something like this happen? Our success as suppliers was contingent on our reputation. Grant and I must maintain our professionalism and keep the respect of the island. No seafarer or trading company would do business with ruffians or criminals. Grant’s careless drinking and constant reveling needed to cease. Had I not accompanied him, he might have been killed for a mere pouch of eights.
My comfortable bed eased my body. My eyelids grew heavy as the gentle pull of sleep began.
~~~~~~
The next morning, I found Grant standing on the front porch with a mug. The sun climbed over the fields and the dewy green land sparkled. The radiant ocean far below sent its salty aroma on the wind. Anna came out to greet us, carrying a tray. “Good morning, Jacob. I’ve brought you some hot tea.”
I thanked her as she poured me a cup. “How is Martin feeling today?”
“Oh, he is well enough. He always gets a cough this time of year. ‘Something in the air,’ he says, stubborn old goat.”
“He needs to rest,” I said firmly. “Make sure he relaxes today. I don’t want to see him in the fields. The help will arrive in an hour. There is no need for a man his age to be laboring the way he does.”
“You’re very kind, Jacob. But you know Martin. The work makes him happy. It’s just who he is.” She gathered the tea. “Let me worry about him. Breakfast will be ready soon.” Anna gave us a bright smile and went back inside.
I turned my attention to Grant. “And how are you feeling?”
“I feel like I got trampled by a horse. Other than that…”
“You must be careful, Grant. No one can know the truth, that we knew Jean L’Ollon. Don’t you understand what might happen to us if Grenada found out? We’d be cast away. We’d lose everything.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Because you almost spoke of it last night.”
He offered no response, looking away in shame.
“Promise you’ll go easy with the rum.”
“I promise.”
“What’s in that mug?” I asked.
He looked into it and quickly emptied it over the side of the porch. “Nothing.”
We laughed and went in for breakfast.
~~~~~~
The Grenadine sun was hot over the farm. Grant set out to harvest the herb gardens. Around midday, I heard him call with urgency in his voice.
“Look there.” He pointed to footprints that trailed into the forest. “Did you walk this way last night?”
“No.” I bent down to study the tracks. “These were made by bare feet. I wore shoes.” I remembered the crackle from the shadows.
We decided to finish our work and forget about the mysterious footprints. Grant said it could have been a harmless thief picking our fields. He admitted to robbing farmers in his youth and claimed it was a common practice.
We loaded our market wagon and harnessed Teach and Morgan. It was off to St. George’s square, where the Lords of Rosewing were expected to bring the finest spices and produce.
Grant looked flamboyant in his scarlet garb; I remained comfortable in my plain white shirt. As we guided the horse-drawn wagon down the winding mountain road, we talked about business. Grant spoke of a prospective deal with a new company that had just arrived.
“They sailed into the harbor three days ago. Their company is called A.B.C. Trade Co.”
“That’s a rather unusual name.”
“It stands for Aruba, Bonaire, and Curacao.”
Hearing the name of the small island of Curacao made my heart skip. I pushed back the memories of Shanley’s estate, the battle aboard the
Obsidian,
and the death of a father and son. “Curacao is an appalling place. I don’t want to do business with that island. We’ve had enough association with it.”
“I feel the same. However, they intend to sign with a Grenadine supplier before they set sail in four days. The contract is for one stop every three months. The pay is well worth our consideration. We can easily accommodate them. After they restock in Grenada, their trade route brings them west to Puerto Cabello, then of course, to Bonaire, Curacao, and lastly Aruba. The A.B.C. Trade Co diplomat said we could label our crates and barrels with the name J.G. Rosewing of Grenada, putting our name all over the Caribbean. This could mean big business for us, Jacob. At least consider it.”
He was right. It would be a successful deal and it warranted further consideration. “How long did you say they are in town?”
“Four days,” he replied. “The other farmers are fighting for the deal, but it is Rosewing that has the company intrigued.”
~~~~~~
At the base of the mountain trail, where the main road to town intersects, rested a worn and dirty man. Sitting on a stone, he clutched a knotted walking stick and lifted his head as our wagon approached. He had a rough face with deep brown eyes, eyes that were alert and calculating. He looked right at me. Though he looked to be in his late fifties, his forearms were solid and defined. His nose was twisted and bent, indicating that it had been broken several times. Our wagon was full of food and I thought of stopping to share some with him, but I hesitated, unsure of his intent.
As we rode by, he did not stare at the produce as a beggar would. He stared at me. His gaze was chilling.
I turned to Grant. “Have you seen that man before?”
“No. But look at his feet.” He was barefoot. “I think we found our thief. Throw him a loaf of bread or something.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I know what that life is like.”
I reached into a basket, withdrew a large golden loaf, and tossed it to the old man. The loaf landed in the dirt and rolled off the road. He made no motion to get it. He just stared back at me.
“That’s odd,” said Grant. “Maybe he’s of ill mind. Let’s forget him. If I catch him around the farm tonight, he’ll be in for some trouble.”
As we passed, he stood up and watched us ride down the main road.
~~~~~~
The market was crowded as usual. It did not take long for the eager crowd to gather around to obtain our goods. The people were glad to see us and exchange the usual pleasantries with Grant.
White clouds glided across the blue sky. The wind was steady and cool. The day was prosperous from the start and I was pleased. Among the merchants and patrons I spotted a few official-looking men. They looked like members of a royal fleet in their dark blue uniforms. They approached eagerly. Grant stood up and shook their hands; I did the same.
“Pleasure to meet you, Jacob of Rosewing. My name is Robert of the A.B.C. Trade Company. Allow me to introduce my partner, Davis.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I assured.
The men could have been brothers. They each had short, sandy hair and wore curling mustaches. Davis seemed troubled. His eyes scanned the townsfolk as if looking for someone.
“Fine day for making money, eh?” asked Robert.
“Indeed. Today has been good,” replied Grant.
“Forgive my haste,” said Robert, “but Grant expressed an interest in supplying our company. Do you share this desire?”
“I believe it is your company that is interested in Rosewing.” I did not like his arrogant tone. Merchants from all corners of the Caribbean would quickly sign with us if given the chance. These men were not exceptional by any means.
“It goes both ways, sir,” he answered.
“I disagree.”
Grant nudged me as if to tell me to relax.
“Be that as it may,” continued Robert, “we need our vessel restocked. Our journey westward must commence soon.”
Grant noticed Davis’s increasing anxiety. “What’s wrong with your partner?”
Robert hesitated, then said, “After docking, we checked our ship’s stock and noticed several barrels of smoked fish, nuts, limes, and bread had been opened. A bottle of wine had been consumed as well. The crew is convinced that we had a stowaway. But I assure you that—”
“Stowaway?” I interrupted. “Is your company that vulnerable?”
“The entire matter is absurd,” insisted Robert. “We’ve had trouble with an old sea-scab from Curacao, a thief who insists on stealing from our stock. I personally inspect the cargo hold prior to each voyage, and I am certain that no one has stolen passage aboard my ship.” He withdrew a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. “The sun here is fierce, isn’t it?” He folded the handkerchief and then turned to Davis. “Hand our business proposal to Master Jacob. I’m sure he’ll agree that it—”
“I’m not interested in your company.”
“Is that so?” Robert scoffed incredulously.
“Yes. Your professionalism is lacking. You’ve chosen a marketplace to talk business, your stock has been compromised, and yet you approach us with arrogance in your tone.”
“If you don’t desire to sign with the most respected trading company in the Caribbean, that is your choice. Perhaps we’ve wasted our time on your little farm.”
“Do not speak down to me,” I shouted. Grant put his hand on my shoulder to calm me.
“For all we know,” added Grant, “you might be in the practice of sailing with beggars to rid your homelands of them. Yes, that must be it. Leave now or I will tell the island that transients hoist your mainsail.”
Robert and Davis expediently took their leave. Grant sat and laughed.
~~~~~~
As night fell, Grant and I packed our wares and set the wagon on the road. As we rode toward Rosewing, something caught our eyes. In the shadows, seated under a tree, was the old man staring at us as we passed.
“That’s the same man we passed this morning,” I said. “We must confront him and find out who he is and what his interest is in Rosewing.”
“Would you like to challenge him now?”
“No. It’s getting dark. Tomorrow we’ll find him.”
The next morning I woke to the rumble of thunder. The rain was heavy. The dark green jungle swayed in the reckless wind. I dressed and met Grant, Anna, and Martin in the dining room. Anna had prepared a simple breakfast of eggs, warm bread, and milk.
“Top of the morning to you,” greeted Martin. “Grant told me all about the strange man. What are you going to do?”
“We’ll find him and question him about his interest in our farm,” I answered.
“Perhaps he’s just looking for work,” Martin suggested.
“The way he stared at us was odd. And, if he wanted a job, he could have met us at the market.”
Grant stood up and went to the window. “It seems that the rainy months are upon us. It’s going to be a tough time for the homeless. That wind is getting worse, and I am sure that you’ll find an angry sea. No ships will be coming in or going out until this storm passes. That old man, if he is a stowaway, won’t be leaving the island for a while. I’ll take Teach into town and look around the market and the wharf. What about you, Jacob?”
“I’ll take Morgan and ride along the trails and back roads. I’ll also check the beaches. At days end, say five o’clock, we’ll meet at the Cod Fish Tavern.”
Our faithful horses didn’t seem to mind the rain. I could see the harbor in the distance as we rode down the sloping road to town. The masts of the ships swayed, and the ocean smashed against the piers. All ships were battened down and moored securely to the docks. A few workers scrambled to secure lines. Soaked from the rain, I rode on.
The ocean was loud and violent. Formidable waves crested and slammed over the shoreline. The rain hammered on my shoulders. I found no one along the stretch of beach, so I raced over the stony sand and back onto the road. I knew of several old vendor huts that drifters often used as shelter. Perhaps I’d find our man there.
I came to a hut and approached it cautiously. It was small and made of thin planks. The thatch roof provided minimal protection from the relentless rain. I dismounted and went to the door.
“Hello,” I called out over the pounding rain.
Thunder rumbled overhead. No reply.
“Is anyone in here?” I shouted. I could taste the rain dripping into my mouth. The door opened without resistance. I peered inside. Empty.
I checked every hut. It seemed that I was the only one mad enough to be out in the terrible weather. I wondered how Grant was doing. After several hours, I had covered the entire length of the main beach, traveled the road three times, and checked every shack and lean-to in the area. I had begun to shiver as a harsh cough brewed in my chest. My search was over.
~~~~~~
The town square and marketplace was barren. Morgan’s shoes shattered the large puddles. My cough was becoming painful. I rode through the square but did not find Grant. I decided to get out of the rain.
I tied Morgan under the covered corral and went into Cod Fish Tavern. There was a different barkeep, a woman this time. She saw me enter and rushed to my side.
“You look dreadful.” She wrapped her arms around my soaked shoulders and led me to a table by the fireplace. I sat down and coughed. “Stay right here until you’re dry. I’m going to get you something hot to drink.”
“Thank you, miss.” I shivered. My hair clung to my face and my pants dripped, making puddles on the floor. Some of the seamen in the crowded tavern looked at me and laughed. I ignored them and enjoyed the comforting warmth of the fire. The woman returned and handed me a dry towel and a steaming cup of tea.
“May I ask you a question?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Have you seen anyone unusual pass through here? Anyone who you’ve never seen before?”
