Receive Me Falling (28 page)

Catherine
looked out at the cane fields and inhaled the scent of molasses from the nearby
boiling house.
 
She looked down at the
fields and saw that the men and women working the cane were hunched over in the
most unnatural way.
 
She touched her back
as she watched theirs, and then slipped back into the path by the lagoon to
escape the weight of the sun.

Catherine was on her way to Mary’s hut, but she
did not wish to be seen by anyone.
 
She
felt sullen and heavy and was tiring of the battle being fought in her conscience.
 
She was beginning to feel that island
isolation—an intense claustrophobia—that she had only heard others speak of but
never fully understood until now.
 
She
badly wanted to escape.

Catherine pushed through the hanging vines and
monstrous leaves around the thatched dwelling, and was just about to step out
of the growth when the low vibrations of a man’s voice coming from within the
hut stopped her.
 
It was difficult to
make out his words, but Catherine was able to ascertain that it was the voice
of James Silwell conversing with the aged slave woman.
 
She strained her ears to attempt to make out
the particulars of the exchange.

“Two-and-a-half months?” asked James.

“Yes, nearly three months,” said Mary, “but I
cannot remember exactly how old I was—maybe nineteen.”

“And you were captured?”

“Yes, many villagers feared the night.
 
We knew of the kidnapper ghosts who haunted
the villages in the night.
 
But I was
headstrong and foolish.
 
I snuck to the
watering hole to gather herbs in the moonlight.
 
I was blindfolded and taken to a large camp where I was shackled,
boarded on a ship, and sent here…so many lifetimes ago.”

           
“And how did you endure the Middle
Passage onboard the ship?” asked James.

           
“Death would have been better than
what we lived through on that vessel.
 
We
were shackled together and forced to lie in pits beneath the ship’s deck at
night and during bad weather. We were allowed up to the deck to exercise two
times a day.
 
The exercises caused much
pain to the wrists and ankles.
 
We were
fed twice daily if we were lucky, but were mostly required to lie in the filth
and disease below the deck.

“I remember one morning I awoke to find that the
slaves on either side of me had died, and I had to lie chained to them for
three days because of a storm at sea.
 
The stench of decay and human waste nearly killed me.”

           
Catherine lowered herself to the
ground and leaned her head against the hut as Mary continued.

           
“Slaves who died were tossed overboard.
  
On my ship, three women tried to kill
themselves.
 
The third was unable to make
it over the railings before being grabbed and flogged by a trader who did not
want to lose any of his cargo.”

           
“And did you ever wish to end your
own life?”

           
“Many times on that ship I wished to
die, but I could never take my own life.
 
It is too large a thing.
 
And
being foolish, I always had a bit of hope.”

           
There was silence for a few moments,
followed by a soft exchange that Catherine could not decipher.
 
As James exited the hut, Catherine sunk into
the undergrowth and watched him walk away.
 
She stood and crept along the foliage, tracking him as she went.
 
He stopped at a few huts along the way and
chatted with several slaves.
 
They seemed
at ease with James, making it clear that he had been spending a lot of time in
the village.
     

           
The end of the lane opened to a
sprawl of cane fields, and James stood surveying the acres of green
stalks.
  
Suddenly his posture
stiffened.
 
Catherine was unable to see
what caused James’ face to distort itself, but saw that he was greatly
appalled.
 
Whatever he stood watching
called him to some sort of action as he was swallowed by the rows of cane.

           
Catherine emerged from the vegetation
and started after him.
 
She began to run,
but stumbled over a roll of cane stalks and landed in the dust.
 
Peter, an aged slave nearby, rushed to help
Catherine.

           
“Please, I’m all right,” said
Catherine as she continued after James.

           
The cane leaves slapped at her face
and clung to her hair as she made her way through the field.
 
The sun was nearly unbearable, but she pushed
onward.
 
She had not taken the time to
see what it was that had so troubled James, but she could only imagine that it
was something horrible since she could hear shouts rising over the cane.

           
An opening in the rows came abruptly
and Catherine stumbled upon Toby, a large field hand, lying naked in the dirt
and covered in blood.
 
James was
struggling with Phinneas over a whip as several slaves watched.
 
James was able to dislodge the whip from
Phinneas’ coiled grip, and both men glared at one another and panted from
exertion.

           
Catherine’s appearance caused James
and Phinneas to straighten themselves.

           
“What is this?”

           
The men were silent.
 
Phinneas spit on the ground, mounted his
horse, and rode toward the lower fields.

           
Catherine ran to Toby and felt for
his pulse.
 

           
“He’s alive.
 
Homer, Thaddeus, help Mr. Silwell carry Toby
to his hut.”

           
The men carried Toby to his hut and
placed him on the ground in front of its flap, and Catherine ran to fetch
Mary.
 
When they returned, the women
tended to Toby’s wounds.

           
“Thaddeus, you must tell me why this
happened,” demanded Catherine.

           
“I know not, Miss Catherine.
 
I came upon the scene just as you did.”

           
“Homer?” she asked.

           
The man looked at the ground as if
he did not want to speak.

           
“I demand that you tell me what you
know,” said Catherine, frantic with anger.

           
“Toby and Overseer were having words,”
said Homer.
 
“Something about Leah.”

           
“Leah?”

           
“Toby wants to marry Leah, but
Overseer said no.
 
They had words, and
then Toby got beaten.”

           
Catherine looked at James.
 

           
“I heard as much as I approached,”
said James.
 
“I intervened when it became
clear that Phinneas meant to do more than punish Toby.”

           
“Leah has told me nothing of Toby’s
intentions,” said Catherine.
 
“But I do
not understand Phinneas’ objections.
 
He’s the one who says that male slaves need companions to keep their
male energies suppressed.”

           
The men looked with unease at one
another.
 

           
“It’s best you get back to work so
that Phinneas finds no fault with you,” said Catherine.

           
The men dispersed and James assisted
Catherine and Mary with Toby.
 
Once Catherine
was sure he was not in grave condition, she and James walked back up to the
house.

           
“He hit Toby more than the lawful
amount,” said James.

           
“That was apparent.”

           
“Can he be reported to law
enforcement?”

           
“You know as well as I that nothing
would come of it.
 
But I thank you for
interfering.”

           
“I only hope I did not cause
trouble.”

           
“The trouble has been there for some
time,” said Catherine.
 
“I need to speak
to Father as soon as possible.
 
I also
need to find Leah.
 
I’m a bit stunned
that I knew nothing of her relationship with Toby.”

           
Leah heard James and Catherine enter
the house as she wiped the spittle from her mouth with the back of her hand.
 
She hid in the shadows of the staircase as
they talked through the foyer.
 
Her
stomach turned over when the smell of her sickness hit her from the chamber
pot.
 
She got sick again and slid to the
floor.
 
Sweat ran down her face as she
trembled in the darkness.
 
She grasped
her stomach as she felt the child move within her womb, and began to weep
quietly.
 
Leah knew that she could not
conceal her condition from Catherine much longer.
  

13

Meg
arrived at Drew’s house at
six o’clock
to pick up the Edmeads for dinner.
 
She
was treating them to a meal at the Mount Nevis Hotel Restaurant.
 
It was a clear, warm night and a light breeze
moved through the open restaurant.
 
The
candlelight on the tables danced over the marine art on the walls creating an
underwater illusion.
 
The menu had a
small but tempting selection of fare, and Meg had difficulty choosing a
meal.
 
She finally settled on the leek
and potato soup, the grilled mahi-mahi with the ginger garlic glaze, and the
chocolate torte with Chantilly Cream.
 
Drew and his wife ordered the butternut squash soup, beef tenderloin,
and coconut banana crunch cake.

“We always seem to want the same things,” said
Drew.

“No, you always want what I want,” said
Dorothy.
 
“That’s how we first met, you
know.
 
We were at the market looking at a
table of island art. I needed a gift for my cousin’s birthday, and was reaching
for a painting of a machineel tree when this man stole it right from under my
fingers.”

“I did not steal it.
 
The woman lies.
 
She took it from my hand.”

“Bah—you could you see me eyeing it, you old
thief.”

They laughed and Drew put his hand over Dorothy’s.

“I only grabbed it so you’d be forced to talk to
me,” said Drew.
 
“And didn’t it work
out?”

Dorothy smiled and she smoothed her gray-black
hair with her hands.
 

“Who ended up with the painting?” asked Meg.

“Who do you think?” asked Drew as Dorothy smiled.

The first course arrived and the group savored the
warm, delicious soup.
 

“Any more meals like this, and I won’t want to go
home,” said Meg.

“But you have a companion at home, do you
not?”
 
Dorothy eyed Meg’s engagement
ring.

“You nosy woman,” said Drew.

“I don’t mind,” said Meg.
 
“I do have a fiancée.”

“And when are you getting married?” asked Dorothy.

Meg was quiet for a moment, and then explained
everything to the Edmeads.
 
They
expressed their concern as she told about her parents’ death, the called off wedding,
the inheritance, and ultimately, the lawsuit.

“Sixty-eight million dollars?” asked Drew.

“Yes.
 
I’m
going to have to sell the property here.
 
I have a buyer—someone from Grand Star Resorts wants to put a hotel on
the property and call it the Paradise Plantation Inn, or something like that.”

Drew and Dorothy exchanged looks.

“I know all about the local perspective on that,
but it may be my only option.”

“You know, you may have another option,” said
Drew.
 
“My nephew is a politician and has
big ideas for the development of the island, where the islanders’ best
interests are paramount.
 
I will have him
call you, if that’s okay. He may have another idea.”

“I would be glad to speak with him.”

           
“I’ve heard the house is in great
condition for its age,” said Dorothy.
 
“I
can’t believe you got Drew to go on that property with you.”

           
“What do you mean?”

           
Drew and Dorothy looked at one
another and then back at Meg.

           
“Meg, it was our child who died on
the cliff there,” said Drew.
 
“It’s been
fifteen years.
 
I haven’t been able to go
to the property since the accident, until the other day, with you.”

           
Meg felt terrible as she looked from
the tired, heavy eyes of Drew to Dorothy.
 
“I had no idea.
 
I’m so sorry to
have brought you there.”
 

           
“No, you couldn’t have known.
 
I actually felt very peaceful while I was
there.
 
I tried to encourage Dorothy to
go back with me.”

           
“I’m not ready,” said Dorothy.
 
“I’ll go some time.”

           
The sun had set and a steel drum
band began playing by the pool.
 
The
waiter brought out the entrees, and the conversation ceased while they
ate.
 
Meg stole glances at the Edmeads
trying to imagine their pain—the pain of losing a child.
 
She was nearly crushed under the weight of
her grief over her parents, but thought it must not even compare to the pain
Drew and Dorothy must have felt.
 
Meg
thought they all made an interesting group of parents and children—their losses
filled in by each others’ presence.
 

           
“So Meg, what next in your
research?” asked Drew.

           
“Some art historians are here
reviewing the mural of The Fall to see if they can positively identify the
artist and appraise it.
 
Then I need to
find out more about James Silwell, and then the Ewings.”

           
“Did you find out any more about the
abolitionist pamphlet and Alexander Hamilton?” asked Drew.

           
“I did some research online and
found some information about an African
Free School
in New York
where runaway or freed slaves were able to receive an education.
 
Alexander Hamilton was involved in its
establishment through the New York Manumission Society.
 
The New York Historical Society has archives
from the school from the early nineteenth century.
 
But I’m not sure if that would have anything to
do with the history of Eden.
I plan on spending tonight looking up information on James Silwell.”

           
“And when do you plan on resting?”
asked Drew.

As
it turned out, the post-dining induced stupor ensured all that Meg would be
able to do was rest.
 
After dropping off
the Edmeads and stepping through the door at Havilla, Meg decided to turn in
early and leave her research on James Silwell for the next day.
 

But something was wrong.
 

Something had changed in the villa since Meg had
left earlier that evening.
 
She thought
she may have left the door unlocked, and wondered if someone had been
there.
 
Nothing seemed out of place, but Meg
felt like someone or something occupied her space.
 
There was a presence that seemed to absorb
the noise and render the villa silent—an energy that was everywhere.
 

           
Meg thought she would go back to the
Edmeads, but realized that she had already traveled to her bedroom, and no one
was there. She stepped back out of the bedroom and looked around the main
room.
 
The sheers over the sliders had
been drawn, and she thought that she could see light flickering in the back of
the house.
 
Suddenly, the music of a
steel drum band began on the back lawn.
 
Meg drew back the sheers.

           
The night blew into her face, soft
and warm.
 
The band was just behind the
plunge pool.
 
Candles were drizzled over
the back porch and around the back yard.
 
And lying in the middle of it all, smiling up at her, was Brian.