“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mr. Ashby said from beside me.
“Yes.” My voice sounded breathless.
“Shall we go ashore?”
He was watching me, waiting for my response. I tilted my head at him. “Do you honestly not know the answer to that?”
He pulled up a corner of his mouth. “I’ll go get Miss Patrice.”
When she joined us, we went to one of the boats waiting to take us to shore. Butterflies filled my stomach. Not from nerves, but from barely suppressed excitement. I practically bounced in my seat. I hadn’t touched land in over two months. Patrice, too, seemed thrilled to see land once again.
The boat docked and we scrambled out of it without pause. My knees were wobbly when I stood straight. The ground felt strange, yet glorious. Solid earth beneath my feet once more had me laughing—nay, crying—with joy. I took Patrice’s handsand we twirled around together, enjoying the feel of sturdiness beneath us. After getting quite dizzy, we collapsed onto the white sand.
“Are you that happy to be on land again?” Mr. Ashby commented, standing above us. He was thoroughly amused, judging from the tone of his voice. His head was haloed with the sun, though, and I couldn’t make out his expression.
I shaded my eyes with one hand. “Have we made it too obvious?”
“Nay, I should say we haven’t given enough hints,” Patrice offered. She sat up and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Thank the Lord for solid ground!”
There was nothing to do but join her. “Bless this land and let us never step foot on a ship again!” It was a silly thing to say, considering I would have to return to Scotland at some point. But presently, I could not fathom wanting to leave.
Patrice lowered her hands and lay down in the sand again. “I believe I will stay here forever,” Patrice declared to me.
“Let’s not talk about the future.” I sighed and closed my eyes, lifting my face to the sun. “Let us be content in this moment.”
We stayed there for some time, celebrating being off the water. It had been a perilous journey, one I was loath to repeat. And yet, after so many near-death experiences, one did tend to appreciate life a great deal more. Mr. Ashby sat with us, letting sand flow through his fingertips. He seemed completely mesmerized by it. I watched his face, seeing a peace there I hadn’t witnessed since he worked as a purser those first few days on theKatarina. I couldn’t help but wonder where he would go after this. I’d grown accustomed to his presence, to the way he spoke, the way he laughed, even the way he looked at me. It would be a shame if we never saw each other again.
“Are you going to stay on this beach all day, or would you like to join us at the mission?” someone asked. It was thewarrior-woman from theMaelstrom.She had just gotten off one of the boats with Graham. For some reason, I felt guilty when I saw him. Should I have looked for him as soon as I awoke? Instead, I was focused on getting to shore. He was at the boat, lifting out a crate. He shouldn’t be doing that with his injuries. Before I said something, however, Nathaniel Ward aided him. I watched for a moment before speaking to the woman, though I didn’t answer her question. Her hands were on her hips as she regarded me.
“What is your name?” I asked her.
“I’m Elizabeth Jones.” For such an impressive woman, her name seemed much too common, and much too similar to my own name—Elspeth being the Scottish form of Elizabeth. She continued to watch me, I assumed to hear my answer to her original question.
I stood. “We’ll go to the mission. That is, if we’re welcome.”
She nodded. “Any friend of Slate is a friend of ours,” she said firmly. “Especially someone who would rashly fight pirates to save him.” I could tell she held some kind of respect for me, just as the captain did. Maybe she didn’t think I was a hero, but hopefully she at least believed I was trustworthy. “Follow me.”
Graham had already begun the ascent alongside Mr. Ward. As much as I stared, he didn’t look back to see if I followed. I had to push down my disappointment at his apparent disinterest in my existence.
Patrice took my hand, and Mr. Ashby walked beside me as we climbed up a steep incline. The sand was deep and it was difficult to trudge through it, but we were able to do so. Elizabeth waited for us at the top, and Graham set down the crate he and Mr. Ward had lugged up with them. His wince worried me. Even if he did have help, he shouldn’t be carrying anything.
“Are you feeling all right?” I asked him as we crested the hill.
He only nodded, then took out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat that beaded on his forehead.
“You still have it!” I said with glee, pointing at a handkerchief I’d forgotten all about. I’d embroidered it for him. At least he’d had something extra to remember me by, even if it hadn’t jogged his memory.
He looked at it, then back at me, before sending me a guarded smile. “Thank ye. It’s come in handy more than once.”
I grinned at him. There wasn’t much more to say, but it brought me a surge of happiness. He averted his eyes, and I looked back at Patrice. She sent an encouraging, though hesitant, smile.
Mr. Ward took hold of his side of the crate, and Graham bent down to pick up his. Before he could wrap his hand around the handle, however, Mr. Ashby intercepted it. “I’ll take it the rest of the way, Graham. You’re injured,” he said. Graham didn’t argue. That told me he was in much more pain than he admitted. Thank goodness for Mr. Ashby.
We walked for a quarter of a mile and then came upon a hill. When we reached the top, an enormous farm—I believed the term wasplantationin the West Indies—came into view. It was large and hidden in a valley. No one would be able to see it from the bay or the ocean beyond. We stood there for a few moments, taking it all in. In the center of the farm sat a large white house with a covered porch that wrapped around the building, held up by large white pillars. It was charming, though just as large as an average estate home in Scotland.
“That is the big house. Over on the far south side of the estate is the mission. All the workers here are free people. Mary Bowers transitioned away from enslaving the workers as soon as the African slave trade was abolished; she is the only planter on St. Kitts who has done so, much to the irritation of the other planters. Most of the people stayed to work the land, but some left the island to livein whatever way they chose. Those who are no longer enslaved from other islands find us in one way or another as well to join the mission. The profits from the crop is how Mary supports the mission and theMaelstrom.” Elizabeth waved a hand as she introduced the place to us. It was impressive to say the least.
I had so many questions, but I thought I’d start with something simple. “Is this all sugarcane?” I knew next to nothing about crops, but I knew where we got most of our sugar.
