PatricehadbeenwithLottie in the kitchen, helping her pack food that the staff must have been making for days. I joined the group stacking dishes into crates that were being taken out the back door to be placed in carts attached to donkeys. I asked Lottie where we were taking all of this; I had assumed the celebration would be at the big house.
“No, Miss, we’ll take these to the mission.” She piled my arms high with stacks of sweet-smelling breads wrapped in brown paper.
Once everything had been packed into the carts—I counted five total carts overflowing with food—all the house staff and crew members began walking toward the mission. Patrice took my arm and we followed the caravan before us. It was a high-spirited group, and we marveled as Lottie and her fellow staff members fell into rhythmic step with each other and called out phrases to which the others would answer. It seemed to be more than a game—a way of communicating their happiness. Their rhythm was so contagious, I found myself matching it.
In no time at all, we made it to the mission. It was dusk, but there was still plenty of light to notice the structure of the village. The homes were made of sturdy brick, the streets were made of well-packed dirt, and the chapel at the center of it all was large enough to hold several houses. Just to the east of it was a large pavilion and a grassy fieldbeyond, where the carts were being taken. Torches were lit around the pavilion, and a large crowd had already gathered there.
As we approached, I saw people greeting the new bishop enthusiastically and Mrs. Bowers even more so. She was clearly beloved by all. Patrice and I helped unload the carts, and everything was quickly placed on the tables that surrounded the grassy field. Benches had been set out in rows facing each other. In the center was a bonfire that had yet to be lit.
Everyone took seats on the benches and faced toward the pavilion. Patrice and I followed suit. Mr. Weiss stood up on the pavilion with his wife and Mrs. Bowers.
“Welcome, everyone, to our first official meeting since our new bishop arrived to this blessed mission,” Mrs. Bowers greeted. “He had a difficult journey, but the Lord knew we needed him.” Everyone laughed, agreeing with her. “I’m sure you’re all tired of hearing from me, though. I’ll let Mr. Weiss lead our service today.”
She stepped aside and Mr. Weiss stood before everyone with a wide smile. “Greetings, my friends in Christ. I am extraordinarily blessed to be with you tonight. I would like to give my heartfelt thanks to the crew of theMaelstromfor keeping my wife and me safe on our journey here.” He clapped in the direction of the crew, who were seated together near the front of the field. Captain Whitmore, standing at the end of the bench, lifted his glass of port to Mr. Weiss in acknowledgement.
Graham sat next to him, and Elizabeth sat next inside the row. I couldn’t see their facial expressions clearly, but I imagined they were smiling.
“We did lose men in that fight, however, and I wish to take a moment of silence in honor of their sacrifice.”
Heads bowed all around. Mr. Weiss ended the moment of silence as he prayed, blessing everyone in the world, it seemed. When he continued, his sermon was very similar to those I’d heard at home in every church I attended. The congregation began singing without missing a second, and it was a song I recognized, so I followed along.
After the familiar sermon and song, I heard new sounds. The rhythm reminded me of the one we’d heard on our walk here, but a new melody followed and many stood, walking to the pavilion. I looked up there and saw an elderly man and a woman pounding the wooden floor with long staffs, while a large group began walking to the beat in a counter-clockwise circle. Someone began singing and everyone repeated or answered every line. The effect was something I’d never seen or heard in my life, and I found that I started clapping along with everyone else. It was beautiful and moving and brought a full, genuine smile to my face.
I watched Graham join Elizabeth in the circle, and tried not to feel jealous by the familiar way they moved together.
After a few songs, someone lit the bonfire and the circle dispersed while everyone began eating the food brought up from the big house.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to such a lively affair,” I told Patrice with a grin.
“Aye, I could get used to this,” she admitted. She seemed relaxed, and I was grateful to see it.
Captain Whitmore came up and handed us drinks. “You shouldn’t be standing here with nothing in your hands, ladies. There is much to eat and drink.” His smile was wide and welcoming. “What do you think of our celebration?”
“I am greatly enjoying it, Captain,” I responded honestly.
“Capital, capital. We do like a nice party here in the Caribbean,” he chuckled.
“I can see that.”
“Religion is fine, but I’m not much for believing in it, myself. But the way the people of the mission do it, I find I’m converted every time.” He suddenly took the drink from my hands that he’d given me himself. “If you’re not going to drink it, then I will,” he said before draining the cup.
I stood still, unsure how to react. He saw my shocked expression and howled a laugh. “Next time, drink what’s given to you, Miss Findlay, or someone will snatch it.” His laughter continued and I couldn’t help but smile at his strangeness.
“Captain, you’re needed at the pavilion,” Whisper said as he poked his head into our little circle. He surprised me again in his stealthy way.
“Thank you, Whisper.” Captain Whitmore bowed much lower than necessary. “Good evening, ladies.” He walked away in a giddy step, like he was overly pleased with how well he’d startled me.
“Your captain is…unique,” I said to Whisper.
“Gareth Whitmore is one of a kind,” he responded with a grin. “Excuse me.” He left as quickly as he’d appeared.
“Where exactly have we come?” Patrice asked, raising one side of her mouth in humor.
“I’m not exactly sure…” I looked all around us and was struck again by the pleasant atmosphere. Could this place be a utopia? The weather was warm year-round, the people were lively and kind, and the food was delicious. It seemed a place I could let my hair down, literally and figuratively. If only Graham were himself again, I could imagine a life here.
As I thought it, however, I saw Graham with Elizabeth again and admitted thatheseemed to have already found a life here, and I was just getting in the way. No. I couldn’t think that way. He needed me. No one wanted to live without knowing their past, their identity.And I didn’t want to live in a world where Graham Anderson didn’t remember our love.
“I’m going to speak with Graham,” I told Patrice.
