Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel…
I stumbled for a moment. The words hit my heart too painfully. When had this song begun to mirror my life? I had to swallow down tears as I looked at Graham. I hoped the conflict I thought I saw in his eyes was real; I hoped he was struggling as I was struggling. The memories of lovely moments we’d shared, the ones that had sustained me over the years, were not trivial. I would show him the depth of our history. Somehow, I was able to continue with a strong voice.
…my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
Everyone applauded, but I didn’t smile. I was still staring at Graham, begging him to understand, to remember, to feel something toward me. But there was no sign of recognition. His eyes were tight and his frown deepened before he looked down in apparent regret.At least he had enough care for me that he regretted not being able to return my feelings. I let out a breath and then tried to smile at everyone. The clapping died down and I took my seat next to Mr. Ashby again. I felt him watching me, but I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t want to see the pity that was no doubt written on his face.
“Thank you for that, Miss Findlay,” Mrs. Bowers said at the front of the room. “Does anyone else have something to perform? If not, let’s all get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow, like always.” General agreement went through the party, and everyone stood to make their way to bed. I took my leave first, eager to be alone and formulate a plan to help Graham regain his memories and prevent any further feelings from developing between him and the goddess of a woman who had been by his side for months.
Chapter 26
“Whatdoesonewearto a sugar mill?” I asked Patrice the next morning after she brought up breakfast.
“I saw most of the workers dressing in light clothes. They say it’s mighty hot in the mill.” She looked at the options I had strewn out over the bed. “I wouldnae think ye need so many underthings. Wear the thinnest skirt and a lightweight shirt.” She then looked at my long hair. “Ye should put yer hair up, too. ’Tis dangerous in there.”
I furrowed my brows. “How much do you know about sugar processing?”
She pulled up one shoulder. “Lottie talks a lot while we work.”
Since Patrice seemed to have a good understanding of what to expect, I took her advice and dressed quickly. Then I let her put my hair up tightly. After going a few days without it being pinned up, I scratched at the pinching feeling. I much preferred having it down.
“Ready?” Patrice asked me.
I nodded. “Ready.”
At the bottom of the stairs, Elizabeth waited. She didn’t wear a dress like the majority of the women I’d seen on the estate. She dressed in trousers and a light-flowing shirt with sleeves that had been cut off at the shoulders. Her arms were bare, as they were the first time I’d seen her. Her skin looked smooth and flawless, her muscles evidenceof her capabilities. Her name might have been similar to mine, but she seemed to differ from me in every other way.
She looked me up and down, nodding. “You seem to know what you’re getting into,” she said in a conversational tone. “Let’s go.”
We walked quite a distance from the big house, toward the large windmills in the center of the biggest fields that grew the sugar cane. As we walked, she started preparing me for the mill. “The big house is comfortable, but until you spend time in the mill, you will never understand our life here. The mill is a dangerous and grueling place. The workers who spend their days in the mill suffer the worst out of anyone. Mary has made sure mill workers are paid more than farm workers and has increased safety measures over the years, but it still is the most difficult place to work.”
I wondered where she was going with this. “Why did you invite me to come with you?”
She laughed lightly. “Don’t think I want you to suffer, Miss Findlay. While the mill is a difficult job, it can also be a good place to have a conversation while contributing to the work. I wanted to get to know you better.”
We entered the mill and the heat hit me like a tidal wave of lava. Fires burned under dozens of metal containers, liquid steaming in each of them. An immense machine with rollers moved slowly but powerfully. I pointed to the machine. “What does that do?” I asked Elizabeth.
She led me nearer to it and pointed to the people working at the machine. They were taking the sugar cane from bundles and feeding it into the rollers. “They feed the cane in, and the machine squeezes out the juice.” We moved along the line and she showed me a canal where the juice was collected. “The juice flows into these clarifiers,” she continued, pointing to large metal pans where people were adding what looked like ashes to the juice. “They remove the impurities. Thenit moves on to the coppers.” She showed me the large metal basins that I’d noticed when we first came in. She stood in front of them. “This is where we will be. We’ll transfer the crystallizing sugar into the next copper. It is time-consuming, but we can speak while we work.”
She spoke to a few of the women who were working at the coppers. “You can take breaks. We’ll take your shifts.”
“No, Eliza, we need the pay today,” one of them said.
