reading – Page 26 – three good words

November 7, 2014November 24, 2014

saving grace, 5

Ariane found Father Claireborne seated in the kitchen with a glass and a pitcher of cool water, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. John was right, humid as it was getting now, rain would pour soon, hopefully very soon. All tracks would run cold then. Ariane still felt that would be a good thing. Sitting down across of the Father, she asked all the same.

‘Father?’

‘Yes, Ariane, is something the matter?’ he asked, drinking more water.

‘When I came back from the market with Katie just now, we met Officer Turlington.’

‘Mr. Turlington?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked behind her. ‘What was he doing on the Hunting Trail?’

‘He was with a search party,’ Ariane said, still looking at the Father who now listened with interest. ‘He said that there is a convict on the loose, and that he is dangerous.’

‘And you think he has come here?’ Father Turlington asked, frowning.

‘What?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now sitting down next to her daughter. ‘Would such a man dare?’

‘Those who once defy the laws of man rarely find self-restraint when necessitated to break them again.’

‘What do you mean, Father?’ Ariane asked, suddenly feeling she had betrayed more than she wanted. She could already see that feral body hanging from the gallows, grunting and growling until it was still.

‘I have a hard time believing our mischievous neighbours would go so far as to break into this house, especially if they know it so well,’ Father Claireborne said, smiling a little. ‘It made little sense to me, you see, why they should break the window. Theft of pastries and boiled sweets, I can understand, but this now seemed too crafty. If you say there is a criminal on the loose, hounded by Officer Turlington and his men, it could very well be the man found this house peaceful enough to break in and take what nourishment he needed.’

‘Are you certain, Father?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now visibly concerned.

‘I am sure he cannot stop at a market-booth for victuals,’ Father answered, drinking from his glass once more.

‘So there could be a dangerous criminal in the house and we do not know it?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned, now clearly anxious. ‘Ariane, I do not want you to leave this room, no, even leave my side until we know that he is captured.’

‘Ah, Mrs. Bellamy, I would not go that far to detain the young for a sinner’s sake,’ Father Clariborne smiled. ‘I am certain the man has already disappeared, escaped to a safer hiding place where he would not be so soon detected.’

‘But if he’s dangerous, Father,’ Mrs Bellamy said gravely. ‘I would not want my daughter wandering down the Hunting Trail with some fiend escaped from the gallows at her heel.’

‘Mrs. Bellamy, you sound quite gothic,’ Father Claireborne smiled, but it did not last long. ‘It may not be so wrong to notify the Commission, however. We could go together and report as one. They will quite likely return and search the house, and I am sure the moment the convict sees the red jackets, he will run as fast as his life is dear to him.’

In less than fifteen minutes, Father Claireborne, Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane were all three walking towards the officer’s station, the chaplain nodding benevolently at every face he knew and saw. In the station, sand-stoned and cool compared to the humid heat of the empty court before it, the report was made, and a small troop of guards dispatched to search the chaplain’s house, all seven men armed with pistols and rifles and looking very grim.

Ariane said nothing and watched, feeling she had signed the death sentence for the man-thing. It had not looked dangerous. Ferocious yes, and very obviously starved, but not something one would hang by a rope and wait till it twitched and turned to death. And yet she had to wait until the inspection was done, furthered by Officer Turlington, who by some form of communication had found out that Father Claireborne’s house was to be searched, and thus came with his dangerous dogs and rifled men. Officer Turlington had them search the house again, from the rafters to the cellars, but nothing was found, though the dogs barked as if they had seen the very devil.

An hour had passed by the time Officer Turlington emerged from the house. Half the neighbourhood had come to see, but it was all for naught. Officer Turlington looked furious, as if not finding this man was a personal insult, though he was civil to Father Claireborne as always.

‘And who is this man?’ the Father asked after Officer Turlington had given his negative report.

‘Someone we have been wanting to capture for some time. Finally, by the help of a deserter, we could secure him, but alas –’ Officer Turlington pressed his lips together and tried not to get redder than he already was.

‘A deserter you say? Is the man a soldier?’

‘Pah!’ the Officer barked bitterly. ‘He’s as much a soldier as a devil is a saint, Father.’

‘What is he then?’

‘A pirate, sir, and one of the worst these waters have seen for the past twenty years.’

‘A pirate?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned. ‘Why not say a murderer and be done with it?’

‘That is the point, Mrs. Bellamy,’ Officer Turlington said grimly, ‘as far as we know, the man has never murdered with his own hand, but his men have done much destruction in the same vein. We cannot stop them from scavenging and torching ships, but since we captured him, all these devilish enterprises have stopped at sea. It is heavenly quiet, but God forbid the man be joined with his men. Then the cobra’s head would be rejoined with the body, and the snake will bite again, slithering out of sight after poisoning half the country!’

Officer Turlington looked ready to burst with rage. Father Claireborne layed a quiet hand on his shoulder and asked him to join him in the house for some fresh cider. Father Claireborne could not affront Mrs. Bellamy with ale yet, she did not approve of drinking alcohol before sundown if it had to be drunk at all. Officer Turlington agreed and the two men proceeded, closely followed by Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane, who did not like to stay in the small court, surrounded by all those wild-looking men of the search party. Some were giving her looks she didn’t like, and so was glad to know herself on the other side of the closed house door.

Not long after, Tenny walked into the kitchen asking if it was all right now to hang the linens, there was still a good deal of sun before the weather broke. Ariane was sent out to help the washing woman, which she did in silence, listening to Tenny talk about what it meant to have a criminal in these parts, and how dangerous such men were, and now it was said it was a pirate, scavenging fiends that would burn in hell for all eternity, murderers and oath-breakers in whose presence no living soul was safe.

Ariane listened and helped spread the white sheets across the lines, thinking of how the man-thing had eaten out of her hand like a starved animal. She tried to think how that could command men to an extent that made Officer Turlington look as if he would explode. She could not see it. He was still hardly human to her, more a thing and beast than anything with reason, even though he stood upright and had the build of a grown man. He maybe had the look and the limbs, but definitely not the smell nor the articulation, she had never seen anything so dirty.

With Mrs. Bellamy’s Christian ways of cleanliness and the fact that Father Claireborne adhered to them without question, Ariane had no patience with dirt either, and could not tolerate anything that would smudge her dress or linens, which made her monthly indisposition quite a trial where a catastrophe always seemed close at hand. That she should think of such things now, but with the white sheets, wide as sails before her, billowing in the usual sea-breeze coming up from the near coast, she could only think of those bright red stains she abhorred, as they betrayed not only carelessness, but something about her Ariane could as yet not fully accept, though it was a part of her these six years. She did not know why it happened, and saw it as due punishment after the Fall, for it was Eve who ate the first fruit and thus her descendants would be constantly reminded of her trespassing, for why else would God allow such a thing to take place at such pagan times, always when the moon waxed and her mood plummeted… no, she should rather think of something else.

Right then Ariane’s eyes fell on her own dress, where she saw those stains made by the tomato juice that had spilled and sprayed onto the white skirts, which she had tried her best to clean out, but it would not do without some soap and she would not change again, her mother never liked that. They were mere shadows now, and only visible to the eye who knew they were there, but she knew, and so saw them clearly. They were further reminders of what was out there, running away from Officer Turlington and his search party with their rifles and horrible dogs. How long would he survive? She could not imagine that so many men would not finally succeed in finding one who had to ambush innocent girls for tomatoes.

Well, she would see. Officer Turlington would hardly curtail his triumph once the man, if he was one, was recaptured. And then he would be hanged at the gallows, the dead body swaying in the ocean breeze. Ariane picked up the next linen and spread it across the line, hardly hearing what else Tenny was saying. Looking at the pure white of the cloth, she thought of those faded eyes that seemed to have no colour and wondered for a moment if the man-thing was maybe blind. But for something blind he moved very fast, and she did not think blind eyes could issue commands to be silent. It was a command, there was nothing pleading, nothing soft in that first look, his dirty finger pressed against grimy lips. How dirty he was, the complete opposite to this dream of white. Ariane traced a hand across the white plane, her hand and arm starkly dark against it, every finger clearly seen. He did not curl from her hand as sometimes happened on market days, he did not hesitate to touch, but feral as he was, he probably hardly saw her, just grabbed what held the food he wanted and ate as an animal for he was hungry like one.

Stepping away, Ariane picked up the next linen and continued her work, trying her best to listen to Tenny, but hardly finding patience for what the washing woman was saying, it was all about terrible deeds, murderous pirates, and other horrors Ariane didn’t want to think of. She looked to the sky, saw the silver in the white clouds tumbling to mountains above, and thought of the few hours that were left before the heavens opened and let out all the rain. With the sun so hot, and the air so sticky, the sheets would have dried to an untainted white until then. Everyone would rush inside once the rain poured, everyone except the man-thing running away from Officer Turlington and his awful men and dogs. Hopefully, when the rain finally fell, it would not only sweep away the tracks, but cover the feral creature and wash away all its dirt as well.

November 7, 2014November 7, 2014

saving grace, 4

Everyone was at table, eating, drinking, passing bowls and platters two and fro. There was usual talk of the marketplace gossip and what was left of the tales about the Governor’s Ball. Mrs Bellamy repeatedly left the table to see to Father Claireborne and his guest upstairs. Ariane sat by and ate in silence. She listened and answered if she was asked a question, but was otherwise quiet, until even John noticed and asked if she was under the weather. ‘No, she was clumsy and fell on her way back from the market,’ Mrs. Bellamy explained. Her look showed clearly what she thought of that. Ariane looked to her plate.

‘Does your arm still hurt?’ Tenny asked, looking concerned. Tenny was the woman who came to help with the washing. Her arms were dark as oakwood and strong, her hands large and leathery like a man’s. She was a jolly woman, short, almost squat, with a loud laugh. She often stayed longer than she first promised, unwilling, Ariane felt, to go back to small room she called her home down towards Port Augustine’s ‘disreputable corner’ as Mrs Bellamy called it. Ariane often wanted to ask Father Claireborne if Tenny couldn’t move into the small room out back that wasn’t much more than a place of storage, hardly used. She did not know how to ask though, since Tenny did always talk so much, and Ariane knew Father Claireborne liked it quiet during the day, so he could read his books and write his sermons.

It was when Tenny asked that Ariane realized she was indeed rubbing her arm, the one that man-thing had turned so sharply it had hurt all the way to her head. Ariane folded her hands in her lap and shook her head, Mrs. Bellamy saying, ‘Don’t worry yourself, Tenny, it’s just a bruise and it will heal soon, won’t it my dear?’ she smiled, stroking Ariane’s cheek. Ariane nodded and finished her plate, asking if she could be excused right after. She left the table when her mother gave her leave, and did her best to leave the kitchen by the back door as unhurridly as she could.

Ariane stepped onto sanded path snaking across the lawn, and at first walked one way, then the other, before passing towards the gate, slowly, carefully, her eyes fixed on the green. flowers 5 She was not certain if she should go and see if the tomato and carrot were still there. Officer Turlington had said there was a dangerous criminal on the loose. The man-thing had looked feral, mad even, and he had told her, no, commanded her to keep still and all without words. Ariane finally reached the gate and lingered. From where she stood she could see nothing red or orange in the green grass, but it was rather tall, and who knew if they weren’tcarried away by some feisty bird or whatever else came by. But if she walked out now, would it not be foolish? God knew what would happen, and if she shouted no one would hear, not the way they were talking and laughing inside.

Ariane hesitated, but common sense won over curiosity in the end. She could not forget that feral look in those eyes, clear yes, neither blue nor brown nor grey nor black, but somehow colourless in the bright light. It was out there, somewhere, all grunts and growls, and it had turned her arm so. She would be foolish to underestimate what else it could do, feral as it was. And so very dirty.

Ariane finally walked back to the house. She would eat one of the pastries she knew her mother had made for Father Claireborne and his guest. Mrs Bellamy never minded if Ariane ate one as long as it really only was one. Walking around the house, Ariane saw that the side door stood ajar, the one used for deliveries, but that was not surprising, her mother was always complaining how everyone forgot to close it. Luckily, the larder was the door next to the kitchen, she would not have to face the others again. Ariane could still hear the talk and laughter inside, stepped to the larder, opened the door, and – Holy Mother of God.

There it was, again, as feral and dirty as before only standing now, stuffing its mouth with freshly baked bread and those parts of the chicken her mother had layed aside for tomorrow. The man-thing stopped the moment she opened the door. There was a moment or two without a heartbeat. Ariane did not know if to talk or scream. Right then, the door to the kitchen opened, Bert’s voice booming out. Ariane closed the door to the larder and made to walk out, nearly walking into Tenny who laughed, ‘There you are! Lend me a hand with the washing later on, yes? I can never hang those sheets on my own.’ Ariane just nodded and Tenny went out through the delivery door, John, Bert, Mel and Wesley following her right after, putting on their caps, Bert thanking Mrs. Bellamy loudly for his supper, it was as always ‘exquisite’. ‘You stop those lies, Bertram Mahoney!’ Mrs Bellamy shot back. ‘Ah, Mrs Bellamy, why can’t you accept an honest compliment?’ ‘Honest? Ha!’

This went on for too long. Ariane stood, listening, her heart racing, until finally, thankfully, John asked when they should return for tea, now that the weather looked like rain by evening. John and Bert liked to sit in the kitchen and drink cups of tea like gentlemen while it rained and stormed outside. They told wonderful stories then, stories of pirates and wild chases, sunken ships and hidden treasures, islands full of gold that only appeared at the full moon, and wells that were filled with gemstones. Together, John and Bert were storytellers fit to entertain any king’s court.It was why Ariane liked rainy days. Then she could just sit and listen to John and Bert tell their stories, her mother shaking her head at ‘all that nonsense you’re putting into the poor girl’s head’, though she never stopped them.

If John said it looked like rain, then it would rain, John was ‘an excellent predictor of weather’ as Father Claireborne said. Ariane had hardly seen the clouds while she was at market, but now that she thought if it, it had looked a little silvery while she was outside. Dogs could not smell in water, but they could smell in a house. What if they found the trail before it rained? What if the came all the way here? And if they asked her? Would they know she was lying? For she knew she should at least tell her mother, but first John and the others had to leave, and they did finally, all of them, with Ariane waiting in the hallway, between doors, not knowing what to do next.

One last look into the kitchen showed Ariane that her mother had suddenly disappeared. Where – ah, there, the quiet screech of a pump. Her mother was out back, fetching more water. Ariane stayed as she was, the kitchen door open, and her eyes fixed on the larder. Finally her mother returned, and Ariane summoned her silently, despairing with her ‘What is it? Why don’t you just tell me?’ before sighing and following Ariane’s silent plea and joining her. Body tense, hands trembling slightly, Ariane opened the larder door.

‘What is it?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked. ‘Ariane, what is the matter, why show me the larder in this silly way, you know – ’

Mrs Bellamy stopped and stepped in, walking to one of the shelves.

‘Those rascals! If I ever catch them, if I ever see them with my own eyes, may God forgive me, but they will get such a thrashing as they’ve never seen – !’

Mrs. Bellamy could hardly contain her anger. The third roast chicken had disappeared. Ariane stepped in with her mother and saw Mrs. Bellamy smile at her grimly.

‘Well, it’s good you saw it, your eyes have not gotten bad,’ she said. ‘I was already getting worried, it’s not like you to trip on the Hunting Trail.’
‘Look,’ Ariane said instead, pointing to the ever fastened larder window.

Turning, Mrs. Bellamy made a noise that sounded like a curse, something she only ever did when the food burnt in the oven.

‘To steal from God’s house is already – but to purposely break in! Have they no piety!’

Ariane did not answer. The glass was shattered, the window swung open at its hinges. The man-thing had not spirited itself away, she was not suffering from what Father Claireborne called ‘hallucinations’. Her mother was already climbing the stairs to the Father’s apartments when Ariane realised what this meant. Where was it now, the feral thing? She imagined it running into the green with a roast chicken. Well, at least it finally had something to eat.

Father Claireborne entered the larder, saw the destruction and shook his head. He looked out of the broken window and sighed, ‘I will have to have speak with their parents,’ which surprised Ariane who had always thought Father Claireborne was ignorant of the occasional thefts from their larder by the Holborns and Gellards, two families of many children and little means. Usually it was pastries and the boiled sweets Mrs Bellamy saw no sin in eating. As it seemed the Father was well aware of the occasional disappearance. He patted Mrs. Bellamy’s arm as if to calm her.

‘Don’t worry Mrs. Bellamy, I will see to it. This has clearly gone too far.’And with that, both left the larder, Ariane following them silently. Closing the door, she wondered. Where had the man-thing gone? Was it still about the house? Was he in fact, just a room away? And if so, should she not tell her mother at least? Father Claireborne? But once told, they would call the officers and that would be the gallows for him. The thought alone made Ariane feel a murderess. So far she did not know of his transgressions. Yet maybe Father Claireborne knew something of what Officer Turlington had said. She really should say something. At least to warn them of the feral creature hiding around the house.

November 7, 2014

saving grace, 3

Ariane helped her mother set the table, dress the salad, and make sure the roast chicken and other delectables were as Father Claireborne liked them. Unlike other Englishmen, or so Mrs Bellamy said, Father Claireborne had a taste for good food and knew to give high praise when a meal was done well. Today the Father had a guest however, so Mrs Bellamy was agitated and curt with her commands. Once all the platters and bowls were brought up to Father Claireborne’s private office where the meal was to be taken, Mrs. Bellamy returned in calmer spirits, ready to feed the rest of the house.

John Mallory, the gardener, came in right then. He was tall and dark as night, with eyes so white they almost shone in his face. John took care they had enough potatoes, parsnips, pumpkins and cabbages in the garden, and saw to it that the lemons and oranges grew well. That way Mrs Bellamy could make her famous lemonade whenever she wished, and order ice in time for the wonderful sorbet she always made on Father Claireborne’s birthday.

Grey-haired Bertram Mahoney walked in after John, calling out ‘Hurry up lads, they’re not going to wait.’ Bert who liked to talk of his home in that faraway place, Ireland, where there was ‘real weather’ and rain fell sideways. His blue eyes grew dreamy then, as he sat back and puffed on his pipe, talking about The King’s Arms where it seemed men only went to drink and brawl and misbehave themselves. Mrs Bellamy did not approve of tales of The King’s Arms, which was one reason why Bert enjoyed telling them. He was always teasing Ariane’s mother like that, and Father Claireborne never stopped him, but then Bert and Father Claireborne had known each other for very many years. Once Father Claireborne was appointed at Port Augustine, Bert followed a year later, ‘ready to settle’ as he said. Since he was very good with wood and glass, he made sure the house and church remained in order, never mind if it was ‘an ungodly Protestant place’, Bert still prayed to the Holy Mother Mary.

Standing in the kitchen door, Bert called, ‘Come on, lads, what are you waiting for?’ again, and finally young Mel and Wesley came in, quietly, removing their caps just like John and Bert. They were five and six years younger than Ariane, and did everything Bert told them, learning all they could from the Irishman, and John as well, for ‘a man should know his way around the garden,’ as Father Claireborne said. Mel and Wesley’s past was one of those terrible histories you found so frequently on the islands. Bert had ‘bought them off a man in Antigua’ three years before, he had had to sail down on business. Bert never said more about Mel and Wesley, and the two boys hardly ever talked anyway. They were brothers, and stayed together at all times, sharing a room and a bed in the small house Bert called his own. Ariane had seen it herself when she once brought Bert a book Father Claireborne wanted him to have. She had asked Bert why the boys didn’t have their own beds and Bert shrugged, ‘They didn’t want them. Plain refused.’ Then he added, ‘I wager they don’t want to get separated again.’

From what Bert hinted on if he did talk about Antigua, there had been more brothers and sisters, and a mother, but Ariane still did not know what happened to them. Bert did not offer to tell, and she did not know how to ask. She knew of Antigua, she had heard the stories, she knew which islands were nightmares, which colonies further north were utter hell. She knew in whispers and tales told in secret, she knew in the bulletines Father Claireborne sometimes read and made him gloomy for a whole day. Now at nearly seventeen, the Mississippi had become a place of terror for Ariane, the delta synonymous to Hell, pockets of hell fire littered all across the Spanish Main, Antigua being one of them, so she did not know how to ask Bert about what happened there. It was enough to see how quiet the two boys were, standing together now, Mel with his eyes to the floor, and Wesley alert, watching everything carefully. Both would not say one word through the entire meal, but Ariane had come to accept it. They ate well at least, and Bert made sure they stayed healthy and clean. Ariane knew John and her mother made sure to know where they were at all times, and Father Claireborne took care they learnt their alphabet and their sums. It was, Ariane felt, the best one could do after all that happened to them.

They were free now though, at least they were given that mercy. They were now equal to all other Freemen in Port Augustine. Like Father Claireborne, Bert was a staunch believer that no man should own another, though where Father Claireborne saw such ownership as a deep sin against the Lord on High, Bert was far less religious. As he told Ariane once, ‘No one on this blessed earth owns anything, lass. We just stay for a while and then move on. Anyone trying to tell you anything else and I swear on me own mother’s grave they’re trying to sell you something. Don’t ever trust a word they say.’ Bert never said who ‘they’ were, but from how Bert always talked about them, ‘they’ sounded very powerful and very dangerous. He did give Mel and Wesley a last name though, Callaghan. Apparently it would throw a man Bert knew into all kinds of torment to know that ‘two little Negroes were carrying his perfect name.’ Every time Bert said that, he grinned wide right after and sighed satisfied as if he accomplished something.

John, Bert, Mel and Wesley greeted Ariane and Mrs Bellamy with silent nods before they sat down at the large kitchen table, Bert saying happily, ‘That smells wonderful, Mrs Bellamy, what’ll you surprise us with today.’ Mrs Bellamy told Bert to stop trying to flatter her with such insincerity, and their usual banter began. John sat by in silence and listened with a faint smile, while Ariane poured out water for Mel and Wesley, Mel who was tracing the grain of the heavy oak table. It was a massive thing where everyone reconvened in the evenings, even Father Claireborne, who said it made little sense to sit in solitude up in his office when there was such merriment and joy in the kitchen.

If John was in the proper mood, he would take out his guitar, a beautiful instrument he was gifted by his former Master’s wife when he became a Freeman. She was a duke’s daughter who knew how to play by a Spanish artisan at her father’s court, and so had taught John since he was a child. Once anyone heard John play, they knew why the high lady took such time to teach him. Ariane could spend whole evenings just listening to John play on his guitar. When she closed her eyes, it was as if an angel was playing, yet it was John, John who was as dark as night, John Mallory who was actually Juan de Majorca, ‘John from the large island’ as he once explained, John Mallory whose English still had that Spanish accent, which was why he never spoke when Officer Turlington was near. John who was dark as night and played like an angel sent down from on High to make them remember that there really was Someone watching.

They would sing the songs they knew when John began to play, Ariane showing her skill and Mrs Bellamy sometimes singing the beautiful French ones she remembered, never mind how melancholy they were. Father Claireborne himself knew quite a few, joyous songs of praise, and slow, sombre songs of longing, not to mention Bert who had many more songs than he was allowed to sing by Father Claireborne and Mrs Bellamy. They were apparently not for children’s ears, never mind how Bert started grinning.

It was such things as these that made Father Claireborne very unlike other Fathers Ariane had heard of and knew. Ariane always felt that his house was truly a house of God, for in it all souls present, man, woman and child, were at peace. There was joy, there was laughter, there was song, and they all had good clothes to wear and enough food to eat. It was, Ariane knew, the best of fortune to know such a house as one’s home, and to have it’s master be such a man as Father Claireborne. The Father was a stout man with dark hair still thick and full about his head, he had a hearty laugh and a handsome smile, though he could look like God himself come down to take furious vengeance when he was thunderous, but that did not happen often. Mostly when someone scavenged his herb garden again where he was still trying his hand at strawberries.

Ariane liked Father Claireborne very well, as did everyone in Port Augustine, and it was good that he would still have many years to pray for the parish, for despite the grey at his temples, Father Claireborne was hardly past forty. It was he who had taken Ariane’s mother out of the desperate situation of widowhood when Ariane was but two years, and installed her as his cook when he was appointed to Port Augustine. Some thought his choice immoral if not outright sacrilegious, but since Mrs. Bellamy was a widow and had shown herself to be good Christian woman with an unshakable Christian faith, those who would talk evil soon hushed their mouths. Now no one in the small town questioned that the holy man and his cook lived under the same roof, with John, Bert, Mel and Wesley as their constant helpers.

November 6, 2014May 16, 2020

saving grace, 1

Port Augustine
1795, The Spanish Main

The sea was so clear it was breathtaking to see the waves break on the silt. Along the shores of a small town, not far from a large port, there was a church with a spire, a marketplace and five grand houses, a sixth slowly falling into disrepair. The waters beyond the spotless shores were famous for the pirates they hid, turning the night air into dark, star-speckled blackness thick with mystery. Even on quiet days, there remained that subtle knowledge: the possibility of immense treasure buried in hidden caves, in deep unknown pits, or held down by an anchor deep in the sea – waiting to be found. And thus the pirates came and never left again. They searched, and searched, and torched and burned and did worse where they wished to find, yet few ever found what they were certain to obtain, feeding the gallows with more and more bodies to hang. For the law was never far, sailing the coasts, lying low in bays, with men as cunning as they came, commanding soldiers who stood red and bayoneted at every gate and office door, with precise orders to shoot first and ask later, one could never know what the mothers’ sons were after next.

In all this, there was Ariane Bellamy. She was both daughter and maid, daughter to the chaplain’s cook, Mrs. Bellamy, who hailed from that wild place of bloodied freedom, Haiti, where she lost a husband and a son, yet spoke French as her native tongue. As Mrs Bellamy’s daughter, Ariane was the maid to the holy man of Port Augustine, a small town that sat snug in an open bay, facing out towards the depths of the Spanish Main. Arianne Bellamy was not like the other girls descendant from Freemen, for she had the protection of the chaplain, a broad knowledge of Scripture and an undying faith in the benevolence of the Supreme bestowed on every creature. By Mrs. Bellamy’s insistence and the instruction of the chaplain everyone called Father Claireborne, Ariane knew how to read and write, add sums, play the piano and sing very well. Were it not for the colour of her skin, one would have thought Ariane Bellamy a right little lady.

Like her mother, Ariane had power curled tight in her young limbs, and her face was often considered ‘too pretty for her own good’. She had a natural grace and though good-natured maybe ‘a little too clever’ as some of the market women said. But, Ariane was never seen without her best friend Catherine ‘Katie’ Freeman who was one child of many to the neighbouring Freeman’s farm, and so sensible girl. It was understood that as long as Katie was there, Ariane’s ‘wilder ways’ would remain in their adequate boundaries.

It was a hot day, the heat dripping with coastal humidity. Ariane and Katie, hardly disturbed by this, were carrying back shopping from the market, Ariane with a woven bag and Katie a basket, both wearing white muslin dresses. Ariane juggled two tomatoes every now and then while ambling along with Katie. The path they walk along was a walking trail away from the usual road, well known by the inhabitants of Port Augustine and a very convenient shortcut. Almost everyone in the small town used it, and it was said that at dusk those lovers who wanted to meet were found there as well. It was a bright day, and both Ariane and Katie enjoyed its pleasantness, young women as they in fact were, beyond sixteen yet not quite seventeen, graceful in their simple muslin dresses, a stark white setting off the smooth, deep caramel of their limbs.

The latest talk of the town was the last Governor’s Ball, whose splendour spread across the country like wildfire. Ariane and Katie had been talking about nothing else since the gossip hit Port Augustine like a hurricane. No one could think of anything else as it seemed but the Governor’s Ball and what might have happened there. Ariane and Katie were discussing possibilities as they walked. They talked about what kind of dress they would wear if they were ever to be a lady invited to one of Governor’s Balls, something they knew would never happen, but there was such a thing as hope. They described to each other the tresses and crêpe, crinoline and swaths of cloth in the most vivid colours, the diamonds and necklaces, diadems and rings, both doing their best to outdo the other, talking in blissful earnest as the sun beat down on their curly heads.

A gunshot cut through the easy calm. The sound of dogs barking followed. These were not unknown sounds to the two girls, yet this time they were very close. Another gunshot and more shouting, and both Ariane and Katie stopped as they were, two more bullets ricocheting off tree trunks in loud zings. Presently, not far down the trail before them, a group of men emerged with a large noise from the green darkness surrounding the path, all of them armed with rifles and pistols, at least three with ferocious dogs on their leashes. The two girls moved together and searched each other’s hands, sensing the danger of the moment. The men did not look like the usual guards of Port Augustine, but harsher, fiercer and far more dangerous. Ariane and Katie stood stock still. Both sensed in the other an acute wish to disappear. They exhaled, audibly, when the group was followed by a man they recognised, Officer Turlington who frequented the chapel often to converse with Father Claireborne.

Hayworth Turlington, lieutenant of the standing guard and currently hot and angry, with a pistol whose gun powder was running out, damn the thing, Hawyorth Turlington, clambered out of the dark green into the light,and stopped. He looked again. The Clairborne girls were standing a few yards away, staring at him. What the devil were the daft things doing here, so far from – he saw the bag and basket full of food stuffs they were carrying and understood. The local farmers probably set up their stalls again, and the trail was a shortcut to the market place. They were dutiful girls, the Father had raised them well, and they would not want to waste time. Hayworth Turlington as yet did not know how they were connected to the holy man, but he always saw them at Father Clairborne’s, going about their business of which he knew little. They stood together now, very quietly, like young apparitions on the hidden trail, their eyes wide and wary. Maybe they had seen something. Even so, he would have to get them to the Father quickly, Clairborne would never forgive him if something happened to them.

Officer Turlington approached Ariane and Katie quickly, asking them in a curt, military manner if they had seen anything unusual while walking the Hunting Trail. Both girls shook their heads. Did they see anyone foreign maybe? Again the girls shook their heads, still clutching their hands, standing close. Seeing that the two could give him no information, Officer Turlington ordered them to rush home swiftly, there was a dangerous criminal in these parts, and he did not want them out of doors alone, Father Clairborne would never forgive him if anything happened. He did not say what that anything might be. Ariane and Katie nodded and said ‘Yes sir,’ which satisfied the officer by his ‘Very well. Run along now.’ He turned abruptly and ordered the group of men to proceed further into the green, ‘He’s probably looking for his mates, so you know what that means! Onwards!’ And the troop disappeared as one into the trees and undergrowth, guns and dogs and all, Officer Turlington’s regimentals flashing red once, and then he too was gone.

November 5, 2014February 9, 2015

hook, line…

Not PG rated

Word was out. Chris ‘Dizzy’ Leroy was out of the clink, his boys were already waiting. Tall enough to try for the pro leagues if he’d ever had a head for school, Chris was muscular too, inked up nice, he always went to the pros. Everyone called him Dizzy, he no longer remembered why, just like no one knew he never liked it.He was Chris, but the only person who called him that was his Gran, Gran who opened her arms wide when he walked up the stairs, smiling ‘My boy’s back’ before hugging him with her tiny arms. Said nothing about how strong the woman was though. Dragged him down the street once, nearly tore his ear off, hollerin’ how often she told him to get back when the lights came on, he had no goddamn manners. That was Gran though, tough as nails. Best woman on the whole fuckin’ planet.

Friday night, and Tala was out clubbing with her girls. It was just them, no guys, they were going to have some fun. Tala was in the best mood. The week was good, her boss praised her for finishing the project perfectly in record time, and she meant it too. Nobody looked pissed, she was getting ‘genuine feedback’ as they called it. She could see that they were taking her seriously now, she really did know what she was doing. Those night courses really were helping, it was good that she followed through with that.

Now it was Friday, and Tala felt like partying, celebrating, simply enjoying herself, and going out with her girls was just the thing. The club was great, the house was packed, everyone was having such an awesome time Tala just felt happy. Then she turned and saw him. Great build. The kind of chocolate skin that made a girl lick her lips. Ripped. You could see it past that shirt. And a calm face, the kind of seriously handsome dark face with eyes that just sucked you in. She looked a little more, then she stopped. Her Moma told her to stay away from them. No matter how good they looked. ‘They like sugar, girl. The better they look, the worse they are. You need to look out for your health with that head o’ yours. It’s just too good to waste on all that honey that don’t keep your stomach full.’ Or the other one, it was last weekend actually, they were out shopping and of course her Moma caught her looking at Will Delaney who was picking up some ice and had grown up to look real good. Tala got, ‘Stop givin’ him those looks,’ for that. ‘Next thing you know he’s hangin’ around my porch like some lost puppy. What? Look at him. Best way to get yourself big, and I ain’t talkin’ about fat. And a Delaney too. All talk and no sense, those boys. Why’re you still lookin’? Didn’t you hear anything I just said?’ So Tala, dancing in the club with her girls, Tala turned back to her drink and didn’t look again.

Chris had decided it was time to see people. He hadn’t been with a woman since he was out of the joint, and he wanted to see some again. There was this new place everyone was talkin’ about so he decided to join. He had to get back to normal, remember how it was outside. It was his second time now, the first time he was in juvi at fourteen, Gran nearly killed him after. This second time it was either three months for him or six years for Dwayne, his cousin, who talked him into driving that bullshit car… just thinking about it got Chris to the wrong side of angry. He’d known it was bad. He just didn’t think Dwayne was that fucking stupid. Still, it was six years for his cousin, if he didn’t say nothin’, so he spoke up. Dwayne got two, he got three months since he’d been steady since Gran nearly put him in a coffin after juvi, but the Feds had to do something, and the judge knew it.

Anyway, he was out now, finally, the air smelled real again, and there were women everywhere. Chris didn’t want to rush it though, push it too fast and suddenly you had a set of claws in your back you never saw coming. Or some thug who decided you’d looked at his girl wrong. So Chris hung back, watched first, loving what he was seeing. The place was packed up tight, and the women… yeah, this was – what the – There, again. That girl, dancing. Fuck… Everything, just everything about her was… He wanted to feel that ass in his hands, all round. He wanted those legs around him, he wanted her naked and wet, fuck, he’d fuck her so good, she’d never want anythin’ else – there was no way he was just gonna stand around and do nothin’.

Chris walked up to her when one of her girls went to get more drinks. He stayed to the side and watched her, he didn’t want to come on too fast , but fuck she was… He waited till she looked. She did and smiled, shyly. She had style. There were no guys around her, and she only danced with her girls. When they left the floor he sent her a drink, something simple but good and she appreciated it, smiling at him and raising her glass. He could see how her girls worked her to do something, how she looked and got all shy again and smiled. He helped her by walking half the distance. Finally, she came over. She said Hi, and he nodded, said what he had to say, what her name was, who she was with. She told him, smiling like that, still shy. He wanted to peel that top off her and see those tits that were just waiting for his mouth, fuck they were… Her skin looked… he’d forgotten how perfect, perfect really was.

They talked some his name, hers, Tala, Chris, what she was doin’ out with her girls, the dj, the music, the club, until one of his boys crashed in and he saw how she got scared. Ray wasn’t the type a girl like her would look at twice, and Ray just slapped his back and nearly fucked it all up. She went back to her girls, ran back actually, and Chris tried not to show how pissed he was. Fuck Ray. She didn’t look at him again, so he did his best to get rid of Ray and finally could got him to stay busy with some girl whose tits were almost spilling out, but by then Tala was already leaving. Chris left the club and finally called after her out on the curb. She stopped and talked to her girls who pushed her towards him. He said, ‘Sorry ‘bout that. Ray’s some of my old crowd.’ ‘He’s not, like, dangerous, is he?’ she asked, her eyes wide. He wanted to touch her so bad he’d have sworn Ray was a fucking angel if he’d known that would get her to stay. ‘They’re gone,’ was all he said. She looked less nervous, but still nervous. He had to get her to stay with him, so he said, ‘Look. I’d like to see you. How ‘bout you pick a place and I’ll see you there.’ She looked confused. ‘See me? When?’ ‘Now. If you got time.’ She looked back at her girls who were giggling and waving her to stay. ‘Well…’ ‘Pick a place. Any place.’ ‘Not mine,’ she said, looking nervous again. ‘Ok.’ ‘And not yours either.’ ‘Ok.’ ‘I’d say a hotel, but…’ ‘But what?’ ‘I’m not a prostitute,’ she said, and he knew, just the way she said it, he knew this one had brains. He didn’t know why that just made everything ten times better. Brains usually meant trouble, but he wouldn’t mind trouble from her. ‘Never thought you were,’ he said. ‘Know one?’ he added. ‘One?’ ‘Hotel? Know one we could go to?’ ‘Um… yeah. I mean… yeah, I do.’ ‘Ok.’

So they went, taking a cab, she wouldn’t get into his car. They reached the place, he’d never seen it before, though he knew the street. They went in and she smiled at the girl up front who said ‘Tala! Hey, darling!’ She smiled and they whispered and finally she had a card and they went up to the room. There was a mini bar, she said they could use it, so he mixed a Jack with coke, and they were on the couch and she looked at him with, ‘So. What next?’ He showed her. She loved it. She loved it so much she gave him her number the next mornin’.