Receive Me Falling (14 page)

           
“The sugar workers who are now out
of jobs?”

           
“Yes.
 
Are you familiar with island politics?”

           
“Not as much as I’d like to be.
 
I learned a bit from conversations at a
dinner at Miss June’s last night.
 
How do
you feel about the close of the industry?”

           
Drew paused and looked out the
window.
 
“That is an interesting
question.
 
From my position, I’m inclined
to say it is a good thing.
 
As a cane
worker, there was always something nagging me about my job—something that did
not feel right.”

           
“Because its origins were in
slavery?”

           
“Yes.
 
But it was what my father had done.
 
He supported my whole family well.
 
He worked very hard.
 
I wouldn’t want to shame his name by saying
that it was not honorable work.
 
But it was
brutal.”

           
“And your burns?”

           
“From boiling cane juice.
 
Once you get it on your body it sticks like
tar—it is nearly impossible to remove before it removes your own skin to the
bone.”

           
Drew held up his stump of a hand.

           
“But I was lucky.
 
Many have died as a result of cane juice
burns.
 
My wife was glad it
happened.
 
She said it was good I was
injured just enough to get me out of the industry without killing me.”

           
Drew turned back to the computer
screen.
 
His search revealed that Cecil
was on the Nevis Council and Assembly from 1826-1831.
 

           
“I will check the church records we
have to see if I can find out when Cecil and Catherine died,” said Drew.

           
“What would have happened to the
slaves and land if the owners of the property died?”

           
“If there wasn’t a will, the
plantation could have been taken over by the Crown.
 
Many of the planters of the day were in heavy
debt.
 
If not, a neighboring planter may
have purchased it.
 
Since planters in the
West Indies were very far from home, it would have been difficult for anyone in
England
to lay claim to the land.
 
But a
plantation Eden’s
size would not have been overlooked.
 
I
could keep checking on the property if you’d like.”

           
“I would appreciate that—if it
wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

           
“Not at all.”

The telephone rang.
 
Drew answered it, and his eyes darkened.

           
“Meg, I’m afraid I have to go.
 
My wife—she’s been sick.
 
I nearly forgot that I have to go with her to
the doctor this afternoon.
 
Can you come
back to the museum another day?”

           
“Sure.
 
I would actually like to get back to the
house to look around some more before I go to dinner tonight.”

           
“Good. I will call you if I find
anything.
 
May I have your number where
you are staying.”

           
Meg gave Drew her number and helped
him close up the Museum.
 
They walked out
to the parking lot together, and then Drew turned and began walking down the
road.

           
“Do you need a lift?” called Meg.

           
“I usually take a bus.”

           
“It would be no trouble for me to
take you home.
 
I don’t have to be
anywhere until tonight.”

           
Drew looked down the road and
considered her offer.

           
“Thank you.
 
That would be nice.
 
Actually, Havilla is not far from my home at
all.”

           
As they drove to Drew’s house, he
pointed out various landmarks and points of interest.
 
The road was winding and rustic.
 
Cows and goats wandered along the dry patches
of brown dirt, looking with mild interest at the Jeep.
 
It was the custom while driving in Nevis to stop often and greet friends, so by the time Meg
returned Drew to his home, she had been introduced to four very friendly people
who teased Drew that they were going to call his wife, Dorothy, to tell her he
was riding around with a pretty, young woman.
 

           
 
Drew’s house was very close to Havilla—so
close, in fact, that Meg could have seen the house if there had not been a
thicket separating her from it.
 

           
“Thanks for the ride, Meg.
 
I’m sorry it took so long.
 
You can never be in too big a hurry when you
are driving around here. ”

           
“I didn’t mind at all.
 
I just hope Dorothy doesn’t give you any
trouble.”

           
“Oh, she knows how it is.
 
If I had taken the bus it would have taken
twice as long.”

           
“Do you need me to take you to the
doctor’s office?”

           
“No, thank you.
 
We do have one car, but I like to leave it
with Dorothy in case she needs to go somewhere.
 
For some reason, though, she does not like to go to the doctor alone.”

           
“Ah, a gentleman.”

           
Drew nodded and closed the door to
the jeep.
 

It
was a bright, cloudless day.
 
Light winds
played over the island causing a shiver in the vegetation.
 
It was ideal for exploring Eden.
 

As Meg moved through the house, shafts of sunlight
followed her through the rooms.
 
She
looked around the foyer and walked through the parlor.
 
A worn writing desk was positioned on the
wall opposite the great windows at the front of the house, but it had nothing
in it.
 
Several mildewed pieces of
furniture were set in the room in no particular arrangement.
 
Meg stepped over the rough, wooden floor and
passed into what must have been a library. Large, built-in shelves lined three
of the walls, but Meg’s disappointment was acute when not a single book could
be found.
 
 
She traveled further into the room to check
the shelves more closely when the sharp clang of the keys of the pianoforte
sliced through the silence. One note continued to ring until overpowered by the
ruffled flutter of wings.
 
Meg’s initial
terror was overcome by her need to determine the source of the sound. She
approached the room and passed through the archway.
  

 
          
A
pigeon fluttered from the pianoforte to a high backed chair when Meg entered
the room, again leaving the strange, out-of-tune clang hanging in the air.
 
Meg walked around the room running her eyes
from the floor to the ceiling.
 
The
pigeon heaved itself from the chair back to the piano as Meg passed.
 
It was disturbed by her presence but
unwilling to vacate.

Something caught Meg’s eye from behind the
chair.
 
She moved it and found a large,
framed canvas leaning against the wall.
 
The hole in the wall above the chair indicated that the picture had
ripped down some of the wall when it fell.
 
Meg lifted it and placed it on the floor where she could get a better
look.

A young woman with white-blonde hair, dark brown
eyes, and tan skin stared out of the painting.
 
She looked bored.
 
The toes of the
shoe on her right foot could be seen peeking out of the bottom of her dress
slightly elevated, as if the artist captured her impatiently tapping her
foot.
 
She was attractive, and her
posture was confident.
 
Her hand rested
on the shoulder of an older man with gold-gray hair, sitting in a chair.
 
His face was soft, lined, and relaxed.
 
His eyes were glassy and blue.
 
He too had tan skin.

Was this a painting of the Dalls?
 
The clothing they wore certainly had a
nineteenth century look about it, but it was curious that their skin would be
so tanned—especially the lady’s.
 
Weren’t
women of that time expected to keep their skin white?
 
Were these people fond of the outdoors, or
did their plantation lifestyle force them out of doors?

A sudden knot formed in Meg’s stomach.
 
She thought of the picture on her father’s desk
at home.
 
It was very similar to this
painting.
 
Taken after a long day sailing
along the Severn River and the Chesapeake Bay
with her family, Meg stood leaning against her dad, who sat on a chair on the
boat.
 
Her mother had taken the picture,
but she did not know how to work the camera.
 
Meg had been instructing her on which button to push, so when it was
developed, Meg was not smiling.
 
It
looked as if she was talking to someone out of the picture—she was talking to
someone out of the picture.
 
But Richard
loved the photograph.
 
He and his
daughter, tanned, windswept, and tired after a long day on the water.
 

The knot in Meg’s stomach traveled to her
throat.
 
She covered her mouth to stifle
a sob, but realized that she was alone—completely alone.
 
Meg moved down to the floor in front of the
painting and cried out something that had been stuck inside her for days.

Meg
wiped her eyes and was left with a strange, heavy, peaceful feeling.
 
She picked herself up from the floor and
looked at her surroundings. She glanced back at the painting for a moment, and
then gathered her things to leave for the day.
 

2:00.
 

Meg thought she might go back to the beach—there was
still plenty of time before dinner.
 
She
decided to exit though the back of the house and walk to the beach through the
back of the property along the path that Hamilton
had shown to her.
 
Meg had to pass
through the dining room on her way out of the back of the house.
 
It was the most decomposed room in the Great
House thus far—it was completely overgrown with a dense covering of vines that
had crept in through the window.
 
It was
a massive room with a heavy table running the entire length of it.
 
The table was dark cherry and was supported
by opulently carved legs.
 
The vines that
had climbed into the back window reached down the back walls and to the table,
where they had begun coiling up the legs of it.
 
The entire room was darkened from the foliage that blocked the windows,
creating the appearance of a subterranean cavern lined with the roots of some
great tree.
 
It smelled earthen and
musty, and the vines looked like snakes.