Receive Me Falling (3 page)

           
“May I ask,” continued Albert, “if
there are many farmers like yourself who we could trust as allies—men appalled
by slavery, and angry over their inability to compete with the large
plantations?”

           
“Most farmers and small planters, I
fear, care not about the slaves or their unfortunate conditions.
  
In order to gain their cooperation, you will
have to exploit their outrage over the Council’s attempts at destroying their
homes and acquiring their land.”

           
“What do you mean?”

           
“The Council passed a bill that
those living in thatched houses have until April to shingle their homes or pull
them down.
 
They claim that it will
prevent quickly spreading fires, but everyone is aware that the homes of which
the Council is speaking are on valuable land adjacent to their properties.
 
They offered an absurdly low price to buy the
land as an alternative to shingling or rebuilding—an amount that would barely
cover the cost of relocating a family.
 
My home is one of the homes targeted.”

           
“And you haven’t the money or
manpower to shingle your house.”

           
“Precisely.
 
If I have to destroy my home, I will be
forced to return to England.
 
My wife is with child and we have two other
small children.
 
There is no way we could
make the journey at that time.
 
And there
is nothing for us to return to, even if we could.”

           
James stared hard at Jonas.
 
His face was deeply tanned and lined, and
covered in grime. His hands were rough and calloused. James knew that in spite
of his harsh, aged appearance, Jonas was probably no older than James’ own
thirty-three years.
 
James wondered at
the circumstances that would send a man like Jonas—who sounded reasonably
educated—so far from his home, and into such miserable working conditions.
  
Was it money?
 
Trouble with the law?
 
He said a silent prayer of thanks for his
place and station in life, and suddenly felt that great familial altruism
welling up inside him.
 

           
“I am very sorry to hear that,” said
James.
 
“Your cooperation with us will
afford you some compensation.”

           
James pulled a leather pouch of
money from his pocket.
 
He then reached
into his other pocket and added more to it.
 
Albert watched as James passed the pouch to Jonas, who grabbed it and
began to count the bills.
 

           
“We will ask for your advice often
while we are here,” said Albert.
 
“Do not
yet mention our conversations to anyone.”

           
“I have no reason to betray your
confidence.”

           
The poor farmer stood and began to
limp away from the table.
 
Albert and
James rose to escort him to the door.
  

           
“Before you go,” said James, “tell
us what you know of the Dall plantation—Eden.
 
It is the most lucrative plantation on the
island, but one that seems to invoke whispers and sniggers upon mention.
 
It is the first we will visit.”

           
“Cecil Dall and his daughter,
Catherine, live there.
 
Cecil acquired
the land a number of years ago when he and his brother came from England
with their wives.
 
His brother died
shortly after arriving on the island, Cecil’s wife died birthing Catherine, and
Cecil’s sister-in-law died when Catherine was young.
 
It may surprise you to learn that Catherine
has been managing the plantation almost on her own for the past few years—and
quite successfully.”

           
“Why, is Cecil ill?”

           
“He’s ill with the illness that
plagues many on these islands.
 
One of the
most profitable by-products of the sugar mills is rum.
 
Cecil is consumed with the drink, and can
barely manage to dress and dine on time, let alone run a plantation.
 
He does, however, hold fast to the illusion
that he is in control of Eden.”

           
“You seem to know a great deal about
the Dall family,” said Albert.
 
“How are
you acquainted?”

           
“I’m the only person on the island
able to tune and repair the pianoforte.
 
I’m at the house often to service it.”
 

           
“Now that I think of it, all
correspondence we have had with the Dalls has been signed C. Dall,” said
Albert.
 
“I wonder if it is Catherine who
has been writing to us.”

           
“You may be sure it is
Catherine.
  
The only other person of
authority at Eden
is their chief overseer, Phinneas Sarponte.
 
Cecil appointed him after Catherine’s aunt died.
 
Miss Dall—though she would not admit it—would
be quite unable to get on without him.”

           
Albert and James looked at one
another, and then at Jonas.

           
“Thank you, Jonas.
 
Your assistance has been invaluable.”

A
strong wind thrust open the shuttered windows of Catherine’s bed chamber,
awakening her with a start.
 
She made her
way over to the window and looked out at the sun dawning over the horizon.
 
Catherine inhaled and could almost taste the
mangoes hanging ripe from a nearby tree.
 
Her eyes followed the slope of the land away from the Great House
passing over tropical foliage layered in deep greens, splashes of color,
insects, birds, and creatures out to the cliff overlooking the sea—shadowed and
strange in the still half-light of dawn.
   

           
Catherine turned away from the
window and approached her dressing table as the humidity began to press itself
upon her.
 
How long had she slept?
 
It could not have been more than an
hour.
 
She noticed that her soiled
clothing had already been removed from her room, and fresh water filled the
basin.
 
Only the soreness in her limbs
and the dark rings below her eyes suggested what she had participated in under
the cover of night.

 
         
Catherine
bent down and splashed the cool water on her face, allowing it to run down her
neck and into her nightclothes.
 
Fanning
herself, Catherine dressed and swept up her hair.

           
 
The aroma of fried eggs and fresh bread
drifted up the staircase as Catherine descended to the dining room.
 
Her father had not yet arrived at the table,
and for that Catherine was grateful.
 
She
was not yet awake enough to put on the façade of the obedient daughter, and was
afraid her guilty countenance would betray her.

           
Leah appeared from the kitchen
carrying a pitcher of freshly squeezed juice.
 
Her eyes were half-closed and her caramel colored skin appeared
pale.
 
She started upon seeing Catherine
at the table so early, and quickly crossed behind her to pour her drink.

           
“You’re awake early,” said Leah.

           
“The wind woke me.
 
I’m still running on last night’s energy.”

           
“Mami is tending to Rebecca this
morning.
 
She and the child are doing
well.”

Catherine reached for Leah’s arm.
 
“Thank you for getting me last night.
 
I hope Mami has not been too hard on you.”

           
“She hasn’t yet had the opportunity,
but I am sure it will only be a matter of time.”

           
The girls laughed and Leah turned
back toward the kitchen.

           
“Shall we meet in the grove after
sewing tomorrow?” whispered Catherine.

           
Leah nodded and disappeared around the
corner.

           
Catherine was alone only a moment
before Cecil stumbled into the dining room, trailed by his butler, Thomas.
 
She put on a smile as he crossed the room and
kissed her on the head.

           
“How are you this morning, my dear?”

           
“Fine,” said Catherine.
 
“How did you sleep last night?”

           
“I spent some of the time on the
hall couch, I must confess.
 
It was a
late night at the Ewings.
 
But I awoke
before dawn and was able to continue my slumber in the comforts of my bed,
until Thomas insisted I come down to eat.”
 

           
Catherine exchanged a smile with
Thomas as he pushed her father’s chair to the table.

 
          
“I,
for one, can’t wait to get home from Services today,” said Catherine.
 
“I’ve found a particularly mossy and
unexplored region by the lagoon where I hope to find some medicinal plants for
Mary.”

           
“Aren’t the Englishmen joining us
today?” asked Cecil.
        

“They’re not due here until
four o’clock
.
 
I’ve invited them to dine with us this evening to secure them
introductions with the Ewings and the Halls.
 
Our three plantations will be the focus of their observations.”

“Do these men have the upfront capital necessary
to start their own sugar plantations on St. Christopher?”

“It would appear that they are very wealthy and
very motivated,” said Catherine.
 
“I do,
however, find their timing a bit odd.”

“Why?”

“You know as well as I do that Britain is close to banning slavery
in its colonies,” said Catherine.

“It will never happen.
 
The British economy relies too much upon our
exports and debts to them.
 
Abolishing
slavery would be the equivalent of pulling the supports from underneath the
entire capital system.
 
You take too much
stock in those bumbling Quakers and Evangelicals.”

“Perhaps, but it would be foolish to ignore such
rumblings. After all, we must plan for what might be inevitable.
 
And what the Quakers and Evangelicals say
about our slaves does strike a chord—in my mind, at least.”

“That’s because you are the embodiment of
compassion without sense.”

Catherine looked at her father and then out to the
back lawn.
 

Cecil stood up from the table.
 
“A slave gave birth to a healthy boy last
night, and I would like to inspect him before Phinneas adds him to the
register.
 
I will have the carriage
brought around in an hour’s time.”

Catherine’s eyes dropped to her plate, and she
studied it until Cecil exited the dining room.
 
After he left, she finished her breakfast and gazed out of the
window.
 

Palms fanned in the ever-blowing breeze, partially
obstructing her view of the back lawn.
 
Sunday
stretched itself wide and lazily before her, and as she chewed the sweet fruit
from her plate Catherine tried to send her mind to wander into the cool, moist
landscape which she hoped to explore in solitude after church. Instead she
could only think of her father’s words, and the chores that needed done, and
Rebecca’s baby, and Leah’s fatigue.