Captured in the Caribbean

by Sara Whitford

  At that he turned and walked out of the room, straight down the hall, and went out of the house into the storm.

  ADAM DIDN’T EVEN BOTHER TO shield his head from the rain as he crossed the lawn towards the lane that led out to the gate.

  Soon Martin ran out after him and shouted, “Wait for me, damnit!”

  Adam turned and strained to look back at his friend, who was running to catch up. “Hurry up, then. I want to get off of this estate and get back to the Gypsy.”

  Martin nearly slipped on the cobblestone drive before he caught up with Adam. He grabbed his shoulder. “But your father . . . They should be back here with him any time now. Don’t you want to see how he fared on the trip over?”

  Adam shook his head and pulled away. “No, I really don’t. There’s not a damned thing I can do for him, anyway. His mother seems determined to have things her way, whether she kills him in the process or not. This whole family is crazy, and I’m sorry I ever went looking for him.”

  He started walking fast again.

  Martin ran to catch up and talked as he walked alongside him. “You can’t mean that. I mean, that uncle of yours, he’s out of his mind.”

  Adam scoffed. “You think so, huh? Why do you think I’m ready to leave this place?”

  He walked briskly until he got to the gate, then unlocked it and pushed it open. He thought for a second about how to lock it back from the outside but then decided not to worry about it.

  “You can’t run from him. He’ll come after you, you know.” Martin was nearly having to yell now the rain was so loud.

  “I know,” Adam shouted, “and when he does I’ll be ready for him. My father may not have been able to bring himself to deal with the threat all those years ago, but I’m sure not going to let him keep me looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

  Just as suddenly as it had began, the rain begin to lighten up, much to their relief.

  “And then what, Adam? What about his sons? You don’t think they’ll be after you too if you do somethin to their daddy?”

  Adam shrugged and continued walking. He reached back behind his head and twisted his short ponytail to squeeze out the excess water. “Maybe they will, but I reckon I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I get to it.”

  Martin shook his head. He looked as if he was searching for the right words to say to his friend. “You know,” he said, “it’s probably a good thing that he didn’t stick around Beaufort, anyway.”

  Adam looked at Martin like he was crazy.

  “I’m not jokin. I can’t see how it would’ve made things easier for you growin up with a Spanish surname after the summer of ’47. I mean, think about it—Adam Velasquez?” He chuckled. “That don’t even sound right.”

  Adam looked at his friend in disbelief, then fought the urge to grin in amusement. “You’re out of your mind. You know that, right?”

  “Maybe so,” Martin insisted. “But I still don’t think you ought to be so hasty that you run on out of here without even botherin to find out what happened with your father. I’m tellin you, you’ll regret it if you do. It ain’t like we live right down the road. You can’t just run back to check on him if you change your mind.”

  “I realize that, I do, but I can’t stop thinking about the fact that if I’d have just left things alone, none of this would’ve happened. And it isn’t like there’s a thing in the world I can do to make any of this any better.” He looked at Martin and wondered whether or not his friend would argue with him about that. When he didn’t, Adam continued: “Now I just want to get as far away from this godforsaken island as I can and never come back. The way I see it is this: my father told me that he didn’t want me to watch him die. He wanted me to remember him when he was alive. If he dies, I’m honoring his wishes by going on back to Beaufort. If he doesn’t die, then it will be up to him whether he’s going to come see me in Beaufort now that the cat’s out of the bag.”

  “So this is really it? You’re just goin to go back and tell the captain you’re ready for us to leave? Because you know he’ll give you another day or so if you need it to tie up loose ends.”

  “Yes, this really is it.”

  “I’d never have figured you’d quit so easily.” Martin stopped in the street. “You’re just gonna turn tail and give him exactly what he wants.”

  Adam stopped for a second, but he didn’t look back. He hung his head and clicked his teeth in frustration, then started walking again. Martin caught up again, but they went the rest of the way back to the Gypsy in silence.

  Chapter Eighteen

  WHEN ADAM AND MARTIN BOARDED the Gypsy, they couldn’t tell if their shipmates were resting down below because of the rain or if they were out in town. They did see that Captain Phillips was around, however, thanks to the soft glow of a lantern that illuminated the windowpanes of his cabin.

  “I’m gonna go talk to him,” said Adam.

  “Alright. I’m gonna go get some sleep myself,” said Martin.

  He disappeared down the ladder that went below deck.

  Adam knocked on the door.

  The loud voice inside said, “Come on in.”

  Adam let himself in and saw the captain sitting at the built-in desk, writing in his log book.

  “I guess they took him, huh?” Adam observed.

  The captain nodded, then turned around and invited Adam to pull out a chair from his small dining table and take a seat. Adam sat down and rested his elbows on the table and his head on his palms, but he didn’t know what to say.

  “Men showed up here not long after you left. Said they were here to pick him up and carry him home,” said the captain. “I tried to stop them, but Captain Velasquez said it was alright, that he knew them.” He hesitated for a minute, then said, “I’ve gotta tell you, it was a little bit of a surprise. I wouldn’t figure anyone else could’ve already known about what had happened to come get him so quick.”

  “Oh. Well, I can answer that for you,” said Adam. “It was the same man who had me kidnapped, and the same man who’s at fault for him being shot to begin with—his uncle.”

  The captain twisted up his face. “Drime! His own uncle!”

  “It’s the truth! I wish I were joking.”

  “What in the world happened?”

  Adam proceeded to explain to the captain how he and Martin had gone to find Drake, and the three of them ended up going over to the Velasquez estate, only to find Eduardo was already there and talking to his grandmother. Then he told him about how Martin had nearly gotten into a fight with Eduardo, and about how he ended up getting frustrated with the whole situation, so he left and came back to the ship.

  “Sounds like a right fine mess if you ask me,” said the captain. “I don’t blame you for stormin out, but I think you’re gonna have to go back again and see him at least one last time before we leave just so your spirit will be at peace when we go home. You don’t even know right now how he’s doin. He might’ve taken a turn for the worse with them moving him like they did.”

  Adam untied the cord that was holding his ponytail and ran his fingers back through his hair and massaged at his scalp in an effort to ease his aching head. “I know. That’s one thing I’m afraid of.”

  “Whatcha afraid for? I reckon if it were my dad, I’d wanna see him no matter what, but especially if he was really bad off. I’d hate for him to die and me not be able to see him one last time.”

  “I understand that”—Adam leaned his elbows on the table again—“but my father told me he didn’t want me to see him die. His exact words were, ‘I want you to remember me as I was alive.’ And I want to honor that.”

  “So that’s why you don’t want to go back?”

  Adam gave the captain a puzzled look.

  “I mean, you sure you ain’t just usin that as some kind of excuse to not have to go back and possibly face Eduardo again, or even your grandmother? Or maybe you don’t think you can handle
watchin your father die.”

  Adam straightened his back and bristled at the captain’s comments. “Are you trying to say I’m some kind of coward?”

  “Whoa! Settle down, boy. I didn’t say that. I’m just sayin that maybe you’re just havin second thoughts about diggin into all this mess from the past.”

  “Of course I’m having second thoughts about digging into all this mess from the past, but it’s too late to change that now. I’ve got a father who’s been shot, a grandmother who doesn’t even know who I am, an uncle who tried to kill me, and a mother who never wanted me to come here in the first place! And now I have to wonder if that demented man is going to follow me back to Beaufort, bringing all these problems with him.”

  The captain clicked his tongue and looked down. “Yeah, I can surely understand why you’d be concerned. I wish I knew what to tell you, but the only thing I know is that if you don’t go back and at least leave things in a good way with your grandmother—and find out your father’s condition—you’ll regret it later. It’ll eat you up inside.”

  Adam thought for a minute, saying nothing. He took a deep breath, then let out a sigh. “You’re probably right.” He stood up as if he was about to excuse himself, then said, “I just need to think about everything for a little while . . . figure out the best way to handle this. I know this much, though: if Eduardo comes after me again, I may just kill him myself.”

  Adam didn’t give the captain a chance to respond. He just turned and went right out of the cabin and down to his berth to get some sleep.

  “¡SEÑOR ADAM! ¡SEÑOR ADAM! ¡DESPIERTA!”

  Adam turned over in his hammock and rubbed his eyes. He was surprised to see two men from the Velasquez estate standing there beside his berth, trying to wake him in a hurried whisper.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  In a very thick Spanish accent, the taller man said, “Your presence is required at the hacienda Velasquez. Señora Isabel has sent us this night to bring you there to her.”

  Adam wrinkled his brow. It took him a moment to make sense of what they were telling him.

  “What?” he said. “I’m not going there now. You must think I’m crazy.”

  “Señor Adam,” said the shorter man, “you must. La señora has told us not to come back unless we bring you with us.”

  “How did you find me?” asked Adam.

  The shorter man said, “It is good you are having these cajitas with your names on the top of them. This is how we know you was in this hamaca.”

  Adam looked around the berthing area. From what he could tell, Willis and Canady were also down there and sleeping, but he wondered where Martin, Charlie, and Jones were. “How’d you even get on the ship?” he asked.

  “There is no one up the stairs,” said the taller man.

  Adam gave him a surprised look. “No one? There’s always somebody up there.”

  “Maybe it is because it is raining—very bad outside—and it is very late. Maybe the others are out enjoying a nice time in the town.”

  It made sense. Now that Adam was on board and Santiago had been moved back to his estate, they had to know the Gypsy would be leaving soon. The men would want to spend every bit of free time they had enjoying their shore leave. As his still-sleepy mind started to clear a bit, he asked, “What does she want with me? Is my father alright?”

  The shorter man gave a doubtful smile and cocked his head and said, “We do not know his condition, but it is very important that you come there with us right now.”

  “Is Eduardo there?” Adam wanted to know.

  Shorty said, “Do not worry yourself, Señor Adam. He was sent away this night by la señora, but she want to talk to you now. Please! Let us hurry!”

  “How do I know I can trust any of what you are saying, that I’ll be safe?”

  “You will just have to trust us,” said Shorty.

  “Please,” said the tall one, “I will tell you I swear on my life you are in no danger with us. The señora has no intentions to harm you in any way, I assure you.”

  Shorty nodded in agreement. “Yes. He is telling the truth to you.”

  They both looked at Adam, waiting for an answer.

  His brain was telling him he’d be crazy to trust anything that anybody from the Velasquez estate said, but in his gut he believed the two men.

  He slowly slid out of his hammock and was about to go with them when the tall man said, “If it will make you feel more safe, please bring one of your friends with you. It is alright if you do it.”

  Adam considered his offer for a second, then shook his head and said, “No, I don’t need to bring anybody else into this at this hour. Let’s just go.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  WHEN ADAM WAS ESCORTED BACK into the Velasquez home, he was taken to where Isabel was waiting for him in the family’s chapel. As he stood at the entrance, he observed that it was a small room with three ornately carved pews with red velvet cushions. His grandmother was sitting in the front row. In the front of the room was an altar, something Adam had heard about but never actually seen. There were some candles burning, and the centerpiece was a tall crucifix that looked like it was crafted from mahogany—which Adam was beginning to realize was a very popular wood in Cuba. To the right was a bowl, which he assumed was a font of holy water. In the center were two books. The first said “Santa Biblia,” so he guessed it was the Bible, and the other was a smaller book, but he could not read any title on it. To the left of the crucifix was a globe-shaped object made of bronze with smoke coming out through the carved designs around the top, and behind that a statuette of the Virgin Mary. As he stepped farther into the room, he could smell that it was fragrant, so he assumed the smoke must be incense. There were some other small objects on the table that he could not identify, but it was of no concern to him. The only thing he wanted to know was why he had been brought here.

  Adam was unsure of whether he should quietly take a seat and wait for her to address him, or if he should say something first.

  When Isabel heard him come in, she turned and looked at him. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “Please, come sit down here.” She motioned to a place beside her on the pew.

  Adam tentatively stepped forward and sat down beside her.

  “What is this place?” he asked.

  “This? This is like our family’s church.” Isabel kept her eyes fixed on the altar ahead and smiled gently as she rubbed the beads of what looked like a long necklace between her fingers.

  “You have your own church? You don’t go to a real church?” he asked, perplexed.

  “Of course we attend la misa at the cathedral, but this is our altar. We are a Catholic family. This is where we come to pray and meditate and to say our credos and el rosario.”

  “You have to come here to pray?” Adam asked. “Why can’t you just pray anywhere?”

  “Of course we can pray anywhere, but I feel closer to God here. This is a special place for us. And Nuestra Señora intercedes for us here.” She nodded her head forward, indicating the statue of Mary.

  Adam was confused by the concept, but he wasn’t going to spend time asking her to explain any further. He felt certain a discussion of the differences between Protestantism and Catholicism was not why she had sent for him.

  “How’s my father?” he asked.

  Isabel looked at her hands as she continued to move the rosary beads between her fingers. “It is so strange to hear you say that about my son, for you to call him ‘father.’”

  Adam didn’t respond.

  “He spoke to me,” she said. “When they brought him here . . . Just for a few moments he was conscious and—”

  Adam interrupted her. “Wait! He was only conscious for a few moments?” He felt mild panic. “Did something happen? Is he already . . . ?”

  Isabel leaned her head towards Adam, with the slightest smile on her face, and said, “He is sleeping very soundly. The medicine t
hey are giving him—it is very strong, yes?”

  Adam nodded. “Oh, well, I reckon it is.”

  “I was saying to you, when he was awake for a few moments he told me what I already knew.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you are his son.”

  “You already knew?” Adam asked, incredulous. “You sure didn’t act like you already knew when I was here earlier today.”

  “I knew. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew.” She turned and looked at him and smiled. “I can see it here, around the eyes.” She motioned to her own eyes, apparently uncomfortable or unwilling to brush her fingers against his face. “And that hair you have.” She admired his appearance. “I bet it curls up just a little bit when it is shorter or even when it is wet, does it not?”

  Adam reached up and grabbed some of his hair in his palm and said, “Yeah, I reckon it does.”

  “Do you know how you call me? In Spanish, I mean?” she asked.

  Adam shrugged. “Señora Isabel?” He shook his head, unsure of what she meant.

  “I am your abuela—Abuela Isabel.”

  “Abuela means grandmother,” he mused. “Hmph. I’ve never had a grandmother, or a grandfather. Both of my mother’s parents died when she was a girl. I only ever had Valentine. He’s kind of like a grandfather—like I was telling you earlier today.”

  There was silence between them for a moment.

  “And of course I never knew anything about my father, so I couldn’t have known you or his father.” He was thoughtful for a moment, then asked, “How do you say ‘grandfather’?”

  “Abuelo.”

  “Abuelo. Abuela.” Adam repeated the words one more time before asking, “My abuelo died sometime back?”

  Isabel looked down again and nodded. “Yes. My husband died several years ago. He was so good to Santiago. He was a wonderful father.”

  There was more silence. Adam felt awkward. While he was glad to know she at least was willing to acknowledge who he was, he wondered if this was why she had sent for him—just to let him know that she believed him. Or was there something else?