by Mille West
Homemade ice cream was served on the screened porch after dinner and Mills concluded this was a specialty of Vern’s.
“Peach ice cream made with South Carolina peaches. I hope you enjoyed it,” he said.
As they sat quietly on the porch, Mrs. Adams told them the reason for her quietness. “I hope I haven’t been a terrible hostess this evening, but my mind is distracted. I’ve been so unhappy lately. Today is the anniversary of our son’s death. I’ve missed him so much.”
Cooper and Mills looked at one another, and then Cooper took Mrs. Adams’ hand in his. “I’m sorry for your loss. We share an unfortunate anniversary. My brother and father were killed twenty years ago today.”
Mrs. Adams rocked forward in her chair and stared into Cooper’s eyes, as though his admission represented a revelation to her. “Cooper, I know we don’t have blood roots, but I think there is a bond between us. There is a reason we have come to know one another.”
Mr. Adams broke into the conversation, “It’s a coincidence. You’re going to scare Cooper with your superstitions.”
“Oh, not at all,” Cooper said. “I agree it’s very odd.”
She went to the living room and returned with a photograph of her son in his Marine Corps uniform. “This is my son, Jeremy. He would be a few years older than you, Cooper, if we still had him with us. There is a reason the Lord has permitted us to know one another. Like other events, this, too, will be revealed when the Heavenly Father sees fit to show us.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Adams, but I’m not a religious person.”
She looked into Cooper’s eyes and then patted him on the hand.
When they finished dining, Mr. Adams walked with Cooper and Mills to the gate. The last light of day was in the evening sky, and the sounds of the night surrounded them.
“Cooper, Miss Taylor? Please don’t worry about what my wife said this evening. The folks she comes from are Christian people, but they believe in signs and other notions that some folks might consider superstitious. It’s just that her mourning for our son has never stopped and she looks for any hopeful indication that can help her deal with her loss.”
“Vern, you don’t need to offer any explanations. Please let me know if I can be of help to you and your wife.”
“You’re a good man, Cooper. Thank you for joining us this evening. Good night, folks.”
When they returned to Edisto, Mills checked her answering machine for messages. Paul had phoned to let her know that Max had passed away. He explained that Max had one last request of Cooper. He wanted him to play the piano at his funeral and he had left a letter to that effect.
Mills went by their townhouse and picked up a letter that Max had written to both of them. That evening, Cooper read part of the note aloud:
There are two songs that I’d like for you to play excerpts from at my funeral: Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue and Peter de Rose’s Deep Purple. The colors suit my disposition; they are not colors of despair, but are shades of deliverance. I cannot begin to thank you for the kindness you showed me, but there is one way you reached out to me for which I will always be grateful. Both of you were willing to touch me, to shake my hand. Thank you for your gentle and compassionate gesture.
The funeral was held at Watson’s funeral Home on Ashley Avenue on what seemed the hottest day of the year. Cooper played the music that Max had requested and the room was filled with spiritual energy when he finished.
Mills noticed that the service was a celebration of Max’s life and it was not intended to be a somber event. After hearing cheerful anecdotes about him from friends and former music students, Mills concluded that Max must have been an outgoing individual before disease had ravaged his body. At the end of the service, the attendees sang the only religious song chosen, “Let Us Break Bread Together.”
During the service, Mills noticed that Paul did not sit with Max’s family, but sat behind them with several friends. When the service was complete, Max’s family sought Cooper.
“Young man, your playing was lovely. Were you one of Max’s students?” Max’s mother inquired.
“No, ma’am, Miss Taylor and I were friends with Max.”
Cooper introduced himself and Mills, and Mrs. Oliver said, “Thank you for your gesture. Your music performance was like a reading of beautiful poetry.”
CHAPTER 25
It is Nice to be Nice
T he Rockville Regatta was held on the first weekend in August at the Sea Island Yacht Club. Jeff was competing in the event and Cooper invited Mills to travel with him by boat to watch him race. Both having received a written note from Jeff apologizing for his behavior the morning he had found them together, Mills and Cooper made the trek to support him during the race.
Maneuvering the Miss Elise into Bohicket Creek, Mills was astounded to see the number of boats tied together to watch the race and celebrate.
The grounds around the yacht club were filled with spectators and they walked through the crowd to gain a vantage point to view the race. Cooper was able to pick out Jeff’s boat, and he said to Mills, “It looks like Jeff is going to have a hard time winning.”
Jeff’s sailboat was named The Renegade.
Cooper explained that Jeff’s craft was termed a Sea Island One design, and the skipper with the best cumulative performance for the racing season won the Ellis Trophy. When the race was finished, they located Jeff and his sailing friends, Irving and Abigail Sellers.
Jeff saw Cooper and Mills approach, and he shook Cooper’s hand and kissed Mills on the cheek. “No Ellis Trophy for me this year,” Jeff said with a smile.
“You can’t win them all,” Abigail responded.
“I learned that a long time ago. Cooper, we were just about to have some drinks. Why don’t you and Mills join us?”
“Thanks, Jeff, but we’re going to start for home. I worry about the celebrating that occurs on the spectator boats. We just came to support you.”
“Thank you, Cooper. I appreciate your telling me that.”
When they arrived home, Cooper told Mills that he had a surprise for her. He left her on her screened porch and returned in several minutes with a colander of fruit. “Close your eyes and I’m going to give you something delicious.”
His fingertips gently caressed her lips as he placed a piece of fruit in her mouth. “How do you like it?”
She felt a sensual pleasure with his touch and the taste of the fruit on her palate. “Mmmm, delicious. Fresh figs. Where’s the tree?”
“It’s on the other side of the equipment barn. The tree has almost finished bearing fruit for the season.”
He picked up the book of poetry that was on her table and looked through the contents, then sat down beside her and began to read:
To Solitude
O SOLITUDE! If I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; - climb with me the steep,
Nature’s Observatory - whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes – its rivers crystal swell,
May seem a span: let me thy vigils keep
‘Mongst boughs pavilioned;
where the Deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild Bee from the Fox-glove bell.
Ah! fain would I frequent such scenes with thee;
But the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
Closing the poetry book, he said, “John Keats.” He paused and thoughtfully said, “Solitude. I am no longer alone. Mills—with you, I have another chance for love.”
He put his arm around her and asked, “How would you like to go away with me for a few days?”
“Yes—where do you want to go?”
“St. John, in the US Virgin Islands. I stayed in a resort once that I think you’ll like.”
The Caneel Bay Resort was one of the most stunningly beautiful places that Mills had ever seen. On the ferry ride from St. Thomas, Mills admired the clear, blue-green waters of the Caribbean and the peaks of the volcanic islands of the American and British Virgin Islands. Cooper explained that Lawrence Rockefeller founded the resort in the 1950s as an ecofriendly escape.
Their room was at Hawk’s Nest Beach and had a view of the ruins of a windmill on a nearby mountain. The young woman who showed them to their room pointed out the remains, saying, “When the Danes controlled these islands, they built windmills to aid in sugar production. There are several on the island.”
Before she left the room, she asked, “Are you two on your honeymoon? Your eyes sparkle for one another.”
Cooper smiled at her but did not respond.
The next morning, they walked around the acreage of the resort and marveled at the pristine beauty of the grounds. They encountered wild donkeys that brayed loudly when approached. When they reached a crest on a hillside, they sat down on a weathered teak bench that overlooked the ocean toward Tortola.
“When were you last here?”
“Jeff and I raced in the Springtime Regatta in the British Virgin Islands.”
“Did you win?”
“The regatta is a series of races, and yes, we did win a few of the heats.”
“Why did you give up competitive racing?”
“I just didn’t have time for it anymore.”
That afternoon they went snorkeling off Hawk’s Nest Beach. Mills marveled at the abundance of colorful tropical fish, but hidden amongst the coral structures was a fish that Cooper prevented Mills from continuing toward. He took her hand, and they swam away from the area.
While they treaded water, Cooper explained that even in the beauty of such natural surroundings danger lurked. The fish among the coral formations was a barracuda.
After their swim, they sunbathed on Hawk’s Nest Beach and watched the ferry boats pass by on their way to the British Virgin Islands.
“Cooper, I think you told me that you’re open water certified for scuba diving. Do you want to dive while we’re here?”
“No. I think I’m going to limit myself to snorkeling on this trip. The last time I went, I became ill during one of the dives.”
“Where were you?”
“In the Turks and Caicos Islands. I rented a sailboat to take Elise, Jeff, and me on a diving and sailing excursion. The crew takes you to different locations in the islands, and you dive, eat, and sleep onboard the boat. I ended up in a hospital in Providenciales. I passed out underwater, and the dive master saved my life. Fortunately, we were on a shallow-water dive.”
“Had you ever become sick while diving before that?”
“No, and the experience made a strong impression on me. I’ve written to the dive master, Erik Grootman, a couple of times to thank him for saving my life, but his return correspondence always says that no thanks are necessary.”
Late that afternoon, they took a tour of the island by taxi. The front office had arranged the tour and they met their guide, Elias, at the taxi stand. “Greetings to you,” he said with an island brogue. He smiled broadly, showing perfectly straight, white teeth.
They took the North Shore Road, and Elias pointed out Trunk Bay. “When the Danes controlled these islands, large sea turtles nested on the beach and the colonialists thought they looked like trunks.” Elias pointed out the ruins of a sugar mill and they saw wild donkeys grazing within the stone structure.
On the side of a mountain, Elias parked the taxi at the ruins of the Annaberg Sugar Mill and accompanied them on a tour of the grounds. He led them to the crest of the mountain and pointed to a nearby island. “That is Tortola.”
“It looks close enough to swim to,” Mills responded.
“The distance is short; in fact, cows swim the channel. I have seen it myself.”
Elias looked at where Mills was standing and said, “Ma’am, please step toward me. You are close to a plant that can sting you. It can be quite painful.”
“I seem to attract things that sting and bite,” Mills replied.
As they descended the mountain, Elias pointed out features of the ancient sugar mill and told them its history. When they left the ruins of the mill, Elias drove them to the highest peak of the island and pointed out a tranquil-looking bay in the distance. “That is Hurricane Hole. During hurricanes, mariners anchor their boats in the bay and tie them off to the mangroves. The natural topography that surrounds the inlet, plus the mangroves, have, for generations, spared boats from the violence of storms.”
When they arrived in Cruz Bay, Elias dropped them off at an outdoor restaurant where the locals danced to Caribbean music. Elias volunteered, “That is called Quelbe. Slaves weren’t allowed to play drums or dance African style by their colonial masters, so they originated this music, which has its roots in African and European folk music. Do you want me to pick you up later?”
“No, I think we’ll walk back to Caneel Bay by the mountain trail.”
“Do be careful. There are tarantulas along the paths, but ma’am, they will be more frightened of you than you are of them.” Tarantulas!?
Cooper paid Elias for the tour, and he thanked them for allowing him to be their guide. He smiled broadly when he looked at Cooper’s payment. “It is nice to be nice,” he said.
“Elias, you have a beautiful smile,” Mills said.
“Thank you, ma’am. It is in my family’s blood roots.”
The next morning, Cooper surprised Mills with a sailing excursion around the island. An adventurer, Marcel Renaud, an acquaintance of Jeff’s, was the captain of the boat. There was one mate, named Josiah. They sailed to several diving locations, and Josiah went into the water with them each time. He brought an underwater writing tablet and wrote down the names of creatures that he could identify.
After snorkeling, Cooper and Mills enjoyed a variety of French dishes that Marcel had prepared for them.
“How do Marcel and Jeff know one another?”
“From yacht racing. Jeff said he travels from one exotic location to another and offers sailing excursions to earn a living. I think Jeff said he had been living in Costa Rica before he came here. He is a retired French military officer.”
In the afternoon, Marcel returned them to the Caneel Bay dock and wished them well. As they departed the boat, he said, “Tell Mr. Radcliffe I look forward to racing against him in the future. He is a formidable opponent and a talented skipper.”
Before the end of their summer vacation, Cooper’s cousins, Zack and Blair, came for a visit to Edisto. He took Mills and the boys tarpon fishing, and she found Cooper’s technique of catching bait fish to be very clever. He followed diving pelicans. Without failure, where the birds plunged into the river, bait fish congregated, causing the water to appear to shiver on the surface. He called the water “nervous,” where the tiny, silvery menhaden fish teemed.
Cooper instructed Blair to throw the cast net to catch baitfish, but the net folded up on him each time. Blair began to get frustrated and Cooper told him they’d work on his technique that afternoon. Eventually, they caught enough baitfish to go for tarpon. They cast their lines and then sat in the intense heat of the August morning. Excitement broke loose when Blair’s fishing rod completely bent over. He put on the fighting belt to hold his fishing rod, and a massive fish jumped out of the water; it seemed to walk across the surface on its tail before crashing into the river.
“Lower your pole when the tarpon jumps out of the water or it will break your line. Remember, bow to the king,” Cooper said.
When Blair finally reeled the fish beside the boat, he was exhausted from the fight, but so was the fish. Cooper took photos of the boys with the fish in the background, and they beamed with delight. “Your fish must weigh a hundred pounds,” Cooper said enthusiastically.
During the afternoon, Cooper worked with Blair on his technique for throwing the cast net. He was still having trouble keeping the net open and Mills listened as Cooper asked the boys to join him for a talk.
“Did we do something wrong?”
Cooper laughed at their response and said, “No, boys. When I learned to throw the cast net, I was taught the technique by a man who was already in his eighties.”
