“Montagne Pelée,” explained Audrey with a shrug. “Getting our attention. She does that frequently. This is a small one.”
Wake had never been in an earthquake. The sheer latent power of it was disconcerting to him. “It does this often?”
“Yes, but the officials say it is nothing. Just a shifting of weight far below the surface.”
“Aren’t they afraid it will erupt, like Vesuvius at Pompeii?”
“No. They say it is no problem. Personally, I think they do not want people to worry. Or perhaps investors to leave. But what do I know?”
Wake looked out the window at the mountain. It appeared close but he knew it was five miles away. He was sure it was distant enough not to cause a problem to St. Pierre, but the rumbling started up again and made him want to get back to the ship. Like most veteran sailors, he felt vaguely unsafe on land.
When Raoul returned, he and Wake shook hands. Then Audrey hugged him and said goodbye. He thanked her for the previous night’s hospitality and wished her good fortune. Both said they hoped to see the other again and both knew they wouldn’t. Then he climbed into the carriage’s front seat with the driver and they were off with a clatter of hooves on the stone pavement, the two recovering younger officers sprawled against the back seat. Wake sat back and took in the sights.
The ride back was by a different route, along the western coast of the island. The road was along the cliffs, at times a dizzying plunge of hundreds of feet, and they traveled through villages hidden within the coves formed by mountain rivers that emptied into the sea. It was even more winding than the interior road and several times Wake thought they would not get through, but the driver knew of detours and took paths off to the side that led them around washouts and downed trees.
They passed the dilapidated fishing village of Le Carbet, famous among the islanders for Colombus’ first landing site on Martinique, and then Belle Fontaine, which Catherine had said was owned by a distant cousin in France who had never even seen his possessions in the West Indies. Finally, they topped the last coastal mountain and saw Fort de France spread out along the shores of its great bay.
By dinner the three officers were back aboard Omaha and Wake was reporting to Gardiner his observations of the politics and economy of the island. He described Audrey and her father to the captain but omitted any reference to Catherine Faber. He wasn’t sure how to describe her and worried that Gardiner would sense some sort of guilt over his behavior with her.
Gardiner listened to the report and thanked Wake for handling the social duties of the ship, saying that it was all far more than he cared to do. With one of his infectious grins he added that he would rely on Wake to do it one last time in Barbados.
***
The trades were blowing a reefed topsail breeze after they rounded Ilet Cabri at the southern end of Martinique, sailing close-hauled to the southeast for Bridgetown at the British crown colony of Barbados. The wild salt air felt clean and pure to Wake—devoid of the complicated scents in the air on land. The symbolism wasn’t lost on him and he stayed on deck long past the end of his watch, gazing at Martinique receding.
In addition to being wrong, his attraction to Catherine was illogical, Wake told himself, after he had unsuccessfully tried to put her out of his memory. In so many ways Audrey was more similar to him, and to Linda. Catherine was from a world completely different from Wake’s—the alien world of the leisurely cultured elite. Maybe, he pondered as the last black smudge of the island sank below the horizon, that’s why I am intrigued.
But even that benign verb bothered him. Was he allowed to be intrigued by a woman? Wake shook his head at the horizon and gripped the stern rail. Martinique had profoundly disturbed him, probing into the weak spots of his soul and finding the wounds. It was a dangerous place for a man with doubts and he didn’t want to go back. But no, that wasn’t true. He did want to go back. He just knew that he shouldn’t.
And where exactly was he headed? With each mile eastward toward Europe, life as he had always known it was fading away too. For the first time since his court-martial almost five years earlier, his professional future was uncertain and his personal one was looking more grim with each day.
***
They let go the hook at Bridgetown two days later, after having to short tack to windward the last fifteen miles against wind and tide. It was a frustrating effort not only because their destination was in sight, but because they had the means to get there directly but were not allowed to use the engine unless an emergency arose. It was one of the stupid things about the navy that upset Wake; however, there was nothing he could do, so he swallowed his irritation and concentrated on the neverending administrative paperwork of the ship.
When the American consul came aboard with mail, including one from Linda, Wake inquired about the Trinidad’s schedule. He was told the passenger steamer would arrive the next day, load for two days, and be on her way on the third. Wake also found out that there would be the usual round of professional and social contacts and functions ashore that would start the next day.
In the privacy of his cabin he ripped the envelope open and
