“Well, it might be a very unique wedding, my love. One we could delight in regaling our grandchildren about when we are old. But it will be a proper wedding and marriage in the eyes of the Lord, done by a real man of God.”
“But who, dear?”
“A Bahamian preacher. A black preacher in the African Baptist Church from the Bahamian quarter. Does that upset you?”
Linda thought for a moment and smiled. “No darling, quite the contrary. I think it would be deliciously perfect for our situation, after all we are the black sheep to many people around us. Why not have a black preacher—the miserable people around us won’t hate us any more or less for it.”
Nodding his head and rejoicing in his mind, Wake kissed her again. It was a long lingering kiss. Finally he let go and stood up.
“I’ll go find Rork, then return here around seven o’clock. Have a bag packed with what is dearest to you and be ready to leave. After the wedding we’ll get a room here on the island for a few days and proceed onward from there. I’ll get you passage on a ship bound up the coast to that island I’ve told you about before, where those kind refugee people live, Useppa Island it’s called. You’ll like them. Do you remember?”
“Yes. How long do you think I will live there among them?”
“Until the war and this chaos ends. Until we can settle into a proper home somewhere. Maybe a year, maybe more.”
“Peter, my heart is pounding, can you hear it?”
“No more than mine. It won’t be easy, Linda, but we’ll handle what comes our way and make ourselves a life together. Until later, darling.”
He straightened himself and walked out the back of the shed into the sunlight of the western sky. Behind him the eastern sky was a jumble of white billowing clouds sitting atop a line of dark blue-gray with lightning streaking through it. Thunder rumbled and the wind picked up. Excitement was in the air and Wake felt like he did after making the decision to take his ship and crew into a dangerous situation. Exhilaration filled him. The moments of doubt were gone.
***
The Anchor Inn was more crowded than earlier but Rork sat at the same table in the far corner. Louisa was on his lap and pouring a beer into his mouth when Wake sat down at the table. Rork, tipsy but not totally drunk, glanced over at his captain.
“Ah, sir. Good news for the lovebirds. The Reverend David Pinder of Andros Island will be more than delighted to perform the sacred deed. It would appear that the preacher is a supporter o’ the recent proclamation o’ his honor the president and views us in the navy as Lincoln’s sword and shield, sir. Reverend Pinder did say that he believed that the marriage might not be recognized by the strictest legal interpretation of the Key West authorities, however. He said they can be quite dull about such things, sir, but that the important thing is that the marriage is a covenant before the Lord. The man was as elegant as a bishop on the matter, don’t you agree, Louisa?”
Louisa said nothing but smiled at Wake, who was beginning to think she might be a mute for her apparent lack of speech so far in their acquaintance. Wake turned his eyes back to the bosun.
“Excellent, Rork. Now, where and when?”
“Well, Captain, when I suggested this should all take place somewhere other than his rather wee church where the congregation might suffer retribution from the army authorities, he agreed and suggested a place that will provide a most secluded dignity, sir. But I don’t know if the lady o’ your life would fancy the thought o’ it.”
A mocking grimness came to Rork’s face as he raised his eyebrows and rubbed his chin with his hand. Wake could tell the bosun was enjoying it all and went along with the flavor of the moment.
“Well Rork, I think at this point she might very well appreciate any place, so long as there is a wedding with a real preacher. Where and when?”
Rork assumed an exaggerated look of decorum, with his back straightened, chest expanded, and his voice deepened.
“The African Cemetery on the south beach at sunset, sir. Secluded and dignified. An’ a wee bit romantic with the sunset an’ ocean an’ all.”
“The African Cemetery, Rork?”
“Aye, the African Cemetery, with all its grandeur, sir. A mighty statement if e’er there is one, sir.”
Wake did not know what to say. None of this business about black Bahamian preachers and a wedding in an African cemetery had been in the plan he had imagined weeks earlier. He did not know much about the dreams of girls for their weddings but felt sure Linda had never dreamed of this situation. Rork was now grinning again, pleased that he had produced a positive, if somewhat unusual, solution for the seemingly impossible problem. Wake found the bosun’s manner infectious and couldn’t stop himself from grinning also.
“Rork, you are truly one of a kind. I am very glad you are on our side in this war. The African Cemetery it is then. At sunset on the south beach. God help us all.”
“Well done, sir. ’Twill be a wedding that will be remembered for its love, Captain. What better could one say o’ it?”
“Right, Rork. Remembered for its love and the solemnity of its location. I will meet you there ten minutes before sunset. But now I need you to go to my cabin and get some clothes for me for three days. We have liberty in port for that long. Tell MacDougall he has the first night’s duty, you will have the second, Faber will have the third. Our orders should arrive aboard tomorrow and I’ll need you to get them to me. I want St. James ready for sailing on Monday at sunrise. Understood?”
“Aye, sir. All will be
