As he walked to the Chambliss Boarding House to find the man he hoped could provide one thing he needed, Wake saw a provost army patrol marching from the regimental barracks on the east side of the island to Fort Taylor on the west. Their appearance reminded him of the dangerous situation for Linda in Key West and the need for him to get her away. He knew what he absolutely had to do and braced himself to do it.
It was after half past seven by the time he had made it to the Chambliss Boarding House on Fleming Street. He met with the manager and arranged to get the back room for three days. Privacy was mandatory, Wake told him, and meals would be taken in the room. There would be a lady in the room, but discretion was crucial and Wake did not want anyone knowing. The manager assured him that his stay would be quiet and private. He did not tell the manager, a Mr. Wakefield, the lady would be his wife. That would cause too much speculation. Better that he think she was just another prostitute with an officer on liberty.
Next Wake went to the chandlery store that officers of the squadron used. Uniforms, insignia, equipment, charts, and sundry other items were for sale. Most were used, having been sold by officers when they were transferred away and needed money. Occasionally jewelry was available and could be bought for wives or sweethearts.
The store was closed and Wake went around back, pounding on the door until the chandler opened it up with an angry growl. Pulling out his money pouch, Wake explained that he wanted a ring he had seen on his last liberty, if it was still available. Money transcending annoyance, the chandler brought Wake inside and said that ring was sold but another was for sale. It was a plain gold band but was all that Wake could afford. The story behind the ring was morbid, the officer who sold it dying later from typhoid, but Wake bought it and resolved not to pass the story along to Linda.
He thanked the chandler and dashed out the back door, walking fast down the alley, across Eaton Street, then south along Whitehead Street to the path leading to the beach on the south side of the island. Confusion reigned in his mind as he went over the options of how to get Linda out of Key West to a place of safety and security. But it was all too much to think through right then and he resigned himself to take it as it came.
The clouds were gone from above the island, replaced by a deep grayish-blue sky. The storm that had swept through with such fury was off to the west northwest, heading in the general direction of the Marquesas Islands. A gentle breeze from the southwest, just enough to give steerage way on a schooner like the St. James, rustled the coconut palms that covered the island. The wind did its part to dispel the cloying humidity and waft the scents of the many types of flowers that grew everywhere and became even more fragrant after a rain. With the sun now descending through its final degrees of arc, the overbearing heat was gone and a softness enveloped the atmosphere. It was as if the violence of the daily storm drained all the malevolence from the island and even the very air around it. It was the most calming part of the day, and Wake finally felt at ease enough to enjoy the sensations of the evening surrounding him.
Reaching the beach, he turned left and walked past the startled sentry at the Martello fortification. Naval officers walking the beach in that area were rare, and the boy soldier stared at him while leaning on his rifle. Continuing on, he passed the Seymore Plantation’s orange grove but saw no one. The beach was deserted. Wake had never been to the African Cemetery but knew it should be there somewhere close by. There was a point of land gently curving out just ahead of him and Wake resolved to go to that location and see if he could see anything from there. He heard people talking and searched eastward in the direction of the voices, finding the simple cemetery a few feet back from the beach. What he found at the cemetery was not what he expected, however.
Instead of the immediate wedding party and the preacher waiting for him, Wake found at least fifty people among the wooden crosses. Most of them wore blue naval uniforms. To his complete astonishment he saw half the crew of the St. James, several of the yeomen from the squadron offices and workshops, and many of the petty officers he had earlier observed at the Anchor Inn. Rork was there in his best uniform with Louisa in a gay yellow dress next to him. A tall dignified black-skinned man in a dark suit and white collar stood next to Rork, a Bible in his hand. Two other black men stood to one side, one holding a large conch shell and the other holding two crossed palm fronds in his arms. Though not as well dressed as their pastor, they wore their best clothes for the service. Everyone was smiling and laughing, several of the petty officers with glasses or mugs in their hands.
Suddenly Wake felt that old feeling of weakness that came over him whenever he went into physical danger. It was all too much. Too many people. He never thought this many people would be there. They saw him and called out to him. His pulse pounding, he slowly walked toward the crowd of smiles, abruptly struck with the incongruity of the scene: the beginning of a life together with Linda in the place that commemorated the ending of the miserable
