It was the thirteenth year of my captivity on Martindale Island . . . and the tenth for Rachel. On this particular afternoon we were gathering firewood along the beach when we spotted a sailing ship far off on the ocean. My heart leapt. I ran up to look-out point number one, pulled the spyglass out from the storage crate there, and held it up to take a good look. The ship was flying the colors of Great Britain. It looked like it was a navy vessel and the crew . . . as best as I could make out . . . seemed to move about in a disciplined manner, which I took to be a good sign. “This will be safe passage for us.” I thought to myself.
I started to load the cannon. Rachel was soon there with me, but I could tell that something was troubling her.
I: What’s wrong Rachel?
Rachel: We should stay.
I: We should stay?
Rachel: Yes. We should stay.
I: Why should we stay Rachel?
Rachel: We are happy here and we have everything we need . . . and no worries.
I: (pause) You are right. You are right.
And she was right. We lacked nothing on Martindale Island, and our lives were full and rich. In society, I knew, people were often anxious . . . always chasing after something, always worried about something . . . and here Rachel and I enjoyed a freedom from all of that, a freedom I’m sure many of those people wished they had.
I still wanted to fire the cannon, but my sense of urgency had been tempered somewhat by this newfound appreciation for our lives on the island. With mixed emotions I looked out at the ship . . . then over at Rachel.
I had tried . . . since she was a little girl . . . to love Rachel, and, at those times when her thinking ventured from what I knew to be right, I would . . . will myself in her direction. But now . . .
Was my getting off the island so vital? Did I really know what was best?
What about Rachel? The heart is such a delicate thing . . . deep, yes . . . unfathomable really . . . but sensitive and easily hurt. Did I want to risk hurting Rachel, and did I really want to live with the memory of having hurt her?
I stopped loading the cannon.
A ship sailing past the island was still a special event for us . . . and I didn’t want to be a spoilsport . . . so Rachel and I brought a bowl of raspberries and two spyglasses over to look-out point number one. And, as we sat there . . . looking out at this ship . . . we “gossiped” about the sailors on board: I:
The captain is a serious man.
Rachel: Oh yes. And he has been in the navy a long time.
I: As was his father before him.
Rachel: He showed great courage during that storm last year.
I: And what a terrible hurricane it was!
Rachel: The first mate is from Ireland.
I: And his wife’s name is Mary Elizabeth.
Rachel: (laughs) And they have seven children.
I: All girls!
Rachel: (laughs) He wants to be a house builder when he gets out of the navy.
And so on. The ship slowly glided across the horizon and eventually sailed out of sight. It had been a good little show.
That evening we were again at look-out point number one. We had cooked some fish over the fire pit and the fire was still burning . . . in its late stages . . . with the embers giving off a romantic glow. I stood there looking out at the waves that were breaking on the shore below, and then looked up to admire the full moon that was sitting so quietly in the night sky. Rachel came over and stood with me. Rachel, now a woman, had blossomed into a person of appealing attributes. She was pretty . . . friendly pretty . . . and possessed unselfishness, kindness, a funny wit, and a good sense of right and wrong.
And, as we stood there on look-out point number one, a warm ocean breeze tried . . . politely . . . to get by us. I eased my right arm behind Rachel and caught a gentle hold of her waist. She leaned into me and snuggled against my side. It was about to happen . . . and we both sensed it. I was nervous. She laughed. I looked at her and said, “Forever.” Looking up into my eyes she then said, “Forever.” I shook a little . . . one of those deep internal shakings . . . and I felt the pain . . . her pain . . . inside me, and I knew it had been done. The union had been completed.
In my life, up to that time, I had always harbored a sort of loneliness, a feeling that . . . despite the presence of people . . . would gnaw at the heart of my well being. After this moment I would never be bothered by that feeling again.
For us, the next few days on the island were blissful, and time seemed to pass by unannounced.
It may well be said that, “It’s a good thing a husband and his wife cannot read each other’s mind.” but such a “benefit” was not ours to enjoy.
When I now tried to say something to make Rachel laugh . . . as I had done many times before . . . she would laugh before I could get a word out of my mouth. And if I thought that we should retire to our little cottage for the evening or, it might be, to pay a visit to our friends the turtles, she would . . . apprehend . . . my thoughts and would respond . . . in kind . . . and we’d move along with there scarcely having been a word spoken.
And it should be noted that Rachel’s plea of “We should stay.” was not without its Providence. You see, the year was 1813, and, unbeknownst to us, England was at war with the United States. And so, if we had succeeded in drawing the attention of the crew of that British naval ship we, very likely, would have been taken prisoner and all of our possessions, as likely, would have been seized.