20
Wreckers’ Cay
October 1841
The summer passed quietly as Andrew and I settled into a rhythm of family life. He used any excuse to come inside to play with Ebony, or simply to gaze down at her crib and watch her sleep and breathe. “Thank you,” he would sometimes whisper to me.
I would awaken at night, sensing Andrew was no longer in bed, and I’d see him in the steady beam of light from the tower, standing over her crib, touching her cheek or her little hand, and making sure she was properly covered. As he had acquired more knowledge and education, Andrew had become less superstitious and bothered less with his spells and charms. Yet now, he was not taking any chances. Ebony had a small sachet of herbs in a gris-gris bag pinned to her little crib.
That summer was idyllic, but even then, deep in my heart I knew such happiness could not last.
I awoke one October morning to a dead, windless calm. Andrew had already risen to extinguish the lamps at dawn. I threw open the window to greet an oppressively hot day brushed with splashes of crimson. The pelicans were close to shore, and the seas were oddly quiet. These were ominous signs. A storm was brewing, perhaps a bad one.
I was changing Ebony’s diaper when Andrew came down from the airless tower drenched in sweat. “Look outside,” he said.
My eyes searched the horizon distractedly. “I don’t see anything.”
“Exactly. Look again.”
I did. And this time I understood. There was nothing. Not a single ship in sight.
“My guess is there’s a hurricane in the Caribbean, probably now somewhere in Cuba,” he said. “It must be bad to keep the big sailing ships from leaving.”
I nodded.
Suddenly, his voice was urgent. “I’m worried about you and the children. I don’t think there’s any time to lose. Start getting your things together. I want you to take the Pharos and get to Key West before the storm hits here.”
“But if the storm hits here, it will surely hit Key West, too.”
“Yes, but you have a better chance in Key West. And there are people there who can help. Here, you have no chance. A bad hurricane could blow away the tower, the house, boats, everything.”
“But what about the animals? Bourbon? Our chickens and rabbits … our goats?”
“Take the dog, but we’ll have to leave the other animals.”
“And you would go with us?”
“No. You know we can’t arrive together. You and the children go ahead in the Pharos. I’ll follow in the skiff. I can sail it well enough. We’ll stay in touch through Dorothy once we’re all there. But I don’t think there’s any time to lose. We could get hit in ten to twelve hours. Maybe less.”
I didn’t argue with him. With two children and an infant to protect, I wasn’t going to take any chances. In a bad hurricane surge, Wreckers’ Cay could be completely washed away.
Andrew and I outlined the plan to Martha and Timothy, who listened carefully. Martha and I hurriedly gathered supplies for the journey, while Timothy and Andrew moved both boats from the lagoon to the docks. The wind was picking up, which would help us travel through the currents, but it did not bode well for what was to come; I knew we would all have to hurry. Though it was not yet a storm, the sky was beginning to darken, and ominous anvil-shaped clouds—larger than I had ever seen in my years on Wreckers’ Cay—were forming quickly.
I rushed the children down to the dock, carrying cases of our supplies. “Mama, you get in with Bourbon,” Martha shouted over the rising wind. “I’ll take the baby.”
Without questioning, I settled into the stern of the boat with the dog. Andrew and Timothy untied the lines, and Timothy boarded.
And then my world crashed down around me. In one swift gesture, Martha handed Ebony and the case containing her supplies into Andrew’s waiting arms from the bow. Then she clambered quickly back into our boat. By the time I understood what was happening, she and Timothy were hoisting the sails, and the Pharos had pulled well away from the dock.
“No,” I screamed. “Stop!”
I stood up in the boat, causing it to teeter. Martha and Timothy pulled me down, ordering me to sit. I realized they had taken complete command of the situation. Suddenly, I had become like a child, and they like the strict parents.
Standing on the dock, Andrew held my precious bundle as he waved sadly. Then, as if he could bear it no longer, he turned away, placed Ebony into the skiff, and busied himself with his own travel preparations.
I was nearly out of my mind. I tried to jump off, but Martha and Timothy shoved me back down. “Stop it, Mother,” Timothy yelled. “You’re going to tip the boat and drown us!”
Hysterical and sobbing, I looked out over the sea with my empty arms outstretched, as though Ebony could somehow ?y into them. In a very short time, Andrew and Wreckers’ Cay receded from view, and we were almost past the reef, heading out to perilous seas.
I knew then that Andrew would not be going to Key West. I turned on Martha and Timothy. “This was all arranged?” I screamed. The wind whipped my hair across my face, stinging my eyes. “How could you do this to me?”
I could see the pain in their faces. Part of me knew they felt the same grief, for they were also leaving their home, their sister—and Andrew. But at that moment, I could only think of myself, and how I had been betrayed so completely.
Fortunately, the children were experienced sailors, for I was no help on the voyage. I sat at the stern, weeping. As we headed to Key West over dark, menacing seas that grew increasingly choppy, I began to feel nausea on top of my anguish.
It was a long voyage. The white-capped waves mounted higher and higher, tossing our boat wildly about. Water poured over the children’s faces, tangling their hair and drenching their clothing; their hands bled from handling the sheets, and I could see they were tiring and frightened.
Suddenly, not halfway to Key West, we spotted a light ?ickering on a ship in the distance. Martha and Timothy clambered up to the roof of the slippery cabin, clutching the mast as they waved for the approaching ship. Soon, the schooner Fox?re appeared out of the inky gloom alongside us. It was a merchant ship that had made an early escape out of Havana ahead of the storm.
The mariners helped us board their ship and tied up our sloop to tow her in. The captain was American, and when he learned we were the lightkeeper’s family from Wreckers’ Cay, he and his crew could not have been kinder.
“So you are the woman at the light!” he exclaimed over the roar of water and wind. “You’re well known among us ship captains, Mrs. Lowry. Many’s the time you’ve guided this ship through the straits. Glad to be able to help y’all now.”
Encouraged by his kind words, I sought to prevail on his gratitude. “Please,” I shouted back, “we’ve left some people at Wreckers’ Cay. We must go back.”
We were clinging to the ship’s railing as it rocked violently. He looked at me, incredulous. “That’d be mighty risky, ma’am,” he said ?nally. “Who all was left back there?”
I hesitated. “A man. A … Negro. And … his baby.”
His expression relaxed. “Sorry, ma’am, I ain’t goin’ back there and risking my ship for a couple of niggers.”
As he and his ?rst mate turned their attention back to the turbulent seas, reality ?nally sank in. I glanced up and saw Martha and Timothy looking at me, and their expressions told me everything. The children had understood; I had refused to. I had lost my child and my husband—for that is how I thought of Andrew now—but to the rest of the world, we had simply left behind two worthless Negroes in a storm.
I sat quietly for the rest of the voyage, head down, my stomach churning. Timothy and Martha left me alone until we arrived in Key West.
A carriage at the docks taxied us to Dorothy’s house. My sister ?ew down the stairs when her maid announced our arrival, and she gathered me into her arms. Exhausted from our ordeal, I fell into her embrace and allowed her maid to fuss over us and make us all comfortable. Dorothy made no mention of the absent members of my family, but she knew me well enough to sense my despair.
Tom made us all feel welcome, and my children adjusted to Dorothy’s household almost immediately. They helped with preparations for the hurricane—for the entire family and servants were bracing themselves as we arrived—and renewed acquaintance with their cousins and aunt. Dorothy led me upstairs and helped me into bed. There, I cried myself to sleep.
Dorothy came upstairs when it was time to eat. “Emily, come down and have some supper. You haven’t eaten all day.” She lowered her voice, pulling me into another embrace. “Martha has told me—”
“We never even got to say a proper good-bye,” I sobbed.
“I know, I know, darlin’,” she said. “It’s going to take time, but sugar, you must think of your children. It broke their hearts, too.”
“I would never have agreed to this,” I said miserably. “Oh Dorothy, if you could only see her. She’s so beautiful. Such a lovely, sweet baby. You would love her.” I felt my breasts engorge with milk at just the thought of her. “And Andrew! I cannot believe he has done this to me.”
“Emily, he just did what he thought was right. They all did.”
I leaned back into her shoulder, crying. “My own children! I shall never forgive them.”
Later on, Gran arrived. Her servants had readied her own home, battening down the scuttles, and she was going to weather the storm with Dorothy and Tom. Gran was genuinely happy to see me. “Emily, you’re back!” she exclaimed as she hugged me. “I was hoping I would see you and the children again before I died.”
“Yes,” I said ?atly. “I think I will be here for a little while.” My mind was not yet able to accept that Wreckers’ Cay, like a drifting log, was slowly ?oating beyond my reach forever.