Birch catches my eye and pats the length of log next to her. I slide beside her and put my arm around her.
It feels good to rest, even for just a moment.
Chapter Twenty-One
We decide to leave Martha’s Vineyard at first light. We don’t want the others waiting at the winery to worry about us, and Philip is concerned we will lose momentum with the islanders if we don’t act now.
Most families have few possessions. Other than the homes we live in and our animals, we could pack all of our belongings into a pack or two. Notwithstanding, it seems a huge logistical undertaking for everyone to pack all of their essential belongings and be ready by sunup.
I ride with my mother and some others back to Edgartown in the moonlight. The familiar white-log house where Rich and I lived is in practically the same state as when we left. Although I can see where people have passed through here—searching for evidence against us, perhaps.
There are cupboard doors ajar and items have been put back in unfamiliar places. It is unnerving to think that our neighbors were searching our home. But all of that is behind us now. We are no longer wanted fugitives.
I take a sack and throw some items from my room and a few from Rich’s room. It all seems to hold such little interest to me now. What good is our clay lamp? I can make another.
Or build something better.
With my sack only half full, I go next door to my parents’ home and find my mother in the dining room. She’s sitting at the wooden table, a place she’s been so many times before in my memories.
A lone flame burns steadily on the table and a tiny droplet of wax runs slowly down the length of the candle before hardening in place where the base meets the candleholder. Through the window I can see the sky lightening. I can see the place where Abigail’s mother took her last breath, and beyond that, Abigail’s house where she will also be gathering her things.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m not,” she replies. “But I’m hoping with some time that I will be.”
“Have you packed?”
“There’s nothing here I want or need,” she replies.
“Me too,” I say. I drop the sack onto the floor and take a seat next to her. She squeezes my hand briefly and I smile at her. “So much has happened since we last sat at this table.”
“Who would have thought that you and Delphine would lead us to where we are now. I’m proud of you both.”
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I’m thankful that Ada—”
“Stop, Chris. The past is heavy. You need to put it down, and move on.”
We look at one another for a long time. I didn’t explicitly ask for her forgiveness and my mother would say it’s not necessary for her to give it. But it is comforting that the person who has known me the longest continues to see my goodness.
“We should head down to the bay. Someone will need our help loading the boats,” I say eventually.
“Chris,” she says. I look at her expectantly. “I’m sorry about your father. I’m sorry he wasn’t a better man.”
We ponder her words as the candle continues to burn down. One of the villagers rushes past laden with bags.
“Let’s go,” I finally say.
She leans forward and blows out the candle flame and the room darkens. The front door closes behind us and we make our way slowly down to the beach, both acutely aware that this will be the last time we ever walk these overgrown paths.
We reach the beach and find a hive of activity. People hustle every which way, carrying bags and sacks bulging with their belongings. Small children and dogs dart underfoot.
Some people are coordinating the rowboats, which are ferrying people to the main fishing boats a short distance from the shore. There is a man close by balancing his small daughter on one hip and a basket of squawking chickens under the other. I rush over and take the basket of chickens.
“Thank you,” the man says, wiping his brow.
I take him over to one of the rowboats and we help the small group there pack and launch the boat into the water. I wander back to my mother.
“Where do you suppose everyone will settle on the mainland?” I ask.
“We’ll go to Morris and Prue’s place first—”
“There won’t be space for all of these people,” I say.
“Prue and Morris will let them camp on their land. We’ll have to rebuild. It will take time. But we can do it.”
“I hope Yanx meant what she said about giving me her protection.”
“Yes, me too.”
“There’s Abigail,” I say, pointing out a wiry-haired silhouette that has appeared on the path from Edgartown. We walk over to her and embrace. I take one of her bags.
“You both packed light,” she comments, looking at our empty hands. Mother and I laugh.
“Where are the others?” I ask.
“Delphine went back to the Harbormaster’s Cottage. She’s planning to bring the small sailboat around. Birch is with her. And Carl is with his family. They’ll take a boat from the other side of the island and meet us on the mainland.”
“Are you ready to go?” asks my mother. She brushes Abigail’s hair from her face and puts her arm around her.
“Yes, although I need to wait for Philip. I asked him to go back to where we buried my mother. I can’t go back, not yet, anyway. The pain is too raw…” her voice cracks and she wipes her eyes before continuing. “He’s going to bring a small seedling from there, that I can plant at our new home on the mainland.”
“That’s a nice idea,” I say, taking her other hand.
There is an unexpected loud shouting from behind us. We swing around quickly, drawing our weapons. Old habits die hard, and we can’t help but laugh when we see the cage carrying the elders being bought into the bay.
The cart with the cage rolls to a stop about a chain from us. The man driving the horses unhitches the cart and leads the horses towards us.
“So we just leave them here?” he asks me. “We should kill them for what they’ve done.”
“Yes, we leave them here. They can do what they like with the island once we are gone. I’ll give them the key as we leave,” I reply. “More death will not right what they have done.”
The man shrugs and hands me the keys to the cage. He walks the horses towards the beach and looks warily at the elders as he passes them. He mounts one horse and takes the other by the reins, then enters the dark water and swims to one of the larger fishing boats. Someone has put a ramp down into the water for the horses to use in order to get on board, and the boat already has a number of horses whinnying and jostling nervously on the deck.
A new day begins to dawn and we watch as the last of the villagers from Edgartown make their way down the path to the bay and begin to load their possessions in rowboats to be ferried to the fishing boats waiting off shore.
Philip arrives carrying a small northern lady fern, which he gives to Abigail. She holds it tenderly. “Thank you, Philip,” she says to him. “This means more to me than you know.”
“I know exactly what it means,” he replies, using his sea-weathered hand to wipe the tears forming in his eyes.
The four of us stand on the beach and look out at the ocean. An important chapter in our lives is closing. We’ve all lost people we love and now we prepare to move on without them.
“It looks like it’s time to go,” yells one of the villagers from the edge of the beach. He has one foot in the last rowboat. He grins and beckons to us. We grab our packs and the other three walk down to the small boat.
I linger for a moment, tossing the key to the cage up and down in one hand. Whistling a low, jaunty tune, I saunter to the cage. My father and the other elders glare at me from inside, where they are crouched on the base of the cart.
“You will live to rue this day, Christopher,” rants my father. “Don’t turn your back for even one moment. The Devil is coming for you. You will be in the pits of hell for all eternity!”
I lean in close to the cage, so my face is only a cubit from where my father sits hunched over like a vulture. “The floods are coming again, but there’s nothing left on the island for you to sacrifice.”
I don’t wait for his reply.
I walk down the beach and squeeze into the rowboat next to Abigail. I raise my hand by my face, my fingers spread wide—one final salute to the island and the girl who fell from the sky and changed everything—and then we begin rowing to the last empty fishing boat.
We row until our small rowboat bumps into the side of the fishing boat. Hands reach down to help us climb aboard. We are the last to leave the island and as I stand on the smooth, worn deck, spontaneous cheers erupts from the other boats bobbing in the surrounding water.
I raise my arms in the air and the cheers rise louder.
Back on shore, I can make out the cage containing the elders. “They are still locked inside,” I remark to Abigail.
“It’s not our problem anymore,” she replies with her trademark grin.
A strong wind fills our sails and we move into deeper waters, following the other fishing boats from the island. There is a fleet of forty or more boats skimming the azure waves.
Delphine and Birch round the headland in their small sailboat. The sail close to us and stand on the side of the boat facing us. In the rising sun, the warm salty wind whipping around them, I’ve never seen either of them look more energetic and vital.
“How are you going?” yells Philip. “Need me to climb aboard?”
Delphine laughs and shakes her head.
“Maybe!” yells back Birch. She holds on to a rope in mock terror. She sticks her tongue out at us as the small boat speeds past us.
As they pass, Delphine raises her blonde head. Our eyes touch for a moment and she smiles her killer smile.
She doesn’t need her notepad or her tablet.
We did it.
We anchor off the mainland. We are hungry and tired, but elated to be alive and to have saved so many of our friends and neighbors from the island.
The rest of the boats have already anchored and the islanders have rowed ashore with their possessions and animals. There is a large group on the sandy beach.
We climb into the rowboat once more and head for shore. “It looks like almost everyone came,” I say to Abigail, as I pull on the oars.
She nods. “Yes, I heard of a few loyalists who are remaining on the island, but the majority came with us.”
“It’s a little overwhelming that we are responsible for all of these people,” I say in a low voice. I don’t want the other people on the rowboat to hear me.
We reach the beach and Philip and I jump out in the shallows, dragging the boat until it rest on the sand. Delphine and Birch are about a chain up the beach with the small sailboat. We help them bring the boat onto the beach.
Birch wraps her arms around me tightly. “That was incredible,” she says, her face flushed and eyes sparkling. “I’m going to have to move from the mountains to the beach so I can go sailing every day.”
I smile at her and kiss her deeply. We break apart and lock eyes. “That’s a shame,” I reply with a wink. “I was planning to move to the mountains.”
I realize for the first time in a long time, I feel good.
“Shall I speak to everyone?” I ask my friends. They nod their agreement.
I climb a small boulder on the edge of the beach and wave my arms. “Everyone,” I yell. “Over here!”
Hundreds of faces turn to look at me before shuffling closer. I wait a few moments for everyone to settle into silence before speaking.
“Thank you for taking this leap of faith with us. The mainland is a dangerous place and we need to find safety.”
The islanders begin to whisper to one another. I project my voice louder over the murmurings. “We have to walk inland to a safe place in order to set up camp. There are dangerous people and animals in these forests, but there are so many of us that there will be safety in our numbers.”
“What about the boats?” yells a man close to me.
“We need to leave a group to guard the boats. I suggest thirty of us stay here overnight with weapons.”
“What if the people who stay behind are attacked?” shouts someone else.
“Yes, what if someone tries to steal our boats? We have nothing left.”
The crowd begins to get agitated. Voices are raised, shouting to one another. There is a strange, nervous energy in the air.
I raise my hands for calm.
“Please. I am confident we will be safe. We must stay together.”
I have no doubt that Yanx has eyes on us. They will be watching from somewhere. I don’t know how long she will keep her promise, but I hope that her gratitude to me for saving her daughter and Lincoln will allow us at least a few weeks grace to set up a new settlement for our people.
“How long do the guards need to stay here?” shouts a woman close to me.
“We will return tomorrow to relieve the guards and make a longer-term plan for the boats. We may need to abandon them.”
People begin to yell their objections. I know I’m losing control. I need to act now before the group splinters. “We are leaving now, so we can set up camp before nightfall. I will lead the way to a safe place. Philip will stay and coordinate the boat guard. Let’s move!” Philip nods to me and I watch for a moment as he gathers a group to stay on the beach overnight.
Carl waves from the front of the group and gives me a thumb up. He holds his little sister’s hand and Max is there, joyfully sniffing at the commotion all around. His mother is next to them, laid out on a stretcher but smiling broadly. I’m relieved to see that she is recovering.
“Lead, and they will follow,” I say softly to myself.
I don’t hesitate further and leap down from the boulder, landing with a satisfying thud. I throw my shoulders back and beckon to those closest to me. Birch joins my side and we begin our trek towards the winery.
We form an epic, sinuous line that weaves through the ancient forest. “Should we appoint a lookout?” asks Birch.
“No one would attack a group this big.”
“Why are you holding your gun so tightly?” she asks.
“Sometimes there are bears about.”
We make it through the forest without incident. We must be loud, because Morris appears on the crest of a hill long before the winery comes into view. He stands with his hands on his hips, his shotgun in his hand, watching us approach.
When we reach him, he hugs me tightly and whistles long and low. “You and Delphine finally did it.”
“We did.”
“Now what in the blazes am I meant to do with all these people?” he asks, laughing.
We make camp inside the winery palisade. I can tell my people feel more secure once inside the strong boundary fence. They are alternatingly grateful to be off the island and mourning for the home they left behind. But the air is undeniably full of excitement, and ripe with promise for the future.
Before the day is over, I find Prue walking up and down the makeshift tents and beds with a large basket of bread. “I’ve been baking all day,” she says, shaking her head, her mouth set in a thin line. But her step is lively and energized, and I know she shares our joy at saving so many.
That night, Birch and I lie curled up next to one another under the vast, expanding universe. She kisses me in the cool evening air. “I’m glad you’ve come back to me,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for what happened on the island.” She tells me to shush, and kisses me once more.
The next morning I head out before dawn with the small group intending to replace the guards who camped on the beach overnight. Delphine is with me and we walk in companionable silence.
We
are in the forest, in sight of the beach, when the water starts to move up the beach quickly. I stop and stare. The water reaches the high-tide mark and continues to move up the sand. I freeze, staring at the eerie sight.
I feel a frantic tugging at my arm. It’s Delphine. She’s pulling me urgently away from the beach.
The water keeps rising.
“Philip!” I yell. “Run! Run!”
He looks at me, shocked, from the edge of the sandy beach as water begins to surge around his feet. I can’t help but say a prayer.
Then, we run.
Epilogue
The destructive force of the water was more than any of us could have imagined, even Delphine. The hungry tide bulldozed its way over the mainland after us, devouring everything in its path deep into its bottomless belly.
I’ll not forget that day for as long as I have the good fortune to live. Philip and the others guarding the boats sprinted up the sand and after us through the forest. We ran until we felt our chests would burst, leaping over fallen branches and scrambling onwards desperately each time we fell.
“We have to get to higher ground,” I screamed over my shoulder. I didn’t see if they heard me. All I could do was run.
But the water reached us before we made it to higher ground. I could hear it behind me, surging onwards around the ancient trees and then over our feet. It didn’t stop there and continued to rise quickly.
Delphine stopped beside a thicket of tall, strong oaks, and pointed upwards.
I realized she was right. We were not going to outrun the surge which was increasing in size with every passing moment. “Quick, climb up,” I shouted to the others in the group.
We climbed high into the mighty trunks, several of us in each tree. Philip and Delphine sat with me and we watched the water surging higher and higher. At its peak, the water was at least eight cubits above the ground. It took hours, but the water finally began to recede and the intensity of the surge began to slow.
The water was still four cubits up the trunk by the time we felt safe enough to venture lower down the tree. We did a quick check to make sure everyone in our group survived, and then we had no choice but to venture into the murky, swirling seawater and swim to higher ground.
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