Her Name Will Be Faith

by Christopher Nicole

  “Jesus,” she said. “Richard, I really am worried.”

  “Well, take it easy,” he recommended. “When I said she’s building, there’s still no indication of her getting above a Category Two Storm.”

  “How big is that?”

  “Well, say something over 100 mph winds.”

  “100 mph? Oh, my God! Richard, wouldn’t I be justified in asking them to come home?”

  “Sure, you would. No one sits out a hurricane who doesn’t have to. As to whether they’ll still get a flight… you’ll have to make them hurry. How’s Owen Michael?”

  “He’s fine,” she said absently.

  “Would you rather I didn’t come round tonight?”

  She hesitated. She wanted him so badly. But she didn’t want Owen Michael involved — not yet; he was still unaware of Richard’s visit on Saturday morning. “No,” she said. “I want you to come. But make it later, after Owen Michael’s in bed. He’s still pretty weak and easily tired; I’ll have him tucked up by half past eight. Is nine okay?”

  “Sure. I understand. But I may not be able to stay very long. I’ll have to get back here by midnight for a late update; the big white chief likes his number one weatherman on duty when the weather happens to be making news.”

  “How’s the old bastard taking it?”

  “With a pinch of salt. Expects it to fizzle, like all the others so far this year.”

  “I wish he was in Puerto Rico,” Jo said. “Maybe you should send him there to see for himself. Anyway, I don’t mind if you can only come for an hour. As long as you don’t feel I’m wasting your time.” It would be disappointing to see him for so short a time, but it would be better than nothing.

  “Oh, we men are called upon to make these sacrifices from time to time,” he teased.

  Jo giggled. “The sacrificial altar will be ready at nine.”

  “I’ll be there,” he promised, laughing.

  Owen Michael was sound asleep when Richard turned up.

  “Have you eaten?” Jo asked, after they’d kissed.

  “No, but don’t go to any trouble.”

  “I haven’t had anything, either. Go park yourself in the family room. I’ve got something ready on a tray.”

  They drank soup from mugs and tore meat off grilled chicken pieces with their teeth, saying little and obviously with much on their minds. “Do you want to know what I think you should do when Donnelly gets back, and you return from Eleuthera, supposing you ever get there?” Richard broke the silence, eventually, wiping grease off his fingers with a paper napkin.

  “Tell me.”

  “You move out of here, into your place in Connecticut, with the children, and have him served with a petition immediately. You have a pretty good case for mental cruelty and your best chance of getting custody of the kids is to leave me right out of the picture, so he can’t counter-claim on adultery.”

  “Yes, I guess you’re right,” she agreed, and reloaded the tray. “There’s no point in delaying, if I’m not going to get down to Dolphin Point.” She noticed his eyes kept straying to the clock. “You don’t have to go for an hour yet, do you?”

  “No. But I have to be there in an hour. May I come back afterwards?”

  “Please,” she smiled, and then frowned. “You’re uptight. Is it Faith?”

  “I guess so.” He sighed.

  “I didn’t ask if there was any more news of her. I imagine you’d have told me if there was.”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t want to worry you with unnecessary details, when we don’t yet have any idea where she’s heading or how big she’s going to be. You’ve seen enough hurricane tracks charted by now to know that from her present position she could go anywhere.”

  “Yes, yes, I know that, but there’s something on your mind. Come on, let’s have it. What are you holding back?” She wanted to know the worst.

  “Well… the first reports are starting to come in from Puerto Rico. The hurricane winds were beginning to hit San Juan just before I left the studio, and the torrential rain was already, said to be causing landslips and widespread damage. The system is still moving very slowly, too, just on ten knots, which gives it so much more potential.”

  “That isn’t what you’re not telling me,” Jo insisted.

  He gave another sigh. “Mark called in just before I left. He’d just returned from the area. He says there has been a significant change in the track, from just north of west, to northwest. That’s good for Puerto Rico, of course; they’ll remain in the less dangerous semi-circle, down there.”

  “But it’s not good for the Bahamas.”

  “No. However, it’s still early days. The system is still huge, covering such an enormous area, that it’s difficult to see how the eastern Bahamas at any rate can avoid getting at least some of it, now. If you can get your people out of there, I most certainly would.”

  MONDAY 24 JULY

  Park Avenue — 11.00 am

  The phone buzzed at eleven in the morning. Jo had deliberately stayed in, waiting for the call, pretending to do some more research on Andre Previn — she had not told Ed she was still in New York, just to be left in peace — but she couldn’t concentrate. The weather update had revealed no deepening of the storm, and, as was always the case, lying in Richard’s arms had totally reassured her, but all through the night she had been aware of the feeling of imminent disaster hanging over her; the system was still drifting north — and it was still expected to deepen. “Hello,” she gasped, as she picked up the study phone, carefully closing the door to make sure Owen Michael couldn’t overhear.

  “That Mrs Michael Donnelly, junior?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “Hold the line, please. I have an overseas call for you.” The American operator did not close her key, and Jo could hear the well-known Bahamian voice saying, “You can use the firs’ boot’, Mr Donnelly.”

  “Dad?” she shouted. “Is that you?”

  “Jo? Hi, sweetheart. I got your message and came right in. Nothing wrong, I hope? Owen Michael still okay?”

  “Yes. But Dad…”

  “So how come you’re not coming in today? You’re sure he’s okay?”

  “Yes, Owen Michael’s okay. We’re not coming in because of this…”

  “And Michael? Say, how did the race go?”

  “He called Saturday. He’s won his class, I think.”

  “Attaboy!” Big Mike shouted. “I knew he could do it. He must be over the moon. And he’s okay?”

  “Yes, he’s okay,” Jo said wearily.

  “Then what’s all the fuss about? We thought you had an emergency, that’s why I came hustling into Whaletown to call.”

  “There is an emergency,” she shouted. “Haven’t you heard about Hurricane Faith?”

  “Sure,” Big Mike said equably. “Seems she gave Puerto Rico quite a clout. Mostly rain, though.”

  “Yes,” Jo said. “Well, she’s giving Haiti quite a clout this minute. And with a lot more than just rain. Have you heard about that?”

  “The goddamned electrics have been on the blink out at the Point,” Big Mike explained. “And I’m having some trouble with the generator. So we didn’t get last night’s forecast, except from the radio, which didn’t say much. Didn’t sound too bad, though.”

  “Dad,” Jo said, trying to speak calmly. “Faith is expected to carry winds of more than a hundred miles an hour by tonight: that is going to be twice as strong as we had three years ago. She’s a Category Two storm and she could deepen further. And she’s coming straight at you.”

  “Is that a fact. Well, I guess I’ll have Josh dig out those shutters again. Actually, we could do with some rain; the cistern is kind of low.”

  “Dad,” Jo said desperately. “We’re not talking about a little bit of rain. I think you should all get out of there while you can.”

  “What, run away from a bit of wind, bang in the middle of our vacation? Heck, sweetheart, you’re starting to sound like Meg Robson. Boy,
am I gonna have fun telling her about this.”

  “But Dad…” Jo felt like screaming. “A hundred miles an hour… ”

  The house can take it. So can we.”

  “I’m thinking about Tamsin,” Jo said, bluntly.

  “You don’t have to worry about her. Do you think I’d let anything happen to that little girl?”

  “I want my daughter brought home!” Jo shouted.

  There was a moment’s silence; she had never spoken to her father-in-law like that before.

  At last he said, “You really are worried.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes. I really am worried. Please, Dad, please.”

  “Well, if you feel that way… tell you what I’ll do, sweetheart. I’ll hustle back out to the Point and chat it over with Lawson and Belle and Babs. Then I’ll call you back tomorrow morning.”

  “And tell me what flight you’ll be on,” Jo begged.

  “Ah… yeah, I’ll call you back.”

  The phone went dead, and Jo rested her head on her arms in despair.

  Dolphin Point, North Eleuthera, Bahamas — 12.30 am

  A piercing scream electrified everyone in the house.

  “Holy shit! What was that?” Dale dropped the saw on the garage floor and ran outside.

  “Tamsin! Where is she?” Babs also emerged, from the kitchen.

  “Oh, my God!” the voice shouted. “Neal! Oh, my God!”

  “That’s our Meg,” Dale commented.

  “Tamsin was with her,” Babs snapped.

  And at that moment the little girl called, “Granma! Granma! Come quickly.”

  Barefooted, Babs ran across the heavy flagstones that composed the central patio of the house, paused to accustom her eyes to the brilliant glare of the Bahamian sun, then hurried down the path through the hibiscus hedges towards the sea, closely followed by her son.

  Tamsin and Meg were standing beside an old boat engine, eyes gaping, rigid with horror… and staring back, tongue flicking viciously as he slid out from a rusty aperture, was a large snake.

  “Dat no problem, ma’am. He jus’ a fowl snake,” Melba the cook announced coolly, having followed to investigate the excitement. “He don’t hurt. I call Josh. He fix he.”

  “Meggie. Oh, my darling Meggie!” Neal arrived to take his wife in his arms.

  “It’s horrible,” Meg sobbed. “To think it was there, all the time, when I was looking at the engine…”

  “You probably woke him up,” Dale pointed out.

  “Are you quite sure he’s harmless, Melba?” Babs asked. “He looks enormous.” She pulled Tamsin away as foot after foot of the reptile oozed out of the engine casing on to the path.

  “He ain’ poisonous, ma’am, but he might squeeze’m all of us. Yeah, he sure am a big one, all o’ ten foot.” Looking as nonchalant as she could, the large black woman backed off as well before turning to call, “Oh, Josh! Where you? Bring ‘um yo’ big knife!”

  Josh, half the size of his wife, came running down the path behind them.

  “Mornin’, borse.” He nodded to Babs, who was the senior of his employers present. “What seem to be de trouble?”

  “Come fix dis fowl snake, man,” Melba commanded.

  Josh approached, and checking behind him that the onlookers were well clear, swung his machete, decapitating the snake with a single blow. “Dere. No problem, borse.”

  “Ugh, what a stink.” Tamsin screwed up her face.

  “Is de blood. It powerful. Josh, take um away, quick,” his wife ordered.

  The Americans watched in fascination as the gardener balanced the long, dripping body at the end of his knife, holding it at arm’s length, and carried it down to the shore to fling it into the sea.

  “It’s horrible. Horrible,” Meg said. “Oh, Neal, this place just gets worse and worse. We shouldn’t ever have come here. I want to go home.”

  “Now, Meggie…” Neal held her close, and looked above her head at Babs; they had gone through this almost every day of the vacation, as some other incident which bore no relationship to the cloistered existence of Bognor, Connecticut had occurred.

  “Let’s all go have a rum punch,” Babs decided. “Mike’ll be home from Whaletown in a minute. You can tell him all about it.”

  “I want to go home,” Meg wailed, as they escorted her back up to the house.

  Lawson Garr heard the scream, and rolled on his back. “Sounds like Meg,” he remarked.

  “Blow Meg,” his wife replied, remaining on her stomach, pale bottom turned up to the sky. Dolphin Point curved away from the mainland of North Eleuthera to form the southern arm of a huge, shallow bay; the northern arm was composed of a series of small islands which had grown out of the reef, of which Palm Island, on which there was a settlement, was the largest. There was a supermarket and a post office on Palm Island, and at a distance of only three miles, it was the nearest civilization to the Point — but the Donnellys preferred as a rule to drive the ten miles into Whaletown as opposed to getting out the small dory Big Mike kept moored to the wooden dock, and braving the spray as they crossed the entrance to the sound, where the Atlantic rollers creamed into the narrows and could make the passage treacherous for small boats.

  Those rollers were breaking on the rocks only a few feet below where Belle and Lawson were lying, for if the bay side of the Point was a stretch of magnificent yellow sand beach, shallow for perhaps fifty feet from the shore to make a perfect aquatic playground, it was also overlooked by both the houses, and inclined to attract snorkelers from Palm Island. The Atlantic side was all rock, but there were patches of sand, and these were the Garrs’ favorites. Here they could sunbathe nude, and make love as the mood took them. Seven years into their marriage, Lawson and Belle still adored each other.

  “You don’t think I should go find out what’s troubling her?” Lawson asked.

  “No, I don’t. She is a pain in the ass.” Belle put out her hand to find him, and giggled. “You have a sand-coated willy.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll give him a wash just now.”

  He remained sitting up, and after a moment she rolled over as well, her golden brown splendor also coated with sand. “What do you see?”

  “Not a damn thing. Except forty-two acres of rolling green money.”

  Belle sat up too, rested her head on his shoulder. “I still can’t believe it.” But she did, now. They had told Babs and Dale when they had all got down, and that had seemed to make it official. Babs had been a little doubtful at first; the thought of spending a million bucks speculating in land was against her New England instincts, but as they had all walked over the property, and seen Neal Robson slowly turning green, she had warmed to the idea. “When do the diggers come in?”

  “Next month,” Lawson said. “I thought we might stay on up here and keep an eye on things.”

  “Mmm. I’d like that. Just you and me. We could go nuddy all the time.”

  He turned his head to kiss her. “Well… after Josh and Melba go home, why not? You reckon on wearing me out?”

  She kissed him back, and removed some sand from where it mattered most. “I reckon on having a damned good try.”

  They listened to the toot-toot of a horn. “There’s Dad!” Belle scrambled to her feet, scooping up her towel as she did so but not bothering to do more than drape it across her shoulder, as, like some reincarnation of Aphrodite, she strode towards the dirt road. Lawson hurried behind her, his own towel round his waist; there was always the chance that it might be someone other than Big Mike — not that the thought of his wife sending some poor sod into a mind-boggling spin did anything more than delight him.

  Big Mike braked as he saw them emerge from the bushes that fringed the road. “Holy shit!” he commented. “You could cause an accident.”

  “That would be incest.” Belle sat beside him, and Lawson also got into the front seat.

  “What’s up with Jo? The kid all right?” Lawson was fond of his niece and nephew, even if he was glad he and
Belle had no children of their own; there was not only the risk of that magnificent sun-browned body being damaged, but a child would have interfered with their essential intimacy.

  “The kid is fine,” Big Mike said as he turned into the drive beside the generator shed. “Jo’s scared about this hurricane.”

  “What hurricane?” Belle asked as the car stopped.

  “The one that’s been knocking around Puerto Rico. Faith.”

  “That’s hundreds of miles away.”

  “Puerto Rico may be, but not Faith, apparently. Seems she’s moving this way, and is beating the shit out of Haiti right this minute. Jo says she could have 100 mile an hour winds.”

  “That,” said Lawson, “is a lot of wind.”

  “Yeah.” Big Mike brooded on his holiday home. Built on a low ridge some thirty feet above the water, the setting was idyllic. Casuarinas lined the shoreline beneath it, and before them a garden of hibiscus and oleanders grew out of ground-filled rockholes in the coral limestone which made the Point. The house itself was single storied and U-shaped, bedrooms to the right, living rooms and kitchen to the left as he faced it, linked by a wide roof which half covered the flag stoned patio from which they looked across the shallow waters of the sound at Palm Island. The only other house on the Point, the Robsons’, was a quarter of a mile away, where the ridge dwindled to a mere ten feet above the beach. Mike thought Dolphin Point was the loveliest place in the world — and the most secure. So he’d been a little scared three years ago when there’d been that storm, but there’d been no damage. Fifty mile an hour winds! But Jo had been talking about double that. “She wants us to go home,” he said.

  “Go home? Half way through our vacation? She has got to be kidding,” Belle said.

  “Well… I guess she’s worried about Tamsin? What do you reckon, Lawson?”

  “Hundred mile an hour winds,” Lawson said thoughtfully. Born and bred in Nassau, where his parents had lived since the early 1950s, and having holidayed in Eleuthera even before he’d met Belle Donnelly, he could remember storms like Betsy and David. “Maybe it’d make sense.”