Mr. Rao.
Maribel was a young lady of almost fifteen now, and running to hug a man of Mr. Rao’s age was not considered appropriate. Neither was plopping down from the guango tree to chase Mother Superior and her guest.
So she waited until the pair had parted ways, and then she edged up to him as he was repairing the window in the chapel. “Excuse me,” Maribel called from the other side of the chapel. “Might I have a minute of your time?”
“Sure, miss. Something else that needs fixing?” He looked up from his work as she approached, and then froze.
“Hello, Mr. Rao,” she said. “Do you remember me? I’m Maribel.”
The mallet fell from his hand and barely missed landing on his foot. Mr. Rao dipped down to retrieve the tool and then took his time straightening again.
“What is this?”
Maribel jumped at the familiar sound and knew from her tone of voice that Mother Superior was displeased. Children were expressly forbidden from interacting with any adults other than the nuns, so she knew she was in deep trouble.
Slowly she turned to face the nun. As expected, Mother Superior wore an expression of irritation. “You know you should not be here. I will insist you leave at once.”
“But Mother Superior, you see, I have a very good reason for being here.”
She shook her head. “I will not hear excuses made when rules are broken. Go directly to your classroom, and I will come and get you once I have decided what your punishment will be.”
“But I was just …” She had no good explanation other than the truth. “I am not excusing my behavior, and I will accept any punishment I have been assigned. However, I believe I know this man.”
“What man?”
Maribel turned back around to see that Mr. Rao and his tools were gone. All that remained to show he had been in the chapel was the fresh repair to the chapel window.
“But Mr. Rao was here.” She ran to the window to look out onto the grounds of the orphanage but saw no one fitting his description. “I know he was just here.”
Mother Superior came to stand beside her and then lightly wrapped her arm around her shoulder. “Miss Cordoba, it is obvious we’ve had a carpenter on the island working on the chapel, so of course he was here.”
“But he just left.” Tears began to swim in her eyes, but she refused to cry in front of Mother Superior. “He didn’t answer me and he didn’t even say good-bye. But I know it was him. It just had to be him because nobody else smiles like he does, and he was so nice to me when I was on the boat. Did you know he built my own room for me? And Mr. Piper used a sail and made a hammock.”
Mother Superior led Maribel out of the chapel and into the courtyard. “Collect yourself and go back to your classroom. And please exercise more control next time.”
“But he didn’t remember me,” she said, hating how her words came out sounding so pitiful. “I remembered him and he didn’t remember me.”
“Miss Cordoba,” she said gently, “you are assuming the man you saw was the man you believe him to be. You do not know this for certain. If this man was your old friend, then he certainly would not have left without acknowledging you.”
She shrugged. “I suppose. So you think it wasn’t him?”
“I think he is not the man you wish him to be,” she said. “And I think you are now late for your class and likely earning an extra punishment from your teacher in addition to whatever I decide to assign you.”
Several protests arose, but she kept them to herself as Mother Superior walked away. Abruptly, the nun stopped and turned around once more. “Miss Cordoba?”
“Yes?”
“Have you been having those dreams again?”
Maribel was reluctant to reply. Indeed she had experienced recollections of her days on the ship and the time leading up to her arrival on the island many times over the past few years. However, she had stopped asking questions of Mother Superior regarding their authenticity because her answer was always the same: it was a dream.
“No, Reverend Mother,” she told her, “I have not had any more dreams.”
Because they aren’t dreams. They’re memories.
MARIBEL AND THE PIRATE
PART II:
Isla de Santa Maria
Near Port Royal, Jamaica and New Orleans, Louisiana
May of 1735
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him? For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour. Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things under his feet: all sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field; the fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.
O LORD our Lord, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!
PSALM 8:3–9
You have a visitor, Miss Maribel.”
Maribel Cordoba looked up from her reading to offer a silent chastisement. All the children knew she was not to be disturbed during her hour of respite. Furthermore, the boys and girls should be resting and not gadding about the orphanage to pop up unannounced in her place of solitude.
“Miss Maribel?”
She debated offering a response. After the last time she was found reading in a guango tree, Mother Superior threatened to relieve her of her teaching duties. It wasn’t seemly for a lady, apparently, or at least that is what Maribel was told after she had endured a scathing lecture on propriety.
Of course she agreed with Mother Superior. It was not seemly to be caught reading in that guango tree. So she moved to a different tree and determined not to be caught.
She also made sure the sticky seedpods did not adhere themselves to her in places where the students and faculty might spy them but she would not. Of course, that humiliation had only happened once, but it had been quite terrifying to sit down on something that she had not expected to be there.
The children did enjoy her reaction, however.
So yes, it was a bit sly to climb a tree to hide and read, but it was not meant to be rebellious. As much as she loved teaching these beautiful children, she also loved having time to herself to escape to those books that had become her favorite.
With the orphanage being run on a strict schedule, these stolen moments were precious. Those and the other rare occasions when she managed to slip off to the other side of the tiny island a few miles across the bay from Port Royal to enjoy a swim or the view from the mahogany trees.
Owing to the risks involved in such an activity—and the fact that Mother Superior would fire her and banish her from the orphanage on the spot—Maribel rarely attempted this anymore. Oh, but perhaps someday soon.
“Really, Miss Maribel,” little Stephan said as he jumped from one bare foot to the other. “Mother Superior, she said I should find you and see that you get to her office with the upmost speed.”
“Utmost,” Maribel corrected as she closed her well-worn copy of Robinson Crusoe.
Stephan gave her a gap-toothed grin. “Yes, that’s what I said.”
“Thank you, Stephan,” she told him. “I’m curious. How did you come to meet with Mother Superior when you should have been resting in the classroom with the others?”
He looked down at his feet then back up at her. “I might have seen her while I was out and about.”
“I see.” Maribel stifled a grin.
It was well known that Stephan loved to hurry down to the little tributary that ran through the orphanage grounds just beyond Mother Superior’s office when he thought no one was watching. She saw no harm in it as the stream was shallow and slow moving, but the knowledge was useful. The fact the boy’s dark hair was slick with water gave him away.
“Then if you do not mention to Mother Superior where you found me, I will conveniently forget that you have been swimming instead.”
; She tucked her book into her pocket and waited until the boy had scampered off. When the coast was clear, Maribel carefully climbed down and straightened her skirts then adjusted the scarf that she wore tied around her waist.
Woven through with threads of silver, the scarf was not part of the uniform Mother Superior prescribed for her teachers. Thankfully, Mother Superior did not require her to remove it once she learned the length of cloth was all Maribel had left of her mother.
Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly as she made her way toward Mother Superior’s office. Though the distance was short, it felt much farther as she walked toward the front of the orphanage.
The afternoon sun slanted across the avocado trees that marked the boundary between the orphanage and the path that led to the beach. Out of habit, she cast a glance at the sparkling green water and then let her attention rest on the horizon.
There she spied white sails off to the northeast. “Sloop,” she whispered under her breath. Another set of sails fluttered some distance away to the west. “Brigantine.”
Her fingers curled involuntarily as she felt the imagined grip of the watch post. The sensation of standing so close to heaven that she could almost touch the stars had never left her. Nor had her curiosity as to what had happened to the kindhearted men who she often prayed had survived the battle that plummeted her into the sea and deposited her at this place.
When she first came to St. Mary of the Island, she was very ill. This she had been told by others. How she got here was a mystery, however. Someone brought her, but she had asked Mother Superior who that someone might be so many times and received no answer that she had eventually given up. Though she owed her life to a person she may never be able to thank, she nevertheless offered up a prayer for him daily.
“Miss Cordoba, do join us.”
The sharply enunciated tones of Mother Superior preceded her as she glided around the corner. How this tiny woman always seemed to know where her students and teachers were without actually standing in sight of them had unnerved Maribel when she first arrived at the orphanage. Only later did she discover the old nun was blind.
“Yes, Mother Superior.”
She picked up her skirts and followed Mother Superior’s brisk pace around the corner and into the low-roofed building that served as offices, classrooms, and the chapel. Hurrying behind the woman who finished raising her and then hired her to teach, Maribel once again attempted to affect the elegant gliding gait of the older woman and the other nuns.
It was useless, of course. Rumor had it that Mother Superior had been a great beauty in her youth, trained and educated in the highest levels of society. Though the country of her birth varied depending on who was doing the telling, all the stories agreed: the loss of her sight sent her here to this remote corner of the Caribbean where the children and teachers took the place of whatever social life she left behind.
“Do keep up,” Mother Superior said as she turned sharply and disappeared into the office she had carved out of this corner of the building after it was rebuilt following the hurricane last year.
The room was small but not at all dark, owing to the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the length of one wall. If anyone thought it odd that a woman without sight would insist on putting in a wall full of windows, no one dared approach Mother Superior about it.
Rather than take her customary place behind the rather simple desk in the center of the room, Mother Superior held the door open for Maribel and indicated she should take a seat. There behind the desk was a rather stern-looking bespectacled gentleman wearing the formal attire that marked him as one who had not spent much time in this climate.
Before she could turn around to ask Mother Superior who this man might be, the door shut and the nun was gone. Maribel returned her attention to the desk and the stranger.
He indicated with a sweep of his hand that she should sit. In deference to the behavior she always exhibited when called to this room, Maribel obeyed.
Perched on the edge of the hard wooden chair, she rested her palms on her knees. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stephan float past in the creek.
“You are Maribel Cordoba?”
The question caused her to jump as she swiftly returned her attention to the stranger. Her fingers clutched handfuls of her scarf as she tried not to allow his stare to unnerve her.
“Yes,” she finally said. “I am.”
“Yes, of course you are.” His expression softened. “Forgive me, but I expected you would be a nun.”
Maribel laughed despite her nerves. “I assure you it was not for the lack of trying. Mother Superior had hopes that I might join the novitiate, but unfortunately I am apparently quite unsuitable. She despaired of me ever learning to be still and quiet, but beyond that I read the most unsuitable books.”
One silver brow rose above his spectacles. “Is that so?”
Horrified, she shook her head. “That just sounds terrible. Please understand I do not read books that are bad, I promise. Rather, I prefer stories of pirates and such, and Mother Superior believes that tales of adventure on the high seas do not qualify me for the more sedate and cloistered life of a nun.”
He looked away, and when he returned his attention to her, the beginnings of a smile rose. “Yes, I do see your point.” The stranger’s expression sobered. “I’m sorry. You are likely wondering who I am and why I am here.”
“The thought did occur,” she said. “I assume you aren’t here to learn why I was not accepted as a nun in this fine establishment.”
“No, that is true,” he said. “I will get to the point, Miss Cordoba. My name is Rafael Lopez-Gonzales. I have been sent to find you and bring you back with me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, well, the matter is of the utmost urgency, but since you have no family here on the island, I did speak to Mother Superior before I broached this topic with you. After much spirited discussion, we are in agreement that you should take leave of your position here and—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Lopez-Gonzales, but I must stop you right there,” she said. “I have no idea who you are or why you believe I should leave my teaching work here and just go off with you. St. Mary of the Island Orphanage has been my home for some eleven years now. Perhaps we should call Mother Superior back in to explain this urgency to me because you have not done a decent job of it as of yet.”
“You are correct.” He removed his spectacles and regarded Maribel with a smile. “Forgive me. Miss Cordoba, you are exactly as you were described.”
“Again, Mr. Lopez-Gonzales, you have me at a disadvantage. Please speak plainly. I assure you I will not faint. What is the urgency that sent you searching for me and that apparently requires me to leave everything I know and love to follow you to …” She shook her head. “Where was it?”
“New Orleans,” he supplied.
“Yes, well, all right. To follow you to New Orleans.” She gave him the look she generally reserved for her most unruly pupils. “Do please continue, sir. My time is limited, and my students will be wondering where their teacher has gone.”
“Mother Superior has assured me she will assign another teacher to see to your students so that you might have the remainder of the afternoon free to make your arrangements.”
“Sir, forgive me, but you truly are maddening.” She rose. “Your reticence to provide me with pertinent information leads me to believe you have something to hide, which also leads me to believe you very likely have not been honest with Mother Superior. Thus, our conversation is at an end. Now if you will excuse me, I have preparations to make for my afternoon class.”
“If I am reticent,” he said as he also stood, “it is because the news I bring is not easily delivered. You grew up here, so you have been raised an orphan.”
“I believe it is obvious, given that fact, that I have, sir.”
She crossed her arms over her waist and determined to give him no more than a minute longer of h
er time. He had already interrupted her precious reading time. Soon he would be interrupting her class time.
Mr. Lopez-Gonzales removed his handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “That is unfortunate because, despite the fact your convent dowry and maintenance has been paid by a donor who Mother Superior assures me is not a family member of whom you are aware, you are not an orphan at all, Miss Cordoba.”
She heard his words, but they made no sense. Maribel shook her head. “Excuse me?”
“Please be seated,” he said. “There is more to tell, and you will likely want to sit down. This heat is rather unbearable.”
“I will do nothing of the sort, and as I said, I will not faint. How is it possible that I am not an orphan when my mother died and then I saw my father drown in front of my eyes?”
“Your mother is very much alive,” he said gently. “As is your grandfather.”
The breath slammed from her chest, and spots danced before her eyes. Despite her protests to the contrary, she did feel as though she might faint at any moment.
“Impossible,” she managed as she gripped the back of the chair with both hands in order to remain upright. “Completely impossible.”
“I assure you it is not.” He nodded toward the stack of documents in front of him. “Your mother is the former Mary Lytton whose late father Benjamin descended from William and Mary Abigail Lytton. Your late father Antonio Cordoba did indeed drown at sea, and your name, I believe, is a mixture of your mother’s name and your maternal grandmother’s name—both Mary—along with your paternal grandmother’s name, which was Isabel. I am told Isabel descended from Spanish royalty, but there has been no time to make a determination of this.”
“Anyone could know these things,” she said as she gripped the chair tighter, achingly aware that she had not known most of these facts until now. If, indeed, what he said was true.
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