Receive Me Falling by Erika Robuck Read Free Book Online

elected to stay indoors on account of her neighbor, Mrs. Hall, remarking
that the tropical night air was dangerous for the lungs.
    “Catherine, you really should heed my warning,”
instructed Mrs. Hall.   “It is already
scandalous that your skin is so burnt by the sun, but you will truly do
yourself an injustice by exposing yourself to the nighttime elements.”
    “Your advice is falling on deaf ears, I’m afraid,”
replied Cecil.   “It is certainly my fault
for not enforcing more feminine restrictions upon my motherless daughter, but I
fear it is too late to impose such rules.”
    “You are correct in that assumption, Father,” said
Catherine.   “I do appreciate your
concern, Mrs. Hall, but I am sure my father will send me indoors the moment he
fears for my health.   Besides, it is he
who needs looking after.”
    James stifled a smile as he watched Mrs. Hall
ruffle herself in agitation on the settee.   She remained indignant as Catherine and the gentleman proceeded out of
the house.
    The night air was, in fact, invigorating.   James inhaled the sea air and watched the
sapphire sheen on the folds of Catherine’s dress ahead of him in the glow of
the moonlight.   He became transfixed in
its motion and thought back to his travels across the Atlantic,
looking over the deck of the ship into the water below.  
    He thought back to his third week onboard The
Clarkson with Albert.   The surface of the
ocean had swirled and churned blackish-blue in the night.   Shimmers of moonlight had flashed at him on
the curling waves below.   The fluid
liquidity of the waters was both mesmerizing and frightening, and he was filled
with dread as he thought of falling overboard and being stranded in the middle
of the ocean.
    The wind had cried around his ears, and pale, dead
faces seemed to rise and fall in the waves beneath him.     He sickened at the thought of the child who
had been buried at sea just days before.   Little George Painley—the one-year-old son of a shoe maker—died of
dehydration after several weeks of violent seasickness.   James shook his head to rid his mind of Mrs.
Painley’s agonized cries as the body of her small son slipped beneath the waves
of the Atlantic.  
    James’ time onboard the ship had been awful.   Slight food and water rations, cramped
quarters, poor hygiene, and the mind-numbing monotony of the voyage took their
toll.   He was thankful that he at least
had his father with him to pass the days.   James had always admired Albert Silwell, and was able to enjoy their
philosophical and political discussions to pass the time.  
    But time still crept on slowly.
    “Do you know that these cliffs are said to be
haunted by the ghosts of dead slaves?” asked Catherine.
    James blinked and shook off his memory.  
    “If you are trying to scare me away, it won’t
work,” he said.
    “I was trying to bring you back.”
    “I’m sorry.   Readjusting to society after the long sea voyage has been
difficult.   Who told you of these slave
ghosts? Or have you experienced the specters yourself?”
    “It has been told that slaves used to throw
themselves from this cliff when their lives became unbearable.   Many slaves believed that they would journey
home to the mountains of Africa to live out
eternity after death.   On stormy nights
some say the cries of the dead pierce the wind.”
    Catherine and James continued on in silence until
they reached the edge of the cliff.   Sweet perfume drifted up from the large tropical flowers growing on it,
and the waves crashed over boulders one hundred feet below. Catherine and James
stared into the dark abyss.   The wind was
a low, mournful wail around them.
     
 
 
 
 
    3
               

 
 
    Every slave story is a ghost
story.   
    That’s what the man at the Nevis Historical
Society had said over the phone.   His
words played over in Meg’s thoughts as she sat stuffed in the stifling backseat
of the van—wedged