“Don’t worry. We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Who would’ve thought that Robbie Barnes and I could be sweethearts?
CHAPTER 36
OTHELLA
Accompong, Maroon Village, Cockpit Country, Week Seven
It’s dinnertime at Momma Hazel’s, and ladies’ night with Vivian Jean, Katherine, Zinzi, and me. Robbie is finishing a paper on the giant swallowtail butterfly, while Tully has set up a darkroom in Colonel Rowe’s main house and is developing his photography.
I look forward to a night of gossip, rum, and picking over my dinner plate, searching for something I can swallow. I’ve gotten so good at it that no one notices I scarcely eat anything other than sweet potatoes, and only if they haven’t been dipped in the stew. My other treat is the hard bread, but only as long as it hasn’t been sprinkled with pepper sauce.
After we finish dinner and clean up, Zinzi takes me aside. “How would you like to come to Kingston with me tomorrow?”
I’m surprised by the invitation, but more so by my reaction. “Everyone else turned you down, huh?” I say playfully, because I don’t know if I want to go.
“I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t want your company,” she replies.
“I’m supposed to go with Katherine to a town meeting in the morning, and then Robbie and I are heading to the market in Maggotty for supplies.”
She looks at me sideways, but she’s not mad. “I checked with everyone and they agreed, it’s okay with them if you want to go. In other words, it’s up to you.”
I couldn’t believe I was hesitating, but I think I’ve grown attached to the Cockpit, Robbie, Vivian Jean, Tully, and Katherine. I might miss something important if I’m not around.
On the other hand, I only caught a glimpse of Kingston, a Jamaican city, rushing from the SSTalamancato the train station on the day we docked. This time, I might be able to listen to some live Jamaican music that’s not a ritual. Maybe go to a nightclub. Maybe some restaurants serve steak and mashed white potatoes. Real food, not mashed leafy vegetables, yams, and saltfish with peppers that burn my mouth. “I’d love to go.”
Kingston Harbour and Myrtle Bank Hotel, Kingston
We had to ride the beasts again, but I had done quite well the first time with the mules, and this time is no different. In fact, the journey is the same, except that when we arrive at Kingston station, there’s a limousine waiting for us.
“This is nice,” I say as I slide into the back seat next to Zinzi. “So, what do you have planned for the day? Is there any chance we can go shopping? Robbie gave me a few dollars to spend.”
But small talk doesn’t seem to be on Zinzi’s agenda. “I didn’t tell you everything last night, and it’s bothering me.” Zinzi lets out a sigh and then a shudder. “Let me tell you the truth.”
“Okay.”
“You remember my friend Byron, who visited me a few weeks back?”
“Of course. He gave me a carton of smokes.”
“He’s trying to stop his father, the plantation owner, from taxing our rum in the Cockpit, which is also a way to get under Byron’s skin about the labor union movement.”
I shrug, because this part of the gossip I don’t pay much attention to. It just doesn’t interest me. “Okay,” I say, watching the scenery.
“Othella, look at me.”
Suddenly, Zinzi sounds very serious, and I face her, doing as I am told.
“I need your help. Byron’s father has some business partners, Americans, and one of them is promising to help us change his father’s mind about the movement and the tax on Accompong’s rum. This man is from Chicago and wants to meet me. He doesn’t quite trust Byron, and this meeting will prove he’s trustworthy. I’m pretty good at judging people, but my approach is to ask them a thousand questions, and this man is not the type to ask too many questions. Everyone says that the way your mind works, always picking up on the small details, you’ll be able to tell Byron and me what kind of man this fellow from Chicago, your hometown, is. We know better than to trust him, but I think you can help us.”
My chest tightens when I hearbusiness partner, let alonehometown.
“A man from Chicago?” I say hoarsely. “Major Thomas? Vivian Jean’s father?”
Zinzi shakes her head. “No. Vivian Jean’s father has nothing to do with this. Byron put the man’s name in the telegram he sent me the other day.”
We hit a bump in the road, and Zinzi places a hand on theseat in front of us. Then she swallows and says, “His name is Tony Schaefer.”
