Saling to The Bottom

Copyright© 2018 by Richard Gerald

With great thanks to Randi Black and due modesty to be included with the other great stories here is the final part. The political message at the end is just me don't blame anyone else.

"Puerto Rico! This time of year, out of the question," I told Orian. It was September what we refer to as the rainy season, generally bad weather but is also the season for storms, tropical depressions, and hurricanes. Orian was proposing a cruise from one side of the Caribbean to the other, right through storm ally. Puerto Rico was over four hundred nautical miles as the seabird flies, but Annabelle was no bird.

To reach Puerto Rico, we would have to wend our way up the island chain through the Windwards and Leewards and into the Virgin Islands. We would be sailing against the prevailing North East winds. While this is a pleasant and enjoyable voyage in the right weather, the weather was the thing you could not depend on this time of year. Hurricane Irma was hammering Cuba as we spoke. As I have already said, Annabelle is a fair-weather sailor. She was built for the charter business. She has plenty of sleeping room and is a damn comfortable boat. The Morgan is built around a central cockpit giving her plenty of passenger room above and below deck, but she's slow and in my opinion, no match for a storm. So far, I had avoided testing Annabelle under stress preferring to be cautious with the weather.

Early in my ownership, I tried to sail her through some rough seas. The result had been grounding Annabelle. I was fortunate to hit a sandy bottom and to do only minor damage to my boat, but I learned my lesson. I was far more experienced now as a sailor generally and in particular, managing Annabelle, but once burned twice shy.

The captain of the boat that pulled me off that sandbar saw I was upset and blaming myself and said something to me; I have never forgotten. "The sea will test you when you least expect it and are least able to handle it. She's a mean goddess and out to try your metal, whatever you do don't second guess yourself. Whatever you do boy live with it and move forward. Do otherwise, and she'll kill you."

"No, I won't risk it with the best weather it will take five or six days that's plenty of time for a storm to catch us in the wrong position."

"But the client doesn't want speed. We could move from one safe harbor to the next. Anchoring overnight only putting out in good weather," Orian said.

"That could take weeks depending."

Orian shrugged, "The clients offering three thousand a day. If it takes longer, it takes longer."

The fee wasn't outrageous, but it was good, very good. We often got a thousand to fifteen hundred for a day's cruise at the height of the season, but this was the slow time of the year, and any boat captain would kill for a charter that could take ten days to two weeks at three thousand a day.

It had been three days since Leslie dove from Annabelle's side, but still, I was sure she was lurking about. The idea of getting away was attractive. "How many passengers?" I asked.

Orian smiled, "just the two," he said. I thought I knew what that meant; a long lovers cruise. No hurry as we take in all the best views of the islands while the passengers rarely leave their cabin.

"I was thinking we take Diane as the extra hand," Orian said.

Diane was the best freelance crew on the island. She had just three problems: she was a lesbian with an attraction to pretty straight women. Not necessarily a problem, but she was notoriously successful in seducing them right under their male companions' noses. Diane also came with Buster her eight-year-old Springer Spaniel. As dogs go, he was the friendless creature I had ever known and spent most of his time sleeping at Diane's feet, and if she was not available, somebody else's feet. Annabelle was big enough to accommodate buster easily. It was the last of Diane's liabilities that put me off.

"She's damned expensive," I said. What can you say? Diane's the best sailor I knew, and she was aware of her worth.

"She's met the clients and is willing to work for the standard rate," Orian said.

I raised an eyebrow and said, "Just how good looking is the lady?"

Orian put his finger beside his nose and said, "I ain't saying, Captain."

The following day Diane showed up at sunrise. Diane brought her kit, her dog, and a wane smile on her face. She is a big woman as big as most men about five eleven. She has a good physique from her work on the boats, but her body shows that tendency toward the over round figure that women on this island seem to acquire with age.

She would be called a black woman in the states, but her skin is very light reflecting the influence of her Scottish father. He was a skin diving instructor. Her mother was a maid at the resort where he worked. The couple met his first day on the job and spent the next thirty years together. He was fifteen years her senior and already married. His wife left him when an accident in the North Sea required him to give up his lucrative job on the oil platforms for the softer but poorer life in the Caribbean.

Diane learned to dive at her father's knee, but it was the boats that captured her true interest. By the time she was ten, Diane was already playing hooky from Catholic school to hang out at the marina. Her skill with the scuba gear made her attractive to the charter operators who taught her to sail. By her late teens, she was a jack of all sailing trades and a master of everyone.

"Morning Captain," she said as she came aboard. We were scheduled to pull out by ten as the tide crested. Orian, to his credit, busted his butt to lay in an impressive amount of provisions for the journey. All we were now waiting for were the passengers.

I had pulled the Annabelle as near to the dock as I dared and extended a gangplank across the gap. We would be fine, as long as we left before low tide. We had at best two hours to load any last provisions and the passengers before we needed to move Annabelle. With Orian and Diane helping, we had nearly everything on board when the boat from Anse Chastanet resort pulled up to the dock.

As the resort boat stopped, Orian grabbed one of my arms and Diane the other.

"Take it easy Cap if you know what's good for you," Diane said as the boat crew from the resort began unloading the baggage and helping Leslie and a little girl out of the water taxi. The child had the same coppery red hair that graced my head. It ran straight and true without a curl, courtesy of a Viking ancestor. There were the same oddly dark-blue eyes with a slant to them.

I was not falling for this, "She can't prove it's mine. Give her the money back," I growled, but Diane put her cheek almost touching mine and whispered in my ear,

"Now you listen Yankee. All she needs to do is drag you before the magistrate and produce that child, and her marriage license. The least that will happen is you will lose your boat. There is no waiting for DNA tests in these islands. Now the lady paid the boat broker for a cruise so notch up your belt and let's get out of here."

The boat broker took twenty-five percent, but there was no avoiding one of those leaches if you wanted to get your permit to sail. I doubt he would want to give back what would be his sizable commission, and Diane was right; the magistrates took a dim view of men who deserted their children. Moreover, in a bit of reverse discrimination, he came down harder on white men.

Leslie was now standing directly before me with the little girl. Oddly, she looked nervous. Perhaps she was wondering whether her despicable ploy would work, but the truth was; she had me. Diane was right if Leslie were to file a complaint for desertion, I would be in real trouble. The faster, we were out of here, the better.

Without another word, I shook off the restraining hands of my crew and stormed aboard the Annabelle. I didn't stop until I was safely ensconced in the cockpit. Twenty minutes later, Diane came to say that Orian was showing the passengers to their quarters, and we were ready to cast off.

"Who do I have to thank for not being in Bordelais prison right now?" I said to Diane.

"Oh, they wouldn't put you in prison. The magistrate's lockup maybe, but I persuaded the lady if she wanted to talk to you, the best way was to take a long cruise."

"So. Porto Rico was your idea."

"Nice trip up the islands, who knows you might even enjoy yourself. She sure is a looker," Diane said and then when she saw my reaction quickly left the cockpit.

I took the Annabel out of the bay and well beyond the reefs that are notoriously shallow here. St. Lucia is one of the Windward Isles, part of the Lesser Antilles, a set of Volcanic islands at the edge of the Caribbean plate. I motored out onto the plate to where the depth dropped to around thirty fathoms or about one hundred eighty feet, plenty of bottom for Annabelle to maneuver. I brought her into the dying breeze coming off the island. We raised the sails and then tacked across the prevailing wind from the northeast. It was going to be a long trip, and we needed to get started. I was headed for the west side of Martinique by way of the channel between it and St. Lucia.

Orian brought me coffee and said he was getting ready to start lunch. "You hungry?" he asked.

"No, I'll wait for dinner," I said.

"She wants to know if you are ready to talk?"

I knew it was only a matter of time, but I wasn't sure that I could hold my temper if she continued in the vein of our last meeting. "Ask her to give me a couple of hours to get Annabelle started on her way, and I'll meet her in the stern cabin.

The Morgan 41 has two large cabins one forward and one aft. The stern cabin is the larger and very comfortable. We had the ability to convert that stern cabin into a party room for the kind of group excursions we normally run but expecting a romantically inclined couple; I made sure that the big cabin was set up for that purpose, a full-size bed, a little breakfast table and two chairs, a small sofa-loveseat and small private refrigerator. The cabin came with its own head and shower facilities. Now I wondered how Orian had rearranged things to accommodate the child.

The crew quartered are at the center of the boat. There are two sleeping areas set against each side of the hull what are called pilot berths (small bunks) with adjacent settee berths (tables and chairs that convert into a bed). The starboard pilot berth is the larger and gave me a clear path topside in an emergency. It was where I always slept. Orian would, I knew, take the forward cabin since no one was using it. Diane would be left with the port side accommodations. We had the luxury of rather private sleeping arrangements on this trip.

To reach the stern cabin, I passed the galley kitchen. It was past noon, and I could hear Orian cooking and smell the spicy odors of his Cuban cuisine. However, there was another voice coming from the kitchen, a high child's voice giggling at Orian's antic in the galley. I took a peek. The child was sitting with the dog's head on her lap stroking the spaniel's floppy ears. Orian could be amusing when he had the mind to be entertaining, and apparently, he and Buster were keeping the child amused while the mother waited for me in the stern.

When I entered the cabin, there was a moment when we stood and stared at each other. It was impossible to stop the memories from flooding back. I was brought out of my reverie by the lurch of the boat. Diane, who had the wheel, was bringing Annabelle more directly into the wind heading us closer to Martinique. She had the wheel, and I trusted her, but Annabelle had no hydraulic steering for technical reasons. Diane was a good sailor, but Annabelle had a mind of her own. I wondered why Dianne was cutting so close to the island of Martinique. When she crossed the channel, Diane would find herself headed for the famous Diamond Rock and the entrance to Fort-de France.

"We need to talk," Leslie said.

"So, I'm told. Well, you're paying for the ride so talk."

"This trip is all about Katrina. She's reached that age where she is asking about her father. I had the devil of a time finding you, but now that I have. I'm hoping that you are still man enough to be a father to your child."

"I take it that Roger Crane is not available," I said.

A mixture of pain and pure fury pasted through the muscles of her face, but she set her jaw and kept her temper. I was impressed. The Annabelle is a sturdy boat and despite the use of modern materials very quiet. If she had blown up at me, you might have heard her in the kitchen, but not what she said. Still, it was clear that she was holding her temper. Something more than appeared on the surface was driving her.

"That is exactly what I don't want. Kat, as we call her, is nearly five. Children at that age can be hurt emotionally very easily. She is your child, and I will tolerate no one saying otherwise. Roger had a vasectomy after his second paternity suit, and Hiram Cotter was as I believe you know sterile."

Now she had truly floored me, "you did Hiram? The man must have been seventy."

"Seventy-nine actually, he kept himself in rather good shape and did a respectable job of it."

I could only stare at her with my mouth open. Hiram had been the CGC managing partner. He was known to make good-natured passes at all the young women in the firm. It was regarded as something of a joke. She gave me a dismissive wave of her hand as if saying that it was meaningless.

"I told you why. Whether you believe me or not, I had a specific goal, and I did what was necessary. You were set. Why you ran away just because Roger got himself in trouble. I will never know."

"Didn't want to take a chance on being arrested," I said taking a seat on the little sofa.

It was Leslie's turn to be shocked. "You didn't!" she exclaimed.

I had to laugh. "You may have slept with Roger, but you sure didn't know him well. He had no conscience to get in trouble for."

"You are a bigger fool than I thought," she said frowning as if this development impacted her in some way, "hopefully, you have matured somewhat in your self-imposed exile."

"Actually, I have. I've come to learn what's important in life."

"Humph, I will reserve my opinion on that. I will say this, you know how to disappear. Not a soul knew what happened to you. At first, the police refused to open a missing person investigation, but when they did, they were quickly at a loss. I hired professionals who turned up nothing. Yet, now I see you have been living openly down here under your own name," she said shaking her head.

This made me smile, despite my resolve to maintain a dower countenance. "But out of curiosity, how did you find me?"

"Chance really and a little pressure. Carol Lamb was down here on spring break. You took her out on a cruise, but apparently didn't recognize her."

"I thought I recognized one girl, but I couldn't place her until just now. She was a gangly thirteen-year-old when I left, but she's a real hot piece now. Did two boys on the v-bed in the forward cabin if she's the girl I'm thinking of."

Now it was Leslie's turn to smile and give a little laugh, "That's her. Daddy thinks she still his little virgin girl, but she's a hard-charging modern woman."

I thought about poor Dennis Lamb; he was a good sort. Expert in estates, he was what CGC called an "of counsel." That's a lawyer whose expertise the firm needs but refuses to make a partner. Dennis was the ultimate family man, and his little Carol was the center of his existence. She wasn't little now, and I could see a world of pain headed Dennis' way.

"She's an impressive young woman. She has a full scholarship to Bryn Mawr, and she interned with me last summer. She has a future in banking."

Or the sex trade, I thought.

"Once I heard where you were, it was easy to force the details out of your friend Robert Benson. He was very helpful after I explained some things. He's not a bad guy, but you always made good friends."

"Go ahead say it 'And better enemies' "

"I'm not here to criticize you, but to persuade you to meet your responsibilities to your daughter."

"I have no money. What the boat makes she sucks back up in maintenance. She's a forty-year-old lady. Look around— She's pretty tired."

"Kat doesn't need your money. I have plenty. What she needs is something only you can give her. You were the best man I ever knew. A loving, caring individual who I believed would make a great father. Was I so wrong? I don't think so. Please don't take out your problem with me on your daughter. She has suffered enough."

She started to cry. Moreover, I could feel a profound sadness in her. It was something in the tone of her voice and the way she held herself. There was a sadness about her face, and she seemed much thinner than I remembered. She hadn't always been miss happy, but she had a positive outlook on life, and her face use to reflect her personal optimism. Pragmatist, she might be, but she had faith in a happy ever after future that nothing could shake. Somehow, I could see that she had changed. There was a shadow over her. Was it my fault, or had something else stolen her optimism?

"Ok, what do you want from me?" I asked.

"Get to know your daughter. Spend time with her. This cruise will I hope provide an opportunity. Diane says that Martinique is a lovely place, and one you know well. I thought that we could put in for a day or two, to begin with, and you could take Kat on your own and get to know her. "

The movement of the boat now became obvious. Diane was sailing for Fort-de-France and knowing her it wasn't just for the beaches. There was a good deal of adult night time fun to be had in the capital of Martinique. I might still be trying to get my head around being a father, but there seemed little point in arguing that I did not want to get to know my daughter. At that moment despite everything that had happened, I wanted nothing more than to be with my little girl.

"Ok, you're paying for the cruise, and we go where you want. Give me an hour to plot the course and have Orian bring Katrina to the cockpit," I said turning to leave the cabin.

"Thank you," she said before breaking down completely.

I couldn't help myself. I went to where she sat on the bed, and I put my arm around her shoulder.

"Hey, we will work it out."

She took my hand, looked into my eyes, and a smile seemed to dissipate the gloom that surrounded her.

" Yes, it's going to work out. I have faith," she said.

*****

Orian brought Katrina and Buster to the cockpit. Buster promptly curled up in a corner. Kat had an oval face like her mother, but there the resemblance seemed to stop. She had my hair color and eyes. Her facial features resembled my father. That last doesn't sound good, but he was a truly handsome man, and all his sisters were considered rare beauties. She was surprisingly thin but seemed tall like I remembered my twin sisters at that age. I would estimate almost four feet and maybe thirty-eight pounds.

Kat was a bit intimidated by the cockpit of the boat. I hadn't exactly lied when I said that Annabelle soaked up all the profits. I had fitted her out with every modern device she would bear. She didn't sail well with hydraulics, but she had satellite navigation and satellite communication. I replaced her rudder and her engine. In the right wind with the engine, she could cruise at 12 knots and even break fourteen in the correct conditions. Her normal sailing speed was six to eight with the wind at her back. What most people noticed was the big traditional spoked wheel, I installed.

"Would you like to steer her?" I asked Kat. Her eyes when wide, and she gave me a quiet nod.