Scenes of recovery from the storm, minor tweaking on Carmen and Nieve's dialogue, and even a bit of a closer look at Nieve toward the end. Enjoy!
A modern day scene of Cartagena2
Dearest Adan, what I saw still chills me to the bone.
The storm had come in on thick, rolling clouds. The eyes of the crew were set on the horizon. Men with piercingly confident, dark eyes were for once apprehensive and doubtful as they looked at the far-off cluster of stormy boulders. I saw an ashen sky and felt a churlish wind wrap around my neck. I remember shrinking away from the sight, I drew close to one of the nearby sailors. He was a gruff man who always chewed his words over with a lump of tobacco. He pointed a callused finger out to sea. “You just look out there, Hermana Nieve.” He grunted. “You want us to sail in that, eh?”
He was indicating the nest of swollen black clouds, pregnant with what could only be outrageous winds and ear-popping thunder. The mass was dragging a black veil across the choppy waters of the horizon, and occasionally, lightning-tongues would slither to lick along the nebulous bellies. Beholding such a powerful force dropped my heart into my stomach. I knew I was pale, I knew I was shivering. Somehow, in the midst of this fear, I remembered how to speak again.
I shook my head, transfixed on the darkness far ahead of us. “No, Signor,” I said, my whispered words carried away with a passing hiss of wind. “I thought we had just pulled through the worst of it.”
“You and the captain both. He’s seen it all, too. Seen it all.” His smile was big; but his tiny eyes, typically pinched and sparkling with humor at me, now dull and nervous at the sight of the storm combing the sea. It stalked the water like some sort of beast, and we felt its percussive footfalls on the air. “Maybe you missed your calling as a captain, eh?”
I smiled, despite my frayed nerves. “Maybe, Signor.”
The men I have been traveling with are hard, Adan. Even on this voyage, the storms that frightened me to tears were not nearly as bad as the maelstroms these men have lived through. Worked through! Even so, the captain, who was always the first to rise, insisted we dock as soon as we had cleared Cartagena. We would have docked there, but pirates had taken the city, and the captain thought it too risky for me and my traveling companion, Carmen, to step ashore there.
By late afternoon, we had pulled into the small port of Santa Ana and docked. The sails were drawn down and fastened. The ancient, thick chain of the anchor sank into the choppy water. Foamy waves slapped the sides of the boat, and swirled around the pillars of the dock awaiting us. I had gone below long before we pulled into the port at Santa Ana. I had to make sure Carmen was well, she was so fearful before I left.
I came down the steps, braced the walls on either side of me for balance, and found the galley populated. Some of our fellow passengers were there; the handful of private soldiers, the explorers with the ink stained fingers and already burgeoning beards, and the merchants usually distracted with math and arguing with one another. The head of the galley was feeding them what he could salvage from his destroyed cabin. That meant bread, a batch of survived fruit, and the end of our tea. It was lucky this storm struck us so close to our destination; most of our food had been ruined in the chaos of the first storm. The second one would have ended us, I am sure of it, brother!
I found Carmen with Elias. He had just finished speaking with the soldiers, and as I stepped off the last stair, he was bringing Carmen a handful of bread and a cup of tea. Adan, Elias has been like a brother to us. He has been so kind to Carmen and I, so much so that at that moment I resolved to repay him in any way I could. He was a man with a sweeter tooth than you; maybe indigenous candies? I approached them both, and Carmen put her arms around me.
“Thank God you are all right.”
“What did you see?” Elias asked.
I looked between the two of them. “We avoided a wretched storm, the likes of which I hope I will never see again.”
The captain appeared at the top of the steps. He was usually dressed much more sharply than his current state. His coat was unbuttoned, his hair was messily tied, and he had not shaved. Still, his attitude was controlled and sincere, he looked each of us in the eye as he spoke.
“A tavern has offered us refuge from the storm. They have halved their price, and we will ask only that you offer us what you can. We will, otherwise, see you are accommodated.” He was about to leave, but instead imparted us with a sigh and a truly concerned look. “Was anyone hurt?”
A varied batch of replies, all of them in the negative. I was quietly pleased to discover our fellow travelers were shaken, but otherwise unharmed. The captain was as satisfied as he could be with this answer, and nodded curtly to us.
“We will notify you when it is time to disembark,” and he left us with our food, and quiet recuperation.
The plank had been lowered, and we were indeed notified when it was time to leave the ship. We took our things with us, and we made our way to the deck. The crew and captain watched as we took to the plank. Carmen and I stayed close to Elias, who made sure we made it down the plank without tipping into the hungry waters below. Though the waves were not deep around the dock, they could still pull us out to sea. Carmen held my hand, and I offered her my reassuring grip.
We followed our fellow passengers to the tavern along the pier. A round woman in a loose shirt and many skirts was waving us down with a kerchief. We hailed her, and she led us all into her tavern. The rain had already started.
Elias, once he was sure we were settled in our rooms, left us to join the company of the sailors at the bar. I descended from my room to settled under the red roofed porch overlooking the pier. Carmen, in calmer spirits now, had disappeared back inside to find us something warm and soothing to drink. So, there I was, beneath this canopy, waiting for her.
She really is the sweetest thing. The kindest girl you would ever know, Adan. If she were not so committed to our Sisters, I daresay she would have been the best girl for you! Like me, Carmen is a novitiate. We were both only a year or so out from our integration into the cloister back in Seville. Carmen is more headstrong about joining the Sisters, it was I who was more interested in imploring the bishop for an anchorite’s abode. Could you imagine your sister, Adan? Her window facing the world, accepting visitors, those who would come and beg her advice. I would be married to God himself, and the home I would keep would be our home. A simple home with a bed, a place for me to write, a place for me to pray. Carmen believes this a lonely life, but how could I be lonely or unloved when it is God I make this home with?
The rain sounded like tiny pebbles on the wooden canopy over my head. So peaceful. The path beyond the tavern’s porch steps became muddy, and puddles pooled quickly. They spat back tiny brown beads with every raindrop that struck the surface. I knew the ship was out there beyond that wall of constantly shifting rainwater, but now she was only an outline. A ghost, drifting behind the flowing veil that drifted across the beach, the pier, over the crashing waves.
“Two teas,” Carmen said upon her return.
I jumped. “Carmen, you startled me.”
“Oh, I am sorry, dear.” She giggled as she settled next to me, and to my surprise, she had also brought us a dish of grilled pawpaw! As we sipped our tea and ate our fruit, she eyed the book sitting in my lap, which was sheathing the remainder of my graphite pencil. “How is Adan?”
“He’s well,” I said, setting my book off to the side. “I am telling him all about our trip.”
Carmen frowned. “Even the bits where I was seasick?”
“Oh, especially those!”
“The captain said we would be clear to set out tomorrow morning. He is otherwise indisposed,” she brought an imaginary bottle to her lips.
“Really?” I giggled, but soon I was drawn into watching the storm once more. “I feel like this rain could never let up.”
“Are you excited about Santa Marta?” Carmen asked.
“Yes, very much.”
Carmen was suddenly so quiet. Her head bowed so low that I thought her chin had become lead. In contrast to such a heavy expression, her fingertip lightly traced the lip of her half-empty teacup. “Me too.”
“Sister,” I touched her wrist, “you seem so worried.”
“I must confess I am a… little nervous.”
“Oh, Carmen.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and kissed her brow. “Why? Does the storm have you out of sorts?”
“I’m not sure,” she said distantly, and leaned back so she could look at me with her big hazel eyes. “Just homesick.” Seeing her tears, my face melted with sympathy. “I miss the cloister,” she confessed, as though afraid someone other than myself might hear her.
“I do too,” I confided, and gave her shoulder a squeeze. Though, I will admit only to you that I was not as particularly homesick as Carmen. I did miss our cloister, of course. I had a little garden there, the Mother Superior was strict, but fair-hearted and kind. She had given Carmen and I a home in the house of God. However, my homesickness, Adan, was so eclipsed by the eagerness I had for this land; a land I had never seen before.
I felt, for the moment, cruel. My answer has been crafted quickly and out of the necessity to show Carmen a familiar kindness in this otherwise foreign edge of the world. Still, Adan, was I lying? Carmen was so alone without the Sisters; I just wanted her to know she was not. We had each other.
At that moment, the table of sailors inside the tavern erupted with laughter over what I could only assume was a well-timed joke. We turned in our seats to watch them. Elias was at the head of the table, concluding an animated story. The sailors were sitting with the soldiers, and they were slapping the table, making their food and frothy beers rattle.
I chuckled, and much to my surprise this brought a smile back to Carmen’s face. “But we will see them so soon!” I rode on the tail of her returning happiness, and smiled happily at her. “The year will fly by.” There was a clap of thunder. My heart skipped a beat, I think Carmen’s did too! Her hand was over her chest, and we exchanged a stunned look that soon reduced to duet of giggling.
I embraced her again. “You’ll see, Carmen. I promise.”
We had more tea and watched the storm a little longer before retiring to bed. I smoothed my hands over my long chemise, and unbound my hair. I pulled it over my shoulder, off of my back. The brown locks were like a veil. I so rarely saw my hair. Can you imagine your sister loose of her vanity?
I knelt to pray, and could hear the thunder growling beyond my sealed window. I crawled under the covers, I lie still as I waited for sleep, I listened to the rain dance across my window. The lightning winked across the sky, and momentarily cast dark and light shapes into my room. They were contorted and weird against such sudden brilliance. I cycled prayers and hymns through my head, and this eventually lulled me into a deep sleep.
