Sunrise IV

IV

Alongside The World's End building was a large paved brick courtyard, bordered on two sides by small trees, and the club house itself on the third. It would one day be the site of the yacht club swimming pool, but for now, it would remain a place to host weddings receptions, parties, banquets, and of course, the annual Gibson Island Staff Cotillion. The band, a Baltimore group called the Charm City Quintet, was stationed at the far corner beneath the trees. Long banquet buffet tables adorned in bright white linens covered the far end of the courtyard and alongside the building, helping to better define the dance floor. Manning their stations behind the tables were servers from a local catering company that managed most of the island's events. Dressed in white shirts, black vests, and bow ties, they stood behind the assemblage of finger foods, cocktails, and punches, poised and ready to serve the needs of those who served the needs of the island residents. 

The band was halfway through their first set. A few of the older couples had bravely ventured out to perform their best swing step, cha-cha, and meringue to the curious looks of a much younger generation, who were lost to the discipline of ballroom dancing. Three of the marina dockhands had managed to steal a bottle of Jack Daniels and stealthily slipped into the shadows beyond the courtyard. Every year, there would inevitably be kids engaging in this annual rite of passage to manhood by consuming far too much of the spirit, throwing up, and then trying to manage the dizzying return trip to their parents' care by the end of the night, all without raising too much suspicion. 

Carl Weiss, flanked by two lady members of the club Board of Trustees, looked upon the event with satisfaction. The food was as stellar as always, the band was primed and playing some of his favorite standards, and the presentation of everything was nothing short of perfection. While the two ladies chatted away through Carl, he looked out on the dance area to Katy and Jack Parks; Jack seemed large and clumsy next to his delicate daughter. Carl watched Katy give him directions as to where his arm should be placed and how to move his feet. Occasionally, Katy’s lips would form the word 'Ow', followed by Jack's forming the word 'Sorry’, but in spite of the stubbed toes and clumsy moves, both appeared to be blissfully happy to be in each other's company for this brief moment in time. Carl smiled to himself, happy for every penny that had been spent on the event that made this single moment possible. 

The band finished their piece, and the couples lightly applauded their effort. Carl, weary of making conversation with two people he had little in common with, parted company and crossed the dance floor to tap Jack on his shoulder. "Excuse me, Jack, but may I have this next dance?" 

Jack turned to face Carl, and without skipping a beat, planted a meaty hand on Carl's hip while grabbing hold of his right hand and then stretched out his arm, ready to twirl the old lawyer about on the dance floor. 

"Well, Jack, you are optimistic, aren't you? You could at least buy me a drink, yes?" 

Katy laughed at the picture the two made for the wandering photographer. 

"I'm sorry, Jack," Carl said, stepping back. “I'm more inclined to lead, and you're just not my type. But that pretty little lady over there looks like she would like to dance.” 

Jack smiled, stepped aside, and said “She's all yours, Mr. Weiss.” 

Carl stepped forward and held out his hand to Katy. She took it, and with three steps in a graceful arc, fell into a waltz with Carl. 

"Why, Katy honey, you dance wonderfully. Where did someone your age learn how to do this?" 

"When I was in high school, I wasn't able to keep up in phys. ed. I was sick for a little while. They let me fulfill my PE requirements by taking ballroom dancing two nights a week in the basement of a local church." 

"I don't suppose there's much opportunity for young people to go ballroom dancing nowadays.” 

"No, not much, Mr. Weiss. I did keep going to the church social dances for a while, but I haven't really been out dancing in a couple of years.” 

"Well, you haven't lost anything, my dear.” 

"Thank you. You look very handsome in your tux tonight.” 

"And you don't clean up so bad yourself, Katy. That is a lovely dress.” 

"Oh, thanks. I saw it at the mall a couple of months ago. It took me a long time to save up enough tip money to buy it, but I just had to get it special, just for tonight.” 

"You’re the Queen of the Cotillion, Katy Parks.” 

As the two continued to dance, Jack and Jimmy stood off to the side, watching them in the center of the floor. Jimmy was working on his second beer and fourth cigarette since arriving an hour earlier. 

Jack smiled to himself as he watched his daughter’s graceful moves. "Gosh, she looks pretty, and she really knows what she's doing out there. Look at her go. I wish Anna coulda seen this.” 

"Yes, yes she does,” replied Jimmy, half interested. 

The band finished to another round of polite applause from the dancers. Carl clasped Katy's hand in both of his and gave her a light kiss on her cheek, then left to return to the company of the two ladies from the Board of Trustees. 

Katy stood alone in the dance area and looked to Jimmy as if to say 'Well?' 

"I think she wants to dance with you now, kiddo.” 

"She knows I can't do that stuff.” Jimmy looked back at her, smiling, and shook his head. 

She stomped a foot down, pointed to the ground, and silently mouthed the word 'Now.' 

Jack chuckled and said, “You'd better get over there, Jimmy, before she comes after you. Go on and take your medicine.” 

"That's one girl who's grown just a little too accustomed to getting what she wants.” Jimmy dropped the glowing butt into the remnants of his beer, tossed the bottle into the bartender's trashcan, and headed out to the dance floor. 

"You know I can’t dance, Katy.” 

"Don't sweat it, big brother. There’s nothing to it. You put this hand here, and now grab this hand. I'll lead, okay?" 

"Huh?" 

"That means I’ll guide you where you need to go.” 

The music started, and the unlikely couple got off to a clumsy start. 

"You’re looking at your feet and thinking about it too much. Just focus on the music and let yourself be led. There. Now you're getting it. You know, you’d get a much better class of girls if you learned how to do this. I'll let you in on a little secret... girls love to dance." 

"Hey, I do alright with the ladies.” 

"What, those boozy chicks up at the King's Tavern or the Anchor Inn? Oh, puh-leeze. I’d hardly call them ladies."

"What's wrong with them?” 

"Nothing, except I know you can do much better. You're not a kid anymore, Jimmy.” 

"Since when did you get all grown up?” 

"That happened a long time ago, when I had to fight for my life. You may not know it yet, but you’ve been fighting for yours for some time too.” Jimmy gave her a curious look, to which she said, “You were always meant to do bigger things than just day trips out on the bay.” 

"I'm fine with that. I've got a nice little thing going.” 

"Don't think for one minute that I don't know I'm holding you back.” The sudden revelation caught Jimmy off guard; he stumbled and stepped on his sister’s foot. “Ow! I swear, between you and Dad, I need steel-toed dancing shoes.” 

"You're not holding me back. I'm fine with the way things have turned out for me. I've got you, Dad, and a business with some real potential.” 

"That's not what I'm talking about, Jimmy. I've seen the way you look when other yacht captains are telling their sea stories in the club. I know you want to get out on the ocean, and I know I'm the reason you don't.” 

"You don't understand—" 

"No, you don't understand. I quit been a little girl a long time ago, and as a woman, I'm doing just fine. I hate to say it, but I really don't need my big brother looking over my shoulder all the time.” 

Jimmy just stared at her. Everything she said hit him like a sucker punch right below his ribs. They continued to dance in silence, allowing what she had just said a chance to sink into her brother.

"There now, the music's over. That wasn't so terrible, was it?” Katy broke out into the soft applause and motioned to Jimmy to follow suit. “Think about what I said, okay?” 

Next to Jimmy and Katy, Mary and Vince were finishing up their second dance. 

"Mary, for an old broad, you ain't half bad.” 

"Well, Vince, Danny Kaye you're not, but for an old guy, you ain't half bad yourself.” 

"I've still got a few moves you ain't seen yet.” 

"You can show 'em to me later, but right now I'm famished.” 

"Tell you what, why don't you go and rustle us up a couple of plates of grub, and I'll go get us something to drink. What would you like?" 

"I think I'd like some wine, Vince." 

"Done.” He gave her a wink and dutifully trotted off to the bar table. 

Mary, who was quite delighted with how the evening was turning out, smiled as she watched him walking away and then turned to find the buffet. They rejoined at one of the cozy tables for two, complete with a romantic candle jar. She came with two plates filled with assorted hors d'oeuvres, and he with two upheld glasses of wine. 

"I didn't know what kind you wanted, so I got red and white.” 

"That's fine, Vince. I'll try the white if you don't mind.” 

"For you, baby, nothing but the best. It's a Chardonnay. They said it’s French, so it's gotta be good, right?" 

"Sounds good to me. I wasn't sure what you'd like, so I picked out a lot of different stuff.” 

"Aw, hon, it all looks great.” 

The two sat down and began grazing on the spread of finger foods arranged on the two plates, using upheld napkins to catch any drips or crumbs. 

"So, tell me about yourself, Mary. How long have you been with the Lynches?" 

"Mr. Lynch rescued me thirty-eight years ago, next October.” 

"Rescued you? From what?" 

"Mr. L. has a way of taking in strays, and I was one of them. I originally came to this country from Ireland—" 

"I thought I heard a bit of an accent. It's kind of sexy.” 

Ignoring this last comment, she continued, “I was just a girl then, and my husband’s trade skill was stone cutting, all those ornate details you see in buildings." 

"You were married?" 

"Yes, a long time ago.” 

“What happened?”

"Well, if you'd let me finish—" 

"Sorry.” 

"We came over here on his work visa with plans of becoming citizens. There was nothing but misery for us back home in Belfast, and this is where we wanted to build a future—a family. Our plans were cut short when my Dickey fell to his death off some scaffolding.” 

"Oh, I am sorry.” 

"It's okay. Like I said, it was a long time ago. Anyway, with no job skills and no husband, I was looking at having to return home. The Irish have always had a strong sense of community in Baltimore, and word got to Mr. L. through some mutual friends. Cleaning houses was something I could do well, so he hired me as his live-in housekeeper.” 

"He did rescue you then, didn’t he?" 

"Yes, and over time, he helped me get my citizenship. He really is something else, and I've been a part of his family ever since.” 

"Well, he is a great guy. I've never noticed a Mrs. Lynch though. Is there one?" 

"Oh, her. She broke my mister's heart.” 

"Tell me.” 

"She was always a bit off, she was. When she had William, she really went off the deep end. Back in those days, they didn't have a name for it, but nowadays they call it post-partum. For a whole year, she rarely came out of her room and refused to share a bed with Mr. L. He was so busy with work that I guess he never really wanted to notice how bad off she had become. One night—I’ll never forget it—he came home to a taxi parked out in front of the house. She had a couple of valises by the door and was on her way down the stairs with a third. All she said was 'I'm leaving now, Brian, and I don't want you to come after me. I just can't do it anymore’. She just left him standing there in the foyer without another word. Six months later, she sent him the divorce papers, asking for nothing, not even her own child. Can you believe that? She hasn't been heard from since.” 

"That's awful. I thought my breakup was bad, but that's awful." 

"It was. Fortunately, William was far too young to know anything. For that boy's whole life, I'm the only mother he's ever known.” 

"Well, that is quite a story.” 

"Okay, I put my cards on the table, so let's see yours.” 

"Not a whole lot to say really. I inherited my father's business when he died. My wife ripped my heart out when she left me for another man, and one day, I hope my son will carry on in the family business. That's about it.” 

"Well, aren’t we a fit pair?” 

"I guess we are, hon. Hey, would you like to dance some more?" 

"I'd love to.” 

***

Navigating the dense underbrush he had only just surveyed the day before proved to be more difficult and slower going at night than the captain had originally anticipated. At length, it gave way to some clearings as he approached the north side of the Fortification of Portobello, its most vulnerable side. His heart began to race now in anticipation of the pending attack. 

“Steady, men, steady. We’re almost there.” For the great soldiers that they were, it was always a challenge to curb their lust for a good battle. 

***

“Aw, man, you suck. Don’t spit it out! That’s damn good whiskey to waste,” insisted Mel. 

“I’m usually not like this. It just kind of backed up in my throat.” Gene passed the half-empty bottle over to Miles, who took a slug and passed it over to Mel. 

“The key to drinking whiskey,” instructed Mel, “is to let it pass quickly over your tongue and straight down your throat before your tongue has a chance to taste it.” Mel, self-imposed leader of the trio of teenage marina boys, demonstrated his technique to the less experienced Gene. During their summers, they worked in the marina under Jack’s supervision, washing and waxing club members’ boats. 

“There. See? Nothing to it. Now, are you going to break out that joint you’ve been holding onto or what?” 

Gene gave a sideways glance to Miles, who had obviously betrayed this bit of privileged information. He reached into his pocket, withdrew the poorly rolled cannabis cigarette, gave his best effort in biting off the tip, and spit it back out with attitude. As he started to light it, the flame from his lighter briefly illuminated the trio’s faces in the dark, sequestered corner of the tree grove behind the club. 

“Careful, man. You don’t want them to see us back here, do you?” 

“Sorry,” Gene replied, trying to stifle the smoke deep in his lungs, only to break out into a hoarse cough. He passed it along to Mel, who passed him back the bottle. 

“When are we going back to the party?” interrupted Miles. “There’s a couple of busgirls I’d like to get to know better.” 

Gene forced down another slug of whiskey and this time was able to keep it down in spite of the reflexive gag. “I know what you mean. I’d love to know that bartender better.” 

“What, cancer girl?” replied Mel after exhaling the pot smoke with practiced efficiency. “You don’t want any of that, dude,” he said, passing the joint to Miles at the same time Miles was receiving the bottle of Jack Daniels. He looked at both and tried to decide which to do next. 

“Do you know her?” asked Gene. 

“Nah, but my brother went to school with her. He said she had to wear a wig to her prom because all her hair had fallen out—you know, from that radiation shit cancer people have to go through.” 

“Wow, her? Really?” 

“No shit, man. She’s got cancer. Sorry to burst your bubble.” Then he turned his attention to Miles, who was still holding the bottle and the joint. “Are you going to do something over there, or are you just going to stare at them all night?” 

“I’m pacing myself, man.” 

“Yeah, well pick up the pace.” 

Miles quickly took a slug off of the bottle, followed by a hit off of the joint, and started passing each the wrong way. 

“Other way, retard,” protested Mel, who yanked the bottle away. Gene took the joint back and held it for a moment as he looked through the trees at Katy Parks, who was just finishing a dance with one of the waiters from the restaurant. “Still, she is kind of hot. Do you think I have a chance?” 

His partners in crime looked at him and then broke out into laughter. 

***

The going was easier now, as the attack party neared the fort. As he anticipated, this would be their primary area of weakness. Ahead in the darkness he could see that this entrance was guarded by only three men, all of whom appeared to be getting drunk. The captain felt every muscle in his body tense as he slowly approached. He paused, looked behind momentarily, and then slowly withdrew his sword as a signal for his men to do so as well. 

***

The animated conversation of the drunken trio fell into a lull as the effects of the pot began to magnify the effects of the alcohol. Mel, never at a loss for words, began to raise his finger to make some profound statement but lost his train of thought when his brain was suddenly forced to acknowledge the presence of the hard, sharp point pressing against the side of his skull. He slowly turned and looked up at the sight of a man clad only in boots, belt, cape, and hat, staring back down at him along the shaft of long, sharp sword. 

"Move not a muscle, you Spanish dog, or I will give you a taste of cold British steel.” 

"Dude, we are so busted," gulped Gene. 

The stranger looked over a shoulder into the darkness and said, “I'll need three men to stay behind and take care of this lot. The rest of you follow me.” The stranger then removed his sword away from Miles’s head and ran off in the direction of the party, sword raised and cape flying. The three boys watched the strange apparition running away from them and then simultaneously turned in expectation of the horde that was about to descend upon them but saw only empty darkness. 

"Man, what the fuck was that?" asked Mel, touching the place where the sword had just rested. 

The party was now in full swing, and every facet of labor that supported the island community was represented. Maids, housekeepers, butlers, waiters, waitresses, bartenders, dockhands, and deckhands were happily engaged in the revelry of the cotillion, graciously provided by the families they worked for. The band had finally picked up the tempo, and the dance floor was filled with couples engaging in every manner of dance step, trying to keep up with a beat. 

At first, only a handful of people noticed the naked raving man, whose words were lost to the noise of the music. In an effort to better attract everybody’s attention, he pushed aside one of the food servers, jumped up onto her table, and started kicking over the food and serving trays, all the while yelling at the top of his voice, sword raised high above his head, “Avast, you Spanish dogs!” 

Every member of the band stopped playing on the same note, punctuated by a final crash of the drummer’s symbols. Every foot on the dance floor stopped at the same moment, and every eye turned toward the strange man. The sudden and absolute silence was deafening. 

“I take this fort for King and England. Surrender now, and I’ll spare your lives.” 

Everyone remained motionless in the stunned silence. 

“Good,” he replied. “It is never a wise decision to cross swords with the great Captain Morgan.” 

One of the ladies from the Board of Trustees finally found the presence of mind to pull the cell phone out of her sequined purse and quickly dialed island security, urging them to bring as many guns as they had and to hurry. 

The man broke out into a strange smile as he surveyed the crowd and then jumped off the table onto the bricks with a resounding thud from both of his boots. Sword still extended, he slowly walked through the astonished crowd of partygoers, until at last he came upon the Parks family, grouped together by the bar table. 

He looked at Katy with surprise and then sheathed his sword. He removed his hat and bowed down with a broad sweeping gesture. “Milady,” he offered and then returned to his confident captain stance, hat in hands before him. “I am at your service. How long have you and your party been prisoners of these Spanish dogs? I trust you have come to no harm.” 

Katy, unsure as to how she should proceed, glanced back at her father and brother for some clue as to what to say. Jack could only look on in sad sympathy for the troubled Billy Lynch. 

Jimmy smiled and quietly said to his sister, “This is so cool. I’m glad you talked me into coming this year.” 

Katy, returning her attention to Billy, finally replied, “Um, no. We’re, uh, fine, Captain.” 

“Good. Then after my men finish looting this fort, I shall take you all away to the safety of my ship and back to Jamaica.” He returned his hat to his head and turned to address people that nobody could see. “Take everything of worth, men, but spare the lives of those who yielded to the great Captain Morgan.” Next, he proceeded to walk about the crowd in various directions, barking orders to his imaginary invading horde. 

Mary broke away from Vince and dashed over to the serving table that had just recently been swept clear of its serving trays. She carefully negotiated the piles of food on the ground, tore away one of the linens from the table, and hastened as quickly as her heels would carry her to the ranting Billy Lynch. She came up from behind and startled the crazed man, who quickly turned and reached for his sword, then paused as he stared into Mary’s face. “Oh, William,” she sobbed and came forward with the outstretched linen. She wrapped it around him as if she was toweling off a child stepping from a bathtub and held on to him in a tight embrace. 

“Mary?” he said softly. 

She continued to hold him tightly and sobbed heavily onto his shoulder. 

“Mary, what is this? What have I done? Uh, I shouldn’t be here. I want to go home now.” 

“William! My God, William,” she uttered between heaving sobs, still refusing to let go. 

Brian Lynch turned the corner into the courtyard and halted when he saw Mary and William standing at the center of the crowd. Behind him, the blue flashing lights from the security vehicles played off the gleaming hulls of the yachts bobbing at their berths in the marina. He slowly walked toward the pair, paused, and then reached out to join in Mary’s embrace. 

As the security guards came storming into the courtyard, Carl broke away from the ladies of the Board of Trustees and rushed over to intercept them. 

“What’s going on here?” one of them demanded. 

Carl stepped forward. “It’s under control, Officer.” 

“We’ve already called the police. What happened here?” 

“Nothing Officer, really. One of our guests had too much to drink, that’s all. We’re going to take him home now.” 

“The police are on their way, Mr. Weiss.” 

“Harry, please handle it. This is an island matter now. It’s under control.” 

Brian, still locked with Mary’s embrace around his son, looked over his shoulder with a face that pleaded for their understanding. 

“Alright. Get him out of here now. I’ll take care of the police,” replied the reluctant security guard. 

Brian quietly said, “Thank you,” and then, turning to his son, said, “Come now, William. It’s time to go home.” 

Mary and Brian led their boy past all the disapproving glares, along the course that Brian had recently taken to join the party. Ahead was his young driver, looking for some kind of instruction from Brian. 

“Go get the car and bring it around now!” he shouted. 

The young driver quickly about faced and then ran off to retrieve the Lincoln as instructed. 

Katy looked on with her father’s shared, sad sympathy, as the now defeated Captain Morgan was led off into the still night. 

Thank you for reading this excerpt from Requiem of the Nightingale. As I said in the Home Page, my hope is to publish and sell this manuscript. At this point in my career, I have come expect the worst but hope for the best. If the inevitable conclusion to this effort is nil, then I will post the remaining manuscript in its entirety. The soft-back version is available through the link in the table of contents, with links to electronic copies soon to come. I can only hope that this was enough to persuade you to buy a copy. 

Regardless of the outcome in your decision, I wish to thank you for the time you spent on this blog. I encourage you to share your comments, so that I may better develop my craft.

Rand