is here.”
The islands were all densely vegetated and they could see a tangle of wild
grape vines around the fruit trees. So Uncle Scruggs hadn’t been fooling about his paradise. She looked behind her again and saw that there were more islands
near the Canadian bank, which also had four windmills strung along it, their white sails tautly swollen.
“Oh, aren’t they just the most beautiful things?” she said and then turned back
to the American side. “Oh look, there’s one over there too.”
“Captain fixin’ to turn to the right,” Mourning said. “Gonna go ’round that
big island up there.” She looked ahead and saw the lush island he was nodding
at, the east bank of which was a shallow shoal littered with boulders. Mourning
continued, “It called Grosse Ile. That mean Big Island in French. Shipping
channel go between it and Canada.”
“How do you know that?”
“Been talkin’ with a fella what lives here. He say everything growin’ on that
Big Island be wild. Ain’t no farmer planted none of it. But look at it, all in straight rows, just like God laid out an orchard. When we get ’bout past it, you
gonna see a couple a real small islands. One a them be called Mammy Judy, after
an Indian squaw what used to go there to fish. Past it be another one called Fighting Island, ’ccount a the Indians used to make their camp on it, fight the British ships goin’ by.”
Mourning was obviously proud of knowing so many things about Michigan
that Olivia didn’t. Olivia smiled back at him, wishing she could squeeze his hand.
“Thank you for coming with me, Mourning,” she said softly. “I’m really glad
you did. I know we can do this together.”
He kept his smile on and nodded. He said nothing, but she thought his eyes
shone with a far stronger light of hope and anticipation than even she felt.
The black woman who had been so seasick stood at the rail next to Olivia.
Her husband was close behind her, his arms around her, and Olivia again felt a
pang of loneliness as she wondered, What is it about that woman that makes him
feel like that? By watching her can I learn how to make someone love me?
When they neared the northern tip of Fighting Island the ship slowed to veer
around a sharp bend to the right and Olivia’s mouth fell open. She counted five
small steam-driven boats, all festooned with colorful banners. She could read the
writing on the one that was coming towards them – Excursions to Hog Island, Picnic Lunch Included. Farther up the river were schooners of different sizes, sails taut in the wind, flying under brightly colored flags and coats of arms.
Rafts, barges, and fishing boats bobbed among them, as did dug-out canoes, with
and without sails.
“You’d think they’d all be crashing into one another,” she said in a whisper.
“Isn’t it beautiful? So romantic. Especially those sailboats. It looks like they’re
having a party, dancing around each other on the water.”
“Water by the port been just as crowded in Erie. Cleveland too,” Mourning
said, sounding a bit puzzled. “Had plenty a sails too. You ain’t said nothing ’bout
them being so beautiful.”
“I guess I wasn’t paying much attention. Or here the river makes it so much
more … I don’t know.” She stopped and stared, unable to say out loud what she
