tried to find something positive to say, though the outlook
appeared extremely bleak.
“A harvest which won’t occur until mid-September, and
dye not ready for market until after the first of the year.” He
snorted. “And that does not take into account the field which
burned. Those plants won’t produce this year.” He shook his
head. “Unless I can find backers to finance me through another
season, I will lose the island. Ezra, Arthur and their families
will become slaves elsewhere—their freedom papers don’t
mean much on the mainland.”
“There must be a way.”
“Michaela, there’s no market for indigo cakes crushed to
powder.”
“Powder?” Mica thought of all the instant food like
powdered milk, Jell-O, pudding, and other dissolvable materials
like laundry detergent. “Why not sell it that way?” Her question
was met with raised eyebrows and an incredulous stare.
“Are you crazy? The Indigo Bay stamp is our reputation—
the seal of quality on our product. Do you realize what a
laughing stock I would be if I tried such a scheme?” He turned
to walk away, but Mica wouldn’t let it rest.
“Didn’t you say it had to be dissolved with alcohol,
anyway?”
“Alkaline.”
“Whatever. By having it already crushed, it would dissolve
easier and save the textile manufacturers’ time.”
“You’re forgetting our trademark. How would anyone know
it was our indigo, or dye at all? And how would it be sold—in
an open barrel to blow away with the slightest wind?”
Mica could tell by the tone of his voice how desperately
he wanted to believe in her plan. She thought of the cardboard
boxes so many items came in, but doubted they had been
invented.
“Tins?”
“There’s no time to find anything of the quantity we would
need. Besides, the stamp—”
“I know, I know—the Good Housekeeping Seal of
Approval.” Did he have to refute every idea she had?
“Good Housekeeping what?”
She ignored his question. “I’ve got it! You stated once that
your island also produced cloth, dyed with your indigo, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Why couldn’t we make cloth bags to be filled with indigo
powder? It would be weighed and sold just as it always is,
only already crushed and ready to use.” Before he could argue
with her again, she continued. “Is there any reason you couldn’t
take the same Indigo Bay imprint used on the cakes and stamp
it on the cloth with the dye itself? Sort of a stencil?”
“There’s less than a week to market.”
“Logan, come on. Are you going to give up when people
depend on you? When your reputation is at stake?”
He grinned wryly at the words she threw back in his face.
“It would be an incredible amount of work—round the clock
with everyone helping.”
“If all the people on Indigo Bay have a stake in what
becomes of the island, don’t you think they will want to help?”
He grabbed her in a rough embrace, kissed her soundly,
then let loose and shouted across the yard, “Ezra, gather
everybody to the drying shed right away. And I mean everyone!
We have work to do.”
To Mica he added, “Go to the house and tell Mattie and
Simon what’s to be done. Gather all the sewing materials you
can, and bring everyone back with you except Annie and Lana.
Annie’s to start cooking—lots of food—with Lana to help her.
We’ll be too busy to stop for any length of time, but the workers
will need to be fed.”
He turned towards the shed, then stopped. “Once you’ve
set the house staff to their tasks, send Simon out to the stables.
We’re going to need the stable master’s and groom’s help, too.”
As the sun rose to light the area around the drying and
weaving sheds, lanterns were extinguished one by one, but no
one stopped long enough to enjoy the sunrise. Logan had
divided the workers into groups, each with a different task.
collected as much as they could from the floor. They crushed
then sifted it through screens to eliminate any particles of wood
left from the destruction and to insure uniformity. Using large
barrels and tubs—anything they could find—they stored the
hundreds of pounds of crushed indigo, until the sacks were
ready for packaging.
In the weaving shed, the process took longer, and Mica
wondered if they would have everything ready when needed.
Taking cloth which had been ready to dye, Logan showed the
women how to lay it out, estimating the size they would need
to hold quantities of indigo. The imprint stamps, normally in
the house for safekeeping, had been brought down, and using
dye set aside for the cloth, Logan dipped the stamp, then applied
it to the sparkling white cloth.
“It works,” he stated, almost as though he hadn’t expected
it to. Mica was glad to hear his voice hold some of his old
enthusiasm once again.
“Of course,” she replied. “Now go see to the men. We’ll
manage here.”
Without waiting to see if he followed her advice, she
divided the women into groups—some to cut and stamp the
material, the rest to begin the arduous task of hand sewing the
sides, leaving the top open until the indigo had been poured in.
Knowing the impossibility of sewing shut the hundreds of bags
once they had been filled, she found a coil of thin rope and
instructed some of the younger boys to begin cutting it into
one-foot lengths.
Logan stood at the door, unable for the moment to continue
back to the drying shed. He watched Michaela absently tuck a
strand of hair behind her ear as she bent to speak softly to one
of the older women.
She had done it again—turned his world from topsy-turvy
back to some semblance of normality. While he had serious
doubts that the indigo would sell in its present state, he couldn’t
help being infected by her enthusiasm. As she had pointed out,
he had to try. At this point he had nothing to lose.
A chuckle escaped when he looked down to find she stood
barefoot, her skirts not quite reaching her ankles. A most
unconventional woman, his Michaela Marie, willing to sacrifice
anything to insure he succeeded. A sigh escaped as he turned
away. He could do no less and had best get after it.
Everyone on the plantation—from the youngest child to
the old folks who usually sat in the shade all day—worked
tirelessly. Logan would periodically send a group back to their
cabins to sleep, and he caught a catnap under the tree now and
then. But for the most part he never ventured far from either
building. There had been no sign of further trouble, but as
insurance, he had sealed off the island, posting a guard at the
only road to the mainland.
Logan wanted no intrus
ions or interruptions. Nor did he
want word of their endeavors leaking out before market day.
He would have the element of surprise if he could present a
new product on that day, without a lot of hearsay and suspicion
circulating among the buyers prior to the auction.
The only one to give him any trouble was Michaela, who
refused to go to the house to rest. If she wasn’t instructing a
new group of women, she had several bags in her lap and was
bent over the cloth with a needle and thread. He glanced over
to the tree to find her there again, sitting cross-legged, the indigo
bags scattered around her. He started to turn back to his work,
but something stopped him.
He watched for several minutes before he realized what
had caught his attention, and then he laughed outright. Several
men stopped what they were doing to stare at him, but he didn’t
care. Love swelled in his heart as he strolled towards the tree,
still chuckling.
Squatting down in front of Michaela, he gently removed
the needle and bag she clutched in her hands, then tugged on
her shoulders until she tilted sideways to lay upon the ground.
“Not now Logan, I have work to do,” she murmured, not
aware she had fallen asleep sitting up.
“Shh, rest now, sweet one. There will still be plenty to do
when you wake.” She never even opened her eyes, and it took
several minutes before the mist cleared Logan’s own eyes
enough to see her.
***
Mica woke to a gentle shake of her shoulder. It took her
eyes some time to focus in the absence of light. When she
realized where she was, she jerked upright, searching her lap
for the bags she had brought outside to stitch.
“They’re already done, sweetheart. Don’t fret.” Logan
plunked down beside her, stretching his long legs as he leaned
against the tree. “We’re finished. Now, we’ll see what kind of
lawyer I am. I must convince a jury of my peers and indigo
buyers that I’m not ready for the loony bin.”
He closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the rough
bark of the tree, and Mica studied his profile. Even in the dusk
before nightfall, she could see the tired lines around his eyes,
the creases at the corners of his mouth. She leaned into him,
gently kissing the edge of his lips, then up along his cheek to
his eyes, hoping to smooth the worry lines.
“Ah, Michaela, ever the soothsayer.” As he spoke, he
circled her waist with his strong arms and pulled her onto his
lap. His hungry kiss ignited fires in her, and for a moment she
forgot where they were. Only when she heard laughter a short
distance away did she recall their circumstances.
Flushing deeply, she pulled away. “Logan, what will people
think?”
He laughed as he jumped up, pulling her to her feet.
“They’ll think the master of Indigo Bay is in love with the
beautiful woman who has crazy ideas.” He tugged her along
the path, past the tired workers. As they walked, everyone
waved or applauded, and Mica’s cheeks flamed hotter.
“You didn’t tell them it was my idea, did you?”
“Of course. Do you want them to think I’m crazy?”
She swung at him, and he laughed, racing off down the
path towards the ocean. When he disappeared around a bend,
Mica hesitated. The sun had set, casting the path in shadows,
and she tentatively stepped away from the shrubs onto the sand.
“Logan?” She called into the darkness.
“Right here.”
He grabbed her from behind, and she squealed, her heart
pounding from the fright. Just as quickly, it gave way to a
different beat as Logan nibbled on her neck, munching his way
to her ear.
“You did a fine job these past days. You worked harder
than anyone, refusing to give up—refusing to let me give up,
and I shall be eternally grateful.”
His tongue tickled her ear, but when Mica tried to turn
around, his embrace tightened, holding her back flat against
him.
“Say you’ll stay here with me always, Michaela, to share
my life and have my children.” His voice pleaded with her as
he spoke the unspeakable.
Instead of answering him, Mica hedged. “I’m twenty-nine.
That’s too old to have children.”
“You’re how old?” Logan released her, his voice
incredulous.
“You knew that. Don’t make it sound like I’m ... I’m...”
Mica was at a loss for words.
“On the shelf? An old maid? A spinster?” Logan readily
supplied a choice of adjectives, laughter apparent in his voice
as he slowly stepped away from her.
“Yes...no,” she sputtered, reaching out to smack him, even
though she knew he was only teasing her.
Spinning around, he raced down the beach, and Mica
chased after him. Their laughter carried across the waves, and
when Logan slowed so she could catch him, she wrestled him
to the ground, determined to show him she was not a spinster
yet.
They tore at each other’s clothes in their haste to be shed
of them. Splashing into the gentle waves that washed upon the
shore, Logan loved her so tenderly she wanted to cry. She knew
she had to tell him her time here was over. Though her heart
broke, she owed it to her father to return as she had promised.
After all, she was a responsible adult.
As though Logan sensed her heartache, he didn’t speak as
they dressed. When she tried to talk, he admonished her to
silence once again by saying, “Don’t, Michaela. Not just yet. I
have something to show you.”
Hand in hand, he led her up the path to the house, but then
veered toward the garden. Just as they rounded the corner a
full moon appeared, casting a mellow light across the flower
beds.
“They delivered this just today, and I meant to surprise
you. But in the midst of the rest of the turmoil, the workmen
grew careless and knocked it over, breaking his hand. As soon
as things calm down, I’ll have it replaced.”
His voice was anxious, and at first Mica didn’t understand
why. Then he turned her around, and her gaze fell on the statue,
newly erected in the center of the garden.
Cupid! Tears sprang instantly to her eyes. She was the
woman for whom Cupid had been commissioned.
“I was so angry,” Logan growled. “I wanted it to be perfect,
as you are. And it shall be, as soon—”
“No. I love it just as it is.”
“But he has no bow and arrows—no hand, either, for that
matter.”
Mica couldn’t express her emotions at that moment. Could
it be there was a way to make dreams come true? She dared
not breathe a word, for fear the fairy-tale of her childhood would
turn into a nightmare.
Logan circled her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest.
“It matters not that Cupid lost his love arrows. My heart has
already been captured by the most wonderful woman in the
world, and my love will be hers throughout all time.”
Over the past month, Logan had taught Mica to live each
day to the fullest, never looking back at what could not be
changed. Their love had grown beyond anything she could have
imagined. She only wished she had more time.
Mica turned in his arms. “Oh, Logan, please, tell me what
to do.” She searched his face, trying to find an answer to their
dilemma in the depth of his gaze. Once decisive and so sure of
herself, Mica felt she would never be the same again.
“I can’t make that decision for you.” He kissed the top of
her head, and she hugged him closer. “I can only tell you what
is in my heart.”
He placed her palm against his chest, the strong beat of his
heart pulsing through her fingers. Her eyes brimmed with tears,
but he sadly shook his head.
“I love you, Michaela Marie, with my very heart and soul.
You have become my world, around which my happiness and
hope revolve. I will love you until the moon and stars are forever
gone—until I’m old and stooped and they carry me to my grave.
All the riches in the world can’t compare to the wealth of love
I have to give you. But more than that, I cannot do.”
Logan didn’t allow Mica further tears. He took her upstairs
to his bed, where his caresses and kisses and tender loving
carried her slowly on an exquisite journey through passion that
made time stand still.
***
Now, hours later, Mica stood at the window, gazing out at
the statue of Cupid, shimmering silver in the moonlight. No
matter what she wanted—no matter how desperately—she
knew time had run out.
“Logan?” She turned back to where he lay sprawled on
her bed, hair tousled, the sheet barely covering his hips. He
reached a hand out to her, but she shook her head, fearing her
courage would fail if she touched him. His hand dropped back
to the bed, and he waited in silence.
She wasn’t sure where to begin. “I came to Sea Crest for a
vacation when my divorce was final. I chose to leave Richard,
but even so, I was shattered. I lost court cases I shouldn’t have.
I forgot important appointments. I was a mess.” She shrugged
as though to make light of the situation, but she now realized
she had been on the verge of a breakdown.