4. The Desertion

As Written by me, Kathy

 

We climbed inland, following the little stream that bubbles and skips right past our camp like it’s hurrying somewhere joyful. Sister Mary Claire called it our “Psalm 23 path,” and Father LeRoy said it reminded him of “He leadeth me beside the still waters.” I decided to believe it was leading us to something important.
The ground got steeper the farther we walked, and moss spread under our feet like a soft green carpet. It was shady and quiet, with big banana and cocoa-nut trees arching above us, and vines hanging down like ribbons from heaven. Some trees had giant leaves, like sails, and the sun flickered through in golden spots.

Mini trotted ahead, ears perked, sniffing everything with delight. Omelette rode snugly in her sling across my chest, warm and calm, letting out tiny sleepy clucks. I patted her gently and whispered, I hope you like the adventure Miss Hen.”

The stream stayed with us, sometimes leaping over rocks, sometimes stretching quiet and clear like a ribbon of glass. We decided to follow it as far as we could, even when we had to climb over twisted roots and duck under low limbs. 

After a long time, we came to what looked like an alleyway in the trees, so green and glowing it almost didn’t seem real. Sister Mary Claire said it looked like a garden meant for prayer. We stopped there to rest and drink from the stream.

“Maybe we should name this place,” I said, pulling a biscuit from my pocket. “We’re the only ones who know about it.”

“I vote for Isle of the Resurrection,” said Father LeRoy, looking up through the trees. “This place may be lonely, but it’s full of new life.”

I liked that. “That way, even the name is a prayer.”

We laughed a little and joked about calling it Mini’s Meadow or Omelette’s Nest, but we all agreed that Father’s idea was best.

We left the stream after that, climbing higher, hoping to see the far side of the island. But the way grew rougher, and the brush scratched our arms and snagged our clothes. Mini whimpered once and stuck close to Sister. Even Omelette shifted around and clucked in her sling, like she was starting to doubt this plan.

Finally, we reached a rise in the land, and there was an opening in the trees. I hurried forward—and stopped.

What I saw stole the air right out of my chest.

There was the ocean, wide and bright under the afternoon sun. And there, already far from shore, was our longboat, being rowed with all speed by two sailors, pulling hard for the ship.

The ship herself stood with sails rising high, catching wind.

The anchor was up.

They were leaving.

“Father,” I whispered, “they’re deserting us…”

Sister Mary Claire’s face was pale. Her hands were clenched tight together.

“They’ve made up their minds,” she said.

I looked for any sign—any chance they were just turning around. But no. The boat cut forward, the rowers not even glancing back. The ship was pointed away from us, sails filling with wind.

Mini let out a sharp bark. Omelette flapped once in alarm, then went still.

“They’ve gone,” Father LeRoy said. “And they’re not coming back.”

The sails began to fade into the horizon. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I was spinning inside. Sister knelt first. Father LeRoy followed. I dropped down beside them, the moss damp beneath my knees.

Mini laid down at my side. Omelette nestled against my chest, her breathing warm and soft.

We watched until the ship was a tiny pale shape, like a ghost against the sky.

Then Father prayed aloud:

“Lord, though men abandon us, You remain. Stay with us in this exile. Give us courage, and be our Deliverer.”

I picked up a stick and wrote the only words I could think of:

We are still here.

3. The Ramble

As Written by me, Kathy

We climbed about twenty stone steps from the shore, and suddenly the rocky ground gave way to the softest mossy carpet, fresh and green and cool beneath our feet. A little stream of sweet water ran beside us, slipping down toward the sea. We followed it up into the island, where the trees arched overhead like the beams of a chapel, their branches woven together so thick that only little specks of sunlight danced through.

Sister Mary Claire whispered, “This is a church built by God,” and it truly felt like one.

Mini scampered ahead with her little bottom wiggling, and Omelette nestled snug in the carry sling at my side, her head poking out and turning this way and that. The ferns grew higher than my shoulders, and the reeds rustled as if they were praying too. Father LeRoy led the way with his walking staff, and now and then he’d pause to say a quiet prayer or point out a plant that might be useful for healing.

It was such a sweet feeling to stretch our legs after so long at sea. The air smelled like leaves and clean water, and we felt free, almost like the world had just begun again. Father LeRoy reminded us to be watchful, since we didn’t know what lay ahead, and he said the words of Psalm 61:4: “Let me dwell in thy tabernacle forever: I shall be protected under the cover of thy wings.”

We walked quietly for a little while, letting the sounds of birds and the trickling stream fill our ears. Then Sister began to hum a hymn, and I joined in softly, and even Mini barked once like she was singing too. We all laughed, and Father said it was good to let our joy be known to Heaven.

We stopped to fill our water jars at the stream, digging a small trench so the water would pool up deep enough. Then we sat for a council, right there on the moss. Father said we must decide how to spend the afternoon before nightfall. He told us his plan: we’d circle the mountain, keeping to the valley, and gather what we could—maybe herbs or fruit or game if we came upon it—but we wouldn’t climb too high or stray far. If we kept steady, we’d be back in about three hours, just in time for evening prayer.

No one objected. We all agreed. I had Father's rifle slung over my shoulder just like he had shown me. Sister Mary Claire carried our little basket of bread, and Mini was right by her side like a sheepdog proud of her flock.

I don’t know what we’ll find, but I know one thing for sure—we’re not lost. We’re exactly where God wants us.

2. The Landing

As Written by me, Kathy

This morning, the sea was calm and blue like the sky was being poured right into it. The long-boat was almost ready to row ashore, and I could hardly keep my feet from dancing. I ran up to Father LeRoy, who was talking in a quiet voice with Sister Mary Claire, and I asked him straight out if I could go along.

And do you know what? He said yes, right off—no long pause or thoughtful frown. Just a kind smile and a nod. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I think now he must’ve had one of those quiet stirrings in his heart. The kind where the Holy Spirit is saying something, even if it’s not in words.

And now here’s the part I must write down carefully, because it matters. I brought Omelette.

That might sound silly to some folks, but not to me. After the storm the other day knocked the henhouse door clean off its hinges, Omelette had been so shaken. She wouldn’t eat right and kept fluttering around the deck looking for me. I think she was scared I’d leave her behind. So Sister Mary Claire surprised me last night by stitching up a little soft canvas pack with shoulder straps, just big enough for Omelette to fit inside with her head poking out the top. She lined it with a tea towel and even added a pocket for a scoop of oats.

“She’d rather be with you than left behind in this floating coop,” Sister said with a wink.

And Father LeRoy just nodded again and said, “She might bring more comfort than we know.”

So that’s how I ended up wearing Omelette like a rucksack, her little brown feathers tickling the back of my neck as we climbed down into the boat, Mini hopping behind me, her ears perked and eyes bright. Sister Mary Claire carried the water jars and prayer book, and Father LeRoy had his Breviary, pen, tablet and the rifle.

We pushed off toward the island, a mile and a half away, with two sailors rowing. The sea was so clear, we could see the rocks and coral underneath, like looking into a bowl of blue glass. But it wasn’t easy getting close. The water kept getting shallower and the reefs stuck out like old bones. We grounded once, then twice, and had to take down the sail and row careful and slow.

I peered over the side and saw two kinds of reefs—one dark and deep like old lava, the other white and laced with weeds. The boat rocked, and Omelette made a quiet little cluck in my ear, but she stayed calm in her pack. Mini gave her a look and then settled down between Sister and me, her tail-less little bottom tucked under.

We finally found a narrow channel between the cliffs—a secret way in, almost—and the boat scraped through with just enough room. The wind gave a few small sighs as we reached a kind of natural harbor, worn right into the rock by the sea. It looked to me like the Lord’s own thumbprint.

The sailors said they’d wait there with the boat and try their luck at fishing. They helped us unload the jars, tying ropes round them so we could pull them up the rocks. One of them, a bearded fellow with a toothy grin, gave me a wink and said, “Take care of your chicken, Miss,” and Omelette blinked at him like she knew just what he meant.

They promised not to leave us, swore it even—but they never came ashore again.

So we turned from the boat and began the climb, the rocks warm under our hands, and the smell of the island drifting down to meet us—green and wild and full of mystery. And there we were: a nun, a priest, a girl with her hen in a backpack, and a stubby-legged corgi… all of us stepping into the unknown.

1. The Island Discovered

As Written by me, Kathy

Sister Mary Claire gave me an old adventure story from the 1700s to read, and it was about a sea voyage and strange islands and everything. It had long sentences and old-fashioned words, but I loved it anyway. So I decided I would rewrite it myself—with our own crew: Sister Mary Claire, Father LeRoy, and me (of course!), and with Mini as our lookout and deck guardian. We also brought along my brown hen, Omelette, and six other hens to keep the ship supplied with fresh eggs. I made sure they had straw nests in the hold and that they got plenty of oats and love.

And so here it begins.

We had been sailing along slow and easy—just a few knots an hour—with the softest breeze nudging us forward. It had stayed with us, on and off, for the last couple of days. But we weren’t in any hurry. Sister Mary Claire said the captain was waiting one last day for our companion ship, The Enterprise of Newhaven, before turning west toward California. Still, I had a feeling there was more to it. Sometimes, when I looked at him, I felt he was watching me with suspicion. I didn’t know why.

I wanted someone I could talk to about it, but I didn’t know who I could trust. There was a kind-hearted sailor named Tom who had once let me borrow a bit of twine to fix my scrapbook. I liked him. But even with Tom, I wasn’t sure how long a secret would stay secret. Sister says secrets are safest in prayer.

There was also a quiet Catholic priest aboard, Father LeRoy. He mostly stayed to himself in the cabin, reading and sometimes walking the deck with his little brown book. I once caught him murmuring softly, eyes on the sky—I think he was praying. I liked that about him. Sister Mary Claire said he was traveling to California to start a mission among the poor and maybe even build a little chapel someday. Once he asked me about herbs that help fevers, and Sister was glad to tell him about elderberry and mullein. He already seemed to know a great deal—about healing the body and the soul. He wasn’t the kind of priest who made you feel nervous. He had gentle eyes and always greeted Mini with a smile.

Mini, by the way, wore her little collar and trotted around the deck like she was second mate. She didn’t much care for the hens, but they stayed in their pen, and she stayed out. I had hung a small bell on the henhouse door so I’d know if anything tried to sneak in.

Well, all this quiet wondering got washed away on a Monday morning—August 23rd. The sun was high and the sea looked like endless wrinkled blue ribbon when, all of a sudden, a cry came from the lookout: “Land on the larboard bow!”

The deck came alive like a stirred-up henhouse! Sailors scrambled into the rigging and ropes, climbing as fast as squirrels. Mini darted from under a bench with her ears perked and let out a little huff! like she was ready for duty. Sister and I were up near the stern, and I grabbed her hand with a laugh. “Land!” I whispered.

With her blessing, I climbed up to the mizen-top with my little spyglass while Sister stayed below, keeping a hand on Mini’s back to calm her. I’d never gone that high before, and the wind tugged at my braids something fierce. But what a sight—off on the larboard side was a long stretch of haze, like a smear of milk-colored fog. If I hadn’t been told it was land, I’d have thought it was just heat rising off the sea.

The captain gave the order, and we turned our course to head toward it. As we sailed closer, the mist began to lift. That’s when I saw it: a mountain rising out of the center of what looked to be an island. Its top was shaped like a sugar loaf—round, steep, and mighty—and halfway up it wore a dark green shawl of trees. Above that, the stone was bare and streaked with gray. I whispered down to Sister, “It looks like it could be a volcano!” and she nodded, shading her eyes with her hand.

The land below the mountain was green and lovely, full of fresh-looking meadows tucked between the woods. We could see patches of open land that looked like little hidden pastures. Sister Mary Claire said the grass wouldn’t stay green like that without running water, especially not in the tropics where we were.

Mini stood up on her hind legs with her paws on the railing to get a better look. She let out the tiniest whine like even she wanted to run in those green valleys. Sister smiled and whispered, “Even the little beasts long for God’s wonders.”

Then she grew quiet for a moment and said something I’ll never forget. “You know, Kathy, this reminds me of Saint Paul’s words: ‘For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.’ We only see part of what the Lord has in store—but oh, what a beautiful glimpse we’ve been given today.”

I tucked that verse deep in my heart.

Just then, Father LeRoy came up from the lower deck and joined us. He didn’t say much—just stood beside Sister and nodded toward the island. “God writes His name in places like that,” he said softly. “Sometimes in lava, sometimes in lilies.”

All of a sudden, I felt a powerful longing to go ashore. I wanted to stand in one of those green valleys, smell the air, and see if I could find a stream running from the mountain. Maybe even pick a wildflower or two. I’ve always been curious about volcanoes—even old ones that haven’t rumbled in ages—and this one seemed to call to me.

I watched it a long time through my glass, from the sugarloaf top to a line of surf crashing over black rocks on the island’s southern tip. Then I looked down and saw the captain deep in talk with the first mate. Sister Mary Claire saw it too and quietly said, “They’re planning something.”

I hope it’s a landing. I’m ready.