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.
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