China Jewel Read Online Free PDF Page B

stop them the British actually bombarded the town with cannons from their large warships. However, the people fooled them. They put lanterns in the woods to draw fire and most of the cannon balls went into the forest instead.”
    “Ships like the Peregrine were designed in those days,” said Cutter.
    “We have quite a history, that’s for sure,” said the Pastor. “All the parts of it. The pile of foundation stones too.” The slave monument out in the harbor had been constructed from the ruins of an old slave auction building. This subject he had not brought up with any locals, black or white. He didn’t want to start the Civil War, the Confederate War as they called it, all over again.
    The street turned to the left and moved into a poorer area with single-story houses, neat and well kept, with older cars along the curbs. In the distance were gray-walled factory buildings, all in a state of decrepit collapse. The Pastor mentioned these were the abandoned remains of canneries where most of the black population and many of the whites had labored packing produce and seafood.
    They came to a church with walls covered with modern white vinyl. The steeple, at the end of a sagging roof, held a small brass cross. The front door looked worn, with a simple wood handle and marks in the paint to show much use. Inside a choir practiced.
    “My church,” said the pastor. “The sisters are working on next Sunday’s service.”
    “They make a beautiful sound,” observed Cutter.
    “Perhaps you’ll attend as our guest one Sunday. Your son too, when he gets back from the voyage.”
    “I’d like to,” said Cutter. He realized the shipbuilding crews had probably spread the word about Jamie being his son.
    The preacher looked into Cutter’s eyes for a long moment. “I see sorrow even when you smile. One thing I recognize is the weight that folks carry around. Maybe it would be good for you to come by and talk. We all need church sometimes, especially a tough guy like you.”
    Cutter did not face Allingham. He muttered, “Perhaps I’ll sort it out with you.”
    Further down the street, they stopped in front of a small house with overgrown vines coming up one side. The pastor opened a rusty screen door and motioned Cutter inside. They went to the back through a neat living room. They came to a screened porch from which the harbor could be watched past ancient weeping willow trees. In a plastic chair sat a fragile elderly person, a grease-covered Caterpillar cap on his head.
    “Pastor said he’d get you to come.” He spoke without turning his head towards Cutter.
    “This is John Reedy, Mr. Cutter.”
    The old man nodded, stood and led his guests outside to a small barn. Inside, he switched on a bulb hanging from a ceiling wire. Cutter smelled heavy mold. Beside stacks of dusty wood, antique carving chisels were carefully arranged in racks on the walls. The workbenches showed scars from many projects.
    Reedy said to Cutter, “A tall young fellow come in here week or so back before the ship sailed. He kept asking to see the old nameboard. I showed it to him. He looked at it real careful. Afterward he seemed satisfied and left. I don’t get too many visitors.”
    “What?” asked Cutter.
    “When Mister Reedy come to me, I thought you might be interested,” added the pastor.
    “Anything about him you remember?” Cutter said, remembering a stranger had been suspected in the death at the boatyard.
    “White man, dressed casual like a tourist. Nothing more.” He thought for a moment. “He had a beard.”
    “Tell about the boards,” Pastor Allingham reminded Reedy.
    “My great grandfather, best wood carver in these parts, started this shop. As a slave, he worked for the owner of the shipyard, making the fancy work.” He rummaged along the back wall. “He cut the name pieces for the big ship, a hunnert and seventy some years ago.”
    “The Peregrine,” Cutter said, as he smiled at the pastor, who nodded. He added,