Free Elianne by Judy Nunn Page B

walk from the house, and as she stepped out from the trees and into the clearing she saw Pavi at the drying racks. He was working alongside his father as she’d expected he would be. A number of native workers were squatting on the ground preparing the coconuts, some clearing away the husk, others cleaving the nuts in half on chopping blocks and draining them of their liquid. Michel and Pavi were spreading the halved coconuts out on the racks, meat side up, to dry in the sun, while beneath the structure nearby several other workers were tending the kilns. For the drying process, which was essential in the production of copra, Michel Salet chose to employ a mixture of both methods, invariably achieving the perfect balance.
    Father and son greeted her upon approach, and a number of the workers gave her a wave.
    ‘
Bonjour mam’selle
,’ some said, or, ‘‘allo missy,’ in the local Pidgin English. Elianne was popular with the workers.
    ‘Are we safe with the weather, Michel?’ she asked, gesturing at the coconuts laid out on the racks.
    ‘Yes, quite safe,’ he assured her, ‘until tomorrow afternoon I would say. We will transfer them to the kilns then, just to be sure.’ Among his many other talents, Michel Salet was a walking barometer.
    ‘May I borrow your son for half an hour?’
    ‘Of course you may, Elianne.’ Michel smiled and turned to his son. ‘Take your time, Pavi, we have plenty of workers.’
    ‘Thank you, Papa.’
    Pavi, who had been working bare-chested, donned his shirt as a measure of respect for Elianne and they set off through the trees. Like many of mixed race, he was a good-looking young man, olive-skinned and fine-featured.
    They walked for ten minutes through the rows of coconut palms to the edge of the plantation, where they emerged from the trees into a rocky clearing. Here the land sloped down to the valley, and in the distance beyond the lush tropical vegetation was the blue of the sea. It was a favourite place of theirs.
    They sat on the rocks and looked out at the view. They hadn’t spoken as they’d walked: there’d been no need. They were comfortable with silence. Sometimes they would gaze at the view without saying a word, other times they would ignore its beauty altogether and talk non-stop. The two were very much at ease in each other’s company.
    Today though was a day for talking, and it was Elianne who broke the silence. She couldn’t wait to tell him her news. ‘You’re not the only one about to be married, Pavi,’ she said.
    Pavi stared at her in surprise. He’d not known that Elianne was being courted. He had courted Mela for a whole eight months before they’d announced their betrothal. They’d been just seventeen. Now eighteen and lovers, they both yearned to be wed so that their trysts need no longer be conducted in secret.
    ‘You’re to be married,’ he said, ‘really?’
    ‘Yes, really,’ she said.
    She launched into her story, his eyes growing wider and wider with surprise as she recounted the exchange that had occurred between her and her father.
    ‘You declared James Durham a blackbirder,’ Pavi winced comically, ‘that was perhaps not a wise thing to do.’
    ‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘I hope I haven’t caused trouble for you, telling Papa about your aunties and Big Jim.’
    Pavi shrugged. ‘He’ll just think it’s the gossip of silly black women.’ Although Elianne had omitted any mention of her father’s comments about ‘ignorant savages’ Pavi was fully aware of André Desmarais’s contempt for the islanders.
    ‘On the contrary, I had the distinct impression that it came as no great surprise. Papa was angered and denied any truth to the rumour of course, but he knows there’s something questionable in James Durham’s past, I can tell. He protested a little too vehemently.’
    ‘How do you feel about this marriage, Elianne?’ Pavi eyed her keenly. Her happiness was all that mattered.
    She searched for a truthful answer. ‘I