Old Secrets Never Die by Lois Blackburn

Author:Lois Blackburn [Clowes, Florence W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0-7414-9188-5
Publisher: Infinity Publishing
Published: 2007-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

“Oh-oh, looks like you got sunburned! We weren’t in the sun very long yesterday, but it doesn’t take much! Here, put on some aloe before you sit down. We need to make sure you have sunscreen on before we go out today,” Bashia said when Mark came down the ladder. “Don’t forget, we’re closer to the equator here. Didn’t you use sunscreen yesterday?” She handed him her bottle of green aloe lotion.

“No, I guess not. I had other things on my mind.”

”Well, let’s not forget it today. But, here, have some breakfast so we can get going…. Not that I’m that anxious, but there’s a reason we flew down here.” Bashia stopped talking and studied her coffee, stirring vigorously.

He bit into a warm cinnamon roll. “Yes, we’ll do that today. Do you know the way? You said we’re going over the mountains? Do we need to gas up?”

When he spied freshly cut mango, he changed the subject: “I think I just died and went to heaven!”

“Yes, to all your questions. There aren’t too many gas stations once you get away from the coast, and the climb over the Blue Mountains is three hours, even by car. Any other questions?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Mark answered, as he swallowed the last of his coffee and picked up the road map. “As you say, let’s go!”

They drove slowly along the coast before turning south toward the center of the island. The road gradually turned into a narrow two-lane road as it twisted over the mountains. They passed Brown’s Town with its sprawling bus transfer station, then dropped down to the river.

Several women stood ankle deep in water, scrubbing clothes on a rock. Clean clothes were spread out on the grass to dry. Children waded in the shallow pools; the rushing water was inviting in the sweltering heat.

The hillsides were covered with lush fruit trees of all kinds, banana, ackee, orange, and pineapple along with red flame trees. Occasional roadside stands offering box lunches of rice and peas, curried goat, fruit and drinks, stood dangerously close to the traffic. Reggae music blared out from all of them.

Sharp twists and harrowing turns brought them into Spaldings, deep in the Dry Harbor Mountains, two hours later. They passed the bus park and a crowd of people pushing to get on a bus. “Oh, I’m so glad we have a car,” Bashia exclaimed once more.

Mark slowed down and stared at the old cars and busses parked close to each other. “Look at that bus loading passengers. The one with a Paradise Travel sign overhead and a bicycle strapped to the front grill. Look, some guys are tying a mountain of suitcases and boxes on top. Well, I’ll be. Is that child planning to bring his goat?”

Bashia laughed. “Probably, but it’s not common. I never rode on a bus with a goat. A chicken, yes, but not a goat. The driver will make sure there are twice as many people as seats before leaving. That bus must be about 1956 vintage.

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