“THANK THE LORD!” ADAM EXCLAIMED.
He was relieved that the crates he had to inventory today were not filled with as many small items as the ones from yesterday. One of today’s crates held blankets and small rugs, while the other contained an assortment of hats for men and women.
Poor Martin, on the other hand, was stuck inventorying a crate of sewing supplies, including buttons and thimbles—many of which had spilled out of the boxes that were meant to keep them sorted.
“Serves you right,” said Adam. “You wouldn’t help me yesterday. You were mocking me for having to go through all of those ladies’ knickknacks. Looks like you’re reaping what you’ve sown.”
Martin rolled his eyes at Adam. “Oh, be quiet.” He squinted his eyes and went back to sorting thimbles and putting them back into their little boxes.
Each box was meant to hold a certain number of a particular design. Martin had to pick up each thimble and look at the markings on the side and separate them into their own little piles. Then he had to count them out into the specified number for each box set.
“Headache, Martin?”
He didn’t need to ask. Adam already knew his friend was struggling thanks to another hard night of drinking.
Martin didn’t respond. He just gave Adam an annoyed look and went back to sorting thimbles.
“You keep on drinking like you been doing lately, you’re gonna end up dead in a ditch.”
Boaz sat quietly making inventory of a group of small crates of iron cookware, but he couldn’t help but say something when he heard that.
“I think the boy’s got a point there, Smith. You trying to pickle yourself or somethin?”
“I have no idea what y’all are talking about. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep worth nothin last night—froze my tail off.”
“What’s the problem? You out of firewood?” Adam jokingly asked.
“Maybe he just couldn’t find a woman to keep him warm,” suggested Boaz.
The two of them laughed, and Martin nodded and feigned amusement as they joked at his expense.
Finally, Adam said, “Didn’t you say you were going over to Jones’s house last night to play cards with him and Canady?”
Martin nodded unexpressively. “Yep.”
“Oh,” said Adam. “You lost your purse, didn’t you?”
“You’ve got to learn to quit when you’re ahead, Smith,” said Boaz.
Adam shook his head. “I hate it for you, Martin. I really do. Seems like things have just been downhill for you lately.”
“You’re damned right,” said Martin. “Ever since we got to Cuba, in fact, it’s like the Fates are conspiring against me.”
Just then Emmanuel slowly and stiffly made his way across the warehouse to speak to his workers. “What’s all this Fates nonsense, Smith?”
Martin exchanged a sheepish grin with Adam and Boaz. Adam imagined Martin must’ve been thinking that it was bad luck that Emmanuel had come in when he did. Everyone knew he didn’t have much patience for superstitions, or what he called “pagan colloquialisms,” like talking about bad luck or the Fates, a frequent source of joking behind Emmanuel’s back, since sailors were among the most superstitious of all men, and his industry was full of them.
They were all thankful when Emmanuel quickly changed the subject rather than going into a speech about Fate versus Providence.
“I just got done talking to Faulkner Baldwin.” He had his hand on his back, rubbing it as if it was hurting him terribly. “We’re having a citizen’s meeting on Friday to discuss the business of the new canal. Adam will be going to get a pig tomorrow morning, and I want you boys to be ready to butcher and roast it so we can enjoy a nice barbecue after the meeting.”
“We’re having a party?” asked Martin with a mischievous grin.
Emmanuel sighed and gave a curt nod. “A barbecue, Mr. Smith, not a bacchanalia. I’ll be inviting all of the gentlemen who attend the meeting, as well as their families. This’ll be no time for you to lose your inhibitions. Furthermore, this cold weather has angered my old bones, and it certainly doesn’t help my patience levels, so don’t push me.”
“Don’t worry, Emmanuel,” said Boaz. “We’ll keep him in line.” He looked at Adam and grinned. “Right, Fletcher?”
“I’m sure he’ll behave himself,” Adam agreed.
“Hmm…” Emmanuel seemed like he wanted to say something but stopped short.
After a second or two he said, “I should tell you, Smith, if you come to work in this condition again I’ll relieve you of your employment until you can see fit to dry yourself out.” He started to hobble back towards the stairs, then turned back to say one more thing. “And you tell Jones I said the same thing if he’s in a state as bad as you.”
Martin nodded and gave an embarrassed half smile. “Yes, sir.”
Adam and Boaz tried hard not to even smile, but Adam, at least, was laughing on the inside.
Emmanuel slowly climbed the stairs to the living quarters.
“You know, Fletcher, it’s a good thing Emmanuel don’t let you come with us to play cards,” said Martin. “We’re real bad influences.”
Adam could tell Martin was being facetious, so he rolled his eyes at him.
“Of course Emmanuel don’t want him hangin around with you over at Jones’s place,” said Boaz. “He wants better for his grandson than to turn out like either of you rascals.”
“Emmanuel’s been a rascal in his day, and I reckon he’s turned out alright,” Martin countered.
“That was different,” said Adam. “He was running around with pirates, after all. I’d say a little bit of wild living goes with the territory, doesn’t it? You and Jones, on the other hand, y’all just like to drown yourselves in the bottle. And you’ve gotten far worse since we’ve gotten back from Havana.”
“I have not,” said Martin.
“You have! You absolutely have. Now I can see why Emmanuel probably never sent you and Jones out on the same voyages before. He knew y’all would bring out the worst in each other.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Boaz agreed.
Adam felt a little guilty for giving his friend a hard time, but the truth was Martin had seemed to be going downhill ever since they returned from Havana. Something had changed him. He seemed intent on engaging in increasingly self-destructive behaviors. He’d liked to have a good time and drink a little more than the next fellow for as long as Adam had known him, but now it was almost as if his goal was to stay drunk as much as possible and practice whatever vices he could conjure up at every available opportunity. He’d disappear for days at a time and no one knew where he’d gone, then turn up again for work like nothing had happened.
The truth was Adam worried about where it would lead. In all his years growing up at the tavern, he’d seen many men take a destructive turn—to the point where Valentine had to ban some from the establishment. Never had any of those fellows gotten their acts together without some major tragedy happening to them first. Some never did get their acts together but ended up dead in a ditch—like Adam had warned Martin earlier—or something similar.
Thing was, Adam didn’t think Martin’s worsening behavior could be entirely attributed to the influence of hanging around Ricky Jones, although that certainly exacerbated the situation. No. Adam felt certain something else was causing Martin to act this way, but it was anyone’s guess what it could be.