Page 143 of A Castaway in Cornwall
NORTHCORNWALL, ENGLAND
Ayear has passed.And with it, the unexpected return of Napoleon Bonaparte, the bloody battle of Waterloo, and Bonaparte’s second and, hopefully, final abdication and exile.Now that peace has returned, Alexander and I have sailed back to Trebetherick to visit our friends and family as promised.
I rise early in the mornings, as is my habit. Leaving Alexander still asleep in my old bed, I quietly dress and slip out of Fern Haven alone.
As in former days, I walk along Greenaway Beach, the golden crescent lapped by foaming blue-green water. Up, down, and over I go, stepping from beach to beach grass and from rock to rock pool. The call of a seagull draws my gaze skyward, and I look up to admire the beautiful heavens. I have so much to thank heaven for.
Balmy summer weather reigns in Cornwall, and vibrant life is everywhere—gorse in yellow bloom lines the paths, and seapinks dot the grassy cliff tops. Other dainty plants and flowers grow even on the hard rocks and sandy shore. Beauty amid harsh conditions. Life where nothing should thrive.
Like these hardy plants, I am no longer simply surviving but am instead thriving.
At the thought, I touch my slightly rounded middle. A new life is on the way, thank God. My family is soon to gain a precious little member. If it is a girl, we shall name her after our mothers. If a boy, after our fathers, or maybe our brothers.
Standing on a rock, wind tugging at my bonnet, I realize I no longer feel like a castaway. Whether here in Cornwall or on Jersey or at sea, I am where I was always meant to be—close to my extended and growing family, and at Alexander Carnell’s side.
I used to wonder if there was a plan in all the loss I experienced. Now I know the answer.
Yes.
Once, I feared I would never belong anywhere again. But I no longer ask myself if I am flotsam or jetsam, cast off and unwanted. I finally understand that in God’s hands, and now in Alexander’s arms, I am truly home.
