The Nameless

Chapter Three

1845,

West Africa.

*** Elias Morgan ...

Dear Elias,

I hope you are living well with yourself during this your act of rebellion and don't you dare argue with that conclusion. Pray tell if those savages are treating you well, for I swear your mother would march into that tropic of filth and I will drag you out myself.

It would very much please my soul if you came back to me, my dear. I want you to always remember that if your father is the problem, I could very well keep him in line. Please, my son, my plea remains for you to end my heart ache and come back to me.

With that, I can only hope that your experience with the reverend in that God forsaken land is terrible enough to send you back to the people who care for you dearly.

Yours beloved,

Mother.

I burst into laughter even before I'm done with the letter. From the corner of my eye, I notice Peter poke his head into the room, frowning at me. Still laughing, I fold the sheet and drop it into the drawer of the table.

"Something funny, Elias?" Peter finally asks. I glance up at him as he comes into the room, a book in his hand.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe what my mother sent this time around." I chuckle, "She didn't hesitate to accuse me of rebellion. It was actually the first thing she pointed out." Peter joins in my laughter, coming to sit across the table from me.

"Don't you think it is time you end her misery and tell her you are going back before your birthday in a month?"

"And miss the chance of her getting a heart attack? Never." He seems horrified at first, then he notes the joke.

"You're quite heartless." I bow as I turn away from him.

"As should be. Are we still going to call on the chief?" I glance to find him still thinking it over.

"Depends. I'll check with the translators to see if they have the time." I frown.

"Hm, you had me believe you were fluent in their language by now." He eyes me under a mirthful smile.

"I am...I only need them for certainty." I shrug.

"I shall prepare then." I leave the study-or at least what is supposed to be the study-to the room I took for mine. There I change my trousers to a brown pair, a fresh shirt and neck cloth and a matching waistcoat. Seeing as the weather here is quite hot, I decide to leave behind my coat. I leave the room to rejoin Peter.

"Are you ready, Reverend?" I ask, peeking into the study. Peter lowers the glass he had been reading with and stands.

"Of course. Shall we?" I stand aside for him to come out into the hall then we walk out of the house. As always, there are the natives waiting around the short wooden fence built around the house, mostly children, the two interpreters trying vainly to shoo them away.

"Good evening." Peter greets as they turn to us, "Thank you again for agreeing to go with us so impromptu."

"It is no problem, sir." says Obiora, one of the interpreters. They discuss for some time then Peter gestures that we should follow them. I notice the watchers give way for us to pass but tag along after.

"Elias, So I was considering ways to celebrate you before your return-" I scoff.

"Surely that's unnecessary."

"Oh, but it is, you are turning such a pivotal age-"

"I wouldn't say twenty-five is a pivotal age, Reverend."