Day Dreamer (20 page)

“She’s Bobo’s wife. Their little boy is missing.” Cord ran down the stairs and Celine plunged after him, the crowd parting to let them move up beside the gang boss.

The obeah man stood forgotten on the edge of the crowd. The unveiled threat in his eyes chilled Celine to the bone.

Ada came up beside her. “What’s happening? What is the trouble?”

“Bobo’s child is missing.” Celine’s heart went out to the young, distraught mother, who stood beside her husband sobbing her heart out.

As Ada began to lament the disaster, Celine tried to ignore the obeah man’s ominous glances. The slaves near her had stepped back a few paces, fear and distrust reflected in their eyes and postures.

Cord glanced around at the seventy or so people surrounding them and slipped his arm around her shoulder, drawing her to his side.

“The boy has been missing for almost two hours. He’s only six,” he explained.

As she stared at the young mother who was not much older than herself, Celine felt plunged into conflict. There was a chance she could learn something of the child’s past that might help divine his whereabouts, but it would put her in danger of escalating the slaves’ fear. Still, as she looked at Bobo and his wife, she realized she could not turn her back on the situation to save herself. Persa had warned her that there could come a time she would be forced to use her gift to do what was right even though the cost to herself might be high.

“Trust me,” she whispered to Cord. “Tell them I want to hold the girl’s hand.”

“What are you doing? This isn’t the time for theatrics.”

Celine knew that if the hard look in Cord’s eyes was any indication, there would be no changing his mind. The huge gang boss was her only hope.

She turned to Bobo.

“If I could hold your wife’s hand, I might be able to help find your boy.”

When Bobo stared down at her as if he hadn’t understood a word she’d said, she repeated her request slowly and then added, “I will not harm any of you, most especially the child.”

Bobo stared at his distraught wife. Celine could see that he was riddled with fear and indecision.

“Please. There’s no time to lose,” she prodded.

Bobo grabbed his wife’s arm and thrust her hand at Celine.

Celine took the young woman’s hand in both of hers. She had to hold tight, for Bobo’s wife was so frightened she tried to pull away.

“Tell her to relax and think of a place the child loves to play.”

“Celine—” There was a warning note in Cord’s tone.

“Tell her,” Celine urged.

Bobo spoke to his woman in a rush.

Celine shut everyone else out and opened her mind to the slave girl’s memories. At first she felt nothing, then her vision began to dim.

The bowels of a ship. Below the ’tween decks. Row upon row of shelves. No, not shelves, beds. All of them filled with bodies, some half alive, others dead. Misery, filth and offal. The clank of chains. Moaning, lost souls, too weak to cry. Sickness. Death and fever. Fear coupled with terror
.

“Celine!”

She felt Cord’s fingers dig into her shoulder. She had tapped into the wrong memory and was forced to open her eyes and wait for her vision to clear. Swallowing lungfuls of air, she tried to clear the horror of the slave ship out of her mind.

“What in the hell happened?” Cord sounded more afraid than angry.

“I’m fine. Tell her …” Celine brought herself to look at the girl, suddenly ashamed of her own place in a world that looked upon slavery as a necessary evil. “Tell her to think of the child, only the child, and of his favorite places.”

“Stop this now.”

She heard Cord’s concern under the anger in his tone.

“I can’t. Not when I might be able to save the boy,” she said.

Cord glanced around the crowd. They had pressed in close, waiting and watching the white witch. Bobo spoke quickly to his wife and then nodded at Celine.

“Again. Try again,” he said.

A horse. Gray with a ragged mane. A bright, shiny pink shell. Bananas. Water, crystal clear and splashing. Not the sea. Clear water. Falling. Tumbling over rocks. Thundering into a pool. Sparkling like diamonds on moss and ferns. A waterfall. Overwhelming joy. A child scrambling up the slippery rocks. Pride and fear as she pulls him back. No! Do not go near the water. Too near. Do not fall!

Celine tore her concentration away from the images, let go of Bobo’s woman’s hand and took a deep breath. When she felt steady again, she looked over at Cord. He was glaring at her.

“I think I know where the child might be,” she said.

Fourteen

“W
hat are you trying to do?” Cord ground the words out close to her ear. “Are you insane?”

“I’m trying to save a child.”

“Or get yourself killed. Look.” He nodded toward the old man.

She glanced over at the obeah man. One look at him convinced her that she should she speak out, she would make an enemy.

But with a child’s life in danger, she had no choice except to act. Ignoring both Cord, who was furious, and the obeah man and his penetrating stare, Celine spoke directly to Bobo.

“Is there a waterfall nearby?”

Bobo backed away from her a step. She read dawning understanding and awe where an instant ago his dark eyes had only harbored suspicion.

Slowly he nodded, then tossed words at his woman that Celine could not understand. Together Bobo and his wife shoved their way through the crowd and quickly disappeared beyond the tangled hedge. The crowd slowly dispersed, some running after Bobo, a few gathering near the obeah man and casting wary glances in Celine’s direction.

“Do you know of a waterfall nearby?” She laid her hand on Cord’s sleeve.

“I want to know what you’re up to—”

“There isn’t time. Please, Cordero, I’ll explain later.”

“We’ll take my horse.”

The commotion had drawn Foster and Edward outside. They took up positions on either side of Celine and Ada while Cord unhitched the huge white horse tied near a trough filled with moss-covered water. He mounted up before he rode over to Celine, who waited expectantly until he held out his hand and pulled her up in front of him.

Once she was safely mounted, Cord deftly held the reins and urged the horse forward. They thundered past the obeah man and the few lingerers in the yard.

Celine heard Ada call after them to take care. After that, it was all she could do to concentrate on keeping her seat while Cord kicked his horse into a full-out run. Unaccustomed to the jarring motion and terrified that she would slip and fall beneath the great animal’s flashing hooves, Celine held tight to the pommel on the leather saddle.

They passed the men and women running down the road, Bobo in the lead, and soon left them behind. The jungle undergrowth beside the road gave way as they ascended a bare hillside, then came down the other side. Here the terrain was more rugged, the wind stronger as it swept unimpeded over the crest of the hill. The path they took wound its way through rugged volcanic rock and sunburned brush before it dipped down into a ravine filled with foliage.

The waterfall and the deep, fathomless pool below it had been one of Cord’s favorite childhood spots. There had been many lonely days in Louisiana when he would dream of returning to St. Stephen and diving into the pool fed by a mountain spring.

The reality of this moment was quite different as he let his horse negotiate the rocky hillside down to the pool. The roar of the waterfall was thunderous. Mist drifted in the small, secluded glen. The bank around the pool and the stream that fell away from it were slick with moisture and rock. Cord was barely able to contain his fury as they rode into the glen.

“This is nothing but a wild-goose chase—”

“Look!”

His gaze shot in the direction in which Celine pointed. It took him a moment to make out the figure of the small, naked child against the black volcanic rock. The boy was perched halfway up the side of the waterfall on a narrow rock ledge, frozen with fear as he clung to a vine draped across the stones. His eyes were wide with terror as he pressed his back against the rock.

Celine scrambled out of the saddle. As soon as her feet hit the ground she was racing toward the pool. Cord knew every crevice and foothold and was running after her in an instant.

“Celine, wait. I’ll get him.” He sat down and began pulling off his boots, then his socks. He tore a button getting his shirt off.

She was at the side of the pool, staring down into the dark water, when he walked up behind her. He touched her shoulder and she jumped.

“I’m going after the boy. Will you be all right?”

“Of course,” she said. “Hurry, Cord. He’s so close to the edge, one slip and he’ll fall and hit the rocks.”

He stood at the water’s edge, prepared to dive in and cross the pool to where he would begin the climb.

“Cord!”

“What?”

“Be careful, please.”

He sliced through the pool, unable to enjoy the cold shock of the mountain water. When he reached the other side he pulled himself out and without hesitation started to climb up the rocks next to the waterfall. Water roared beside him. There was a fine coat of mist hovering over everything. He had climbed these same rocks more times than he could count when he was not much older than the child clinging now to the slippery rock ledge.

He could hear the little boy whimpering. Now the child had to fear not only falling, but the strange white man climbing toward him. With his mind too much on the boy and not enough on his footing, Cord slipped. His foot shot out from under him and he banged his shin against the rock. He could feel blood trickle over the top of his foot, but he kept climbing until he was within an arm’s reach of Bobo’s son.

“Come over here and I’ll help you down,” he shouted over the water’s din. “Don’t be afraid.”

The boy stared past Cord and down the face of the rock wall, gauging the distance to the pool below, and vigorously shook his head no.

“I’ll take you down and you can see your mama again.”

The little boy shook his head no again.

Cord pressed his forehead to the rock and sighed in frustration. He levered himself up until he was seated on the ledge beside the boy.

“How would you like to climb onto my back? You can ride down.” Cord turned around, hoping the boy would decide to hop on his back. “Come on.”

Bobo and his wife had arrived at the pool. They stood beside Celine, staring up at the tense scene, their voices drowned out by the pounding water.

“I won’t let you fall,” Cord told the boy. “I promise.”

The boy glanced down at his father and mother and then gingerly moved over to Cord’s side. He threw himself at Cord’s back, slipped his arms around his neck and hung on tight enough to strangle him.

“Ease up a bit,” Cord said, loosening the boy’s hold. “That’s it.”

Just as he remembered, it was much harder climbing down than going up. One false handhold, one misstep, and he and the child would go hurtling down onto the rocks below.

Celine stood beside Bobo and his woman at the edge of the pool. Together they watched Cord make his descent, the boy clinging to his neck. She was shaking with fear and anxiety, and the palms of her hands were damp. The huge man beside her had slipped to his knees and was slowly rocking back and forth with his hands clutched together, watching Cord’s every move down the treacherous rock. Sweat glistened on his ebony skin. The massive muscles of his shoulders and arms rippled as he held his clasped hands to the heavens.

The child’s mother cried softly, her face buried in her hands, unable to watch Cord make his way down the rocks. Celine could not take her eyes off him. If he was worried at all, he did not show any signs of it. His progress was steady and sure as he slowly and carefully made his way down. Finally, when he reached the edge of the pool, he waved at Celine. It was an unguarded moment. She had never seen him so openly happy, so triumphant.

“They’re safe!” she told Bobo. “Your son is safe.”

Bobo’s expression was one of a man coming out of a deep fog as he watched Cord swim the boy back to their side of the pool. The young woman snatched the child away from Cord, held him in her arms and buried her face against the boy’s neck.

Cord watched, unable to look away from the joy and innate tenderness of their reunion. The young family had nothing save the clothes on their backs, and even those paltry items belonged to Cord, yet the happiness and love that shone in Bobo’s eyes for his wife and child could never be bought or owned.

It was a luxury Cord could not afford, not at the risk of his sanity.

The slave looked over his wife’s head, met Cord’s eyes and slowly nodded in silent communication.

Celine ran up to him. Sweat dampened her hairline and the wind had made a hopeless tangle of her long mass of ebony curls. She held his shirt and boots in her arms, smiling at him with open admiration and something more, something he didn’t wish to acknowledge, in her eyes. She presented quite a picture with the skirt of his mother’s gown scooped up between her legs and knotted on both sides, exposing shapely calves. His wife, it seemed, was wearing no stockings, only her low-cut, square-heeled walking shoes.

“You were wonderful …”

The sound of the waterfall faded, but not the pounding of his heart. Bobo’s boy was safe, but now Celine would be even more suspect of witchery. Not only had the obeah man lost face, but his power had been greatly diminished when it was Celine and not he who had, somehow, divined the little boy’s whereabouts.

“How did you know where the boy was? I’d like a straight answer this time, Celine. The truth. Not some of the hog wash you gave me on Dundee’s ship.”

She wiped a trickle of sweat from her temple and then pressed her palms to her sun-stained cheeks.

“Are you all right?” she asked, glancing down at the cut on his shin.

“It’s nothing. I’m waiting for an answer.”

“Is there somewhere cooler we could talk?”

“If this is a scheme to get me to forget about this …”

“I promise it isn’t. I’ll try to explain, but I’m so hot right now I can’t think,” she said.

Indeed, she did look like a wilted rose transplanted into the wrong soil.

“Let’s get out of here.”

When her smile faded, he felt as if he had just stepped on a rosebud, but all he could think of was getting her away from here before the others appeared.

He untied his horse and held it steady until Celine had mounted up and he had put on his shirt again. Then he tied his boots behind the saddle and swung up behind her without a word.

This time the pace was slow. She reached behind herself, ran her hands up the nape of her neck and gathered her hair in her hands. Deftly, with a skill Cord could not fathom, she was able to twist her hair into a knot that kept her hair off her neck. Her skin was soft, nearly translucent on the back of her neck, a vulnerable spot that belied her inner strength and stubbornness.

He rode along the open hilltop until they reached the cane fields that carpeted the hillside and swept down to the sea. Various openings signaled the beginning of a maze of pathways that provided passage through the fields. As the trail they were on began to wind back toward the house, he turned in the opposite direction and they began to ride between high walls of cane, heading toward the sea.

The field they passed through would ripen first and then be burned, bundled and hauled to the mill. Right now, he was too angry and confused by what Celine just had done to feel much excitement over the first harvest and milling he would witness as owner of Dunstain Place.

The air was close and dense with humidity between the cane rows. Above them the slender, feathery tips of the stalks whispered on the trades. He felt Celine shift against him and innocently bring him to arousal without any notion of her power over him. She wiped the back of her hand across her brow.

“We’re almost there,” he promised.

Within seconds they had cleared the edge of the cane field. Before them lay a crescent strip of white sand that bordered aquamarine waters as clear as a looking glass. Lazy, rippling waves teased the shoreline.

“It’s so beautiful.” Celine sat forward, trying to take the beach in all at once. It was an oasis, a private cove protected by the tall, waving cane and the azure sea.

He rode the white gelding to the edge of the water and stopped just out of reach of the foaming tide.

“Give me your shoes,” he requested.

Celine looked over her shoulder, and realizing what he intended, a wide, guileless smile broke over her face. He had to remind himself that he was upset.

She pulled off her shoes and handed them to him without embarrassment. He reached back and tucked them into a saddlebag and then when he saw her beginning to dismount on her own, took her arm and helped her down.

With the abandonment of a child, her skirt still tied up almost to her knees, she walked into the water and began to drag first one foot and then the other through the foaming tide line.

“Now this,” she announced with another grand smile, “is heaven.”

Cord left her playing in the waves as he guided his horse to a spot where a banyan tree shaded the beach, its far-reaching branches extended over the sea. After he tied the reins to a protruding root, he rolled up his wet pant legs, then walked through the warm sand to join her. The breeze blowing off the sea felt degrees cooler than the stifling air in the thick cane.

As he walked up to her, she turned, her eyes shadowed, as if she did not know what to expect from him. And he could not blame her, for indeed he did not know how to deal with his wife.

Unconcerned with getting his pants any wetter, Cord moved past her and kept walking until he was almost hip-deep in water. He raised his arms over his head, sprang up and dove beneath the aquamarine waves.

Celine wished she could follow him in, but she didn’t relish the thought of thoroughly soaking her clothing, or drowning. She watched Cord break the surface of the water. His wet hair was black and glistening as he shook droplets back into the sea. She could not take her eyes off his broad shoulders as he emerged from the water like some mythical sea god.

He walked out of the water not one bit mindful of his soaked trousers and the way they revealed his anatomy. Passing close to her, he took her hand, walked another few steps until they cleared the tide line, sat in the sand and pulled her down beside him.

“You have some explaining to do,” he said. “You told me you had no hand in Dundee’s death. I believed you when you claimed it was only accurate guesses that allowed you to come up with things about Dundee’s past, but there was more to it than that, wasn’t there?”