For Her Love (9 page)

Exhausted women who had been cutting cane all day were now spreading cassava dough over large, shallow pans hanging upside down above open fires and wiping their brows in the combined heat of the late afternoon sun and cook fires. The air was thick with the smell of callalou, a spinach-like green and a rare treat for slaves. It was Grace who insisted that they be fed more than starchy cassava. Children tugged at the women’s shift-style dresses and clamored for food and attention. Men stood in groups, talking softly, delivering sharp reprimands to children who had become too troublesome to the cooks. A white guard, armed with whip and flintlock, lounged against a tree, watching the proceedings with a bored expression. The mood was somber, but the activities were no different than they might have been on any other evening. The death of a child was sad, but not at all uncommon here.

Grace couldn’t help but smile slightly when she saw Captain Courtney stride into the clearing from the path to the main house. His hair was mussed, and he didn’t look at all like the unflappable man who had come to stay just a few hours earlier. She had never before had someone stay with her through this kind of vigil, and was amazed at what relief it provided. Whenever she had tended to sick or dying slaves, her efforts were rather suspiciously appreciated. She was ever an outsider. It was not easy, maintaining her perch on this fence of hers. Despite his disarray, this captain moved with the confidence of a man who shouldered responsibility naturally, and it occurred to her that here was someone upon whom she might lean.

He stopped and gave her a stricken, questioning look. She shook her head and silently mouthed, “Soon.”

A small, thin, very dark woman with prominent shoulder blades and close-cropped hair stood alone at the edge of the clearing. She kept her back to the hustle and bustle, staring into the trees surrounding the quarters. Several other Negroes regarded her sympathetically, shaking their heads and speaking softly to one another, but they seemed to think it best to leave her be. Grace approached reluctantly.

“Do you speak English?” she asked. She did not recognize this woman, but there were many field hands, and Grace knew only a few.

The woman turned around and stared at Grace in open hostility, but it did nothing to deter Grace. She was accustomed to their hatred and could hardly fault them. She simply sighed and continued. “I want to help, but I fear that I cannot save her.”

The child’s mother said nothing. She only continued to stare at Grace.

“It shan’t be long,” Grace said. “Would you like to come in and see her one last time?” She gestured toward the hut.

Still no answer.

“Do you know who the father is?” She indicated the group of men, hoping to convey the idea. “Mayhap I could fetch him for you.”

Captain Courtney stepped in next to Grace. “The mother?” he asked, and Grace nodded.

“Would she rather I spoke to the father?” he suggested.

Grace could only shrug. “I do not think she understands us. It may be that she knows not who the father is.”

The slave turned her back to them and looked into the trees again. “Me undastan.” She crossed her arms and held herself rigid, utterly aloof. “Da maas de fadda. You
axe
him if him kya what happen to her.”

Grace swayed next to him, and Giles reached out to steady her. “Grace?”

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. She looked up at him, her face pale, her eyes wide in shock. “She said that the master is the father. That little girl is my sister, Captain.” She looked over her shoulder at the hut.

His first instinct was to reply that, of course, she wasn’t Grace’s sister, but he had the good sense to realize that Grace would not take well to that statement. Instead, he said softly, “‘Tis not the same, Grace.”

He might as well have said the first thing. She pulled back, and for a second, he thought she was going to strike him. “Aye, it is!” she shouted. “It is
exactly
the same thing. Exactly!”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he protested.

“Nay? How, then, did you mean it?” she snapped.

“I—” How
did
he mean it? “They aren’t married. I mean, ‘tis unfair, but the child is illegitimate, and…well, a bastard usually shares its mother’s life, however harsh.”

“Was that her choice? Does being illegitimate affect whether or not you are a human being, deserving of some dignity and respect?”

“Nay! My best friend is a bastard. It just means that life is harder. Different.”

“But your friend is white, and this child is black, and what you really meant is that
that
is the difference! You think that because she is black she cannot be my sister.”

“Nay!” But that
was
what he’d meant, and he knew it. He raised his eyes to the sky and its dimming light. “I’m sorry. Mayhap it was what I meant. I am…out of my element here, Grace.”

She looked at him. He almost looked ashamed, and her heart softened. Aye, he was far out of his element. But he was trying to help, trying to understand.

“There is much you do not know, Captain,” she said.

“Much I have no desire to know,” he agreed. He took her hand in both of his. “I do not know how you endure this.”

From the two hands that enveloped hers, warmth and strength seemed to suffuse her whole being. They were strong hands, competent hands. For all that his fingers were wide and callused, marked by tiny scars, they held her so gently. She had the strangest impulse to lift them to her cheek, merely to feel the contrast of his rough skin against her soft face. She wanted to lean into him, allow his broad shoulders to shelter her for a moment. The impulse startled her, and she abruptly pulled her hand away.

“Missy!” one of the slaves in the hut called. “Missy, her jerkin’ and chokin’ now!”

Giles and Grace raced in together. The little girl’s back was arched, her muscles convulsing, and the Negroes quickly cleared the hut, overwhelmed by this latest development. The two Whites could hear the excited chatter outside, but it was impossible to understand. Grace knelt and went back to stroking the child’s brow.

Giles knew that the girl couldn’t feel it, wasn’t aware that Grace was even there, but he also knew that it felt better to be doing something intended to soothe and help. He watched powerlessly as the convulsion ended, the girl’s body relaxed, then her bulging, chocolate brown eyes became fixed and stopped seeing altogether. He placed his hand on Grace’s shoulder.

“She
was
my sister,” Grace whispered.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words completely inadequate.

*

They returned to the main house in deepening twilight and ran into Matu on the path. She carried a hamper of food obviously intended for them, but neither was hungry. Still, she followed them back home, toting the meal. They found Iolanthe and Edmund in the keeping room. The couple had finished their own repast, and now Iolanthe sat in one of the upholstered chairs, plying her needle, while Edmund sat at the table counting the money Giles had brought. A ledger lay on the table next to him, a glass and bottle in front of him, both empty.

Edmund looked up and smiled in greeting. “I’ll have to take your word for the amount,” he said to Giles. His eyes were glassy and his hands unsteady. “Can’t get the same bloody sum twice. You must have talked some sense into her.” He nodded to his daughter.

“‘Tis over,” Giles replied. “The girl didn’t last long.”

“Ah,” Edmund responded, nodding. “Just as well, that.”

Giles took in the serene domesticity of his surroundings. It seemed unreal, given all that had just happened less than a mile away. He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “Aye, sir, just as well.”

“You look tired, Grace,” Edmund said.

She stared at him for a moment, then walked over to her father. “You never told me there were others.”

He gave her a dazed look, then reached for the bottle, grumbling to find it empty. “Others?”

“She was yours.”

Iolanthe snorted indelicately. “Imagine that.”

Matu moved swiftly to Grace’s side, setting the hamper on the table and tapping Grace on the shoulder. When Grace looked at her, she shook her head urgently.

Edmund rose, swaying slightly. “Now Grace…”

“Do not presume to ‘now Grace’ me…”

Matu tugged on Grace’s arm, a pleading look in her eyes. Iolanthe stuck her needle into the fabric stretched across her embroidery frame and left it there, listening to the exchange.

Giles shifted uncomfortably. Obviously this was not Grace’s first encounter with one of Edmund’s offspring sired upon a slave, and he preferred not to be a witness to the coming confrontation. “Grace, mayhap this is not the best time for this. We are both weary, and this afternoon has everyone on edge.”

She glared at him, her eyes as cold and hard as green bottle glass. “You have no place in this conversation,” she said icily.

Edmund seemed to be sobering rather rapidly, and with a similar look in his own green eyes, the resemblance between father and daughter was clearer than ever. “Mind what you say, young lady. Mind
everything
you say.”

Matu abandoned her attempts to silence Grace and turned her attention to Giles. With a placating smile, she gestured to the hamper of food, then pointed above.

“Aye,” Edmund agreed, “a good idea, Matu. You can set Captain Courtney up with supper in his room, and we’ll send up bath water, as well. This has hardly been the sort of welcome I had in mind when I invited him to stay.”

“Nay,” Grace interrupted, “I should think it hasn’t. I shouldn’t be surprised if the good captain finds some pressing business to attend to after all.” She turned to Giles, genuinely sorry that she had spoken so harshly to him. “Forgive us, Captain. I’m sure this was not what you had in mind either.”

Giles cleared his throat and glanced uneasily around him. He wondered how her father might react if he suggested that he simply take Grace with him on the morrow with a promise to wed her as quickly as possible in Port Royal.

Edmund’s face brightened. “I’m sure you must have some arrangements of your own to make. You’ll have friends to invite, business to delay a few weeks…”

“What?” Grace asked.

Giles winced.
Damn!
If there was one thing of which he was certain, this was not the time or the place to discuss marriage with Grace. “Uh—Grace and I’ve not really had a chance to talk,” he told Edmund.

“About what?” Grace demanded.

Matu groaned and dropped her head, but Iolanthe perked up considerably.

“About the wedding, dear child,” she chimed in, her voice wickedly amused. “Your father and Captain Courtney have agreed that you are to marry in three weeks.”

“What?” Grace fairly shrieked, and Giles’s head began to throb.

“I asked your father’s permission…” he began.

“And it never occurred to you to ask mine?” Grace countered.

“Of course! Of course, I was going to ask you.”

“When?”

Enough was enough, Giles thought.
God what a mess!
“Well, certainly not over a dying child’s bedside!”

“When did you find time to discuss it with my father? My God, did you ask him when you arrived? You didn’t even know me. You still don’t. You know nothing about me.”

“I know what I need to know!” Giles barked, but then he stopped, counting silently to ten. He refused to let the situation run away with him. Well, any further than it already had. “Grace, can we speak on this on the morrow? We are both tired, and I think you have something to discuss with your father.”

“There is no need to speak on this further, Captain. You have not deigned to ask me for my hand, but I will tell you now that I refuse your suit. If you had planned to stay and woo me, you need not trouble yourself. Given that, it matters not whether you hear what I have to say to Father.”

“One more word, Grace,” Edmund ground out from between his teeth, “and you will regret it.”

She glared right back at him. “What will you do, Father?”

“I will wash my hands of you.”

Giles gasped in shock.
Disown her?
“Sir, I cannot marry Grace under duress.”

“I am not marrying you,” Grace reiterated.

“Not another word,” Edmund warned.

“Mister Welbourne…” Giles began.

It was Matu who brought the squabbling to a halt. “Aaaah!” she exclaimed, waving her hands in the air. She looked at Edmund, but gestured to herself and Grace, then out a rear window to the kitchen. Edmund nodded brusquely.

Grace gazed at him in disbelief. “I’m being banished to the kitchen with my nurse?”

“Well, you’re certainly acting like a child!” Edmund snapped.

Grace gasped in anger, but Matu squawked again and gestured for Grace to follow. Then she let her deep brown eyes dart from Edmund to Iolanthe and back again.

“Iolanthe, you and I are going for a walk,” Edmund said.

“That black bitch is not
my
nurse!” Iolanthe retorted. “I will not be dictated to by her.”

“Nay, but I am your husband, and I have not yet sent your last order to the dressmaker. Not sure now that I’ll send it at all.”

With an indignant huff, Iolanthe flounced out the door, leaving Edmund to follow in her wake.

The older man shrugged. “Sorry to leave you on your own. There’s food in the basket there.” He indicated the hamper on the table. “Matu has always been the only one who holds any sway with Grace. Oh! But I’m sure that you and she—well—that is, I’m sure she’ll be altogether different with you. She’s just a little upset. My fault. I should have realized that you hadn’t been able to ask her yet. Just excited, that’s all…” His voice drifted off uncertainly. Then he looked at the door that his wife had left open and squared his shoulders. “Have some supper, Captain,” he repeated before he followed Iolanthe.

Giles stood in the middle of the deserted keeping room in speechless astonishment. What had just happened here? What was he doing? If he had a lick of sense he would board
Reliance
tonight, sail back to Port Royal, and buy a simple, straightforward night’s pleasure with one of the wenches at the Sea Nymph tavern.