Love's Fiery Jewel (20 page)

Cecily Hargrove had come to visit several times during
William's convalescence. The hearty reception afforded her by William's parents was in such sharp contrast to
the manner in which they tolerated Amethyst's presence,
that William's pale face had flushed with embarrassment.

Completely frustrated by the perpetual dilemma her
life seemed suddenly to have become, Amethyst knocked
again, realizing William might still be asleep, but hoping
to gently dissuade him from the marriage he had
tentatively set for the following week. When there was
still no response, Amethyst listened intently, her sharp
ears detecting a low moan from the other side of the
doorway.

Slowly opening the door, Amethyst saw William was
still abed. He seemed to have taken no notice of her
entrance and simply turned his head away with another
small moan. Fear closing her throat, Amethyst rushed to
his side, her voice hoarse as she said urgently, "William,
what's wrong? Are you in pain?"

The face William turned back to her was flushed a
bright red, the eyes glazed as he stammered thickly,
"Amethyst... is that you? Damn, why is it so hot?
Bring me a drink, will you?"

His dark hair was damp with perspiration, his
nightshirt adhering to his chest like a second skin.
Reaching out, Amethyst touched his forehead, gasping at
the searing heat under her hand. Panic momentarily
dulling her senses, she stared at William's flushed face,
the knot of fear in her stomach tightening painfully as
William began to mumble incoherently, turning his face
away to stare at some imagined figure at the other side of
the room. Suddenly spurred into action, Amethyst ran
out of the room and across the hall to pound heavily on
the master bedroom door.

"Damn! What is it? Amos, is that you? Are you crazy,
man?" a deep voice bellowed irritably from the other
side.

"No, it's Amethyst! Quickly, Mr. Sheridan, you must
come! William is ill! I don't know what's wrong with
him!"

Within a few seconds the door jerked open to reveal
the senior Sheridan in his stockinged feet, hurriedly
stuffing his shirt into his britches. His anxiety apparent,
he began walking toward William's room. "William is
sick, you say?" he mumbled under his breath, not
pausing to hear her response as he pushed open the door
to his son's room. With a few long strides he was at
bedside, his hand moving to touch his son's forehead. His
face blanched white with fear.

"My God, he has the fever!" he muttered desperately
before turning on his heel and making for the door. He
was shouting for the servants to get the doctor when
William began retching violently.

Sitting quietly in the corner of William's room,
Amethyst listened as Dr. Martens's voice lightly penetrated the mantle of exhaustion that had settled over her.
She had been sitting with William day and night for three
days as he continued to slip deeper and deeper under the
influence of the fever that was sweeping Sheridan
Plantation. Six slaves had already died, their bodies
hurriedly buried to prevent contagion, and eighteen
more lay twitching in their own excrement while the
majority of the other slaves refused to tend them for fear
of contamination. Low and mournful, the burial chants
continued unceasingly, drumming into her brain, as did
the soft pleas sung to Pucku to free them from the evil
spell cast upon them. She herself could hardly think now,
could hardly concentrate on the low conversation
progressing between Dr. Martens and William's worried
father. William had been vomiting blood for a whole day,
his skin turned a pasty yellow color as he twisted and
turned in the throes of the fever that appeared to be consuming him. He was incoherent most of the time,
struggling out of his dark nether-world for only brief
periods when he called her name, demanding that she
come to his side when she had indeed never left it.

Dr. Martens was saying that William was not doing
well. The course of his sickness was following closely that
of the slaves that had already died, and Dr. Martens was
extremely worried. Amethyst had only recently become
aware, isolated in the great house as she was, that the
fever had started in the slaves quarters shortly after her
arrival and had slowly progressed to the point at which it
now stood. Only one other person at the great house had
been stricken, a young house slave by the name of Juba,
but she had been quickly removed to the slaves' quarters
to pass the following stages of the disease in isolation.

"Amethyst! Come here! Where are you?"

The hoarse call from the bed raised Amethyst to her
feet in such haste that she was momentarily lightheaded.
Rushing to his side, she grasped the hand reaching out to
her, bending forward to listen to William's fevered
ramblings.

"Remember, Amethyst, you must not let them anger
you. It is their ignorance that sustains their prejudice
against you. You will see, they will change their
mi... Mother!" Turning his head, William exclaimed
loudly, beginning to laugh wildly as he pointed to a spot
at the other side of the room. "Since when do you allow
Nero in the house? Say, do you miss me, boy? Well, I will
be down to ride you again soon. Father! Have Amos take
him out of here. There is a stench in this room..."
Turning back to Amethyst, Williams expression was
suddenly fervent as he pulled her hand to his lips, kissing
it lightly. "You needn't worry, Amethyst. I won't have
that thoughtless blonde stick, Cecily Hargrove, no matter
what my parents say. I love you, Amethyst... she..."

Suddenly doubling up with pain, William turned his head from her, mumbling as he did, "I'm sick,
Amethyst.. .I'm sick..." The retching began again
while Amethyst grabbed a basin, holding it with a sense of
horror as William again filled it repeatedly with the dread
black vomit.

It was the middle of the fourth night of William's
sickness when Amethyst could no longer ignore the
waves of guilt assailing her. She no longer doubted
Damien Straith's powers of obeah, nor did she doubt that
she was the cause of the disaster that had struck Sheridan
Plantation. Twenty-four more slaves had come down
with the disease... there had been six more deaths...
William was dying... Oh, God... William was dying!
How much longer could his body heave up those huge
quantities of blood without expiring? Dr. Martens was
helpless against the disease, his liberal doses of laudanum
either being vomited up or doing little else but slightly
relieving the wracking pain that tore at William's body.

Amethyst had found out that the sickness had hit the
plantation almost to the day that she had burned the
shriveled fowl's foot in Delsea's fire. If she but had
the opportunity now, she would gladly put her hand into
that same fire to retrieve the charm and sustain William's
life, but it was useless to even think of it, now. It was too
late.

Choking sounds from William's bed snapped up her
head to see Sylvia Sheridan put the basin under her son's
head as he gasped and sputtered up more of his life's
blood.

But perhaps it was not too late! Glancing toward the
window, Amethyst was certain she could see the darkness
of night beginning to fade. It would be daybreak in a few
hours.. .she would try...she would at least try...

Rising from her chair, Amethyst walked quietly
toward the bed to stand staring wordlessly at William's
momentarily peaceful face. Reaching out her hand, she smoothed the hair from his forehead, only too aware of
the raging heat beneath her fingers. Bending, she pressed
a light kiss against his cheek before turning to walk
toward the door.

"Amethyst," Sylvia's voice was weary, "where are you
going? William may awaken and look for you."

Without turning back, Amethyst reached for the door
knob. "I'm going to my room."

Slipping noiselessly into her room a few minutes later,
Amethyst walked directly to her washstand mirror and
assessed her appearance, the reflection looking back at
her another blow to her weakening spirit. "I look
terrible," she mumbled desperately, raising her hand to
cover her eyes for a few brief seconds of escape. The
heavy humidity of the night was oppressive, causing her
hair to cling wetly to her scalp, and hang from the neck
down in a mass of tangled snarls. She was pale.. .she
had had no sleep for days, and her face was gaunt, for she
had lost her appetite and had been unable to eat since
William was stricken. Oh, well, she would have to do the
best she could, if only it was not too late.

Determined to make herself as presentable as possible,
Amethyst slipped into the hall and walking silently down
the staircase to the first floor, followed the winding
hallway to the ground floor. Slipping out the back door,
she made her way to the well. Drawing up the bucket, she
lowered her hair into the water until it was saturated, and
taking the bar of soap she had slipped into her pocket,
worked up a good lather. Satisfied at last that the soap
had lifted the grime of her recent ordeal, she carefully
lifted the bucket and bending over to escape as much of
the water draining off her hair as possible, cautiously
dumped the cold water over her sudsy head. The water
was terribly cold, sending a deep chill over her perspired
body, but her hair was clean. Wrapping her dripping hair
in the cloth she had carried from the house, she carefully made her way back to the house and to her room. Seated
exhaustedly on the chair by her bed, she rubbed her hair
dry. Dragging herself wearily to the washstand, she
combed it carefully, grateful to see the natural sheen had
returned, and tying it to the back of her head
temporarily, she stripped to the skin and began to wash
fastidiously. Within the hour she was dressed again, this
time in her brown skirt and fresh white blouse. Carefully
rolling her soiled clothes into a small bundle, she slipped
her comb and brush inside, and surveyed the room
critically. To the best of her recollection, it looked
exactly as it had the day she had entered it, and satisfied
that she had removed all trace of her presence, Amethyst
slipped quietly out the door and down the hallway past
William's room. Moving stealthily, she walked down the
grand staircase and careful not to make a sound, out the
front door. The first morning light had not quite
penetrated the black sky of night, and grateful for the
cover of darkness, she moved down the grand roadway
and turned onto the road toward Kingston.

Glancing up into the morning sky, Amethyst noted
absentmindedly that only the faintest trace of wispy
clouds broke the endless expanse of brilliant blue. That
probably accounted for the excessive heat of the day, and
judging from the position of the sun, it was well into
morning. Drawing her attention back to the dusty road
ahead of her, Amethyst sighed, but maintained her
forward pace. Her back ached fiercely and she was far
more weary than she had expected. A wave of nausea
rolled over her as the road stretched out in an endless
wavering ribbon through the fields of growing cane. But
tightening her hold on the small bundle in her arms that
had seemed to gain incredible weight since the inception
of her journey, she continued forward. She was
extremely thirsty, and would have to look for a clear stream near town in order to drink and refresh herself.
She did not wish to reach Kingston looking as bedraggled
as she felt.

Within the hour Amethyst was walking through the
streets of Kingston, her destination not the small frame
house that had been her home for seven years, but the
docks of Kingston Harbor. As she had planned, she had
stopped outside Kingston at a small stream, drinking her
fill and carefully refreshing her appearance, taking the
time to withdraw her brush from her bundle and sweep
her hair neatly off her face to secure the front two locks
at the back of her head with a white ribbon. Careful to
brush off the dust of her journey, she had entered town
and could presently see the tall masts of the Sally as she
approached the dock. Strange how they seemed to waver
in the light of the brilliant sun, as did the very ground on
which she walked. For a moment she staggered. Pausing
to clear her mind, she ignored the throbbing pain in her
head that had gradually increased over the past hour
until she was forced to squint in order to ascertain the
blurring figures walking around her. But she could not
mistake the Sally. She was a beautiful ship, far too regal a
vessel for her captain. She approached the gangplank
with an inner trepidation that set her to shaking, and
furious with her own fear, Amethyst increased her pace.
The docks were dreadfully noisy today.. .what was that
thunderous humming sound? If only it wasn't so very
hot-she was certain her blouse was stained with
perspiration. If only she could manage to put her feet
down in the exact spot she desired, instead of weaving an
uncertain path toward the gangplank. Well, it was not
much further. Strange, she had not remembered the
gangplank to be so steep, so difficult to climb.

Finally standing on deck, she was amazed to find it
moving beneath her feet as if the ship were at sea, and
grasping the rail for support, she turned her attention to the men on deck. Having unexpected difficulty in
focusing her eyes, Amethyst's glance moved slowly
across the three men on deck. No, none of them was
Captain Straith. She opened her mouth to ask his
whereabouts, but found herself strangely unable to form
words past the incredible dryness in her throat.
Watching the direction of the men's glances moving
toward the cabin stairs, Amethyst turned to see a tall
figure step onto the deck. His face was unclear, but the
blond hair gleaming in the sunlight and the broad stature
and erect carriage were unmistakable. Approaching him
hesitantly, Amethyst noted that the heaving deck was not
a problem for him as he stood, unshakable and
unmoving, staring in her direction. Amethyst stumbled,
grasping a rope for support, and suddenly Damien Straith
was beside her, his strong arm supporting her against the
swaying that made her almost unable to stay on her feet.
His face was still blurred, but the penetrating translucence of his eyes came through the haze that seemed
suddenly to surround her. Although his lips were close to
her ear, his voice seemed to come from a distance as he
said in a low voice, "Amethyst, what's wrong?"