Passion's Joy (28 page)

Normally, the much loved matches between Sean and Ram were as colorful as they were exciting. The battle of wits as the two first started drinking was often enjoyed as much as the match, at least by those who themselves owned wits enough to enjoy the clever, cunning and artful exchange, as with lazy indifference, Ram met Seanessy's sardonic humor with his own rarely exercised but considerable ability.

This time, however, it was different. A shocking violence radiated from Ram's frame, a certain wildness danced in his gaze. He bestowed the cruelest of smiles on Sean—a madman out to kill.

Their men placed two fresh bottles of rum on the table that separated the two men. In case the difference wasn't perfectly clear, Ram took the neck of the bottle in hand and with his gaze still locked to Sean, he smashed the bottle hard against the table. "I'll not let anything soften my blows this time, Seanessy." A low murmur rippled through the anxious crowd and bets abruptly increased, but Sean, seeing the force of Ram's fury—far greater than he had even hoped for—only laughed.

Stoically, he met the numbered minutes he had left with amusement, and some small relief.

Rising slowly, Seanessy met Ram's fury directly and with a simple, "As you wish, my lord."

The men cleared a circle around them and the two players moved into the middle. Each stood perfectly still like caged animals, submitting as Bart bound Sean's feet and Sean's man bound Ram's. A foot and a half for balance was given to each. A man's arms had far less than half the deadly force of a man's legs, but because neither man was drunk, their arms were bound in front at the wrists as a necessary added precaution.

Sean still was adjusting his weight to the demands of the ropes binding his strength, and his first mistake was in the assumption that Ram would wait for the first signal call. Ram never fought fair. Moving with a predator's natural grace, Ram came swiftly upon his unsuspecting victim. With a powerful lift of his bound arms, Ram landed his first blow hard in Seanessy's face.

The crowd roared as Sean great form slammed backside against the ground. The blow reminded Sean only of how very long it had been since he had felt Ram's power untempered by drink, and with a quick chuckle and a curse, he came quickly up.

The two men circled each other with a hunter's patient and slow dance. While Ram waited for the opening that would surely come, he asked the same, though now, far more meaningful question, "Why Seanessy? Why?"

Seanessy's eyes blazed with amusement, and he only laughed. "Ah, but my lord, you do know my fondness for your painting—"

The sentence was not complete when Ram, moving with amazing speed, lifted high in the air and drove his bound legs into Sean's chest. Sean grunted as the wind was forced from him, and though both men fell with it, Ram came to his feet with a practiced roll in an instant. Mercifully, he gave Sean a few precious seconds to get to his feet as well. Only because he wanted an answer. "That's not good enough Sean," he said the exact words he had said to Joy as they circled yet again. "Not nearly good enough."

"Ah, but it's the only explanation I can give you, my lord." Sean's eyes danced with both amusement and mischief, and he stalled for a moment. "I simply discovered she could be bought, and as your ever obsequious servant, I bought her for you."

Sean only chuckled as Ram's anger flared, and with a vicious curse, Ram sprung on him.

This time Sean expected it and Ram's strength met the great wall of Sean's. Their two huge frames locked and clashed, each an unmovable force pitted against an equal. Muscles tensed dramatically until sweat poured, squeezed mercilessly from every rock-hard fiber of their bodies. The crowd held their collective breath waiting for one side to give. Just as Sean thought he would lose it, Ram leaned back a mere inch, suddenly throwing Sean's huge weight off balance. Seizing the victory, Ram swung his bound arms back and round, hard into Sean's jaw.

The force threw Sean hard to the straw covered floor again, and though dazed by it, he managed to roll just a split second before Ram landed another blow with his legs. Sean came up quickly and just in time, for no one found balance as quickly and as easily as Ram.

The two men circled yet again. Ram knew only he was not getting the fight he needed from Sean. He sounded a dangerous chuckle, "It's too bloody easy Sean. I need more Sean, much more."

"I am trying, my lord," Sean replied dryly, still with his own laughter.

"No." Ram shook his head, wiping the sweat from his face with bound hands. "Not even close, Seanessy. But I'll have you. All you have to do is think a moment on what your fine present reaped tonight. Think of her, Seanessy."

The first moment of alarm flashed briefly in Sean's gaze, but quickly disappeared as he replied, "I rest assured knowing I placed her in ah, capable hands."

"Capable!" Ram laughed cruelly, still circling. "Aye, her innocence was indeed a small obstruction, made even smaller once I discovered you made her my whore."

Amusement vanished from Seanessy's gaze, and the dance slowed.

"Of course," Ram continued, "she had no idea of what this meant, of her ah, diminished status in my affections. So I had to make it clear for her Sean," he said slowly. "And I did make it clear, Seanessy, I did."

Just as Ram intended, tension transformed Sean's handsome features as his gaze warned Ram to stop before it was too late.

Ram would show no mercy now. "Do you know Sean, she never did shed a virgin's tears. Tears yes, but not that kind. Oh no." He shook his head. "The unnamed emotion in those lovely

eyes kept a virgin's tears at bay. Of course, you know"—he reached the source of his fury—"how I had to destroy that emotion. One has only to look at the patch I wear to know that. Making it clear what you had transformed her into—" he growled, "only provided the means. It's a small wonder she survived—"

"Stop it Ram," Sean said slowly, as anger grew with each word. "I'm warning you—"

"But you must have known, Seanessy," Ram relentlessly continued. "As wonderfully fierce as her mind and spirit are—that small slender form is as delicate and fragile as a porcelain vase, certainly not made to endure a man's abuse. Abuse, Sean," he said the word, "that I can give the cleaner name of rape."

Any anger, particularly a violent fury, was as rare to Sean's nature as an hour passed without laughter; but it filled him now, and the final word brought the hot volatile liquid flowing into his huge frame. "Why you god damn bastard—"

Sean sprung quickly, efficiently, deadly, finally meeting Ram at last on his own ground. As strength and all else was matched, it was a frightening battle of will, sheer brute force of will. Sean gave as good as he got; blow followed blow as their two huge, athletic bodies locked in combat for what seemed an eternity.

The crowd anxiously and alternately roared and groaned in some shared collective exhilaration and pain, all of it wild. Few were able to believe a woman had caused it, but after the longest hour of watching the fiercest battle any had ever witnessed, the first twinges of alarm began to steal into the gazes of many. Both Sean and Ram could barely stand now, and yet the blows continued, each deadly enough to knock a good-sized man out cold, bringing everyone to hold their breath with the certainty that it was the last. But somehow a force fueled Ram and Sean both, bringing them back up again and again.

Seanessy's man put the question to Bart, who alone had the authority to decide. Bart began to watch ever more alarmed, too, knowing the two perfectly matched exercises in masculine strength could not endure much more. Though what alarmed him most was that he had never seen anything of this kind between them. He began to wonder if their great friendship might be at stake. He couldn't bear the thought of a rupture between Sean and his Ram—the idea was unconscionable. It was because of this that Bart decided it was much better to end it in the ring than to let them carry it over one single day.

The unrelenting battle continued. Increasingly uncomfortable with it, Bart began to see more and more evidence that they were both truly out for a kill, and just as he thought to put a merciful stop to it, the end came without interference.

Ram, using what one would swear was the last of his exhausted energy, slammed his bound and clenched fists into Sean's face and sent the huge giant back to the ground with the blessed relief of a moment's blackness. Ram stumbled over to him, and gasping for breath, too tired even to wipe the sweat and blood from his swollen eyes, he stared down at his friend, making certain he was truly gone.

The crowd grew deathly silent. Ram's uneven breathing was the only sound when, with no warning, Sean's legs suddenly lifted up and kicked Ram hard in the chest.

Ram went down hard, and now Sean somehow struggled to his feet and over to Ram's side, dropping his weight to pin Ram against the straw of the floor.

"Seanessy, Seanessy." Ram tried to laugh, but this small effort cost too much. He had finally landed on the sweet shore of utter, complete exhaustion, pain shooting through every inch of his flesh. It was a liberating force that shielded the real pain of having loved and lost her in the single sweep of one blessed night. "It's over Sean. It's over."

"Nay, my lord." Sean fought every bit as hard for these last words. "It's not over... No," he gasped, "not... unless you say that you do indeed regret it."

Ram understood perfectly that Sean wanted to know, only if the whole bloody night had been naught but a futile, senseless exercise in pain. He stared hard for a long moment before suddenly laughing. Despite the pain of it, he laughed.

"You God damned bloody bastard," Ram finally replied, and taking Sean, indeed the whole room, by surprise, he thrust his legs up over Sean's head. The ropes binding his legs twisted around Sean's neck and threw him off to the side.

The last thing Sean remembered was Ram kneeling at his side, his laughter as fine and sweet and forgiving as his words. "Seanessy boy, if I regretted it, if I regretted it for a bloody moment, you—my dearest friend in this life—would not now still be breathing." And then Ram struggled to his feet and took two steps. The wild roar of the crowd faded as a vision of sky blue eyes swam in his head—just seconds before darkness claimed him at last.

As he walked along the old river road and for no reason he could think of, the Reverend felt remarkably happy and oddly carefree. All the aches and pains plaguing his aging frame were gone, suddenly vanished, and there was a light bounce to his step. An old Irish folk song sprang to his mind and he began singing.

The road remained deserted as though there was not another soul in the world, and the sky, while cloudy, seemed unusually light as though the sun burned bright just beyond. He had no thoughts—not even a thought to know there was nothing past the lightness of his heart, a gladness that was not explained.

Then from nowhere Joshua stood in front of him. "Joshua!" the Reverend exclaimed happily.

"I've come to tell you I must go."

The Reverend nodded, not quite understanding, staring at the sadness in Joshua's eyes. "You, my dearest friend, must care for Joy now." Softly he said, "Tell her she was the best

daughter—and she seems like a daughter to me—a man could have; tell her how much I love her."

A warm hand touched the Reverend's shoulder before he disappeared, and the Reverend stood alone. He woke with a start. A chill crept into his small dark room and he glanced around, finally resting his gaze on Sammy, still sleeping in the small bed across the room. The old man swung his bare feet on the cold floor. It creaked as he rose, then he fumbled through the darkness to get a candle lit. Candle in hand, he quietly left the room and slowly made his way down the hall, stopping before the door to Joshua's study where Joshua slept. He paused, the chill came not from the cold night air but from within, bringing tears to his eyes already.

Joshua's funeral was a large affair. Most all the close knit and prominent families of Orleans Parish, many beyond, showed up to pay respects. Perhaps a hundred or more townspeople attended many people of color among them. For Joshua had always administered medicine to the rich and poor alike. He alone established the Negro infirmary. He alone called for summer dredging of the sewers, to rid the city of the foul air that brought so much disease and death. Then, too, dozens of women owed the survival of their children to the doctor who brought the European way of

medicine to the new country. Though his own convalescence had taken him away these last long years, few people forgot Dr. Joshua Reubens, his kindness, his charity, his skilled art of healing.

Joy Claret would never remember the funeral. She stood surrounded by her family, looking small, frightened and deathly pale. She had been in a state of acute shock and disbelief, until the very moment the dirt hit the casket and the last prayer was said. Tears slowly fell down her cheeks, and once started, the tears were endless. For months all other pain lay buried in the profundity of her grief.

Days passed unbroken by events, unmarked by anything save the ticking of the downstairs' clock. The rain eventually came with the passing of summer, and the humidity felt all but bearable in the last week. "Hope dose clouds bring us some rain," Cory whispered idly as she lay on her back in the bed, staring at the ceiling through the thin veil of their mosquito net. The room was dark yet she knew Joy was still awake. "Don' you?"

No reply ventured forth, but then Cory didn't expect one. Joy rarely spoke; after two and a half months she was still lost in her silent, personal grief. All Joy did was eat and sleep, eat and sleep. The Reverend said it would take time, but how much time? Lawd a mercy, she missed Joshua, too. Not an hour passed when she didn't feel a huge empty missing deep inside, and lately she missed Joy just as much.

A high gentle wind pushed the clouds across the night sky, suddenly bringing the bright light of a full moon shining through the open window, and Cory found herself looking at the bare shelves lining the room. After their dolls had been shoved into the downstairs' closet, Joy had tried to fill the space with a bouquet of flowers in a pretty yellow ceramic vase, a few books here and a few knick-knacks there. It still looked bare to Cory.