The Bargain (8 page)

The glint of humor in Mrs. Narvel's eyes faded as another contraction hit. "You have my permission to do what ever is needed to save this baby. And if you have to do a caesarean do it. My dearest husband's baby must live.

Precious whipped her head from side to side. "But that will mean you'll bleed to death." Her voice became a strangled tumult. "Gareth, no. Don't let that happen."

He took her hand and squeezed it hard. "I'm not going to let any more bad happen to those you love. You've heard my words."

The frown lines on her temples cleared. "Yes."

He took a peak at the bed-ridden woman. She was quite ready for life to spring forth, but he didn't see the crown. He observed what looked very well like the top of a shoulder. "Precious, go get a clean sharp knife and more towels."

Eyes wide as saucers, Precious paled. "You're going to take a knife to her. No, no cutting on her like she has no value."

Not sure of what the woman spoke, all he could do was make her believe all would be well. "I need you strong, Precious. Trust me. Now hurry."

She was back before he could blink. Her ashen, shaking hands held a shiny knife.

He took it from her before she dropped it. "Good, now go hold on to your friend. Mrs. Narvel, I'm going to cut a little of the membrane, to make his path easier. Then I'll see if I can pull the babe out. "

Mrs. Narvel closed her eyes, and nodded.

Putting on the bravest most confident expression he could muster, Gareth started. All the while, he prayed for this baby, Mrs. Narvel, and Precious who looked as if she would fall dead if things didn't go well.

Incisions made, blood pooled about his fingers. He wiped them on a towel, one taken from the pile that had been gathered in the corner next to a huge jug of water. Then he went to the head of the bed. "Precious, we are going to lift Mrs. Narvel up. We'll hold her upright and hope that gravity guides the baby out."

Precious's chestnut eyes expanded. "He could drop to the floor. Strangle with the cord."

He put a clean thumb to her lips. "Trust me. It's how the Xhosa women give birth."

She nodded. "That's how the enslaved in Charleston do it too."

He nodded. "Then it should work. Ready, Mrs. Narvel?"

The widow waved her hands. "No choice. Get this baby out of me."

He scooped her up, set her on her feet and positioned her to lean against Precious. He lifted Mrs. Narvel's arms and draped them about Precious's shoulder.
 

He dropped back into position to catch the babe. This all had to be well. These ladies were too entwined. Precious's giving heart would ache so if things went wrong. He lowered his head and prayed anew, trusting this was the right thing to do.

Precious held Clara tight, gripping her underarms.
 

Her friend shook. The tremors of birthing took more and more of her strength.
 

"Push, Mrs. Narvel." Gareth's voice sounded low and strong. "Help that baby come to me."

Clara's hold weakened. Precious bolstered her. "I'm with you, Clara. We've come too far, from London to Port Elizabeth."

Dull sherry eyes locked onto hers. "I can only do what…auggh… I can."

"The head is coming. A bit more."

Precious rubbed Clara's back, and bore her weight. It was all she could do. Well, there was one more thing. She swallowed and held Clara tighter.
Sometimes God, please save my friend and this baby.

Gareth poked his head around. "Stop."

His face disappeared behind Clara's nightgown.
 

Precious could see his arms moving, though he said nothing. There were no baby noises. Her heart beat loudly. A dozen sentiments of things to say to Clara came to mind, but she kept quiet and hoped God was just a little late this time. That everything would still be well.

A sharp wail filled the silence of the room. A baby's strong cry finally started.

Hearing the baby scream at the top of its lungs was like church bells to Precious. Eliza had taken Precious to a yuletide service their first year in England. She had to sit on the last pew with the other servants, but the majesty of the hymns and the ringing of those brass chimes reached all the way to the back of the church.
 

For that hour, the beauty of the stain glass, the sound of the organ, it made her forget all - her station, her past. Those were the sounds of God. She even spread her fingers wide to measure the distance from the preacher man to herself. God didn't seem far away that day.
 

With the wide toothy grin on Clara's face, He didn't seem far away right now. Sometimes God showed up for her friend.
 

Gareth stood. He wrapped the tiniest little thing in one of her fresh towels. "The cord is cut, Mrs. Narvel. You have a beautiful daughter."

He put the babe in Precious's arms as he carried the new mother back to the mattress.
 

Precious wiped the infant's nose and mouth then settled the sweet girl in her mother's arms. "Hold on to this bundle, Clara, while I clean you up."

Her friend's face was a sea of tears, yet her smile so bright. "Thank you, Precious. Captain, thank you."

Gareth stood in the corner with his arms folded. His eyes closed.
 

In no time at all, Precious had the room and everything in it spotless as if this birth had been easy.
 

She turned to Clara and listened to the baby settle down, no longer screaming.
 

Clara touched the little one's nose. "You sure did make a fuss for one so little."

Gareth came closer. He batted up sheets, tucking them about Clara. It was funny to watch him play healer, still trying not to look. His hands were soiled, as was his shirt. A smear even sat on his forehead. All stained, he never looked more handsome.

"Mrs. Narvel, you tore a little but you should heal with no problem. As a precaution, remain as still as you can."

"Can't stay still. I have to nurse this one. She'll need to eat a lot to catch up in weight."

She fumbled with her robe. "I want to be alone. Go clean the captain up. And Precious, you need to sleep. She hasn't slept in two days."

"Yes. You should go to bed, Precious." He swiveled and looked out the window. "We've a few hours before dawn."

Gareth pivoted and headed to the door. "Come along, Precious."
 

She scooped up a clean towel dipped it into the jug of water and followed after him.

With the door closed, he leaned against the wall. His proud shoulders sagged. His shirttail hung over his buff breaches. In the small light of the tallow candle affixed by his head, he looked so tired. His handsome face puffy about the eyes. "Go on to bed, Precious. I can't have you getting sick. Jonas and Mrs. Narvel and her daughter, they'll need you strong and healthy."

"What about you?"

He lowered his gaze and picked at the towel. "I'll manage some sleep." He pivoted and walked away heading to his room.

She felt a frown swallow her lips. But in the partially lit hall, the darkness shrouding them gave her courage. "Wait, Gareth. I was talking about the needin' part."

He stopped in the shadows, then turned back to her. "Precious."
 

"Yes."

Silent for at least thirty heartbeats, he swiped at his forehead and must've figured out he'd gotten a stain there for he examined his fingers.
 

"See, you need me to clean you up. She moved closer and raised the wet towel. He caught her palm and lowered her arm. "In Nigeria, they have a strange custom for people to marry. A goat is killed. Its blood is spread on the roof of the bride's home. She's asked if she's pleased with the groom. If she is, the couple is considered married. Since you and I are stubborn like goats." He wiped his finger along her brow.
 

Her forehead felt sticky.
 

His voice was low. The tiny bit of light shed on his face showed large eyes full of purpose. "We are now marked with blood. We'd be married if you were pleased with me."

"Gareth, I--"

He wiped his hands and face clean on the towel, then hers too, and dropped the cloth away. "Well, neither you or I are Nigerian. Maybe, I should go about this more directly."

 
Her skin vibrated when he held her palms within his.
 

"I need you, Precious. You must know that I am in love with you."

Her heart stopped. He couldn't be. "Don't say that."

He let her go. "Don't say what? Things that are true. Well, we know who is more stubborn." He turned and headed deeper into the shadows plodding into his bedchamber. "Goodnight, Precious."

Hadn't she vowed not to make him feel unwanted? "Wait."

The whine of his door met her ears. If she didn't tell him now, she'd never tell him.

 
No more being a coward. She ran straight to him and lunged into his chest knocking him backwards. Though his arms went about her, they crashed to the floor. Surely, he took the brunt of the fall since he kept her aloft from the floorboards. Gareth winced, but kept her close. He hugged her deeply about the waist.
 

It was good and dark in his room. That gave her courage. With timid hands, she traced his jaw, his cheek. When she found his lips, she took them, and kissed him with all she had and then some. Gareth would know tonight how much she cared for him.

He rubbed her back. His fingers massaged her tired muscles making her fidgeting relax against him. His touch didn't frighten her. The fear came from wanting
 
this man to soothe all her aches.
 

He lifted her chin and took a deep, long breath. "When you decide something, there's no holding back."
 

"Been doing that since we landed in Port Elizabeth. Only so much I can hold in."
 

Confidence building, she drew her thumb to his open collar and smoothed the top of the exposed scar on his chest. "What happened to you?"

He stilled her palm against him. "War and stupidity. They don't mix."

Though he'd tried to make a joke, she knew him now. Humor or brandy hid his pain, just as much as the dark covered hers. She wasn't going to add to his burdens anymore.
 

He took a sharp intake of air. The moonlight drifted in from his window. It made the edges of his hair wild with parts going every which way. Surely it was too dark to see her, but maybe the light of the hall could expose her.
 

With her foot, she closed the door. No light needed. In the dark, she could be beautiful, and escape everything as long as Gareth held her.

Quieting all the voices in her head, the ones of caution she rarely listened to and the ones calling her wanton, she snuck her hands beneath his shirt. Precious grasped him tighter. The lifeline of her palm wed fully against his scar, then to the right, over his beating heart.

Nothing shiftless or flabby on him. Gareth was a handsome man and he said he loved her. Maybe that meant all of her.
 

The thudding, the feeling of his skin pulsed beneath her fingertips. It wasn't enough. For the first time in a long time, it wasn't enough just being at his side.

Wanton. Who…

She pulled away. All her words about not being a mistress gathered in her throat and mixed with a sob. Even if she put words to what she felt, how could she voice it. What if he could still see her with his captain's eyes? Would he agree with her scars?

"Precious, what's wrong? Did you hurt yourself when we fell?"

"No." Her voice sounded so weak. But, was she weak? Hiding in the darkness, she hoped Gareth didn't see the water streaming down her face. Could his love be enough to make her whole?

"Precious?"

No sounds could be uttered without starting a full crying jig. Any words would just show how mixed up her insides were, how confused every bone in her body had become by touching him. Desire and need, weren't they right in the dark?

Gareth sat up and pulled her against him. His arm folded around her. He weaved his fingers through hers. A nip at her ear, set with a whisper melted her into him. "We're going to go to Mr. Dennis tomorrow. He'll marry us, properly. No goat required."
 

Unlike hers, his tone sounded strong, no doubts or questions clouded it.

"Then I am putting you and Jonas, Mrs. Narvel and her babe, and all the rest of the colonists who aren't so pigheaded onto the Margeaux."

She spun to him. She almost wished for light to see if his face held a joke, but she knew in her heart, he was serious. "Leave Port Elizabeth? No."

"The Xhosa are going to attack. No more deaths over this land."

"Gareth, you worked so hard. All that can't be for naught."

"I went to every Dutch settlement, betwixt here and Grahamtown. No chief. No daughter. And with it our hopes of Port Elizabeth surviving."

"Dutch? Like the brothel owner?"

"Yes, like Mrs. Branddochter. The Madame Neeltje as they call her, but she won't leave."

She released a frustrated grunt. "More people with two names?"

He chuckled. Then his tone sobered again. "I'll try to make sure the Xhosa leave her alone, but all may be lost."

His words of sending and not coming cut through her fog. "You're staying? That's crazy."

"The captain goes down with the ship or in this case the Welling goes down with the dream."

"No, Gareth, no." She put her wet cheek to his face. "No."

But now his mouth was on hers, changing everything to yes.
 

With this longer kiss, she moaned into him and again snuck her arms about his neck. Nothing could be wrong with him close to her and darkness covering all. Maybe allowing him to love her would erase all the self-hate inside.
 

Buttons were undone. Ribbons loosened. He lifted her up from the floor. It was quite like flying, but the crash, the fall back to earth would soon come. She didn't care anymore.

She'd been branded as wanton, as a harlot. Maybe Gareth's touch, the love he claimed to have would make all the bad go away.