"Ah, an intimate gathering, the perfect setting," Garrett said easily enough as his gaze swept the room. Unbuckling his shoulder harness, he swung it onto the peg behind the door. "One cycle is through; another begins," he said with a deceptive air of nonchalance, as his gaze settled on her, even as he bent down to comfort his cat.
The effect of his gaze felt devastating, immediate, like the energy before a thunderstorm, the very next breath felt charged with sudden, inexplicable tension. He was only upset over Nelson and the idea of thousands going into battle, she told herself. Though he smiled politely and asked about her letter, and though she replied as best she could, he seemed too polite, his smile only a pretense somehow, insincere and full of condescension. The way he stared . . .
"Perhaps some trite poetic sentiment? The way I stare at you. . . ."
She blushed as she remembered, feeling the utter foolishness of her question for the hundredth time. Self consciously, she smoothed her frock and brushed whisks of loose hair from her face. Glancing nervously away, she could only pretend not to notice how he stared at her as he rose at last.
Gayle had turned his back to hide his feelings from the room, while Leif watched in silence as if he waited for something to happen. Tonali hissed angrily, baring teeth, then lifting a paw. Garrett caught the paw and shook it. "Settle down, boy. You will not help tonight."
Tonali hissed again, silently stalking over to the place where Juliet stood. With wide-eyed fascination she watched the cat circle her legs thrice before sitting down, pressing against her legs. She gasped as his long tail curled possessively around her feet. "What's wrong with him?"
"Like most males, love, Tonali is fiercely protective."
She knelt down to comfort him. "Oh, but why now? I'm not being—" She stopped, as sudden understanding crashed into her consciousness. Two tall black boots stepped in front of her and she felt his hand on her arm, helping her up. She shook her head, a denial of what she saw in his eyes. "I ... is something wrong?"
"In the world of men? Plenty. They are all idiots, love, full of sound and fury signifying nothing. Speaking of theatrics, I think the time is long overdue for a little drama to be enacted—"
"Garrett ..." Gayle said the name as a plea.
"What, Gayle? Don't tell me you have something to say before the curtain rises after all? No? I thought not. Well, let us enjoy this small flicker of our candles, however brief, over supper, shall we?"
What was wrong? What could it be? Something between Garrett and Gayle? An unnatural silence came over the table as they were seated, unbroken even as Garrett poured the wine for the others, refraining himself, while Leif served up the fresh fish and oysters, glazed carrots, rice, and fried potatoes.
She looked to Gayle for help. He refused to meet her eyes though, staring hard at his untouched plate of food. What had Gayle done to elicit Garrett's anger? In many ways Gayle was even closer to Garrett than Leif, and the two, sharing so many of the same interests and intellectual pursuits, were as close as brothers. She had never seen them fight before, not once—
"Juliet, is something wrong with your fish?"
Garrett's voice startled her and she shook her head, quickly, quietly. Gayle's eyes shot to Garrett, bright with fear or anger. She looked at Leif to do something, but he, too, refused to meet her eyes. "Gayle, what troubles you so?"
Garrett took a sip of water and set the goblet down with an audible clink, eyes focused on Gayle. "Like the rest of us, love, he is waiting for you to step up on stage."
She turned to Garrett, her eyes filling with confusion. "What? I don't understand."
"Of course not. You are the innocent after all, a thing we should have kept foremost in our minds, if not sacred in our hearts. Let me help you, love. A good drama begins with a slow escalation of tension, the ten sion rising of course from a conflict. So we can start with the most benign kind of inquiry: are you not anx ious to return to England, Juliet? Aren't you wondering how long it will take now?"*
Juliet sat very still, searching for understanding that simply was not there. She looked from one face to the other, everyone solemn, quiet, still. Her gaze returned to Garrett, who seemed if anything oblivious to it. She nodded slowly.
"Ah, so you do have some small curiosity about your future. I was beginning to wonder." He glanced over at Gayle. "The curtain has risen, Gayle; brace yourself. Well, love," he said to her, "with the trade winds, it should take less than a week."
Less than a week . . . The thought took hold in her mind. What would it be like to see him again? How would it feel after all that had happened; what would he say to her? Could it be that he'd just be so happy to see her that he'd be able to forget what had happened? What if he never even knew? If not, could she keep it from his mind forever more? And what plans had he made? Even if he wanted to, could he marry her? Surely his father—
"Juliet, love, I won't let the curtain drop again. Here, I'll help prod your lines again. I've noticed you've shown a curious lack of interest in what will happen once we arrive in England. Why is that, I. wonder? Don't you have any questions, Juliet?"
She shot a frightened glance at Gayle, who looked just as alarmed as he averted his gaze. She had a thousand questions, maybe more, but she didn't know when, if ever, it would be wise to ask. She had been imagining it would all happen without a discussion. Better safe than sorry. She slowly shook her head.
"Odd," Garrett commented with a marked air of sarcasm. "I've never known a woman who didn't concern herself with her future. Don't you even want to know where you'll be staying, love?"
Confusion lifted on her face. Where she'll be staying? What could he mean by that? A place she'd stay before he arranged the reunion? Would she not remain on board the ship? "Garrett, please ... I don't know what you're doing . . . what you mean by all this?"
"You're playing it well, Juliet; your ignorance is real and believable. You need a bit of an explanation, though, I see. We are enacting a long overdue drama, remember? Gayle wrote the script some time ago. He cast himself as the culprit, the villain so to speak. Ah, but clever dramatist that he is, some malevolence will also shadow the parts Leif and I play as well, though Leif and I can pretend ignorance of any wrongdoing. Of course, you may humor our pretense or not, as you see fit." His tone lowered, "You, love, are cast as the innocent victim, and I wish to God, Gayle," he turned to the young man, "we had taken one damn moment to think of the consequence of making her play that part again."
"Garrett, don't do this to her—"
"I have to, Gayle; it's too late to turn back now."
Juliet stared with equal parts fear and confusion. She didn't understand what was happening, any of it, not a word of Garrett's exaggerated metaphor made any sense to her, except that he was scaring her again.
"Aye," Garrett said, turning back to Juliet, his voice lowered, his tone speaking to her even before she understood. "With that now said, it's your turn to speak, love. You are to answer my question: why is it you don't want to know anything about what will happen to you once we reach England?"
Thoughts clamored for her attention yet passed too quickly to catch. She looked from Garrett to Gayle and back again, telling herself to be calm, that it couldn't be so bad, even as Tonali paced near Garrett's side. A mistake, it would be a mistake. . . .
"Answer the question, love."
"Gayle told me not to speak of it."
"Not to speak of what, love?"
"Gayle!" she whispered his name, a desperate plea for his denial. Yet Gayle sat perfectly still, except for a brief shake of his head, and she stared, just stared.
"Not to speak of what, Juliet?" Garrett's stern tone jerked her head slightly, calling her back.
"Of what's to happen when we return."
"Ah, here we are. And just what was it he said would happen that you shouldn't talk to me about?"
Juliet stared hard at the candlelight reflected in the goblet. "My . . . reunion."
Garrett did not pause, yet he c
ould no longer keep his fury from sounding as he said at last, "And what reunion could you possibly be imagining?"
"No," she whispered in denial, as her vision blurred and she slowly shook her head. "Garrett . . . please—" She reached a hand to him and he caught it, her fingers curling tightly around his one, though she still stared at the light reflected in the goblet. She never saw which finger Garrett focused his gaze upon. "You can't do this-"
"I've heard this part before and I've grown weary of it. I will not return you to him. Accept it—"
"I can't! I can't! You can't make me! I'll run away—"
"Do not threaten me, girl," he said with soft vicious-ness as his hand tightened possessively around hers. "If I have to send him to the last forsaken corner on earth to keep him from you, I will."
Her emotions welled and welled, trembling through her until they abruptly pushed her out of her chair to fall to her knees before him. Garrett turned toward her so that she knelt between his outstretched knees as his hands came under her arms, stopping just short of lifting her to the comfort of his arms, stopping again when he felt every fiber of her body rebelling against his will, becoming a maddening fury because of it. He stared into the bright pools of her eyes, knowing no tears would fall now. Not so long as she still fought him, clutching at his vest as a doomed soul clutches to a lifeline.
"Garrett," she said in a whisper, "Garrett, you don't know what you're doing to me! I don't know how you .can when 'tis you, you who spent years setting people of color free and slave ships ablaze, you who won't even put a creature on a leash, let alone in a cage, you who sets them free whenever you can. How can you bear to put me in one? I'll die, Garrett, I'll-"
He silenced the last with his finger. "What I can't bear, love, is the thought of you being hurt." She started to shake her head, but he stopped her. "No, you can't see what I do; you can't know what I know. The issue is not only that he stood by all those long years you were hurt, that he was morally unconscious enough to allow that to happen to you. That alone is enough, but love, love," he let his hand run through her hair, stopping at the braid and returning again, "that very moral weakness, like an ever widening crack in a soul, eventually breeds indifference to others, to their trials and pain and suffering. Indifference even to those they profess to love: a woman, a wife, a child. No more dangerous creature exists than this kind of man, for once he is indifferent to suffering, he can inflict it."
Juliet closed her eyes, conjuring a vivid image of Toword of Garrett's exaggerated metaphor made any sense to her, except that he was scaring her again.
."Aye," Garrett said, turning back to Juliet, his voice lowered, his tone speaking to her even before she understood. "With that now said, it's your turn to speak, love. You are to answer my question: why is it you don't want to know anything about what will happen to you once we reach England?"
Thoughts clamored for her attention yet passed too quickly to catch. She looked from Garrett to Gayle and back again, telling herself to be calm, that it couldn't be so bad, even as Tonali paced near Garrett's side. A mistake, it would be a mistake. . . .
"Answer the question, love."
"Gayle told me not to speak of it."
"Not to speak of what, love?"
"Gayle!" she whispered his name, a desperate plea for his denial. Yet Gayle sat perfectly still, except for a brief shake of his head, and she stared, just stared.
"Not to speak of what, Juliet?" Garrett's stern tone jerked her head slightly, calling her back.
"Of what's to happen when we return."
"Ah, here we are. And just what was it he said would happen that you shouldn't talk to me about?"
Juliet stared hard at the candlelight reflected in the goblet. "My . . . reunion."
Garrett did not pause, yet he could no longer keep his fury from sounding as he said at last, "And what reunion could you possibly be imagining?"
"No," she whispered in denial, as her vision blurred and she slowly shook her head. "Garrett . . . please—" She reached a hand to him and he caught it, her fingers curling tightly around his one, though she still stared at the light reflected in the goblet. She never saw which finger Garrett focused his gaze upon. "You can't do this-"
"I've heard this part before and I've grown weary of it. I will not return you to him. Accept it—"
"I can't! I can't! You can't make me! I'll run away—"
"Do not threaten me, girl," he said with soft vicious-ness as his hand tightened possessively around hers. "If I have to send him to the last forsaken corner on earth to keep him from you, I will."
Her emotions welled and welled, trembling through her until they abruptly pushed her out of her chair to fall to her knees before him. Garrett turned toward her so that she knelt between his outstretched knees as his hands came under her arms, stopping just short of lifting her to the comfort of his arms, stopping again when he felt every fiber of her body rebelling against his will, becoming a maddening fury because of it. He stared into the bright pools of her eyes, knowing no tears would fall now. Not so long as she still fought him, clutching at his vest as a doomed soul clutches to a lifeline.
"Garrett," she said in a whisper, "Garrett, you don't know what you're doing to me! I don't know how you can when 'tis you, you who spent years setting people of color free and slave ships ablaze, you who won't even put a creature on a leash, let alone in a cage, you who sets them free whenever you can. How can you bear to put me in one? I'll die, Garrett, I'll-"
He silenced the last with his finger. "What I can't bear, love, is the thought of you being hurt." She started to shake her head, but he stopped her. "No, you can't see what I do; you can't know what I know. The issue is not only that he stood by all those long years you were hurt, that he was morally unconscious enough to allow that to happen to you. That alone is enough, but love, love," he let his hand run through her hair, stopping at the braid and returning again, "that very moral weakness, like an ever widening crack in a soul, eventually breeds indifference to others, to their trials and pain and suffering. Indifference even to those they profess to love: a woman, a wife, a child. No more dangerous creature exists than this kind of man, for once he is indifferent to suffering, he can inflict it."
Juliet closed her eyes, conjuring a vivid image of Tomas when he saw her back the first time and how he had cried, cried when she could no longer. She remembered how gently he touched and held her, the comfort of his embrace, a comfort that stayed with her throughout those long endless hours of separation. She remembered how much he wanted to help her, he did. ... He was not indifferent and he never would be. He would never hurt her, never.
"You're wrong . . . you're wrong," she looked back up at him. "Just as I can't know what you do, you can't know what I do. And I know Tomas. He might not be as strong as you or Leif, but I know he would never do anything to hurt me. Never. He loves me, and Garrett, Garrett, I love him ... I love him."
She held perfectly still, not knowing the effect of her plea until something strange and awful came to Garrett's gaze. She couldn't decipher it but every instinct told her to be afraid. Unaware that she did so, she looked to Leif for help.
Yet Leif would offer none. He could not see Garrett's face but he didn't have to. He knew exactly what had made her abruptly afraid, for he had heard these words too ....
"Very well, Juliet," Garrett said in a voice even with the control he placed on it. "Love is blind, they say, and I see how true this is. I, too, never want to hurt you, but you have forced my hand. I will play it through. You will have this reunion."
Those words were contradicted by an ominous warning in his tone and eyes, she felt the withdrawal of his emotions but her confusion yielded at last to the relief of his words. A profound relief, the intensity of which made her collapse. It was over at last. He would reunite her with Tomas at last . . .
My dear son,
Your mother and I received your letter regarding the imminent return of your young lady with interest. I hope you find he
r in good health, though as I discussed before, a lady's spirits after surviving such an ordeal would be a painful thing to witness. Again, I would remind you that any decent and properly raised Christian lady would fervently wish she had not survived, for the humiliation of revealing her shame to society's scorn would be worse than death. We regret that you still insist on submitting yourself to such a pitiful .sight, and this difficult lesson should remind you of the terrible consequences of improper liaisons with impetuous and careless young girls.
Having thus expressed our sympathy for your predicament, I must reiterate marriage is absolutely out of the question. We were shocked that you had the inclination, yet alone the audacity, necessary to present it to us. How could you? A young man of your position and standing in the world and before God does not marry a young woman who spent several months of her life on board a barbarian's ship, surrounded by immoral animals and forced to submit to unmentionable deeds and outrages.
The idea of marrying such a ruined creature is quite hopelessly out of the question . . .
Tomas jumped up with impotent rage and swung his clenched fist hard into the wall. He cried out with the pain of it, all of it, the cumulative agony of these last long months, months spent not knowing what had happened to her and imagining the worst, thinking her dead and sometimes wishing she were dead, if only to end her suffering. Then, like the touch of a wand, all his agony was banished with a short letter bearing the news she was alive and well and would soon be returned to him.
Then the last, briefer message that told him where and when to meet her, adding that he was to make the necessary arrangements for her welfare, which could only mean marriage. Difficult enough, considering he would not come into his inheritance until he turned twenty and had finished at the university. But now, "absolutely out of the question."
Tomas tried to calm down enough to think, yet his heart pounded and his breathing was quick and uneven as he encountered what indeed felt like the utter hopelessness of the situation. Dear God, what had he been hoping his father would say? After all, his father had refused to let him marry Juliet even before this happened.
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