by Loves Wine
Roger released him, allowing him to slump lifelessly to the floor. Then he leaned over, pressed his hand against Jarvis’s chest, felt the stillness.
He straightened. Goddamnit, the old fool was dead. He ran stiff fingers through his hair. Damn, damn, damn! Holly would come in soon, dressed and anxious to get to Vicksburg. How was he going to explain this?
He heard the sound of footsteps hurrying down the hallway and knew he had run out of time. Before he could even cover Jarvis’s body, Holly burst into the room. Her eyes went to Jarvis, then to Roger.
He moved quickly, placing firm hands on her shoulders. “I know it’s a shock. He’s dead. I assume it was his heart. It was just too much for him, I guess, finding us together.” He marveled at his own quick wit, his craftiness. The words were flowing easily now. He was in control. “It was bad. The things he said, admitted to. He was my father, but dear God, when he told me about Sally and Norman, and wanting your land so badly—”
“Sally?” She jerked away. “What about Sally? And my land? Tell me everything, Roger. I’ve a right to know.”
The room was spinning, and Roger walked her slowly to the bed, sat her down, and knelt before her. He took her hands in his and squeezed tightly. “I’ve never seen him as he was tonight,” he began slowly. “Like a madman. He said you’d been nothing but trouble since you came, insisting on keeping your land when he wanted it for his empire.”
He shook his head mournfully. “My God, I thought I knew him. My father. He was a sick, sick man. He admitted he was responsible for everything, the attacks on you, the deaths of Sally and Norman. He flew into a rage and attacked me. I tried to hold him off. Then he just keeled over. Just like that.” He blinked back tears.
Holly felt the slow stiffening along her spine and knew what it was—the strength, the courage, to face this new horror and keep going. All that mattered was getting to her mother as fast as she could. Dear God, how was she going to tell Claudia about Jarvis?
They did not speak as they rode through the night to Vicksburg. Roger took her directly to the hospital, explaining that he would return as soon as he made the death report to the authorities.
She turned away, but he caught her hand, squeezed it, looked deep into her eyes and whispered, “I love you so much, my darling. Somehow, we’ll get through all this.”
“Love me?” she echoed blankly, stunned. “Oh, Roger, how can…” She shook her head wearily and then told him, “Go and do what you must, Roger. I’ve got to see my mother.”
The hospital was very still. At the end of a narrow, dimly lit hallway, a sleepy-eyed nurse sat behind a desk and watched Holly approach, then showed her to Claudia’s room. Please, God, Holly prayed silently, let her be all right. Let it be just the excitement of the past few days. And give her the strength to bear Jarvis’s death.
The door was closed. Holly stood outside, took a deep breath, and entered. A lantern glowed softly on a table beside the bed. How pale and gaunt her mother looked, how tired. Her eyes were closed and she lay very still. Holly drew the only chair to the side of the bed and sat down, tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t dare even to clasp her mother’s hand, fearful of waking the poor woman. Oh, why did she look so awful?
The night passed slowly, so many thoughts tormenting Holly as she tried to will some of her own strength into her mother. Scott. Where was he? Would she really never see him again? And Claudia. What would happen to her now with Jarvis dead?
Jarvis. Anger battled with bewilderment as she speculated about him. All along, Roger said, it had been Jarvis who wanted her off her land. Why? Simple greed. But she would have to push this new knowledge aside and grieve for Jarvis, for Claudia’s sake. Let Claudia have her happy memories. Both she and her mother would have to be satisfied with only memories now.
Claudia stirred at dawn, eyes fluttering open. She was frightened by the strange surroundings. She was supposed to be on the ship. “Holly? Where is Jarvis?”
“Just rest, Mother,” Holly said quietly. “You got sick on the ship, and Jarvis brought you here.”
Slowly, it came back. “Yes, I remember. I got so dizzy.” She laughed nervously. “I feel so silly. What will people think? Ruining my own honeymoon! Poor Jarvis. Where is he?”
Holly was too frightened of her condition to tell her the truth.
“He was very tired. It’s been a long night, and he’s gone home to sleep awhile. Now you rest, please,” she urged. “I’m going to stay here until I speak with your doctor, and then I’ll go home for just an hour or so. I’ll come back later.”
Claudia drifted off to sleep without mentioning Jarvis again, and Holly went to find her doctor. He was not very encouraging.
“We just aren’t sure what the problem is, I’m sorry to say. I don’t think she’s in any danger now, but I would like to keep her here for several days.”
Holly prodded hopefully. “She’s been unusually active lately. Couldn’t it just be exhaustion?”
“Fainting can be a symptom of many things,” he said slowly. “Will her husband be in soon? I’d like to speak with him.”
She told him about Jarvis, finishing, “I decided she shouldn’t be told yet.”
He nodded solemnly. “I agree, but we won’t be able to keep it from her for long. She’s going to expect to see him. We’ll have to tell her tomorrow.”
Roger was waiting to take her home. When they were settled in the carriage, he gave her a long, thoughtful stare. “There’s something I want you to know. I’ll never let you down. Don’t feel that you and your mother are all alone, because you’ve got me to take care of you.” She started to speak, but he rushed on. “And about last night,” he said hoarsely, “please, please believe me when I say I love you, and I’m not sorry it happened.”
She turned away abruptly. “I don’t want to talk about that now, Roger. There are things I must consider and—”
“Yes, yes,” he interrupted frenetically, “I know. So much has happened. But please realize one thing—that I’m here, loving you with every breath I take. I would be so honored if you would marry me. Allow me to help you through your pain, Holly, and try to bring you some joy.”
Holly drew in her breath, let it out slowly. “Roger,” she said evenly, “I need a lot of time now, to think. Please don’t let’s talk about this now.”
He nodded, smiled, and started the horses moving. “It won’t take you long to think it all through,” he said confidently.
But all she could think of was Scott Colter’s dear face. Dear God, where was Scott when she needed him so?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Scott Colter sat at a small table at the back of a dimly lit bar on the ragged outskirts of Washington D.C. His head ached, and his stomach churned, but still he tossed down another shot of whiskey. When was the last time he’d eaten? It didn’t matter. Oh, he did his job, did the goddamn, boring paperwork that was his job now, a loathsome desk job. He hated it, couldn’t wait for each day to end. By damn, all his days now seemed to roll into one.
Oh, well. It had come as no big surprise when he and Neil were pulled off the assignment in Vicksburg and brought back to Washington. With Jim Pate dead, the investigation was at a standstill. Besides that, the brass didn’t like the Scott-Lisa Lou scandal. Bad public relations.
He poured himself another glass of whiskey, staring into the glass and, as always, saw Holly’s beautiful face, that elusive wood-sprite face.
Where was she at that very moment? How was she?
He threw the whiskey down his throat, wincing at the sudden burning. Why couldn’t he forget her?
During the day, he seemed drunk and withdrawn from everything around him, but it was different at night. Nighttimes, the clarity he really felt, drunk or not, made itself apparent to Scott and his thoughts focused on one thing—Holly and her power over him. Oh, he could tell himself that he’d get over her in a while, but he knew better than to try fooling his own heart like that. The sprite was different, damn
her to hell. He loved her as he hadn’t loved in a long, long time, maybe ever. Worse was the fact that he knew what Holly didn’t know. He knew they were good together, fine together, and probably would always be happy. But until she saw that for herself, he could do nothing but let her dangle him on a string. Or stay away from her. Neither held any appeal.
And who knew how long it’d be before she came to her senses? Who knew whether she ever would, in fact, find her heart?
Neil Davis walked in and scanned the dark room, squinting, then made his way to Scott’s table and sat down. “Doing what you do best these days?”
Scott shot him a hard look. “No lectures. I’m not in the mood.”
“Thought I’d come to give you the good news right away,” Neil said.
Scott grunted, waiting.
Neil leaned back in his chair. He felt good. For the first time in ages he felt good. They were going to see some action. “I just got the word. We’ve got the chance to go to Jamaica, if you want to.”
“Who the hell wants to go to Jamaica?” Scott’s voice cracked. “I want to head back to Mississippi and finish what we started.”
Neil gestured for him to calm down. “That comes later. Just listen.” He then explained that he’d just come from a secret meeting with the person most concerned about the gold theft. “He hasn’t given up. We’ve still got to keep it quiet, ’cause so far, nobody knows it’s missing.”
Scott was suddenly sober, alert. “What’s it got to do with Jamaica?”
“Roger Bonham is in Jamaica.”
Now Neil had Scott’s full attention, and he went on cautiously. “Scott, you’ve been sort of out of things lately. Brooding. Drinking too much. We’ve gone on without you. And, to tell the truth, we’ve kept some things from you till you got yourself together.”
Scott frowned. “Go on. You did right.”
“Jarvis Bonham died right after we left. Shortly after that, Roger left Mississippi. We only just found out he’s in Jamaica. There’s been no word of activity from the Night Hawks, so we can only assume they got their share of the gold and split up. Naturally, the biggest horde will be Roger’s, so that’s what we’ve got to try to get back.
“We go to Jamaica as emissaries of the United States government, to see how things are going now that England is establishing a colony there. Since the uprising of former slaves at Morant Bay, things’ve needed smoothing over. It’s a good cover for us.”
Scott was fired up for the first time in weeks. He was not, by God, going to sit behind a desk and turn into an old man before his time. He grinned, delighted. It was a damn good feeling. “When do we leave?”
Neil laughed, cuffing him on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Great to have you back, Colonel Colter.”
They drank in celebration now, not in sorrow.
“After Jamaica,” Scott said cheerfully, “we go back to Mississippi.”
Neil nodded slowly. He was not going to be the one to tell him. Let Scott find out for himself. What Scott was seeking wasn’t in Mississippi, not any more. She was in Jamaica. And she was Roger Bonham’s wife.
No, Neil vowed. Hell, no. No way on earth was he going to be the one to break the news to Scott Colter.
Two months had passed since Holly and her mother had arrived in Jamaica. Roger had left them no choice about it.
Holly sat beneath a banana tree, staring pensively out at the clear blue waters of the lagoon, deeply grateful for this respite, a little time alone. She could see all the way to the bottom of the water to the white, sparkling sand, the myriad darting fish, like fleeting tiny rainbows.
She now knew the true depth of despair.
The only consolation was that her mother seemed better. Beneath the warm Caribbean sun, she had regained some of her strength. There were even times when Holly found it difficult to believe the doctor’s grim diagnosis.
Marveling at the beauty around her, she prayed for time to stand still. Here, knowing her mother was taking her nap under the watchful eye of a native servant girl, and that Roger was making his rounds on the plantation, Holly was allowed a little peace, a brief escape.
Jamaica was beautiful. There were tall, lofty mountains that rose straight up from the white beaches, a contrast to the rolling lands around them. There were forbidding wild areas, with giant forests, strange-shaped rocks, and dangerous, bottomless sinkholes.
Fertile valleys, swamps, hot springs, over a hundred rivers, the island was rich in variety and the crops were abundant—bananas, cacao, coconuts, coffee, sugarcane, and so many fruits Holly couldn’t name them all.
Sunshine was perpetual, and cool breezes blew in from the hills at night.
High upon a bluff overlooking crashing, foaming waters, was the pink stucco mansion she lived in—the place she could never call home. Large, airy rooms, lavishly decorated, it was beautiful. But she hated it, hated everything within its walls, especially the bedroom she shared with her tormentor…her husband.
At first, Roger had been gentle, vowing he would make her love him. She tried to, with all her heart she had tried. But all too soon came the nights when he drank too much rum, forced her to submit to unspeakable depravities. To refuse always meant a beating.
She clenched and unclenched her fists, letting the sand trickle through her fingers like the days of her life. The only consolation in all the horror her existence had become was Claudia. Claudia didn’t suspect the truth about Roger, and the one decent thing about Roger was his promise not to hurt Claudia as long as Holly obeyed in him in every way. He had even kept his word not to tell Claudia the nature of her illness or the seriousness of it.
So Claudia was happy, or as happy as she could be, considering the emptiness Jarvis had left. She missed him, talked about him often when she and Holly were alone. It was all Holly could do not to reveal her terrible secrets as she listened to her mother talk about Jarvis’s kindness, his thoughtful manner.
At least my mother doesn’t know she is dying, Holly thought a hundred times a day. It was her hold on sanity, that realization. Claudia knew nothing. Claudia would die in peace. For this, Holly had sacrificed herself in every way, waking each day to more pain and despair, knowing she might have to live this way for years.
She’d been forced into this sacrifice by Jarvis’s death, and by Roger’s grip on his father’s finances. Oh, he’d explained after Jarvis’s funeral, she and Holly were free to leave; but where could they go where Claudia would get the medical care she needed? Did Holly wish, Roger asked, to build another shack on the ruins of Grandpa’s old one, and drag Claudia there to live…for the short time she would live? Or did Holly wish to think once more about marrying him? Because those two options were her only ones. Claudia had Bright’s disease, explained the doctor Roger had summoned from New Orleans. She would weaken, her kidneys would stop working, and she would die. She would never get better, he was firm on that point. But the time it would take her to die, and the suffering she would endure, that was all in the hands of Roger, their benefactor, who could provide the life Claudia needed—or refuse to give them a cent. If he turned them out, what would happen?
And so, Holly said yes to Roger—and turned her back on any hope for herself.
Always, in times of deepest anguish, her thoughts went to the one man she had ever loved. The worst of it was, she didn’t even know where Scott was. Was he all right? Dear God, it was all so cruel, and her heart hurt so deeply. Scott was all she had, except for her mother.
A crashing sound in the nearby brush made her jump to her feet. Lilda, the young native girl who sat with her mother, was hurrying toward her, brown eyes wide with fear. Holly ran to meet her. “Is it Mother? Is she sick?”
Lilda shook her head, kinky black curls dancing. “No’m. It’s Master Roger. He’s back and he’s looking for you. Sending men to look for you. Hurry.”
Holly quelled the impulse to be frightened. Damn him, anyway. Damn Roger.
Lifting her chin defiantly, she followed Lilda toward
the house, understanding when the girl darted away just before they got there. She didn’t dare let the master know she had warned Holly, had known where she was. Roger could be brutal with servants.
She entered the house, appearing calm before Roger’s icy glare. He was standing just inside the front door, arms folded across his chest. He held a leather riding crop.
“Holly, where have you been?” His voice rolled like thunder through the huge foyer. She started by him, toward the curving stairs, but he grabbed her and spun her around. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.” He towered over her, slapping the leather crop against an open palm. “Or would you rather go in to see your mother and have to explain why there’s a welt across your face?”
“I went for a walk on the beach,” Holly said. “Surely my lord and master can have no objection to that.”
He stepped closer, squeezing her breast painfully. “I’ll tolerate spirit from you only in my bed. I have forbidden you to leave this house. Tomorrow you will find yourself locked in your room. Now go on and see your mother. I’ll have trays sent in for the two of you, and you can eat your dinner in there. When you have finished, go straight to our room and take off your clothes and lie down on the bed and wait for me. Tonight, I shall give you another lesson in wifely obedience.”
She writhed as he continued to squeeze her breast, struggling against him, but the more she fought, the harder he clenched her, and finally she was forced to yield and stand helpless before him, tears streaming down her cheeks as the white-hot pain shot through her chest.
Abruptly, he released her. “Go now. Do as I say. Whether you believe me or not, I do not like having to treat you this way, but you leave me no choice.”
She gathered her skirt and ran up the steps, but did not go to her mother’s room yet. She couldn’t face her like this. She went to her own room to wash her face and dry the tears, and when she managed not to look so tormented, she went to Claudia.
