Island Queen

by Vanessa Riley

  Cells reached out and stroked my cheek. “He’s better now. Edward’s a handsome boy, Dolly. Has my noble chin.”

  “That he does.” My eyes stung. I was away gloating about money, not staying where I was needed. “Good that you were here.”

  He put my yawning Edward into the crib, the lovely one that once held Charlotte. “Such a sweet boy.”

  Tears were on Cells’s face. He knelt and hummed the tune Mamaí sang to get me to sleep.

  Rop tú mo baile.

  His Montserratian Irish roots showed. He’d been a good Catholic before flirting for Anglican power. My heart broke for him, the guilt staining his reddened cheeks.

  He’d lost his dream, but maybe he discovered the power of us.

  Rop tú mo baile.

  Rop tú mo baile.

  He was on all fours and he kissed Edward’s brow. “Rest up, my boy.”

  “What does that song mean, Coseveldt? It’s chased me all my life.”

  He stood and lifted me; our fingers entwined. “Be thou my vision. Be thou my father, be I, thou a son. You’re a vision, Dolly. You’ve given the Hermitage a family. That’s why I built it. I guess I was blind to it.” He kissed my forehead and held me, just for a moment. “Thank you.”

  Cells moved to the door. “I didn’t reject Edward because of his skin or the fool notion he’d expose me.” His voice trailed off, wet and throaty. “My first son surely died because of the lies I’ve lived.” He wiped his cheek. “I didn’t want that curse on Edward.”

  “You’re not a curse. You saved him today. And look at the Hermitage and your rum business. You built those things. They are successes.”

  “Forgive me, Dolly, but nothing feels like a win when I make choices that cause ruin.”

  Charlotte ran and hugged his waist. “Papa Cells, is Edward better?”

  “Yes, my cailín beag, my sweet little girl. He’s sleeping and his beautiful mother is here to make things perfect.”

  “You make everything better, Papa. Can we read one more chapter? I’ve finished my chores.”

  Cells looked hesitant to leave, but I nodded. “I’ll watch him now, Papa. Go with our girl.”

  Half smiling, he took Charlotte’s hand and left.

  Sinking by the cradle, I hummed to my son and put his small thumb in my palm. What were my dreams if they put my family at risk? Or if I had to choose between reaching for stars and touching my baby’s warm fingers.

  On my knees, I prayed for the family I built. It had to live and thrive with my dreams, not instead of them.

  Demerara 1782: Forgiveness

  Swiping at his books, I moved about Cells’s office making sure everything was up to my standards.

  “You’re working too much, Dolly.”

  Books aligned, spines showing, I ignored the man sitting at his desk. This was his common complaint.

  “Nothing is neglected here. And I have three more housekeepers.”

  He sighed, brooding over his letters from Scotland. The rum and limes from the glass he put to his lips scented the air as much as his cedar cologne. “Neglect is an odd term.”

  The sound of precious footfalls bounced outside of Cells’s office.

  “Sorry. The children. I should stop them from running.”

  “No.” He crumpled a piece of paper, his foolscap. “Let them. My father was very stern. He wouldn’t allow for children to dance or play in his halls. Let Charlotte and Edward be.”

  His voice sounded sad and deflated, not the happy planning fellow I knew.

  I missed our conversations, his laughs . . . him. “Talk to me, Cells?”

  He glanced up. His lips pressed tight. “King has decided not to invest further in Demerara. He sends his compliments for your business affairs. A pretty woman providing essential services is always a winner.”

  His voice was low. He’d lost again and, in his eyes, it seemed I won. A few contracts didn’t surpass his rum sales. Maybe this was his way of ceding to my potential and that I could one day earn as much or even more than him.

  Ignoring the sourness of his tone, I focused on what was important. He remembered I was pretty. It was my choice to avoid his bed, to sidestep his touch at every turn. Weren’t we different being ma and pa to our children? Shouldn’t we put our pieces back together?

  I clutched my lacy bodice and satin stomacher of papaya yellow. “Should I have your dinner brought to the dining room?”

  “What about a small supper for two, here, for you and me?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Then I’m not either.” He thumbed his chin, his index gliding on the cleft I missed kissing. “Dolly, your dress. It’s lovely.”

  I wore the full petticoat underneath my gown. It was a present he’d sent from his last travels. The white muslin of the skirt and the satin overdress draped my curves.

  “You do look . . . beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  He didn’t turn away. Maybe I’d become more interesting than the squiggles of ink that had him angered.

  He lifted his quill then set it down. “Am I still to be punished?”

  I wasn’t punishing him much. “Is it punishment if I suffer, too?”

  “Yes. Just not an effective measure.”

  The quill was in his hand again, balancing on the curve of his fingers.

  Like before, like always when I wasn’t lying to myself, I felt his touch, the stroke of his strong fingers from across the room.

  I didn’t want to be this weak. Things weren’t quite right between us, but it had been a long time since desire found me. At twenty-six, I was old enough to be scared and to admit to being in want of man.

  “Is it folly to let a man who’s hurt me come close so he can break me again?”

  “Break you, Dolly? Never you. A little bending, maybe.”

  Cells moved to the front of his desk. Arms folded about his waistcoat—fine ebony silk patterned with scrolling, he hummed my hymn, changing it to English. “You are my vision.”

  Holding my breath, I put down my cloth and lifted my palm to him. “Come to me, Coseveldt, if you want.”

  With his waistcoat open, swaying at his hips, he did.

  Face-to-face, he tugged at a curl, stretching it to my cheek. He released it and it snapped back, a tight ringlet. “I think supper for two here or in my bedchamber would be nice, just you and me.”

  “No supper. I’m not hungry for food.”

  That smile, that slight smirk, showed, then it disappeared with the world when he kissed me.

  It all came back, the press of his hands against my bosom, the sound of the satin crinkling giving way to the heat of his palms. His finger touched everything that needed him.

  Eyes closed, I became a flame at the unpinning of my gown. He held me, searching me through my lace and silk. Found, found wanton, and in such need.

  “Dolly, we should—”

  I kissed him, hard then slow. “Actions, not promises.”

  Up in his arms, I tasted wild, sweet rum on his tongue, then I felt us sinking.

  My arms tightened about his neck, my face, my tears buried in his starched cravat. “Not the floor, never the floor.”

  He righted me. My heart gonging, meeting his.

  “Not sure we’ll make my chambers without being stopped by Polk or our children.”

  Ours. Ours. We could rule the world together. “You’re strong. I believe in you.”

  He laughed and the lush sound vibrated against my throat. Cells locked the door, then drew me over his shoulder. It was a wild dash to his desk.

  Knocking away ledgers, he laid me atop his precious paper.

  “I believe in us, Dolly.” He crowded me. We became a tangle of arms and legs, of satin and silk, of flesh and forever. “No one knows me like you. I’m free when I’m with you.”

  Coseveldt hummed my name and claimed me, claimed everything I had inside. A whisper I couldn’t suppress gave him three little words I hadn’t meant to say, hadn’t ever said
aloud.

  The three words he didn’t repeat.

  Demerara 1783: Fault

  I was dressed, but I had no energy to rise. My heart was heavy.

  Mr. Foden passed last night.

  I’d finished nursing my new baby when Cells took me to the Anna Catharina Plantation. At his bedside, I held Foden’s hand and memorized my friend’s death mask. I made it a part of my heart. No man had been as good a pa to me, not even my own.

  Easing into the rocker, I looked into the cradle. This bundle of joy slept suckling her thumb. Birthing my daughter was easier than my son. Cells stayed by my side. He and I watched this baby breathe air and grab for me like the world was owed to her.

  I liked that about her.

  I liked the notion of my daughters owning the world. I’d convince Cells to call her Catharina. The way he doted on little pink her, I had no worries that jealousy would deny this request. The way he looked at me, holding me in our bed so gentle and tender, I knew he’d understand.

  The happiest four months of my life passed in a blink of my eyes. Catharina was healthy and Cells was good to her and Edward and Charlotte.

  And to me.

  I fought the shadows of birthing sadness and fretted over fears of the strangest things. Said stupid things about dying and hating childbirth.

  Coseveldt understood my nerves. He was so loving and dear.

  We had small squabbles when his letters arrived making him cross. Some deal or something hadn’t worked as he intended, but a day wouldn’t pass before he was reaching for me and making amends at night.

  With my papers to become manumitted rolling in my palm, would everything change? I waved good-bye to Captain Owen on the porch. He gave me these this morning and lined out all the monies agreed. Foden’s last act of kindness was to get Pa to settle for forty pounds apiece for the ransoms. I had twenty times that two years ago. If Pa had been easier, I could’ve borne Catharina free.

  Poor, dear Mr. Foden. Gone. The way he loved life, it was so hard to accept he was gone.

  My eyes leaked. Another full-on sob seized me.

  Kitty swooped in, dancing. She sat on the floor toying with my open portmanteaus, flipping a lid, tugging a buckle. “I can go with you when you tell Mr. Cells. I don’t like you sad.”

  My sister hated me being weak. Her stories of getting neat Polk to mix muddy clay for her made me laugh.

  Kitty’s childlike joy, her art, helped me escape most of the heaviness of my heart.

  Still my sorrows shouldn’t be on her shoulders. I planted Mamaí’s smile on my face. “See about Edward. I need him strong when we go on the boat next week. Charlotte and I will be minding Catharina.”

  Kitty offered me a hug. “Cells has the baby now. That should bring you cheer.” Her grin widened. “He can’t get enough of that baby.”

  Good. It was good he was that way with our second child.

  Then he shouldn’t be too angry about my friends helping to arrange our manumissions. When I tell Cells about going to Dominica to certify my freedom, maybe he’d come too. Crumpling the papers in my palms, I went down the hall.

  My knock on the door was light. Then I barged inside.

  Cells reclined in his chair, humming to our daughter.

  Catharina was pink with a fuzzy head of thick black hair, not thin like mine and Edward’s. Her eyes were a darker hazel than Coseveldt’s.

  “Dolly, she’s beautiful.”

  “Mr. Cells, I’ll take Catharina back to her cradle.” Kitty had followed me and poked her head into the doorway. “Then you two can talk.”

  He gazed at me, then gave Catharina to Kitty. “Good night, my princess.”

  Kitty brushed past. The door to his office closed. Cells and I were alone.

  He stared at his hands, then the stack of documents on his desk. When he looked up, his eyes seemed distant. “Polk said you’re going away?”

  “For a little while. Mr. Foden negotiated with my pa. The terms of manumitting me, Kitty, my mother, and our children have been settled.”

  “Oh, I thought it was an expansion to your business. King has said how good your services would be across the West Indies.”

  Cells was in one of his moods. Something in his papers must’ve done it. I offered him mine. “Why don’t you come to Dominica with us? Then, once my ransom is done, we can go across the sea together. As a freewoman, there’s no better dream than being with my family. Sailing with the man I love. You can show me England and Scotland.”

  “I can’t—we can’t.” Cells plowed through my pages then dropped them on a pile next to a goblet. “I never did this for you. Foden did. I’ve let you down often.”

  Bending behind his chair, I put my arms about his neck. “You’re busy with your dreams. Rum sales are up. Cells, we’re good. We’ve found each other despite difficulties.”

  He clasped my hands then gently tugged free. “I’m . . . I’m not going to be here when you return.”

  His stutter was soft. His leaving wasn’t business. Rounding in front of him, I stared into his eyes. The windows of his soul said I didn’t have his love, not anymore. “Why don’t you tell me about her?”

  “Her?”

  “Yes. Why else would you have to go away? Whenever you do you come back different. Your mood becomes sad and guilty when you read your letters from abroad. Has to be a her.”

  He rose and slurped his rum. “The her is Fanny, my wife.”

  “Wife? I thought she died when your son—”

  He shook his head. “No. We’ve been separated a long time. She wanted her parties and London society. I wanted adventure. I had to make myself a success.”

  “Wife. You’ve been lying.”

  “Not saying. Omitting.”

  “Lying, Cells. That’s lying.”

  “I asked for a divorce. She agreed. We did the paperwork. I was free. My vows said to God were done. That’s why it took me a month longer to return to you before. I came back free.”

  I put my arms about his waist. “You’re divorced then, so she has no hold on you.”

  He moved from me. “Fanny went to the Sheriff’s Court, then the Scottish Court of Sessions to seek redress. To stop our divorce, she filed a Declarator of Marriage to overcome our Declarator of Freedom. It’s been dangling over my head since Edward’s birth. Fanny is ruining my chance at happiness.” He picked up a folded piece of parchment. “The court has ruled in her favor. I’m still married.”

  “Filing paperwork did this?”

  The yellowed thing with creases fell to the floor, gliding like a creased cracker leaf.

  “Fanny and I wed when we were young. She didn’t know about me, nothing of my race, just my family. When our son died, I confessed. She hated me. Now she’s sick and doesn’t want to die alone. Her priest keeps writing me to make things right.”

  “You’re Catholic again?”

  “Always was, but I can sit through any church service.” He put his fingers in his black hair like he wanted to crush his skull. “Her last months should be of peace. Now I can make things right for her. Offer her what we never had.”

  My breaking heart stopped cold. “Offer her what?”

  “I’m going back to Fanny. I’m taking Catharina with me.”

  I fell into my chair, the chair I stupidly sat in to sup, to discuss our days, our children. “No, Coseveldt. No.”

  “Dolly, she’ll fit in my world. She’ll be educated and have everything, even the things that I can’t.”

  “You want Catharina to pass for white so she can live with your fears of being rejected?”

  He winced. “It’s for the best. You can go build your dreams. You don’t need a baby whose birth makes you so sad.”

  I popped up and slapped him, as hard as I could. “You bastard. You think business comes before my children? You think my being sad means I don’t want my child?”

  “You’ve sacrificed time with Charlotte and Edward and me to grow a successful business. To get what you want you m
ust. I understand that now. I won’t ask you to give up what you love or to slow down. If you were a man, no one would think to ask.”

  Cells was smart using every fear—from the birthing sadness to failing my dreams—against me. I gripped his waistcoat, ripping at his buttons. “Don’t do this. If you must go, go, but don’t take Catharina.”

  “This is best. You’ll never have to explain the past to Catharina. You’ve let Charlotte believe she’s mine. You never told her who her real father is. You want to hide just like me.”

  “I never lied, Cells.”

  “You never mention the truth, but I love Charlotte. I wish she was mine.”

  “Then you’d steal her, too?”

  He bit his lip and looked down. “Catharina Cells doesn’t need to be manumitted, doesn’t need to know any of the horrors you’ve lived. She’ll be mine and Fanny’s free daughter.”

  His words echoed, plummeting down the hole in my soul. White or Black, Cells was a man. He had dominion over the child he claimed and the one he didn’t. “How can you do this?”

  Cells rubbed his jaw, which still held my red print, red on his light skin. “Catharina will have a real future in England.”

  “Because she won’t be a concubine wife, like me.”

  He went back to his desk, pulled out his purse, and dumped coins. “For Edward’s manumission. I love him, but he will stay with you.”

  “Because his skin is dark. And this money is your forty pieces of silver?”

  “Don’t hate me. Don’t let my boy hate me.”

  My lungs gasped now. “Then what am I to say to him?”

  “That vows said to God matter.”

  Had to remember I was still standing, not falling through the floorboards.

  Cells clasped my shoulders. “Dolly, this is not what I wanted or planned.”

  How could he look so hurt when this was his doing?

  The last time he shoved coins at me I had batted them away. This time I scooped them up for what he owed our beautiful son. “Pocket change for Edward. My earnings will free him. Mine.”

  “Live at the Hermitage, Dolly. I’ll leave you in control. Your business is doing well. Stay here.”