Island Queen

by Vanessa Riley

  Checking the pocket watch Thomas gave me showed another hour had passed. His gift was a subtle hint for me to mind the time and come home.

  My daughter and son-in-law should be here by now, and I could see her pregnant belly. Finally, my girl would have a baby.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  The beating on my door made my heart explode.

  “Doll! Doll, let me in.”

  “Thomas?”

  My throat closed up as I ran and let him in.

  He swept me up into his arms. “It’s bad, Doll.”

  I felt him shaking. I shook even more.

  The scent of him—cigars in his coat, ale on his lips, filled me, soaked into my skin. Part of me did not want to move. I wanted his arms, all his power.

  Hadn’t been in them much. I wept at how much I’d missed him. We lived as strangers in our house.

  He broke free and paced. “I’m sorry, Doll.”

  “Tell me what has happened.”

  Thomas took my wet leaking face into his hands. “Charlotte. Her husband and his brother have started a war.”

  “A war?”

  “A full rebellion, fighting is everywhere. They coordinated attacks all over Grenada. All the colored planters, all the slaves, even some of the Catholics have come together. It’s all-out war, Doll. One led by the Fédons.”

  “The governor and the governing council caused this, Thomas. They’ve been hurting the coloreds and the Catholics. You can’t keep stepping on our necks. Something was bound to snap.”

  He towed me back into his arms. “We need to pray the Fédons are smart enough to win.”

  My Charlotte was in trouble.

  Hot-blooded men had started a war that could get my daughter killed.

  Fighting burned all Grenada. Gunfire raged. Even now cannons sounded close. I couldn’t sleep and paced in Edward’s room. How could I close my eyes with no word about Charlotte, her safety, and the baby?

  Tarn Fédons. I hated the restrictions, the taxes, but a rebellion couldn’t be the answer.

  I didn’t know what to say to the children this week. So I said nothing and loved on them more. On the sofa, with the older ones on the floor, the younger ones huddled around me and we listened to ten-year-old Frances and seven-year-old Eliza read. Five-year-old Josephy and Ann, and three-year-old Harry clapped with delight before I sent them to bed.

  Mamaí and Grama Sally stayed downstairs working on a blanket together. The old woman was silent and giving me and Thomas the oddest looks, saying in Twi how did I find the one good blanca man.

  He was good, but we weren’t united.

  The house was quiet now. Soon the sun would rise.

  Thomas came into Edward’s room holding a candle. “I heard noises.”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “I thought Harry was out of bed again. He’s a roamer.”

  He turned to leave, but I didn’t want to be alone. “Don’t go.”

  Setting his candle on the desk, he fingered our son’s papers. “His checklists. Goodness, I miss him. He was an excellent sailor.”

  Thomas’s sigh sounded tired. He folded his arms across his nightshirt, a long flowing cotton thing that went past his ankles. He could be a priest wearing a white alb, just needing the rope cincture about his waist. “If you’re not well, Doll, I could send word to Hay to come visit.”

  Didn’t want no doctor. Just Thomas, for things to be right for us again.

  “You’re a good man, the best pa. Frances’s voice sounds strong making out words. Thank you, Thomas, for getting her books.”

  “She’s my family.”

  “Frances claimed you as her pa. Almost from the beginning.”

  His gaze burned with truth, his endless love. “I never cared who their fathers are. I just loved them.”

  My throat thickened, and I needed to confess. “I never told you that Edward had a sister.”

  “You don’t talk about a great many things unless it’s eating you alive.”

  “This is. Catharina’s her name. When I was low after birthing her, her pa convinced me he’d do a better job of raising her. He took her away to London and I haven’t seen her since.”

  He crossed to me but kept his hands to his side. “Keep speaking. I’m listening.”

  “I was afraid you’d do the same with Eliza or any of our children. I can’t think right, not when I’m low.” I sniffed and pushed back tears. “I never meant to say hateful things to you. It’s just . . . I’m terrified of my weaknesses being used against me.”

  “Well, it doesn’t help that you’re married to a fool.”

  “No, that doesn’t help. But it’s the best thing for me.”

  He came the final two feet and rubbed my tired shoulder. His love came through that soft touch. It wrapped me up and added steel to my spine.

  “How could the Fédons do this, Thomas? The British will kill them. Give a planter a reason to kill a colored, and they will.”

  “Rumor has it the Fédons have been plotting this for years, since Rose was jailed. Dr. Hay signed her Certificate of Freedom that kept her from being sold.”

  “I guess Hay is not bad.”

  Thomas tugged me by the sash of my pink robe. “You should go to sleep.”

  The look in his gaze didn’t say sleep. It said restless, and rabbits, and another baby by dawn. His love for me was coming back. He wasn’t guarding it. He trusted me not to be careless with it.

  I wouldn’t. Not again. “We missed you for story time. It took you a long time to come home.”

  “Testing routes to leave,” he said, his voice low and solid. “We need to be prepared.”

  “Leave?”

  He sat on the desktop. “Doll, you’ve been lucky and have made many friends in Grenada, but the government likes to target free colored women. They want to humiliate them for the wealth women like you’ve earned. They’re sending messages to men like me, too, the ones who don’t care a whit about race. They want us to know we’ve no power, either. If the Fédons don’t win, Charlotte will be killed. All our children are targets because of our connections to the leaders of the rebellion.”

  There was no way to breathe after harsh words like that, but I made myself suck in air.

  “They’ll kill Charlotte? She’s to have a baby. No, Thomas.”

  “We need to be prepared to leave it all behind and go.”

  I tugged on my lacy sleeves. They needed to be fairy wings to fly me above Mount Qua Qua and swing low to Belvedere Estates to scoop up my girl.

  “Doll, our family’s not safe. And we’re not, not with Charlotte with the rebels.”

  “I hate what has happened to us here. But starting over, Thomas, is frightening.”

  He reached for me and pulled me near. “We can start over. You can conquer anything, Doll. Anywhere we go, you will be blessed.”

  “Maybe you are a priest. My hymns are rubbing off on you.”

  “Think on it. Pack something for the children if we have to escape on the Mary.”

  I didn’t want to start over. I needed to wring those fool Fédons’ necks. “Rebellions come and go. I’ve lived through two or three already. Maybe the governor will wise up and pull back these restrictions for peace.”

  “There’s no going back, not when both sides have guns.”

  My mother talked to me about guns and numbers long ago in our hut in Montserrat. Never thought I’d fear the consequences of those with my skin having more weapons.

  “Doll, the Fédons and all the freed slaves make a sizable force. They’re winning right now, but more British forces will come. You remember your friend’s ship, the Pegasus? It might return to establish order.”

  It was the Andromeda, none of what the news clipping said. But that was an old fight, not what I wanted tonight. I took his hand and held it close to my chest. “I miss us.”

  Thomas offered me a small smile, one that made his cheeks seem fuller, not lean from lack of sleep.

  The pounding of ho
oves sounded below.

  He moved to the window. In a blink, I was at his side hoping that soldiers weren’t at our door.

  Two men on horseback, both in deep blue frock coats trimmed in white ribbon traveled up Blaize Street. The rising sun struck the gold braiding shining from their shoulders. They sped past.

  “That’s Nogues and Philip,” Thomas said. “They must be coming with a message. They’re heading toward the government buildings on Simmons.”

  Charles Nogues and Joachim Philip were bold men of color, known to be hotheads and combative like Julien Fédon.

  “They must have a message from the rebels. I know it’s not surrender. Lord help us, Doll.”

  I held on to Thomas, old soul Thomas, rock-solid Thomas.

  He returned my embrace with one of his own, strong and tight. I needed him. “Family is the most important thing.”

  Good. He’d understand if I had to leave us to save Charlotte.

  Grenada 1795: The Window

  My gray skirts flounced at my heels as I went upstairs to Edward’s room.

  It remained empty, though someday Josephy or Harry might want it as theirs.

  Sally had cleaned. The linens and bedframe smelled of soap and orange oil polish.

  His window, a fine glass window of nine panes, called to me. The smoke in the sky was almost the color of my gown. Everything was on fire.

  Several times a day and even at night, I searched the sky from here. A month of heavy fighting had scorched the earth. The stranglehold the rebels had on Grenada kept growing. Reports said they held over forty important men hostage, including Governor Home.

  Why should my hotel be spared? It lay in ashes by the shore.

  “Dolly?” Mamaí came into the room, her arms loaded with linens. “Come away from the window.”

  There was no turning away from the ashes. It burned bright and hot and white against the blond beach sand.

  “It’s a funny thing, how fast it all comes down, Mamaí.”

  She came to my side. “Don’t torture yourself.”

  “Torture? It took months to build with bricks and oak and stone. Many hours and meetings, time I could have spent with Edward. Now they are both gone.”

  I leaned forward and put my forehead on the whitewashed wall. It felt cool, but I was hot, my insides sick.

  “The rebels have control except for St. George’s. Not sure, Mamaí. Not sure which side burned my hotel.”

  She rubbed my arm as if to bolster me, adding crinkles to my straight cotton sleeves. “No need to choose a side, Dolly.” She touched my cheek. “Charlotte’s fine. We’d have heard something if she weren’t.”

  “You think so?”

  My mother nodded and closed up the curtains. “She’s safe where she is. Jean-Joseph will let nothing happen to her.”

  She planted herself in front of the window, blocking me from viewing the ashes of my dream.

  “Charlotte’s going to be fine, Dolly. And you will lead us to the next building or whatever it is you think up. My faithful girl, my brave one, you will.”

  Linens flying, I pulled my mother close, holding her to memorize the softness of her bosom, the sound of her strong heart. “I love you.”

  “Love you.” Mamaí smiled, and we folded the sheets. She thought she brought me comfort over my hotel, but she stoked the flame in me. My decision was firm.

  Rushing into the hall, I almost stumbled in my satin slippers. “Thomas?” I was lost. He wasn’t in our bedroom or the parlor. I crossed into the room we used for the children’s schooling. Tutors I’d found through the priest would come in secret to make my beautiful brown children readers.

  My husband’s voice settled upon me before I saw him. He sat on the floor with Eliza and Frances at his feet, him reading that naughty Tom Thumb.

  The boys, Josephy and Harry, and my baby girl, no longer a baby, Ann, were hugging on their pa, gathered around him.

  My husband was the best of men. Why was it hard for me to see that he was happiest with family? Of course he craved more children. Yet he had become content with what we had.

  I’d never been content with what was before me, always pushed for more.

  “Ah, Mama’s here,” he said.

  I settled down beside him and scooped up Ann. “Eliza, your pa has read enough. He’ll be hoarse. You read, then Frances, you next. You did well last time.”

  Thomas smiled wide, probably noting, like me, every small thing about the children—how they were growing, the things that made them unique—Frances loved numbers and ledgers, Ann sewed only bright-colored fabrics, Josephy took over Mamaí’s garden, Eliza studied spices, and Harry tried hard to read legal papers.

  The pit of my stomach knotted then unraveled into a thousand threads. In that moment, I knew if I were gone, Thomas would make sure they each kept on pursuing the things they loved.

  The girls were bubbly. “Another story. Another,” they said in unison. Eliza’s voice was light like Kitty’s, another swallow in flight. Frances interrupted. Her tone was lower, and she mimicked Thomas’s dramatic pauses, his silly expressions. “Something with pirates, perhaps.”

  Kitty and Mamaí came inside. My mother clanged her stew spoon. “Supper. Grama Sally has made coconut stew. It has cod, salt pork, and breadfruit.”

  They gathered our brood and herded them down the hall. Thomas helped me up. “You must join us for story time more often. Perhaps tomorrow. I’m very good with pirate stories.”

  He waggled his brows and turned to the door.

  But I clutched his jacket, hard with a jerk.

  This man of mine pivoted. I held tight to his silver buttons and towed him toward me. He willingly came.

  The knock of his boots on the floor lulled my heart to a faster beat.

  His kiss pressed me against the wall. He tasted good. Coffee? Hints of caramelized plantains.

  “I love you, Doll, even when you make me spitting mad.”

  “I’m beginning to notice.” I slipped beneath his jacket. He found the boning under my shift.

  He snuck me to our chambers, like it was a secret to love.

  The door barely closed, and we kissed like fools, like rabbits.

  Hungry, we loved like nothing had happened, like time and fear hadn’t poisoned the air.

  We danced. It wasn’t quite the minuet, but the rhythm was easy, slow.

  My body arched to his and his hands were willing to hold me, to caress me until I shivered.

  ’Cause I did shake as I feasted on his love.

  I knew what I must do.

  This dance must be the best, possibly our last. I had to go save my Charlotte or die trying.

  Grenada 1795: The Wife

  The house was quiet. Thomas had left for his boat. This was the perfect time to act. I pulled my dark claret-colored cape over my head and snuck down the rear stairs. I waited in the moonlight for the soldiers to pass. Curfew had been imposed in St. George’s.

  Peering up at the stars, I wished it had a map to beam down and point to where my Charlotte was.

  “Don’t go, Dolly.”

  The voice was pitchy. “My true swallow.”

  My sister stood in the doorway. “No, Dolly, don’t go to the store.”

  My breathing returned to normal. Kitty thought I was heading to work. That was an easier lie than the truth. “Go back inside. Protect the children for me. You can do that.”

  “I always will, but who’s going to protect you? You’ve been so sad. I’ve heard you crying about Charlotte.”

  Maybe she did know I was heading through the rebel lines and government strongholds to get to Belvedere Estates. “Kitty—”

  “I remember how you wept at the Hermitage and every night after Charlotte was born. Worse than how you cried after you bore Lizzy and all those people died. Don’t leave sad.”

  Her whimpers cut through me; I was surprised she hadn’t blocked those memories. “Kitty, I’ll be all right. Mamaí’s here for you. Thomas too.”

&
nbsp; She hugged me, tight, like how she held me when Cells put her in my arms in the carriage after he redeemed her from Montserrat’s Marketplace.

  “Swallow, my pretty swallow, I have to do what’s right. That means I can’t be safe. I have to take risks. Understand?”

  It felt like forever, a good forever, in her embrace. “Dolly, don’t be long. Come home as quick as you can. Then we can play . . . like all was well.”

  “Yes.” I kissed her brow. “Go on now. Go help Mamaí.”

  When she turned and closed the door, I went down the street. Staying in the shadows, I approached the mews. My horse and dray were ready.

  I was ready, confident I could get to my little hummingbird.

  Taking out a coin, I put it in the stableboy’s hand.

  The fellow nodded.

  He might suspect I was about to do something crazy, but my money made him look the other way.

  Hopping into place, I picked up the reins.

  Then I put them onto my lap.

  Thomas, angry-lipped Thomas, stood at the entry between me and Blaize Street.

  Thomas didn’t say anything as he stepped aboard the dray. I scooted over and gave him the reins. If he was going to fuss, I’d just drop him back at the house.

  My heart drummed. The horse’s hooves pounded.

  The dray didn’t stop at our home.

  The stars hanging above the harbor came closer.

  The smell of salt and sea washed over my nose, but my gaze counted the soldiers in the streets. Some waved. They knew my deliveries.

  Thomas pushed his hat back, exposing more of his worried brow. “Did you know all the routes to Mount Qua Qua or anything near the Belvedere Estates are blocked? The council’s militia and a few British soldiers are manning them.”

  “I could’ve gotten through.”

  “They’ve lost colleagues to the carnage. Fédon, free slaves, Maroons from the hills, even the old French have killed and rampaged the plantations. They aren’t letting you through.”

  “I’m Doll Thomas. I sell goods to most of them.”