Return to Paradise (Torres Family Saga)

by Shirl Henke

  “Tis too late. Send them away, Rigo, for I must disrobe. Only have them bring fresh water and clean cloth—if such may be found.” She ceased talking then and struggled to remain calm through another contraction, letting her muscles relax and move as nature intended. How simple it had been to urge other women to follow the advice! Now she must practice that which she had so often instructed.

  As she watched Rigo stride outside and swiftly confer with Aaron, she unlaced her gown. She must get free of all the restricting clothes.

  Rigo returned to her side again, lifting the cotton gown over her head, leaving her clad only in her sheer undershift and slippers.

  “Rudolfo is bringing water,” Aaron called from without. “If you need me, I will do what I can. I was present at Magdalena's deliveries, although the midwife was always the one who ordered me about.”

  “I will order Rigo about. My thanks, though, for your offer.” Miriam lay back, clutching her husband's hand tightly, trying to marshal her strength between contractions.

  “The babe is but seven months. Can it live?” The moment he asked the question, Rigo wished to call the words back. He could lose not only his child but his wife! He must not transmit his fears to her.

  “Many children born ahead of their term live, but this is not the best means for delivering one. Cut some strips from my gown and braid them into a thin rope. You will have to cut the cord and tie it off after the baby is born.” Pray God I can remain conscious to instruct you.

  Miriam watched Rigo work, methodically slicing strips from her gown and fashioning a slim braided cord from it. Having him present lent her a sense of peace. Somehow, in spite of all the death and violence surrounding them, she drew comfort from his nearness.

  Rigo had never been so terrified in his life. He left Miriam in response to Aaron's summons and took the water skin from Rudolfo. His father and brother-in-law possessed experience with the arduous process of birthing, yet he was Miriam's husband and without a midwife or physician present, he must be the one to tend her.

  “Now, Rigo, look. The birth waters have broken,” she whispered as he knelt at her side. “It will not be much longer. Use the water Rudolfo brought to cleanse your hands.”

  Rigo followed her instructions, washing his hands, then his bloody dagger. He held her hands and wiped her sweat-drenched brow between checking the progress of the delivery and describing it to Miriam, who in spite of her obvious pain, nodded each time as if all were well. “Never before have I appreciated the strength of women,” he whispered, still desperately afraid for her.

  “You possess much courage, Spaniard. I take that as a high compliment,” she replied before the final contraction that crowned the head seized her.

  “I can see the head. What must I do now?”

  “Only wait...a moment...more.”

  As the tiny head, thatched with black hair, emerged, Rigo gently cupped it in his palm. “Tis so small,” he whispered in awe.

  “Not from this side,” Miriam panted as she expelled her child into his father's hands.

  “Tis a boy! Tiny but quite perfect, Miriam.” Rigo's voice broke as he looked at the little being that lay so still, barely filling his two hands. “What can I do? He does not stir or cry.”

  “First wait...for the rest...” Her voice faded as the afterbirth came out on a great wet rush. Miriam sighed, relieved that unlike so many of her patients she had not succumbed to fainting or hysteria. “Bind the cord near his belly. No, closer. Tightly. Sever the cord. Yes, like that. Now you must make him breath...here, let me.” She reached for the baby but in handling him Rigo had done what was necessary. The little red face screwed up suddenly and with a mighty lung full of air, he cried sharply, arms and legs now kicking as the squalls continued.

  “Have I a grandson or granddaughter?” Aaron's voice carried from outside the cave.

  “Tis a boy,” Rigo answered, his eyes round with awe as he held the babe with awkward tenderness.

  “Give him to me, Rigo. I can still his cries,” Miriam said.

  Slowly he relinquished the prize, allowing her to put the babe to her breast. “He must be kept warm lest he take a chill.”

  Rigo cut her already tattered gown apart and covered her and the infant with it like a cloak. “I would see us safely away from this place of death.” He stood and then strode to where his father and brother-in-law sat waiting.

  “Is Miriam well?” Aaron's expression was grave. He knew the birth was premature.

  “She is pale and weakened, but yes, I think, in spite of all, she will be all right. Blessed Virgin, thank you!” he added fervently.

  Aaron's mouth quirked into a small smile. “Even the Christian saints must at times heed Jewish prayers. I have fashioned a litter to carry mother and child home. Come, Rudolfo, let us leave the new parents to tend their small miracle in private for a bit.”

  “I will prepare them for the journey.” Rigo returned to the cave's mouth where Miriam lay with his son at her breast. My son. He was overcome with awe and anger all at the same time.

  Miriam watched as he carefully cleaned up the birthing mess. Then, when their son lay asleep in her arms, he brought a clean cloth and soaked it with water.

  “Let me bathe him while the sun is yet warm on his skin. Then he can be swaddled for the journey through the jungle.”

  She handed the precious bundle to him and watched as he gently laved the sticky blood and fluids from their child. “You will make a fine father,” she said quietly, daring to hope Magdalena's predictions were right.

  “Better than you a mother, lady, but that would scarce be difficult.”

  If he had slapped her she could not have been more shocked or hurt. He continued his ministrations to the infant, never looking at her. “Rigo...” Her voice broke as the truth dawned upon her. “I went into the jungle with Juan to treat his injured brother—a mere Indian, who might contaminate me.”

  “You fell into a trap designed to kill not only me but which nearly killed you and my son as well. Tis a miracle you both survived!”

  Miriam paled as she recalled her abduction. “These men came to kill you! First the men aboard ship, now this. The leader must be someone I know, else I would not have been blindfolded. I was a fool to leave the hato. I risked your life—”

  “I am a soldier, well used to risking my life. You are my wife and the mother of my son. Tis you who should not be taking such foolish risks.” His eyes were blazing with anger in spite of the tenderness with which he held the infant. “I suspect who may be behind the attempts, but until my father and I have dealt with Elzoro, you are to stay out of harm's way.”

  “Elzoro, the planter! Is he not Aaron's friend?”

  Ignoring her question, he said, “I forbid you to leave the house. There will be no more playing doctor. You will act like a mother now. Here, clean yourself.” He thrust the wet cloth into her hands. “Soon Father and Rudolfo will return with the litter and we must journey far before dark.”

  Miriam stiffened beneath the rebuke, then quickly did as he bid her. Nothing he said was in any way worse than the words with which she had castigated herself, but there was such a cold, harsh anger in him that any hopes she had for their marriage flickered and died. He would be a dutiful, loving father. That would have to suffice. But I want more...so much more!

  She looked at her son and blinked back tears. Smoothing her shift down over her body, she reached out for the babe. “What would you name him, Rigo?” They had spoken little of names during the months of her pregnancy. “I...I suppose he must be baptized and raised a Christian as are all your family on Española.”

  He handed her the infant and then began to enfold them both carefully with the remnant of her gown. “Of course he will be baptized. You made your choice back in Marseilles, Miriam. I would name him for my father, who took the baptismal name of Diego.”

  Startled, Miriam looked up into his eyes. “You have made peace with Aaron?”

  “I was mistaken abou
t him...and about my uncle and his people.” A fleeting smile played about his mouth, then was gone. “Perhaps, if the priest will permit it, we will name this one Diego Guacanagari Torres.”

  “If the priest is your foster brother, he will permit it,” Miriam said with renewed hope in her voice. “Let us send word of our son's birth and ask Fray Bartolome to come do us the honor of baptizing Diego Guacanagari.”

  “If the Dominicans can spare him, twould please me well,” he said simply. Then, hearing Aaron and Rudolfo's voices approaching, he knelt and swept her and young Diego into his arms.

  Miriam let her head fall against the curve where his shoulder met his neck. She was sore and exhausted, yet she had never felt such peace. This was where she belonged.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marseilles, May 1525

  “She does not belong! Whatever possessed Benjamin to bring such a vile little creature into your home? She is as dark as a galley slave!” Judah turned from the courtyard window that Rani had just raced past.

  Isaac sighed and gave a mirthless chuckle. “Benjamin said she was far darker before he forced her to bathe.”

  Judah snorted. “The same sun that whitens linen blackens the caraque. They are worthy only to be sold to the galleys.”

  “The girl saved my nephew's life in Italy. Twould be ill repayment to turn her out now that her tribe has abandoned her, no matter how much mayhem she causes.”

  “What will he do with her? Surely she would never be considered suitable for marriage.” A note of alarm crept into the old man's voice.

  Isaac waved his hand in dismissal. “Of course not. Oh, I know of her nightly excursions to his room, but Benjamin is a young man and she a born harlot. Twould be better if he had a wife.”

  “You have no one in mind?” Judah asked cautiously.

  His friend laughed. “As if I could get that headstrong young pup to do anything I wished. Now he talks of returning to Española and setting up a medical practice in Santo Domingo. I suppose if he took the girl with him that at least would be a blessing.”

  “You hoped to bring Aaron and his family here, not lose Benjamin to the Spanish colonies once again. Are they still menaced by thieves and corsairs?”

  Isaac studied the letters scattered about his large desk and smiled sadly. He knew his old friend could not ask directly about the daughter he had disowned. “The raids have abated and everyone is well,” he said simply, wishing desperately to add, You are a grandfather, Judah. Only yesterday I received word of Diego's birth. But knowing how strict the old man's beliefs were, he held his peace, adding only, “I wish Aaron would abandon the plantation and come to Marseilles. Tis not at all the cold, gray place of our imaginings when we fled Andalusia.”

  “There are many business opportunities, yes. We could offer Aaron a place in our shipping ventures. You say he still has ties with the Genoese banking houses?” Judah warmed quickly to the idea.

  “Yes, through the Colon family, who are also tied to the Spanish New World. Do not hope overmuch. Whatever the hold that island has on Aaron and his children, tis a strong one. They call it paradise.”

  “Paradise. Pah! Tis but a pestilent jungle filled with insects, wild beasts and savages. I will hear no more of ‘paradise.’ Let us discuss the Venetian venture that Richard DuBay proposed. I think it a worthy—”

  A sharp knocking on the door interrupted Judah and Ruth rushed in, pale and distraught. “I am so sorry, Isaac, but this is truly a disaster! Benjamin is out visiting his patients and that girl is wreaking havoc again. I would speak to her myself, but she has that wolf with her and you know how it frightens me!”

  Isaac sighed. “What has she done now?”

  A loud voice echoed clearly from the courtyard, making it abundantly clear exactly what Rani was doing. “Rani, get out of the fountain and put some clothes on!”

  Benjamin stood glaring at the glistening water nymph who knelt, mother naked, in the midst of the shallow pool at the center of the garden. Vero frolicked and played, splashing her tawny little body until she let out a peal of laughter, then turned to gaze up at Benjamin, tossing her thick black hair over her shoulder.

  Her lips formed a mutinous pout, then quivered as she sensed the real anger in him. “You are impossible to understand. First you scold me for not bathing. Now you are displeased when I do bathe.”

  “Bathing is to be done in private. This is the courtyard!” He seized her skirt from the stone bench where she had discarded it along with her other clothes. “Cover yourself before someone happens on you!”

  She took the full red skirt and wrapped herself in it as she stepped from the pool, regal as a queen. “Your aunt already saw me, but she said nothing, just went back indoors.”

  Benjamin paled. “To tell Uncle Isaac of your latest indiscretion, no doubt!” He scooped her up, swaddled in the skirt, and headed for the stairs in long, angry strides. “Can you never act the lady? Must you always do everything to disgrace me?”

  “I know I am not a fine gadji like Miriam Toulon, but I am here to warm your bed and she is not.” Rani felt him stiffen and break stride halfway up the wide stone stairs.

  “Exactly what did you learn about Miriam?” His voice was deadly cold now.

  Rani shivered in spite of the noon heat. “Servants' gossip. I know she was a physician like you and a Jewess and that you were betrothed until she wed your brother and went with him to the New World.” When he did not respond but merely continued up the stairs to her room, she asked, “Do you miss her, this doctoress?”

  “Since you doubtless already know we were betrothed for over four years, would you not reason that I miss her?”

  “Yes.” Rani's voice was very soft. She fought back tears. Why did I ever bring up her name? Is it not enough that he cries it in his sleep!

  Benjamin felt Vero nudge him as he paused at the door to her room. He shoved it open and stepped inside. The wolf loped past him as he placed Rani on her feet. Then he turned just as Vero gave a mighty shake of his thick pelt, spraying Benjamin with water that had a most peculiar essence of wolf emanating from it. “You mangy cur! Now look what you have done!” He inspected his damp clothes and wrinkled his nose in distaste.

  “I was trying to bathe Vero when you interrupted me,” Rani said, asperity winning out over her earlier woefulness.

  “Do you always bathe him by first removing all your clothes?”

  “You have taught me to enjoy water sport...among other things.” Her mercurial mood shifted as she let the skirt drop to the floor, revealing her damp, sweet curves. She pressed her body close to his and reached up to encircle his neck.

  “Tis the middle of the day and I have patients arriving at any moment. Besides, everybody in the household knows I am here.” He unfastened her clinging arms and turned to leave.

  “What matters it that everyone in the house knows you lie with me? Are you ashamed of me, Benjamin?”

  “No, Rani! I am not ashamed of you. You are bright and beautiful, but there are certain proprieties that must be observed while I live beneath my uncle's roof. And, speaking of propriety, from now on you bathe in the women's bath chamber like all other females in the house.”

  After he left, Rani fumed impotently. “Tis all right for me to steal by dark of night into his bed, but he will not be caught making love to me in my lowly room!”

  She sat disconsolately on the bed, then flung herself back and stretched, luxuriating on the thick, soft covers. Well, perhaps the room was not so lowly. In fact it was quite the most spacious and lavish place in which she had ever slept. But Benjamin did not share it with her. He prattled on about proprieties while he dreamed of his lost love, who had betrayed him with his brother. Rani had indeed heard all the servants' juicy gossip about the hasty Christian marriage between the Spanish half-caste and Benjamin's lady.

  “How could any woman be so foolish as to let a golden, magical lover like Benjamin escape?” she asked the wolf, who lay stretched across the bed along
side of her. “Perhaps they were not lovers!” The sudden inspiration struck her. How foolish she had been. Perhaps Jewish gadje had the same strict morals as Rom and it was only Miriam Toulon who broke them. Perhaps there was still a chance for Rani Janos to win Benjamin's heart after all. She had only tried Agata's love philter once in the wine on their journey to Marseilles, but he had scarce drunk of it. The vial contained enough for several more doses.

  “I shall go to the market and obtain some fine wine to tempt his palate—and to hide the taste of the philter. Perhaps a special goblet? No, he would ask where I came by it and grow angry when he learned twas stolen.”

  Shrugging, she rolled from the bed and began to dress. There was much to do before tonight. Benjamin had been most generous with his coin, furnishing her with brightly colored skirts and soft linen tunics. She even had slippers for her feet, a nicety he insisted upon even when she protested that Romni only wore shoes when it was too cold to go barefoot.

  The gadje had strange customs. Benjamin disliked all the beautiful gold jewelry she had spent her life accumulating and told her she looked far prettier when she wore but a small amount. As in the matter of bathing, she acquiesced, hiding her treasures in the bottom of a fine carved chest in her room. All her toe rings had to be dispensed with since she could not wear the slippers and them at the same time. Only a half dozen bracelets, two necklaces and one large pair of ear loops remained to adorn her person.

  Rani brushed her hair until it glistened, falling in thick, tumbling curls below her waist. Inspecting herself in the mirror she decided she liked being clean, even if she did resent the dearth of jewelry. Her small feet neatly encased in soft kid slippers, she twirled her full aqua skirts before the mirror once, then slipped from her room.

  The waterfront market stalls of Marseilles combined the most fascinating sights, sounds and smells of any fair she had ever seen in seventeen years of wandering the highways of Europe. Even Rome and Paris paled by comparison. The closest were those in Andalusia. Flower stalls were everywhere, for Marseilles was famous for its roses. The brilliance of the blood-red color was matched by their fragrance. A beet-faced, fat peasant woman hawked them to passersby, her own sweaty smell masked by the flower's sweetness. Big white lilies and spicy pinks lent their tang and delicate colors to the vendor's stalls. Ruth's gardens were filled with just such beautiful spring flowers, but the abundance here was overwhelming.