Windmera-Desperation

by Claudy Conn

  Swan and Broad Streets dominated Bridgetown, as did the central marketplace, which was constructed in a spacious quadrangle. Hucksters took up their places there and their cries of “fish, hey, dolphin, useful limes” could be heard even over the noise of turning wheels.

  Mingling bodies, men and women calling out to one another in good spirits captured the eye and Heather thought she had entered a fantasyland.

  She watched shoppers enter an open center, which accommodated the more bulky foodstuffs, such as red and yellow yams, potatoes, coconuts, and so many exotic things she couldn’t count them all. This center afforded both sellers and shoppers shade from the burning sun because of rows upon rows of bearded fig trees. It was from these trees, Maurice told her, that the island received its name from the Portuguese. He said that when they found the island abundant with these fig trees, they christened it Los Barbados, meaning The Bearded.

  Heather absorbed it all, noting the scantily clad black women. They appeared beautiful as they gracefully managed the crowded avenue in their charming and colorful dresses.

  She watched fishermen in the harbor as they put away their nets, pocketed the cash they had earned from the day’s catch, and made their way towards a tavern down the street.

  “Maurice, where is Bunky?”

  “I sent him ahead with my man. Bunky tells me he has a way with horses. I asked them to buy a couple of gentle mares, for my sister and you to use while…you are with us.”

  “Oh, how kind you are, Maurice, and thoughtful,” Heather said on a sigh when something caught her eye and riveted her in place.

  Heather’s eyes opened wide then and she found herself horrified as she saw human flesh, black human flesh, being peddled on a stage as though they were products for sale.

  “Ah, my man has seen us come in and sent out the carriage,” Maurice said as he took his sister and Heather in hand.

  “Maurice!” Heather objected. “Do you see that? They are selling people. We must do something. We must put a stop to it. Maurice, this is wrong. It is indecent and certainly not Christian. You—we must do something.”

  She was stunned by what she saw, but Maurice seemed to ignore her as he ushered her and Louise into his curricle with the Brabant crest emblazoned on its doors.

  “Jem, my dear Jem,” Maurice greeted the driver warmly and introduced the females to him, “Jem Starkes, my sister, Louise, and our good friend, Miss Heather Martin.”

  The Englishman was young and nodded shyly as he held the door open for them and said, “It is good to have you home again, my lord.”

  Heather sat beside Maurice, Louise sat across from them and spread her skirts.

  Louise had been watching the sale of black men and women and turned to her brother, an accusation in her tone. “Heather is quite correct, mon frère. This situation is unacceptable. Maurice. I never thought you of all people would turn a cheek to such practices. Slaves. They are selling slaves in the market. Non. Can it be you approve?”

  Heather waited for the answer, glad that his sister had taken up her cause.

  “It is not what you think,” he said softly. “Nothing is ever just what it seems.”

  “What is it then?” Louise interjected. “Slavery is not what I can ever approve of.”

  Heather gasped. “Oh no, never say you are a slave owner?”

  “I am not a slave master as are the other plantation owners. I bought my people, oui, but I do not treat them as slaves. I had no choice, as here in Barbados it is a way of life that one cannot fight. I would not have been allowed to farm my plantation had I put up an argument against slavery. So, instead, I don’t take as much profit and I pay my workers small amounts…nothing that the other plantation owners would notice. I allow them to be married, and argue this with the leading ministers who are beginning to agree with me. I even allow them and their children some schooling. More than that, I cannot do in this environment and still run a plantation here.”

  “You must try and make the other owners see they are wrong—that slavery is indecent. You must,” Heather cried out.

  Maurice hung his head. “I have tried, and I do believe some of the better plantation owners are beginning to agree, but financing a plantation always wins out, and slavery goes on and on. I am but one man, and at the moment, the political climate would not allow me to win this argument. If I continue to balk the system, the council would revoke my permit, and it would be the end of my plantation. What then of the people who work for me? Non, I do the best I can.”

  Heather sat back and silently contemplated what he had said. He was right. One man alone could not win. How then to evoke change? With a movement? With women who felt the same as she and Louise? With Christian ministers who might sympathize with this point of view? If she lived here, she would work to abolish slavery, yes, she would.

  But you have decided to return to England, she told herself. She would leave Louise to take up the cause, that is what she would do.

  She took to watching the passing scenery as her mind mapped out a way to begin the process to abolish slavery. She was not uninformed. She knew that many of the plantations in the Indies used slaves to work their crops.

  In the past, it was only a story. It was words that she had heard, but now, now up close, she was utterly dismayed. It wouldn’t be easy for a woman to effect change. As it happened, women did not have any rights. What could she do but organize the good wives to plead their case with the men in their families? Yes, but Maurice wasn’t family? She had no right to criticize his way of life. She went back to concentrating on the scenery, the wide fields covered in sugar cane, not yet fully grown. The land seemed browner, flatter than she had imagined it would be.

  As though reading her mind, Maurice said, “Our rainfall occurs from June to November, petite, and even then, we are not drowned with rain as are our neighboring isles. The land is low, and much of it was deforested over one hundred years ago by your own countrymen.” He reached over to Jem driving the horses forward and touched his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Jem?”

  “Aye,” Jem answered happily. “What trees there were have long been felled to make way for our main crop…the sugar.”

  “But what a waste…?” Heather cried.

  “No, ma’am,” Jem answered. “No waste. We shipped tons of Barbados cedar, fustic, and logwood to England.” He stopped himself and shyly returned his attention to the horses and the road.

  “Go on, Jem,” Maurice encouraged.

  “‘Scuse…I did not want to overstep,” he answered.

  “Nonsense. Tell my ladies more,” Maurice scoffed.

  “If you look there, my lord…ladies,” the lad pointed to a lowland field sprouting sugar cane no more than two feet high, “I think, my lord, you will be pleased.”

  “Mon dieu, Jem. You did it,” Maurice said with some excitement, evidently well pleased.

  “It was as hard as I expected, but, I think, worth the sweat.” Jem turned and grinned at the comte. “Getting rid of some of those old stumps took a bit of time, but everyone pitched in and we got it done.”

  Heather listened quietly to their continued exchange. Everything about Maurice convinced her that he was a good man. She had known that from the start, and thought his only fault was pride. She realized she was wrong. Yes, he was proud of his heritage, of his capabilities, of the home he had built here on the island, and it must have hurt him to beg her to be his wife, and then be rejected, yet he took it with grace and composure.

  Was she a fool? Any other woman in her predicament would have jumped at the chance. What did the future offer her child? If she managed to make it home safely, and before the baby was born, what would they face?

  She wasn’t concerned for herself, but that was selfish. Her child would be illegitimate and ridiculed as such. How could she do that to her baby?

  Maurice was such a fine man and life here with him would be peaceful. Something in her logic and heart shifted. Her heart still cried for Godwin, but the
babe kicking in her belly told her she had to think of only that child.

  Maurice looked her way and she saw his eyes light up. Could she learn to more than like him? Was that possible?

  * * * * *

  The comte felt a warmth engulf his heart. Was it a trick of the mind? He looked into her eyes and saw something there, was it merely friendship, or something more? Dare he hope?

  She did not look away but met his gaze. He stared into her violet eyes, those magnificent eyes that said so very much, and his hopes lifted. Silently, gently, imploringly, he made love to her in that glance. He wanted her both physically and spiritually. He wanted her in a way he was certain no man had ever wanted a woman before. Ah, she knew and turned away. She did not want to lead him on, he knew this and still, he had hope.

  His sister raised an eyebrow at him and gave him an encouraging smile. “Mon frère, c’est bon,” she said, getting their attention. “Can it be I am here with you, away from the Reign of Terror? Life takes its turns, does it not, m’belle?” she said to Heather. “One moment, we are headed for…a fate most horrific, and then the fates take us to a better place. Here, m’belle,” she leaned over and patted Heather’s hands, “is a better place.”

  The comte knew his sister adored Heather and wanted her to be his bride and her sister. She had made this clear. He appreciated Louise’s concerns, but did not want Heather pushed. He wanted her of her own accord.

  “Ah,” he said, taking attention away from his sister’s obvious attempt to help him in his effort to win Heather over. “Our home…Brabant Plantation!”

  They had turned onto the drive that began its long approach to Brabant. Heather stared at the large island house which sat high on the crest of a rolling hill.

  “You see its position?” he said with absolute love. “It was the first thing to catch my eye. Eight years ago, it was a run-down and bankrupt estate. I knew at once what it needed when I purchased it. When we arrive…when you look out from the windows, you will see a great deal of the land we farm. I learned from my brother the need to view one’s land from one’s home, but also…the satisfaction and enjoyment one can derive from watching an investment succeed.”

  “Why, Maurice, it is magnificent,” Louise said as she stared.

  “Indeed, if you say it was run-down, you have managed to succeed beautifully,” Heather said as they neared. She could see the tropical flowers in garden beds and the exquisite landscaping around both the house and the courtyard.

  The house itself was a Bordeaux Chateau. Its paned windows, its smoothly elegant lines, its mellow butter-colored sandstone, and its foundation plantings certainly caught and held the eye. However, it was the plantation’s whole that caught, fascinated, and securely riveted both women’s attention as they stared.

  Two windmills, also on the peak of the hill, caught the wind and loomed large but charmingly so in the distance.

  Maurice pointed and explained enthusiastically, “The wind turns the blades and creates the power to grind our grain, and gives us fresh water as well. And look there, the carts we use pulled by our oxen were made from trees we felled to clear the ground for planting. No waste, you see, no waste. Here at Brabant we train those who have shown an aptitude to be blacksmiths. One day, when voices like mine are heard and slavery is at an end…my people will have skilled jobs to fall back on.”

  Heather smiled as Louise remarked on her brother’s beautiful plantation. She saw a young boy at the oxen’s head, steering the animal and calling, “Gee, cum, cum hai!”

  “He is so young,” Heather objected. “Surely too young to work?”

  “He is a leader boy, and enjoys his time with the oxen. He also has school time, where though it is against the law here in Barbados, we quietly teach the children their letters. We also make certain all the children have free time here on the plantation, with none the wiser. Such things must be kept secret.” Maurice was proud of his accomplishments and this was displayed in the tone of his voice. “On the last day of the crop, he and the other oxen will wear necklaces of flowers. The children enjoy it immensely.”

  Heather could not help but feel some fascination for it all as she looked out on the working plantation. She was dazzled with the beauty as she saw coconut palms stretched out thirty feet into the air and neatly laid out, as were lush hibiscus plants, their flowers in vibrant bloom.

  The house loomed as they got closer, but Heather stared at the rows of cabins that eased through the landscaping. She realized, at once, the cabins housed slaves. She was leaving this fascinating island, and this way of life would be left behind her. Yes, but the slavery would continue to be a way of life. Someone had to stop it. She had to trust Maurice, who was a good man, to fight the use of slavery for financial gain. It was unchristian, it was inhuman. Indeed, but she would not be here to take up the fight.

  It occurred to her that Brabant was a thriving community, a self-sufficient place, just as any feudal parish in England had been four hundred years past. She thought that if she stayed, Brabant could be held up as an example to other plantations. Indeed, if she stayed, she would begin her work to free the slaves.

  ~ Thirteen ~

  A WEEK THAT HAD BEEN lovely, lazy, and strangely stimulating passed for Heather at Brabant. She was just entering her fourth month of pregnancy, and her belly had hardly begun to swell.

  Maurice took her for a gentle ride over his lands. They spent a great deal of time walking along the creamy sands, talking about nearly everything. She found herself laughing more and more while in his company.

  Louise, too, was such a comfort and a great deal of fun, free now from the fear of the guillotine.

  Both, she realized, were reluctant to talk about her trip back to England. Finally, Maurice brought up the subject and told her if she still wanted to leave, and he prayed she didn’t, there was a ship leaving soon for Cornwall.

  She saw the pain in his eyes and took his hand. “Come…let us walk.”

  She led him down the garden path to the wooden steps that would take them to the ocean. She loved the sound and scent of the ocean. It reminded her of Cornwall and Godwin.

  It was a night for lovers. The moon was full and the island sky was alive with the twinkling of stars. The sound of the ocean waves crashing on rocks was exhilarating as they found their way past the boulders to the firm white sand. She laughed and removed her slippers, leaving them at the bottom step.

  Godwin’s image filled her dreams, as did her doubts. Maurice had started to infiltrate those dreams. He was real, he was good, and he was present.

  She had to admit to herself that she needed Maurice, had come to rely on him for so much. She knew she was physically attracted to him and wondered at it. Had her love for Godwin slipped into the past? Was he a forgotten hope?

  Did she love Maurice? If only she could. Safety for her child was here with Maurice. The unknown lay across the ocean in Cornwall. In England, her child would be scorned. Here…not so.

  The roar of the breakers against the long reef played out its willful song. The warm breeze took her hair, as did Maurice, who suddenly drew her into his arms.

  “Even in the dark, those violet eyes of yours slay me,” he said softly.

  She pushed off him and suddenly began undressing. “It is so warm…let’s take a swim.”

  He looked momentarily astonished, but lost no time in throwing off his clothes.

  In the shadow of the moonlight, Heather wondered at herself. She felt no shyness as she looked at his hardened manhood. She knew what restraint it took for him not to reach out and touch her.

  She laughed as she turned and ran towards the spray.

  He joined her and they fell in the shallows. As he helped her up, he said, “Heather…” And no longer held back as he held her wet and naked body against his own.

  His kiss was long and stirred Heather’s passion. She allowed it, but then pulled away.

  He did not try and stop her as she ran back to where she had left her clothes.
He followed. As she dressed, she looked away from him.

  “Heather?” he said softly.

  She turned and saw he had his britches and boots back on. “Yes?”

  “I will speak as always, plainly. Chérie, between us it is possible to speak plainly, oui?”

  “Oui,” she said softly. She was torn up with guilt. She was turning away from Godwin, the love of her life, and she knew it. How could she do such a thing?

  “In many things, you are a good woman. Do not shake your head. You are so good, and that is why I am puzzled. You have been honest with me, so I must speak. How, Heather, can you, a good woman, destroy the lives of so many?”

  It was as though he had stuck a knife into her. “What? What are you saying?”

  “Ah, you don’t want to see, do you? This worthless woman, Sara…but if you go back, you destroy her. I care nothing for her, but the boy, what of him? And Godwin will be at risk from Sara, as you will be again. Your child…it will be born illegitimate. He will never be able to marry you in time, if at all.”

  Heather’s face contorted with pain. “Oh God…what have we done?” It was all so ugly because they, she and Godwin, had been selfish and careless. “But what of Godwin? He has a right to see the child he wants so very much.”

  “You are stubborn or blind…or both. This Godwin is a man. In the end, he will take another woman. It is the way of men. He will father another child. You must see to the future.”

  “No. Enough! I can’t listen to this,” Heather shouted, and put on her slippers. She rushed ahead of him up the wooden steps and out of sight.

  * * * * *

  Heather lay in bed in an anguish of indecision. She cared for Maurice, perhaps on some level, she loved him. If she had never known Godwin, perhaps she would have loved Maurice completely and accepted to be his wife? Perhaps.