Under the Desert Sky

by Sara Luck

  Without an explanation, Bridgett began in a shrill voice, “Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed.”

  “Thrice and once, the hedgepig whined,” Mary Kathleen answered.

  “Harpier cries, ‘ ’Tis time! ’Tis time!’ ” Mary Margaret added, her voice, like those of Mary Kathleen and Bridgett, high and screeching.

  “Round about the caldron go; in the poison’d entrails throw.” Bridgett threw something into the pot. “Toad, that under cold stone, days and nights has thirty-one; swelter’d venom sleeping got, boil thou first in the charmed pot!”

  Then all three joined as one voice: “Double, double toil and trouble; fire burn, and caldron bubble.”

  “The perfect setting for Macbeth!” someone said.

  The three women continued Shakespeare’s incantation until Bridgett recited the final line: “The charm is firm and good.” When they finished, the three witches bowed as everyone applauded.

  “With the spirits awakened, ’tis time for the real divining to begin. I’ll be for asking now all the ladies who be not wed to come and sit by m’ fire,” Bridgett said.

  Renny O’Shea, Helen Hay, and two other women moved forward and took a seat on stone benches.

  “ ’Tis one lass that is holding back,” Bridgett called. “Sure ’n’ I can feel it in m’ bones.” She reached under her cape and withdrew a string of bones and began to rattle them, then threw them into the pot, where they landed with a splash.

  “I think she means you.” Christian nudged Phoebe forward.

  “I’m not sure I want to do this.”

  “She called for any woman who isn’t married. If you don’t go, everyone will think you’re either my wife or you’re a married woman here for an assignation.”

  “Christian!” Phoebe laughed as she hit his arm. “Don’t say that.”

  “Then you’d better go take your seat by the fire. After all, she can ‘feel it in her bones.’ ”

  When Phoebe was seated, Mary Kathleen gave each of the women two new-crop pecans with instructions that they name the nuts for themselves and their lovers. “If brightly it burns, ’tis for sure married ye shall be before another year has passed. If they sputter and roll away, ye will soon be forgotten.”

  “Bridgett, do you really believe such nonsense?” one of the men asked.

  “Aye, for didn’t Cullen O’Donnell ’n’ I have our own marriage predicted this selfsame way?”

  “Did Cullen know you worked your spell on him?” someone else asked.

  The others laughed.

  “Bridgett, I’ll name one for me, but I’ll not be for sayin’ the name of the one I want to marry out loud, for ’tis my own secret,” Renny said.

  “Very well, none among ye need say the name. The fairies will know all the same.”

  Phoebe looked back toward Christian, who pointed at her, then pointed at himself. She couldn’t help but laugh at his antics.

  After a moment, Renny’s nut caught fire and flared up brightly.

  “Here, now, Renny, do ye see that?” Bridgett asked. “Sure ’n’ the bit of cloth in yer cake could be not for poverty but for a wedding dress.”

  “Aye!” Renny said happily. “All the signs are good this year! ’Tis glad I am that I came.”

  As the others laughed and congratulated Renny, Phoebe noticed that her nuts had both caught fire. The one she had assigned to Christian flared up, as had Renny’s, but hers popped once and fell into the coals.

  “If they sputter and roll away, you will soon be forgotten,” Bridgett had said. But what did it mean if the nut actually jumped? That couldn’t be a good omen, could it?

  “Clearly the sprites and fairies are against us,” Phoebe said when she returned to stand beside Christian. “Miss Hay got the ring, Renny’s pecan flamed bright, and your pecan rolled off into the fire with little more than a sizzle.”

  “My pecan?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you hear Bridgett say we were to name one pecan for ourself and one for our lovers?”

  Christian’s eyebrows rose. “And so you named it for me. But how do you know it was my pecan that fizzled and not yours?”

  “Because mine wouldn’t dare do that,” Phoebe teased.

  “And now, gents, ’tis yer turn to test the fates,” Bridgett said, interrupting the banter between them.

  “I’ll show you how it’s done,” Christian said.

  “You think you’ll have better luck than I did?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “ ’Tis blindfolded ye shall be, ’n’ into a pot of yer own choosing will ye stick yer hand,” Bridgette said. “If ’tis clean water yer hand finds, ’tis a virgin ye will marry. But if ’tis dirty water yer hand finds, then yer bride has been bedded before.”

  The suggestiveness of the statement caused a spattering of nervous laughter.

  “The last choice is no choice a’ tall, for if the hand finds no water in yer pot, then ’tis a bachelor you’ll stay until yer dying day.

  “And now, me gentlemen, pick yer spot to learn yer fate.” Bridgett put blindfolds on each of the men who’d come forward to sit around the fire pit. “There will be three pots afore ye. I only ask that ye think kind thoughts while the girls shuffle the pots lest ye see the order. ’Tis your own destiny ye hold in yer hand when next ye dip in the druid’s pot. Mr. Hastings shall be the first.”

  “He has chosen an empty pot!” Mary Kathleen said. “There will be nay a bride for Mr. Hastings again this year!”

  The others seated on the opposite side of the fire groaned in disappointment. The remaining men, in turn, dipped their hands into the pots, and the joy or disappointment of their choices was shared by all.

  “You’re the last to go, Mr. De Wet. Will you stay a single man forever or will you pick a bride?” Helen Hay asked.

  Christian found the pots and started to dip into the middle one, but at the last moment he moved his hand to the pot on the left.

  “Ah, ’n’ ’tis the clean water ye have picked. Sure ’n’ ’tis a virgin bride for ye.” Mary Margaret nodded in Phoebe’s direction.

  The others looked questioningly toward Phoebe, and she curtsied good-naturedly as everyone began to cheer.

  “Remind me not to get into any games of chance while we’re here,” Christian said when he returned to Phoebe’s side.

  Despite herself, Phoebe couldn’t help but laugh. “Perhaps this string of bad luck is intentional to get us to buy an amulet.”

  “Ha. If they have one for sale, I’ll be sure to buy it.”

  “And now, ’tis time for the grand finale,” Bridgett said. “Go ye all women to the running stream; find a place where three rivulets run together, and at that place, dip your sleeve. Then take yer weary body to yer bed, but ’fore ye drift away, hang yer garment ’fore the mantel. In the dead of night, ’fore the strike of twelve, an apparition you will see as he steals in to turn the sleeve. The face you see upon the wall will be he who is yer lover. And now, my pretties, one and all, I bid you good night.”

  With a grand sweep, Bridgett and the two Marys disappeared into the cave, leaving everyone standing beside the fire, which had been reduced to glowing embers.

  “Do you need me to help you?” Christian asked.

  “Help me do what?”

  “Find where three rivulets flow together.”

  “Do you think you can find them?”

  “If they’re here, I’ll find them,” Christian promised.

  Allowing Christian to take her hand, Phoebe, with a spring in her step and a smile on her face, followed Christian into the darkness, staying close to the bubbling stream as other couples went before them.

  “Glory and blessed be all the saints, for I have found it,” Renny O’Shea called. “ ’Tis here where from three pools the water be joined.”

  All the women went to the designated spot and one by one dipped their arms into the water. As they drifted back toward the Palm House, all went to their respective rooms without saying good-night. />
  Christian escorted Phoebe to their end of the hall. “I brought you here so you could have fun. So tell me, did I succeed?”

  “Yes, I had a wonderful time. But I have to say that it was also one of the most unusual nights I’ve ever experienced,” Phoebe said when at her door. “Do you think they really believe that stuff?”

  “When I marry, it will be to a woman I love. I’ll not be guided by a sprite or fairy.” Christian lowered his head as he found Phoebe’s lips. The light and tender kiss, the gentle brush of his lips against hers, was enough to cause a quick-building heat to spread through her entire body. “Good night,” Christian said, not wanting to let her go. He took a step toward her room and then stopped. Had she wanted him to come in, she would’ve asked.

  When the door was closed, Phoebe leaned back against it. With all her heart she’d wanted to invite Christian into her room, but she’d decided if there was to be any chance of a future with him, she needed to be more conventional, more ladylike. A decent woman had to have some control over her emotions.

  She shivered. She told herself it was from the dampness of the sleeve of her waistcoat, which was now actually cold. Taking it off, she hung it on the mantel above the fire lit by the staff—not to await some fortune-telling apparition, but merely so it could dry.

  • • •

  In his room, Christian stood at the window looking out at the moon over the mountains. Though only in its first quarter, it was big and gold, and the stars around it were as bright as scattered diamonds on black velvet.

  Diamonds. It was funny. Diamonds had been such a part of his life for close to ten years, but since coming to America he’d seldom thought of De Beers and his work for the company. Had he wanted to talk to Helen Hay tonight, more than likely he would’ve been drawn back into that world. He was truthful when he said he couldn’t remember ever having met her, but he could remember the endless dinner engagements he was mandated to attend. And he did remember her father.

  John Hay had been a private secretary to Abraham Lincoln. Christian remembered having had a long conversation with him when he was the ambassador to the United Kingdom. Hay had said that Lincoln had considered him a surrogate son after the death of his son Willie, and that Cecil Rhodes had confided in Hay that he considered Christian his son.

  That conversation had taken place before the war, and though Christian couldn’t say that he considered Cecil a father then, he was certainly the closest thing to a father Christian had ever known. He owed much to Cecil, from the time Cecil found him as a homeless urchin on the docks until he emerged as a polished graduate of Oxford.

  Not until the war did Christian see the other side of Cecil, and his unbridled ambition and his ruthless quest for power soured the relationship between them. But that was all a part of Christian’s past.

  In the room next to him was the woman he wanted in his future. Phoebe had so much to offer a man. She was also one of the most genuine people he’d ever met. She never put on airs, never tried to be someone she wasn’t, and she never lusted after the trappings of wealth. He’d fended off more than his share of would-be lovers, but she’d come to him willingly, and the lovemaking they’d shared was remarkable.

  Tonight every “tradition” they had shared had turned out to be wrong for them, yet Phoebe had taken it all with good cheer.

  Then, as he stood here thinking about her, he knew what he was going to do. He was going to fulfill one of those predictions. He was going to make certain that Phoebe saw her lover before midnight.

  Without thinking, he climbed through the window, out onto the balcony.

  14

  Phoebe was glad Christian had insisted she buy undergarments. She’d selected a new pair of flannel knickers with an interchangeable nainsook lining. In addition, she’d bought a new chemise. The fabric was much softer than her usual muslin, and she was luxuriating in the feel of it against her body as she huddled under the velvet comforter.

  As Phoebe lay watching the flames die down, she heard a noise. Her first reaction was to scream, but anyone could be on the balcony, as it was actually a walkway that wrapped around the upper story.

  But then she heard someone at her window. She was glad Christian was in the room next door, because if she had to, she’d scream and he’d come to her rescue.

  She closed her eyes and feigned sleep, hoping that whoever was at the window was there by mistake. But through lowered lids, she saw that the body coming through her window was Christian himself. With much effort, she kept from smiling.

  He quietly crept toward the fireplace. She saw him glance her way, but he continued toward the mantel. He reached for her waistcoat, but the movement caused it to fall. Quickly he turned to see that he hadn’t woken her; then, examining the jacket, he turned it around so that the wet sleeve was now on the other side, just as the spell said it was supposed to happen.

  This time Phoebe did smile, but she didn’t move. Would Christian come to her bed? Would he lie down beside her, or would he kiss her to awaken her? But just as quietly as he’d entered, he headed for the window.

  A sinking feeling came over Phoebe. He wasn’t going to come to her. She wanted to hop out of bed and run to him, beg him to stay, but she couldn’t. That was the old Phoebe—the new Phoebe was trying to control her emotions.

  • • •

  Just as Christian got to the window, he turned back, pleased with himself that he’d been able to enter Phoebe’s room and not awaken her. As he put his leg through the open window, he hit his head on the sash.

  “Damn,” he whispered.

  “Is that how an apparition talks?”

  Phoebe sat up in the bed, not bothering to cover herself with the comforter.

  Christian pulled his leg back through the window. “I didn’t want to awaken you.” He came over and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I wasn’t asleep.”

  “What? You let somebody come into your room and you didn’t scream or yell?”

  “Christian, when I saw it was you, I knew I was safe.”

  Christian smiled. “I just wanted one of these crazy spells to turn out right for you.” That was when he really saw her—in a thin chemise, with bows tied across her shoulders. All he’d have to do was reach for a ribbon and the cloth would fall away, exposing her breasts. In the firelight, he’d see her for the first time.

  His eyes fixated on her breasts, and he watched her nipples harden as his penis began to awaken. He squeezed his eyes closed in an attempt to lessen his ardor, but when he opened them, Phoebe was looking at him with an expression somewhere between desire and agony.

  “Maybe not as safe as you might think,” Christian said.

  “On the other hand I might be as safe as I want to be.”

  That response was all it took. Christian reached for her, taking her in his arms, more brusquely than he’d intended. He brought her to him, kissing her with all the pent-up hunger he’d held in check.

  He felt her returning his kiss with a passion that matched his own, exhilarating in the feel of her body against his. She ran her hand through his hair as she pressed her lips more fervently to his.

  “I didn’t intend for this to happen,” Christian said when he was able to withdraw from her lips, “but I can’t help myself. I don’t think you know how much I want this.” He kissed her again, this time more tenderly.

  Phoebe smiled. “I’m glad you banged your head.”

  “Would you have let me leave you without saying a word?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? I know you enjoy this as much as I do.”

  “I’m trying to be more . . .”

  “More what? More enticing, more stimulating, more lovable? Just what is it you’re trying to be?” Christian placed a kiss on her nose.

  “I’m trying to be someone you’d be proud of—someone more sophisticated. Like this Hay woman tonight. She’s someone who could go to parties and dances with you and she’d know exactly what to say or wear or eat or
whatever you wanted her to do.”

  “When I had the chance, did I choose to sit beside her at dinner?”

  “You felt sorry for me. You didn’t want me to have to sit beside Harry Hastings.”

  Christian shook his head. “I don’t believe we knew Harry was to be your partner. And as far as knowing what to wear . . .” Christian rolled his eyes. “I think I need to give you a lesson right now.” His hand went to one of the ribbons that was holding her chemise together. “This bow. It’s just not right.” When he pulled one end of the ribbon, that side of her chemise fell. “See what I mean? It just wasn’t right. I think I’m going to have to fix both of these things.”

  Phoebe was enjoying the banter, and when both her breasts were exposed, she felt as giddy as a child. “Why, Mr. De Wet, I do believe you are trying to undress me.”

  “Do you think so?” With that, he began to cup her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over each nipple.

  Phoebe closed her eyes and arched her chest, urging him to take a breast into his mouth. When he did so, she dropped back onto the bed.

  He threw back the velvet comforter, and when he saw her flannel knickers, he laughed out loud.

  “What’s wrong?” She sat back up.

  “You are the most practical person I’ve ever known. The next time we buy underclothes, I’m going to pick them out. You’re going to have silk that is so sheer I can see you without ever taking them off.”

  “And what kind of underwear are you wearing?”

  A broad smile crossed Christian’s face. “I believe you should find out for yourself.”

  “Sir, I take that as a challenge.” Phoebe rose from the bed, her flannel knickers still in place while her chemise went by the wayside. She unbuttoned Christian’s shirt, expecting to find a vest much as Edwin had worn, but instead his chest was bare. Her eyes opened wide. “You’re not wearing any underwear.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” Christian’s voice was deep and husky as he guided her hand to the buckle of his belt. “You’re not finished.”