Royall was as good as her word. For four days and four nights she worked side by side with Elena as they dug fresh graves and lowered the bodies into their final resting places. Her hands were blistered and raw and bleeding. She had long since shed the satin dancing slippers she had worn. Now she walked barefoot. Her feet were cut and bleeding from the rocks and hard, baked ground. Her golden hair was tied back from her face with a stout piece of cord. She resembled a bedraggled street urchin, her eyes huge dark circles in her white face.
On the morning of the fifth day, she was standing by the open fire making a weak broth when Rosalie Quince rode into the clearing. “Lord a mercy!” came the raucous shout. “Is that you, child? Yes, I can see that it is.” Quickly, she dismounted and wrapped her arms around the weary Royall.
“It’s a losing battle, Mrs. Quince,” Royall said, waving her hand around the clearing.
“I’m here to help,” Mrs. Quince said briskly. “Remove the broth and come over here and tell me how the situation stands.”
Royall sighed deeply and quickly explained. Mrs. Quince nodded mutely. “I stopped by the Casa Grande, and the Baron was noticeably absent. Jamie was stomping the floor in some kind of a temper tantrum. Do you have any strength left, child?”
Royall nodded. “I’m strong as an ox, Mrs. Quince. I can do whatever is needed. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Now this is what we are to do. First, we must burn everything. We’ll set fire to the lowlands and the marshes. I’ve brought along some men from my plantation. They’ll set up smudge pots. They’ve brought their drums with them. It’s the fetid air that causes the fever. It just lays there all about us, calm and still.” Rosalie Quince’s face froze into deep, hard lines. Her eyes took on a faraway look, and she seemed to be steeling herself to pit her strength against an ancient enemy—the yellow jack. There were graves here in the damp soil of Brazil which Rosalie had dug herself. There was a baby, dead of yellow jack, whose small bones had fed the stinking roots of some strange tree.
Rosalie Quince visibly shook herself and brought her thoughts back to the present.
“Before we do anything else we must do something about separating the sick. How many of them are vomiting blood? They’re the ones beyond sav-ring.”
Royall spoke quietly. “More than a dozen, Mrs. Quince.”
Within a matter of hours Royall and Elena had the sick separated to Mrs. Quince’s satisfaction. All the patients were carried to the back of the clearing. Mrs. Quince herself was hacking at the stout vines and dragging them into the jungles. “We have to have enough cleared area for them when we start the fires.”
Royall settled the children and tried to spoon some of the broth into Bridget. It ran down her chin and caused her to choke. Immediately, she started to vomit. Royall looked in horrified disbelief at the child. “God in heaven, not this child too. She’s so small she hasn’t lived yet. There must be something I can do.”
Agonized, she called Mrs. Quince. The old lady took in the scene and shook her head. “I know, child. The fever does not discriminate.”
“There must be something, Mrs. Quince. Something. Anything, I’ll do anything,” she pleaded tearfully. “I can’t believe God would allow this to happen to a helpless child,” she cried bitterly. “Surely, Mrs. Quince, in all of your years in the jungle, there must be something you know that could be of help.”
“Child, if there was, don’t you think Elena would know? Some of these are her people, you know.”
Royall nodded, wiping her eyes.
“Come, child, we have work to do. We can’t help little Bridget now, and perhaps we can save some of the others. I know that it’s hard, but you’ll find in time you’ll be able to accept this.”
Royall shouted vehemently, “Never!”
The two women worked side by side the remainder of the day. The heat from the roaring fires exhausted Royall and caused her to stumble and fall time after time. She was soot-blackened from head to toe. By nightfall the huts and the clothing had burned to cinders. The marshes were still smoldering. By the light of the fire in the middle of the clearing, Royall and Mrs. Quince brushed the cinders and the rubble into a pile at the far end of the clearing.
Royall swayed on her feet.
“Come, child. We must have something to eat. We have worked long and hard. Tomorrow is another hard day of work. We both need rest and food.”
“Mrs. Quince, why haven’t any of the other owners offered to help?”
“They, too, have their problems. The rubber shipment has to be gotten out. Have you forgotten? They’re not callous, child; they have their own sick to take care of. I came here because of you. We have but two cases on our plantation, and they’re on the mend. Alonzo can see to them. The Baron has been warned time and again that the conditions under which these people are expected to live make this place a breeding center for disease. The Indians themselves are a clean people, given a chance. But they work sixteen hours a day in the rubber groves. They come here to eat and sleep. The food is insufficient to keep a body going. There’s no energy left in them to care about their surroundings. It’s time to have some of that broth you made earlier in the day.”
“First, I have to see Bridget. I’ll eat later, Mrs. Quince.”
The good lady merely nodded and sat down by the fire. She knew that Royall had to see to the child. She watched the tattered, golden girl wash her face and hands and walk into the hut. Royall remained inside for quite some time. Mrs. Quince looked thoughtfully around the clearing at their hard day’s work and knew that the next day the work would be even harder. She knew there would be many graves to be dug. She prayed for the strength to endure and also for the slim girl who would have to work at her side. Elena possibly could help, but someone had to stay with the sick and the children. No, she and the girl would have to do it alone. She contemplated the future of the Reino with a sour feeling. How it could survive after this holocaust was beyond her tired brain. Truly, she was getting old. Every bone in her aging body ached. She was so tired. She reached for her pallet and drew it closer to the fire. She thought to rest only a moment till Royall returned.
She closed her eyes and knew no more till she woke in the morning, hearing soft sobs. She looked around the stark clearing and saw Royall carrying the small child in her arms, the tears flowing down her cheeks.
“I did everything I could, Mrs. Quince. Truly I did.”
“I know you did, child. You know what has to be done now.”
“I’ll do it. I have to do it.”
Royall stopped to wrap heavy green leaves around her blistered hands. Dejection was replaced by white-hot anger as the small hole began to grow larger. The dirt flew from the shovel. Mrs. Quince, spurred by the anger of her young friend, shoveled just as diligently. They lowered the small, still form into the ground. The dirt was replaced. The soft thunk of the earth on the unmoving bundle melted the tears, frozen till now within her, causing them to bubble to the surface. Rosalie Quince felt fury stir her as it had her young friend. “There must be an answer,” she pleaded, looking heavenward. “There has to be an answer.”
“Mrs. Quince, who is to tell the child’s parents? They’re on Sebastian Rivera’s plantation.”
“I’ll do it, child. But not now. We can’t leave here, as you well know. There’s not a plantation in all of Brazil that would make either of us welcome at this moment.”
The grim task completed, both women walked slowly back to the clearing. “I long for a bath and clean clothes,” Royall said softly.
“Have you no other clothes with you, child? Can’t Elena go to the Casa and fetch you clean garments?”
“I thought of that, but Jamie will not allow either of us to go near the Casa, and he himself won’t venture out of the door even to leave us something at the edge of the lawns. I fear he thinks he will be contaminated.”
“Sometimes Jamie is just like his father,” Rosalie Quince snorted. “How many times I’ve heard the othe
r plantation owners ask the Baron and plead with him to clean up this place, especially Sebastian. This is what it has come to: all this suffering and wastefulness, all these lives lost for the selfishness of one man. I don’t understand why Carl has never spoken up and at least tried to do something.” She sighed at the hopelessness of the situation.
“That dress you have on reminds me suspiciously of the elegant gown you wore to your party. Is it?”
“I’m afraid so, Mrs. Quince. I think we should both eat some fruit, and then we can get on with our work. I looked in on Elena before and she was asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake her. She’s just as tired as we are. I checked everyone in the early hours. I fear we’ll lose three more before the day is over. There are six on the mend, and I do think Elena was right—Rosy looks as though she may pull through this too. There is one old man who is now up and around. He has been helping Elena in a small way. But he has little strength and must rest frequently.”
Once again Royall checked her sick patients and joined Mrs. Quince for some fresh mangoes. She sucked the juice from the rich, tart fruit but, in truth, had not the energy to chew the meat. Neither did Mrs. Quince, it appeared.
The two women trudged wearily to the lowlands and immediately started their small fires. Royall watched as myriads of mosquitoes swirled in the air. As they slapped the voracious insects away, the smoke billowed and swirled and seemed to devour the thick swarms of pests.
“The fire won’t spread, and if it should, where would it go? Only into the jungle.” Royall stumbled over a low-slung vine. Gasping for breath, she lay for a minute, stunned from her sudden fall. Mrs. Quince helped her back to the clearing, fetched a small stool for her, and helped her to rest for a moment. “Let me see your feet, child. God in heaven, what have you done to yourself?” She looked at the cuts and the welts and the deep scabs that were cracked and oozing blood. “Wait here, and don’t move.”
She was back in minutes, Elena in tow. She pointed to Royall’s feet and the housekeeper gently inspected one. Horror danced across her face. “Why didn’t you tell me of this?” she asked quietly.
“We had enough problems without my feet being added to the list.” Royall smiled. “They don’t hurt much now. I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to think of the pain. Please don’t worry. I’m all right. The others need your help. How are the old lady and her daughter?”
“Both gone, this past hour.”
Royall rose to her feet and grasped the handle of the shovel. “If you and Mrs. Quince can carry the bodies, I’ll do the digging. You know we can’t let the bodies stay in this abysmal heat.”
Royall felt each shovelful of earth would be her last. But somehow, from somewhere, she garnered the strength. She thought of all the finery that money from this plantation had bought her. At each new item on the list, she felt her strength renewed. She would shovel till it killed her, and it probably would, she thought grimly. She would pay for it all. She didn’t stop to think, nor did she care that the suffering was not her doing. She only knew that she had to make up for the sins of Carlyle Newsome, and this was the only way she could do it.
When the bodies were lowered into the shallow grave, Royall rested a moment before she tackled the mound of earth. She swayed and prayed for the strength to finish the task before her. As she looked at the mound of earth in front of her, it took on gigantic proportions in her eyes. She must do something. She couldn’t faint now. She grasped the handle of the shovel in her bleeding hands, and muttering under her breath, she dug the shovel into the soft, rancid-smelling earth.
This is for the costly dancing lessons, and the filigree comb, and the yellow satin ballgown that I nagged father to buy me, and for the matched set of pearls—they alone would be good for many shovelsful, she thought viciously, a pearl for a shovelful of earth. It seemed a fair settlement. How many pearls were there on the strand? For the life of her she couldn’t remember. The strand was quite long . . . fifty at least. She would never wear those pearls again. Shovel, don’t think; shovel, shovel, pearl, pearl, shovel, pearl. Lord, she thought, she must have shoveled fifty pearls by now. She wiped the perspiration from her face with a dirty, grimy arm. Streaks of blood from her torn and battered hands appeared on her creamy skin. She looked down at the mound of earth at her feet. It had diminished slightly. Mrs. Quince was helping her and so was Elena. Just keep shoveling, remember the pearls. If you stop, you can never atone for the pearls. Just shovel.
When the last shovelful of earth was thrown, Royall tried to straighten her cramped and stooped back. She felt a million years old. She grasped the shovel in the crook of her arm and hobbled behind Elena and Mrs. Quince. Her numbed brain and eyes watched the form of Mrs. Quince falter and stagger. She couldn’t have reached out to her if her life depended on it.
Back at the clearing, Elena offered a bowl of broth to the two women. Satisfied that they would drink it, she returned to her nursing. Royall tried to hold the bowl, but couldn’t make her hands obey her commands. Peering at their raw flesh with interest, she marveled at the fact that she was experiencing no pain. She grasped the bowl with her wrists, which was a feat in itself, and drank thirstily. The bowl slipped. She made no effort to retrieve it. Looking down at her tattered, bedraggled gown, she saw that it was nothing more than strips of rags. It was in shreds up to her knees. She was so weary she could barely keep her eyes open, wishing she could sink into merciful oblivion and suddenly wake to find this whole thing had been nothing more than a bad dream.
“I must do something about my hands, Mrs. Quince. What do you think?” she asked, rising from the small stool she had been resting on. The bright sun beat down on her head and she swayed, sickened by the heat. She turned at the sounds of approaching horses. She tried to shade her eyes from the sun, but the effort was too great. She stood silently till the riders came into view. Mrs. Quince at her side was equally silent.
There was a hoarse shout and what seemed like a roar from a bull elephant. Royall had the impression of a dark form standing in front of her. She tried to raise her eyes, but the strong sun beat down unmercifully.
“Sebastian! Is it you? What in the world are you doing here?” Mrs. Quince gasped.
“I saw the smoke from my plantation. I knew things must be bad over here if you had resorted to fires. Tell me, what is there for me to do?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid, Sebastian. It’s too late for anything more to be done. Royall and Elena have done it all. I just arrived yesterday.”
Why is she babbling like that? Royall wondered wearily. Why doesn’t she just be quiet and let him see for himself?
Well, he had been right. Now all he had to do was say I told you so. She waited for the stinging words. Finally, she raised exhausted eyes and looked at the tall man before her. Tired as she was, she was again struck by his dark handsomeness. She made a vain effort to squelch the stirring of her pulses. Of all the times in the whole wide world to have him see her, he had to pick today. White-hot anger spewed from her in a torrent of emotion.
“Go back where you came from; you’re after the fact, Sebastian! We’ve done it all; look around you. Get on your horse and go back where you belong. This is all my fault and I’ll make it right if it kills me. And I don’t need your help, either,” she rasped as she shrugged off his arm. “Just where in the hell were you when I needed you? Back in that townhouse with that sloe-eyed beauty, that’s where. Go back to her, see if I care. I don’t need you; Elena doesn’t need you; Mrs. Quince doesn’t need you.” She swayed on her feet. She couldn’t faint, not here, not now! She would make it on her own or not at all.
“Far be it from me to interrupt a lady, but in my own defense, I would have come if you sent for me. You know that. You’re a fool, Royall. Look at you!” Christ, what was that lump in his throat, and why couldn’t he breathe normally?
Again Royall swayed, only this time she didn’t have the strength to right herself. Suddenly, she was enfolded in strong arms and held close to a w
arm, hard body. She couldn’t ever remember feeling so safe and secure in her entire life. With her last ounce of strength she forced her eyes open and gazed into the jet black pools of Sebastian Rivera’s eyes. I love him, she thought. I love this man. And he loves me. Wishful thinking, Royall, she sighed as her eyes closed. She couldn’t ward off the badly needed sleep and rest her body now demanded. What better place to succumb than in the arms of the man she loved.
As though in a dream, she felt herself being lifted gently. From somewhere outside her consciousness she heard muttered curses of outrage. She didn’t know who was doing the angry cursing, nor did she care. All she knew was that she was safe and secure. “I’m so afraid. I have to sleep, I must rest for a while. I can’t dig anymore,” she whispered over and over. They paid no attention to her, these nameless voices and hands ministering to her body. What had she been dreaming about? A love, that was it. A love that knew no bounds.
Chapter Seventeen
Royall tried to open her eyes to see who was speaking to her. She succeeded in opening the golden eyes to mere slits. Sebastian Rivera gazed down at her. His smile was so gentle, she was sure she must be dreaming. It had been such a long time since she had seen him smile. Not since the riverboat.
Prior to his thunderous ride into the Reino, Sebastian had paced on the tile floor of his casa. White hot anger had gripped his chest as he watched the billowing smoke rise above the trees. It enraged him: to think that one imbecile could wreak such havoc and still expect the other plantation owners to condone it.
Sebastian had looked across at the grim face of his foreman, Jesus, and again felt a pang of pity for the man. He had lived through the fever and lost everything he held dear. To ride into it on someone else’s plantation and see the death and the suffering must be causing him untold sorrow. There was no excuse for it. Neglect and filth contributed to the situation.
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