Caribbean Jewel

by Jayla Jasso

“A pirate! I thought as much,” Hauste muttered, leaning back in his chair again. “Tell me more. What island does he live on?”

  “Promise you will send for the doctor.”

  “Ah, little she-serpent, you have given me nothing that will benefit me as of yet. Tell me something worthwhile, or cease wasting my time. I am weary and eager to get to bed tonight.”

  “My understanding is that he lives on the isle of St. Croix. He owns a small, very fast sloop with which he travels back and forth. He takes the slaves back to St. Croix to find buyers for them amongst the passing ships.”

  Hauste mulled over this new bit of information. “What does he look like? There must be many Spaniards on that island.”

  “He is unusually tall and strong, with finely proportioned features, olive skin and black hair.”

  “No good. All Spaniards look alike. I’ll never find him by that description.” He slumped a bit, thinking. “What I really need to know is when he will make his next appearance here. The last time we heard of the bastard was two weeks ago when a slave escaped Vallier’s plantation on the north side and Vallier’s guards spotted him.”

  Jolie dropped her gaze. It never failed to amaze her when rumors spread of an El Vencedor sighting.

  “When and where will he strike again? Tell me, Jolie.”

  Jolie knew this was the final bait. She had to be intelligent. “Well, I have received word of another visit to Crab Island...”

  “I knew it! He is still communicating with you, isn’t he? When? Where?”

  “Lord Hauste, you must promise to get help for Nwoye. That is your end of the bargain.”

  “I will give it serious consideration. Now tell me—”

  Jolie raised her voice, eyes flashing. “Not good enough! Promise the doctor will come immediately!”

  “I promise nothing!” Hauste flung back. “Now tell me when and where this bastard will crop up again before I bruise your other cheek to match!”

  Desperate to secure help for Nwoye, Jolie leapt to her feet to shout at him. “I am used to your beatings, and I don’t care if I die! That is no threat to me. I will walk out this door right now and throw myself down the stairs before I reveal another thing to you unless you send for a doctor right now!”

  Perhaps it was the effects of the liquor that dulled his usual violent response, but Hauste was clearly taken aback. After a moment, he muttered, “Sit down and calm yourself. I promise I’ll send for the doctor. But not until you tell me everything.”

  Jolie hid her astonishment that he had actually acquiesced to her demand and stiffly seated herself. “Do I have your word?”

  “Only if you tell me what I want to know. When and where.”

  Jolie’s heart leapt. “Here. He intends to pay you a visit next.”

  A smirk curved his lips. “Bastard! I knew it. When?”

  “At the next full moon.”

  “Barely a month away.” Hauste sighed, satisfied. He sank back into his chair, his eyes glazed with thirst for vengeance.

  “Now send for the doctor,” Jolie insisted.

  Hauste sat up and straightened some papers on his desk. “Tomorrow.”

  Jolie’s heart sank. Tomorrow might be too late for Nwoye. “I have given you El Vencedor; now give me my part of the bargain! Send for the doctor now, tonight!”

  “I said tomorrow. Now if you want to negotiate for tonight, that is a different bargain altogether. I will require another concession.”

  Jolie fought back tears of frustration. She didn’t have anything else to bargain with. “What sort of concession?”

  “Ah, a very simple one, my dear. Very simple. One you eventually would have given over anyhow.”

  Jolie waited while he enjoyed having the upper hand for a bit. He sat there smiling, looking as if he were savoring the moment. Now that he thought he had El Vencedor in the palm of his hand, he was smug again. “Agree to marry my nephew once and for all, and your wish will be granted tonight.”

  Marry Theo! She would be signing her death warrant. Her stomach churned as she thought of poor Nwoye dying with fever from his gaping wounds. “And if I agree to marry him, you will send for the doctor right away?”

  For a response, Hauste rose to his feet and walked over to the window. He raised the pane and leaned out, whistling to a guard who stood posted nearby. Then he returned to his chair and sank into it, regarding her calmly.

  Within minutes they heard hurried footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall. There was a short rap at the door, and Hauste bid the man come in. A stocky guard entered, pistol in hand. He waited for his boss’s command, darting a furtive glance at Jolie’s bruised face.

  “Stand by a moment, Jonas; I am waiting for my ward to speak,” Hauste said, never taking his eyes off her face.

  Jolie fidgeted in her seat. “Must we set a date tonight?”

  “Set the date, and sign it.” He drew forth a piece of parchment and his pen, dipping it into the inkwell to scribble on the paper.

  Jolie’s insides were queasy. “What date are you writing down?”

  “The evening after the next full moon should be a charming time for a wedding.” He pushed the paper toward her and held out the pen.

  Jolie rose unsteadily from her chair and peered down at the paper.

  I, Jolie Scarborough, do hereby swear that I will marry Theodore Wilkerson without Complaint, on the Eve following the Next Full Moon. Signed February 22nd, 1734.

  Jolie swallowed and glanced back at the guard, then down at the parchment. She snatched the pen from Hauste’s grip. Her heart was pounding. “Send him first and then I’ll sign.”

  Hauste looked up at the guard. “Ride into town quickly and rouse Dr. Wade. Show him to the slave quarters to tend the large slave. Pay him whatever is necessary to see that the brute receives full care. Go.”

  Hope for Nwoye surged within Jolie’s chest, and as soon as the guard left the room and hurried down the stairs, she placed the tip of the pen on the paper. She scrawled her signature and tossed the pen to his desk. “You’ve made your deal.”

  Hauste chuckled and jerked the parchment toward him. “And you have made yours.” He blew on the ink. “Now I trust we can all get some rest around here tonight?” He rolled the parchment up and produced a string to tie around it.

  When Jolie made no move to leave, he raised an eyebrow at her and added mockingly, “Don’t worry; it will be placed in a very safe place. One you will never find. Now, off with you.”

  Jolie left the study. Once she was safely inside her own room, she cracked the door just a sliver to watch and ensure that Hauste did not leave the house or call the guard back. He remained in his study a few minutes, then finally retired to his own bedroom further down the hall. She shut the door quietly and dressed for bed.

  Long into the wee hours of the morning Jolie lay awake, anxious to see whether her plan would be successful and praying Nwoye would be well again soon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Three nights before the full moon and the supposed appearance of El Vencedor, while Hauste went to Theo’s for dinner, Jolie and Vera sneaked away from the house to confer with the slaves under the cover of darkness. Rain poured down, soaking the ground and making the path slick as the two women hurried along in the shadows. They met Nwoye, a few of the other men, and Sharoka the wisewoman under a thicket of banana trees not far from the house.

  Sharoka’s face was pinched with worry. “Meeting right now is too dangerous. Miss Jolie being watched like a hawk. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Strands of Jolie’s rain-soaked hair clung to her forehead. “We had no choice. Time is short. I don’t know what is going to happen to me in the next few days. I have backed myself into a corner.”

  Okono spoke up. “Master Hauste think El Vencedor going to show up here in three nights. Maybe good time to escape, while he distracted.”

  Nwoye shook his head, his face still gaunt from surviving the beating. “Hauste will have guards and dogs
crawling the plantation that night.”

  “Nwoye is right,” Kashe agreed. “Better escape before, as soon as possible.”

  Jolie searched their grim faces. “How can we succeed in an escape attempt? And take everyone, women and children included, out of the way of danger?”

  “Hauste must be killed,” Okono said. “That is only way.”

  Jolie swiped at her brow with her sleeve. She couldn’t believe she had come to the point of plotting Hauste’s death, but none of them could continue living this way. Her guardian had gone from cruel plantation master to sadistic, crazed madman.

  Kashe looked at the other men’s faces. “How we going to kill him? It would take many strong men to beat him to death.”

  “Death by beating’s too slow, even for that heartless bastard,” Nwoye said. “If we are going to do this, we kill him quickly.”

  Okono spoke up again. “If we can get a gun, I will shoot him. I have plenty hatred in my heart for this man.”

  “No, friend Okono. I am the one who should do it,” Nwoye argued. “He owes me vengeance debt.”

  Sharoka nodded. “All of us have reason to kill him, but you speak the truth, Nwoye. You won’t hesitate, and should do it.”

  “But—” Jolie interjected, feeling queasy, “where will you get a gun?”

  “I can get one of Hauste’s pistols,” Vera said. “I know where he keep them hidden away.”

  Okono nodded. “Bring it to Nwoye tomorrow night. Maybe Master won’t have time to notice it gone. Night after that, you and Miss Jolie lock yourselves in a room in the house, bar the door. Some of us distract guards so Nwoye can sneak into house and shoot him in his bed. With Master dead, guards confused, we can attack with homemade spears and arrows.”

  “But where can we go, with so many of us?” Sharoka asked.

  “We take some of Master Hauste’s coins and buy passage on a ship,” Vera suggested. “I know where he keep those too.”

  Jolie shook her head, feeling despair seize her heart. “It will never work. It will be chaos. We’ll all be killed.”

  “It will work!” Kashe retorted. “I would rather die trying to escape than live in this pit of hell with Hauste for a master! And we have to get you away from here, Miss Jolie.”

  Nwoye placed a hand on Jolie’s shoulder. “Even if we die, at least we’re free from Master Hauste. And that bastard will pay for his crimes.”

  They were in agreement over their impossibly dangerous plan, Jolie realized, and she would simply have to go along with it. She and Vera hurried back up the muddy path to the house. With dresses soaking wet, shoes and hemlines muddied, the two women climbed up the back porch and slipped inside the house.

  They were greeted in the dark kitchen by Lord Hauste. He stood towering over them, boots firmly planted, fists curled at his sides. Without a word he reached forward and grabbed Jolie’s head, pulling her up by fistfuls of her hair so he could glare directly into her eyes.

  Jolie whimpered and pulled at his hands to no avail. Vera lunged at him, clawing at his arm. He let go of one fistful of Jolie’s hair in order to shove Vera sideways into the door of the pantry, where she hit hard enough to crack the wooden door before landing on the floor in a heap.

  Hauste returned his attention to Jolie. “I don’t have to ask where you’ve been, whore,” he slurred, the smell of liquor strong on his breath.

  Tears welled up in Jolie’s eyes at the pain he was inflicting. He gave her head a little jerk. “You and those black bastards can scheme all you want; we will see who comes out the victor three nights from now.” He slapped the barely healed side of her face open-handed.

  Jolie’s knees gave way, and she would have crumpled to the floor if he were not still holding onto her head. She let out a feeble sob, trying to shield her face from further blows with trembling arms.

  Vera struggled to her feet and attacked the huge Englishman again, clawing and hitting with all her strength. Hauste shoved Jolie against the nearby counter, sending a glass bowl tumbling to the floor where it shattered into several pieces, and turned to grasp the African woman by her shoulders.

  “I’ll kill you, slave!”

  He drew back a fist and punched Vera squarely on the jaw, sending her skidding across the floor to land near the hearth. He stomped after her, crunching on the broken glass, and kicked her in the stomach with his booted foot.

  “No, leave her alone!” Jolie screamed from behind him, sobbing. She leapt forward onto his broad back.

  Hauste whirled around, tossing Jolie to the floor like a rag doll. He stooped to pick her up by her neck and then slammed his fist into her left eye. Jolie fell sideways, and as soon as she hit the floor, felt a sharp pain as Hauste kicked her in the side, sending her skidding across the wooden floorboards.

  “Uncle, what in blazes is going on here?” came a disgusted male voice from the doorway, halting Hauste’s violent frenzy.

  Jolie lay on her side, holding her stomach, sputtering and coughing; nearby, Vera’s mouth and hands were bleeding all over the glass-covered floor where she lay curled in a ball near the hearth. Jolie looked up through blurred vision to see Theo standing there surveying the scene in horror.

  He looked at his uncle, his face registering incredulity. “Have you lost your bloody mind?”

  Hauste staggered toward him a step, pointing back at Jolie. “This scheming little witch snuck out of the house again, no doubt plotting against me with those savages down at the slave quarters.”

  “I don’t care if she was dancing in the woods with the Devil himself, that’s my bride you are thrashing there. She’ll have a nasty bruise around her eye from the blow I just saw you give her. We’re to be married in four days! All our acquaintances will be there!” Theo stalked past him to help her, painfully, to her feet.

  “It’s none of your business, nephew,” Hauste warned, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. “I am the master of my house and my ward, and I dole out punishments as I see fit!”

  “You forget your priorities, Uncle. Jolie and I are not yet married. You know how important this marriage is…to me, and to Jolie. She must be kept safe.”

  This gave Hauste pause. He staggered to the water bucket, his boots crunching on the broken glass, and dipped some water out to pour over his bloodied hands. “Get up to your room,” he barked at Jolie, avoiding his nephew’s indignant gaze.

  She went to help Vera up, and the two women stumbled out of the kitchen together.

  #

  Jolie did her chores the next day in a painful daze. Her ribs ached, and Theo was right about the nasty bruise that showed up by morning. Vera was hobbling around, not saying much; she sported a swollen, purpled cheek and had been spitting up a bit of blood. Neither of them felt like eating or talking.

  For her part, Jolie knew she was at her wit’s end. Before supper she wrote in her journal,

  I am furious and desperate. I cannot take Lord Hauste’s violent Abuse any longer nor can I watch him abuse Others. But this Escape Plan the Slaves have decided upon can only bring Disaster, and they intend to carry it out Tomorrow Eve.

  I have given up Hope that my Beloved Gabriel will return. Almost two Months have passed. Surely he would have come for me by Now. Even if he is still Alive, by the time he comes for me I will be Dead. I simply have Nothing left but an uncertain Future and a World of Fear.

  She made her way back downstairs to help Vera with supper. After eating, Hauste announced that he was riding over to Theo’s plantation to check on some details for the wedding, and that his guards would be especially alert while he was gone. He made it clear that if Jolie stepped one foot out of the house, he would not hesitate to beat her and her precious Vera again, even worse this time.

  After helping Vera clean up, Jolie dragged herself back up the stairs. Her face and her side ached sharply. She closed herself inside her room, pressed a hand to her throbbing ribcage, and gazed out the window over her desk. It was dark outside, with only a tiny bit of moonlight peeking t
hrough the clouds. Exhausted, she sank into her desk chair in the dark and peered down at her journal, her fingers brushing its well-worn pages. It was filled with her words, her dreams, hopes, and agonies...useless words and useless fantasies of rescue from fear and danger into a life of comfort and love.

  She didn’t have the strength to cry. She had already cried so many tears, to no avail. Her spirit was dead, and there would be no rebirth, no balm for the pain. She had made her decision. In her current physical state, she would only slow the slaves down in their reckless escape attempt, but she also knew they wouldn’t leave without her. She would make one last entry in her journal and then slip away from the house tomorrow night before they attacked Hauste, and head for the beach. The warm sea would welcome her into its embrace; she would join Gabriel in its murky depths. Perhaps he would be there on the other side to greet her.

  She lit a candle, picked up her pen, and absently reached for her inkwell. She dipped the plume in the ink and positioned it to write. When her weary eyes focused on the page before her, she stared at it dumbly for several seconds before registering what she was seeing.

  Someone else had written in her journal.

  After I simply have nothing left, but an uncertain Future and a World of Fear someone had added, in a vaguely familiar, scrawling hand, Should you decide to abandon your uncertain Future and your World of Fear, all you need do is lift your eyes to the fruit grove across the yard outside your window.

  Jolie blinked, frowning at the writing. She leaned forward to read it again. She wasn’t dreaming; she had not written it herself. Dazedly, she raised her head to peer out the window. Several hundred feet away in the shadowy covering of the orchard trees, she made out a dark, motionless figure, clothed all in black with a tricorn shading his face from view.

  He appeared to be staring calmly back.

  Jolie rubbed her eyes and looked again. He was still there. The blade of a cutlass strapped to his thigh glinted briefly in the moonlight.

  “Oh!” Her heart leapt. She dropped the pen and rose from her seat, then raised a hand in greeting, feeling as if she were dreaming.