“Habit, I reckon,” Maggie answered with a sheepish grin. “Mr. Quinn says if the men know I’m only fifteen, and that just barely, they’ll be lookin’ the other way—wantin’ more seasoned meat,’ as he puts it.”
“Fifteen!” Steele breathed. “And how many years have you been a…a…”
“A whore?” she supplied. “You don’t have to be shy about callin’ a spade a spade with me, mister. I know what I am. Since I turned twelve. Told you I had experience!” she added with a touch of pride. “Mr. Quinn says, ‘You gonna eat, gal, you earn your keep!’ And I ain’t never been known as lazy!”
“But, Maggie, there are other things you could do,” Steele reasoned.
“Name me one! I ain’t had no schoolin’. Can’t even write my own name, Margaret Annie O’Connell. The highfalutin ladies of Savannah even want their niggers that do wash and such to know their letters. I ain’t got a June bug’s chance in a duck pond here doin’ anything else!”
Steele’s next question surprised him as much as it did Maggie. “Then why don’t you leave Savannah?”
“Leave? And where in the blue-eyed, bare-assed world would I go? And how?” She sounded, at the same time, outraged and interested.
Steele rushed on, as fools will, “You could go to Key West with me.”
The reasonable side of his brain yelled at his impetuous side, Shut up, you idiot! What are you going to do with an underaged prostitute? You have enough problems with your renegade father!
Maggie stared at him and twisted a limp strand of red hair around her finger, then stuck the curl in her mouth and sucked on it for a few minutes. At length, she said, “You must be balmy! Ol’ Quinn and his mates wouldn’t be above crownin’ our leave-takin’ with a rain of Irish confetti!”
Steele shook his head, trying to figure out why he’d even suggested such an outrageous plan.
“Irish confetti?” he asked.
“They’d stone us to a bloody pulp with brickbats, you crazy!” She paused and smiled quite enchantingly. “Key West, you say? Where’s that?”
“Far south of here, Maggie. You’d never have to see this place again. You’d never have to…”
“Spread my legs for the likes of them blokes down below… only for you?” A new gleam came into her eyes.
“Oh, no, Maggie! You have it all wrong. I told you before, I’m going to be married. Besides, you’re too young to be thinking of such things,” Steele protested.
“I don’t think about ’em,” she countered, “I just do ’em!”
He’d gone too far and he knew it, but there seemed no way out of the madcap scheme.
“No, Maggie. Absolutely not! I’ll only take you with me if you understand that we’re simply friends. We’ll tell everyone you’re my niece. I’ll teach you to be a lady.”
Maggie bounced the springs a few more times, then ran and flopped herself down in Steele’s lap, almost overturning the chair with both of them.
“All righty, unc! Seems like you ought to be tellin’ me your name, now that we’re blood kin and all.”
“It’s Steele…Steele Denegal,” he answered, weak with the realization that she really meant to take him up on his insane offer.
“Uncle Steele,” Maggie tested the sound of the name, then placed a wet kiss on his lips.
Below in the taproom, the crew of the Jolly-O, having given up all hope of a good tumble with Maggie, amused themselves by laying bets on how many times her gentleman friend could perform. As the sound of the singing springs cried plaintively down from the floor above for the fifth time, a bearded sailor with one gold earring whistled through his gaping teeth. “Jesus-H-Christ! The bloke’s a bloody stud!”
When silence descended again, the men went back to their tankards and lies of the sea, not begrudging the pair upstairs a bit of respite from their labors.
None of the tavern customers heard or saw the two figures dart down the back stairs into the reeking, rain-soaked alley and away through the night.
Chapter 9
“Saralyn, wake up. dear.” Elizabeth Patrick’s strained voice interrupted her soon-to-be daughter-in-law’s dreams of herself in Brandon’s arms. Propriety, even during sleep, however, forbade any intimate details of their lovemaking.
“Miss Elizabeth?” Saralyn roused herself, but clutched the coverlet close to her small bosom for modesty’s sake. “What’s the matter?”
Elizabeth paced the room, wringing her hands and shaking her head. “It’s Amalee, Saralyn. Something’s wrong with her. She’s not feverish, but Zalou said she was up all night with her. The child’s been having horrible nightmares. For the past two hours, she’s been sobbing her heart out. She won’t give me a clue as to what might be troubling her. I thought perhaps you might try talking to her. I’m simply at my wits’ end!”
Saralyn slipped quickly into a dressing gown while Elizabeth’s back was turned.
“Well, of course. I’ll try to help. Poor Amalee! Has she ever behaved this way before?”
“Never! I’ve often wished she would show a bit more feminine weakness instead of always trying to emulate her brothers. But I never expected her to go to pieces this way.”
Saralyn wentto the woman and touched herarm compassionately. “I’ll do what I can, Mother Patrick.”
Saralyn Habersham was hardly prepared for Amalee’s mad hysteria. She lay howling among the rumpled bedclothes, the mosquito netting ripped from its hangings and shredded all about her. She alternately screamed for long minutes and then lay as if she were dead, her blank, red-rimmed eyes staring out at nothing.
Saralyn steeled herself for the ordeal of confrontation, and tiptoed to the side of the bed.
“Amalee dear, it’s Saralyn. Can you hear me?” Her voice shook with terror. Only once before had she seen a woman look this way—her aunt Maudine on her father’s side, who’d been consigned to an attic room of the house in Savannah until, after three years of what the family called “nervous exhaustion,” Maudine managed to break a small window and slash her wrists and throat, bleeding to death one night while the Habershams, unaware, entertained the governor downstairs.
“Saralyn?” Amalee asked in a small voice. “I can’t see you. Come closer.”
Saralyn edged toward the bed, her body quaking with fear of what Amalee might do.
“I’m here, dear. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
Amalee stared up at the pretty, childish face. The face of a virgin, she thought. No! I can’t stand her looking at me!
Amalee forced herself to speak calmly. “I want to talk to Lilah. She’s the only one who can help. Will you bring her to me?”
“But your mother said…” Saralyn began.
“I don’t give a damn what Mother said!” Amalee howled. “I have to talk to Lilah! Now!”
“All right, all right, dear,” Saralyn soothed. “I’ll bring her here.”
Lilah, too, lay in her bed battling her own demons. She’d tried closing her eyes against the reality of the day, but that only allowed last night’s horrors to replay themselves in her mind.
When Uncle Custer, sent by Saralyn with Elizabeth Patrick’s grudging consent, called at the cabin to take Lilah to Fortune’s Fancy, she was out of bed and dressed.
“Miss Lilah,” Uncle Custer explained in guarded tones, “you got to come help Miss Amalee. She takin’ on somethin’ fierce. Looks lak somebody done put a conjure on dat pore chile.”
“But why me?” Lilah asked, feeling no true concern for the pampered Patrick daughter.
“’Cause she won’t talk to no one else. She just keeps beggin’ for you to come. Please, Miss Lilah. That pore baby hurtin’ bad!” Lilah noticed the old man had tears in his eyes. She could refuse the Patricks, but not Uncle Custer.
“All right. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Lilah went back inside and told Granny where she’d be. She mentioned Uncle Custer’s conjure bag theory to see what the woman�
��s reaction would be. Granny showed no signs of being the guilty party. Lilah felt relief.
No one was about when Lilah arrived at the big house. But she could hear Amalee’s muffled ravings coming from upstairs. She followed the sounds up the stairs, and knocked gently at Amalee’s door.
“Go away!” the girl screamed.
Lilah opened the door and stepped inside. She glanced about the untidy room, then turned her gaze on the figure in the bed.
“I’ll leave, gladly,” she answered. “I only came because Uncle Custer asked me to. But I certainly don’t want to intrude where I’m not wanted.”
Lilah turned to leave, but Amalee was off the bed instantly, clutching at her arm.
“No, Lilah! You must stay. You’re the only one who can help me.”
“I’ve witnessed your temper tantrums before, Amalee. It seems to me you are the only person who can do anything to alleviate the situation.”
Amalee hung her head like a chastised child.. “You’re right, Lilah. I have a horrible temper. But this isn’t just another tantrum. This one is different.”
“Oh, you’ve invented a new kind! How clever of you,” Lilah retorted sarcastically.
“Please, Lilah,” Amalee’s tears started again—real tears, Lilah could tell.
She sat down in a chair near the bed. “Very well, Amalee, how can I help?”
Amalee waited so long to speak that Lilah thought she’d changed her mind. At length, not looking at Lilah, she asked, “You’ve helped Mother birth some of the slave babies, haven’t you?”
“You know I have—many times. What does that have to do with anything?”
Again a long pause, then, “I need to know about… female things, Lilah.”
Lilah stared at Amalee. The girl was crimson with shame at even mentioning the subject.
“What kind of female things, Amalee? You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Getting pregnant,” Amalee blurted out.
Lilah felt her own insides twist with terror at the thought. She, herself, could be with child at this very moment. But whose child? Steele’s? Or did she carry a dark seed planted forcibly by a slave?
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Amalee, if you’re still a virgin. Ask your mother when it’s time for you to marry.”
A sob came from Amalee, then a whisper. “But I’m not a virgin any longer.”
Amalee’s confession first shocked Lilah, then created in her mind a certain kinship between them that she’d never felt before.
“When did it happen?” she asked in a gentler tone.
“Last night.” More sobs, stifled by the edge of a pillow she held clenched in her teeth.
“But it’s too soon to know if you’re pregnant, Amalee.”
“How long does it take? When will I get all swollen?”
Lilah winced at the girl’s blunt question. The same time I will, she thought painfully. But she answered calmly, “It takes about three or four months before a woman starts to show.”
Amalee gave a relieved sigh. “I was afraid everyone would be able to tell this morning.”
Odd, Lilah thought, I had the same feeling, and I know better.
“Is it someone you love… someone you want to marry, Amalee?”
Amalee lost control again, and pounded her fists into the pillow, imagining Henri Dupree’s face there.
“No! I don’t love him! I’ll never love any man. And I certainly don’t wish to marry him, even though he says he wants me. He’s an animal! He hurt me, Lilah! I hated it!”
Lilah thought gratefully of Steele’s tenderness with her. She didn’t remember the other, but she would always have Steele’s gendeness to hold close to her heart… even if she never saw him again. Amalee’s words made her realize how lucky she was.
“You will marry him, though, won’t you? It’s expected of you, you know.”
Amalee only whimpered in response.
“I’ve heard it’s often difficult the first time. You’ll get used to it, and after you’ve given him a son, you’ll be allowed to turn your duties over to the wench or wenches of his choice. Most women do, so I’ve heard. Husbands even set great store in their wives being too frail and temperamental to enjoy…”
“Enjoy that?” Amalee shrieked. “Never!”
Lilah found herself chuckling softly. “Then you’ve proven yourself a true lady, Amalee!”
“I wish I were a man!” she answered vehemently.
Lilah, in a sudden rush of tenderness, patted Amalee’s trembling hand. “We all wish that from time to time. But you’ll do what’s expected of you. I know you will.”
Amalee nodded, accepting the inevitable.
Henri Dupree paced the library waiting for Ames Patrick. He felt nervous as a schoolboy about to face the headmaster. But why? Surely Amalee hadn’t told her parents about last night. And even if she had, wouldn’t that ensure his suit for her hand and his own claim to a portion of the Patrick fortune?
“Henri, my boy, sorry to keep you waiting. Some trouble with my overseer. I swear, that man’s going to be the death of me, if I don’t shoot him first!” Ames growled. “But you’re not here to listen to plantation problems, I’m sure. What did you want to talk to me about?”
Ames guessed, but decided it was only fair to make the lad sweat it out, the way he’d had to in order to gain the hand of Elizabeth Ryan so many years ago.
Henri cleared his throat. Now that the moment had arrived, he had to make it good. This meant his entire future, the future of the Dupree name and help for their diminished fortune.
“Mr. Patrick, I know this will seem sudden to you. It has come as quite a shock to me, to be honest. But I find I have certain, uh, feelings for Amalee. We’ve known each other since we were children, of course. But now she’s a woman … a lovely woman.”
“And you have designs on her, eh?” Ames Patrick answered in a gruffly accusing tone.
“Sir!” the young aristocrat replied, feeling his skin prickle inside his tight collar.
“Go ahead, Dupree.” Ames stifled a smile. “I didn’t mean anything. I’m used to plain talk among men.”
“I would like your permission, sir, to announce our engagement this week.”
“And does this engagement have a wedding date accompanying it sometime in the future?” Ames asked.
“But of course, sir!” Henri was becoming more and more uncomfortable under Ames’s tough questioning. “As soon as possible, if I have my wish.”
“And what about my daughter’s feelings? Does she share your youthful impetuosity?”
“I’d hardly call it that, sir. I believe some people have always felt that Amalee and I would wed someday. As for her feelings in the matter, I hardly dare speak for her, but I believe she looks on me kindly. It would be presumptuous of me to suggest that she loves me. That deep sentiment, as we both know, must be nurtured after a couple marries and can be more… intimate… if you’ll permit my frankness, sir.”
Ames laughed aloud and clapped a hand on Henri’s shoulder. “I’ll permit it. You can’t love a woman till you’ve bedded her, eh, boy? Well, I approve!”
“Approve, sir? Of my thinking or my proposal?”
“Both!” Ames answered. “Let’s drink on it, shall we?”
Henri relaxed, only to find he was shaking all over. He accepted a glass of straight whiskey from his host, and tossed it off in one swallow.
“Another?” Ames offered.
Henri coughed as the strong liquor burned his insides, then answered, “Please.”
By noon, both the prospective bridegroom and his soon-to-be father-in-law were roaring-stumbling-laughing-crying drunk.
Elizabeth Patrick heard the commotion from the library and had Uncle Custer and Sam, one of his sons, help the men to their respective bedrooms, clucking her disapproval of their behavior all the way.
Between spells of retching brought on by the emetic Elizabeth forced hi
m to take, Ames Patrick told his wife of the engagement of their daughter. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief This explained everything. Perhaps now Amalee would come back to her senses.
“Lilah, wait!”
She was crossing the lawn in front of Fortune’s Fancy when she heard Saralyn’s call. She turned and saw the girl descending the steps from the veranda, pulling a shawl about her shoulders against the growing chill of the wind. The jealousy she’d felt for Saralyn had been banished by her feelings for Steele.
“Lilah,” she said breathlessly when she caught up to her, “I was afraid I’d missed you. I did want to thank you for what you did for Amalee. She’s much calmer now.”
“I really didn’t do anything, Saralyn. She only needed someone to talk to.”
“But you were the only one who could get through to her,” Saralyn insisted.
“Well, I’m glad if I helped,” Lilah said absently, her mind on her own troubles again.
“Do you mind if I walk with you part of the way back to your house?”
“Of course not. I’ll welcome the company.”
Saralyn fell into stride beside Lilah. Lilah measured Brandon’s fiancée carefully out of the corner of her eye. She’d known Saralyn for years. As a child, she’d been sent to Rainbow Hammock every summer for five years, during the dreaded yellow fever season in Savannah. The first summer she’d been recovering from a mild case of the fever and arrived on the island looking like a ghost. Everyone had said at the time that she wouldn’t last a month. But something in this fragile girl’s will had forced her to survive. Lilah remembered thinking at the time, Maybe that’s what life is all about, survival. The philosophy of her youth seemed most apropos at the moment.
Saralyn had been chatting casually about her coming wedding and other matters that seemed trivial to Lilah. But her full attention focused on Saralyn when she mentioned Steele’s name.
“He really was quite taken with you, Lilah. I could tell. I’m so sorry he had to leave. Poor man! He’s had one cross or another to bear all his life. Now it’s his father.”
Lilah stopped and looked down at her petite companion. “Is his father really in jail?”
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