Rainbow Hammock

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  A great sob came from Ames. “I killed our son. All my fault.”

  “No … no. You loved us both. Kiss me, Ames, one last time.”

  Lilah felt her own tears come while she watched Ames patrick cover her mother’s blue lips with his own. Her frail arms slipped up around his neck and she clung to him for several moments. Then ever so slowly, while his lips still caressed her, the arms moved, slid down his back, then rested motionless at her sides.

  Ames raised his head. With the tenderness only a lover can possess, Ames closed Katy’s eyes and pulled a bright quilt over her face. For a long while he sat beside her body. When he rose at last, it seemed to Lilah that he carried the weight of the universe on his slumped shoulders.

  He reached the door, and Lilah. “She’s gone,” he said simply. “I’m sorry… so sorry.” His voice broke, and the tears started afresh.

  Instinctively, Lilah put her arms around him. She was so touched by his grief that she had yet to experience her own.

  When he was calmer, Lilah asked, “Can I get you something? Tea? Or there’s some scuppemong wine.”

  “Wine, please.”

  They were alone. Granny remained in the kitchen at Fortune’s Fancy, waiting out a vicious onslaught of wind and rain, unaware that the precious tonic she’d gone to fetch would be of no help to her daughter-in-law now. Kingdom had gone to his own cabin, not wanting to interfere in white folks’ misery.

  Lilah hesitated, then said, “I heard what Mama said about the baby. I didn’t know.”

  “Not many did,” he answered in a hollow voice. “Granny, of course, and I think my father suspected. But Katy and I knew—that was the important thing.”

  Ames Patrick looked up at Lilah as if seeing her for the first time. “Had she told me as soon as she found out, I would have married her in a minute. But she acted funny, turned cold on me all of a sudden. How was I to know it was because she was in a family way… and her with no family? So, I stayed away. Did what my parents wanted. Went off to Savannah and married Elizabeth.” He shook his head sadly. “Elizabeth was carrying our first before I knew I’d fathered Katy’s child. Poor little thing!” His sobs stopped him.

  “And the baby… my brother died?” Lilah prompted.

  “Stillborn, as if he knew he didn’t have a real family or any place in this rotten world. All my fault … all my fault,” he muttered.

  “Mama didn’t blame you. I heard her tell you that. And she had a good life with my daddy.”

  Ames Patrick laughed humorlessly. “Probably a damn sight better life than I’ve had with Elizabeth! I wonder how things would have been if I’d married your mama.”

  Lilah reached out and touched Ames’s hand. “You would have been a fine father.”

  “I thank you for that, Lilah. But I haven’t done so well by my own brood, it seems. Brandon seems to be shaping up at last, but Amalee’s spoiled rotten, and Jeremy can be mean and rambunctious as a tusker in mating season. If I could have chosen how I wanted my children to turn out, they’d be every one like you, Lilah.”

  She lowered her eyes, deeply touched. “Thank you, Mr. Patrick. Your opinions mean a lot to me.”

  Ames Patrick rose from his chair, placed a soft kiss on Lilah’s forehead, and left.

  Because of the intemperate weather, Katy Fitzpatrick’s remains were laid out on a cooling board awaiting burial. But when the rains refused to let up after the third day, the funeral went ahead.

  Ames Patrick, true to his promise to the dying woman, had her grave dug in Simon Patrick’s sacred ground, next to an infant’s plot bearing no name on the tiny, granite marker.

  Even through her tears, Lilah could see the look of scorn on Elizabeth Patrick’s face. Did she know of her husband’s affair with her mother… of the son they had created out of love?

  Granny stood by stoically. Lilah noticed that more than once during the brief graveside service the old woman’s eyes wandered to the spot beyond the stone fence—to her space beside Jonathan. Lilah thought she recognized the expression on her face as longing.

  Once Brandon caught Lilah’s eye for an instant. His pain at Katy Fitzpatrick’s death seemed as genuine as his father’s. She knew, though, that their reasons were far different. Brandon felt her sorrow at her mother’s death and shared it. He was that type of man.

  The ceremony over, the Patricks headed in their buggies back to Fortune’s Fancy. Ames Patrick had invited Granny and Lilah to come to the big house for some supper, but the two women declined.

  Lilah saw Granny back to the cabin, where they found Sim Grady in a drunken stupor. Before she took to her bed, Granny had Lilah help her roll his reeking body out the back door into the mud.

  “It’ll at least sober him up for a spell,” Granny grumbled.

  After seeing Granny to bed and tucking warm quilts snugly about her, Lilah went to the rocker in front of the fireplace and sank wearily into it. Steam rose from her wet clothes, but she had neither the energy nor the inclination to get up and change into something dry. She felt drained, alone, separated from the rest of the human race.

  Her thoughts traveled from the muddy graveyard to Savannah and the black seas beyond. Was Steele even now battling for his life against nature’s fury? Or was he with her mother, somewhere that the living could only imagine? She shook her head to clear it of such thoughts.

  A knock at the front door came as a welcome interruption. Probably Kingdom and Rhea come to pay their respects, she thought.

  The sight of Jeremy Patrick lounged, grinning, against the door jamb took her totally by surprise. He didn’t wait for an invitation, but pushed past her into the living room.

  “Thought you’d be ready for a little nip about now, honey.” He swung a crockery jug from behind his back.

  “Jeremy Patrick, you get out of my house!” Lilah hissed, all of her former fury surfacing in one blast.

  “Aw, come on, Lilah. It’s like a tomb up at the house. Mama’s mad enough to take a buggy whip to Papa over him burying your ma in our graveyard. Figured I’d come over here and we could cheer each other up. Gimme a little kiss, honey.”

  Lilah didn’t move fast enough, and before she could fight him off, Jeremy had a firm grip on her waist, his liquor-soaked lips hard against hers. She clamped down with her teeth.

  “Ow-w-w!” he howled, rubbing blood on his cuff. “You bitch! That ain’t no way to treat me after I been keepin’ your secrets and all!”

  He dropped the jug and came at her. Lilah edged away until her back was against the kitchen counter.

  “Don’t you come any closer, Jeremy! I’m warning you!”

  “I’ll come as goddamn close as I please and you won’t have a word to say about it. I know all about you—how you been puttin’ out for Yankees and niggers. Now you gonna tell me I ain’t got the same rights?”

  “You’ve got no rights, Jeremy Patrick! You used up all your rights on the beach! Why did you lie to me about that, Jeremy?”

  He looked surprised, then threw back his head and laughed. “Aw, hell, honey. That wasn’t nothing but a little joke. Shoot! I figured you knew all the time and was just goin’ along with it. Thought you liked it as much as I did. Come on! Be nice to me.”

  He lunged forward and closed his hands over Lilah’s breasts, pinning her against the counter edge. She clawed at his face with her nails, but he only laughed and pressed his attack.

  “You sure one handful, honey! I do like my women wild! Ain’t no fun if they don’t fight and get all sexed up. What you worryin’ about? Your granny’s dead to the world. Snoring like a billy goat. You scared I’m gonna put a little bastard in you like my pa did to your ma? Hell, I’d marry you right off if that happened. Come on, Lilah, let me have some of that sugar you got hid up your petticoats.”

  Jeremy let go one of Lilah’s arms to grab at her skirt. In the instant she was free, she groped about behind her until her angers touched the sharp blade of a skinning knife. In
one swift motion, she brought it forward and slashed Jeremy’s arm.

  He howled with pain and turned her loose.

  “Now you back off, Jeremy, and get out of here! And don’t you ever touch me again! I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth. You make me sick to my stomach!”

  “Christ, Lilah, what’d you have to go and hurt me for? I was just funnin’ with you,” he cried, holding his bleeding arm.

  “I don’t enjoy your brand of fun! And, I’m warning you, Jeremy Patrick, I’ll be armed from now on, so you better step easy around me!”

  “You ain’t nothing but white trash!” he snarled. “You got a cold body and a hateful mind! Ain’t no man in his right senses ever gonna make an honest woman of you. Just like your ma—fast and loose!”

  Lilah heard her own scream of rage, but couldn’t believe it came from her throat. She lunged at Jeremy, missing his right ear by only an eighth of an inch. He yelled as if all the demons of hell were after him, and dashed out of the cabin in such a hurry that he left his jug.

  “You handle yourself mighty well, Lilah,” Granny complimented from the bedroom door. “Now that you done skinned that polecat, see he stays gone for the night so a body can have some peace and quiet!”

  “Yes, Granny,” Lilah answered, smiling at the old woman.

  Lilah suddenly felt very pleased with herself. She picked up the crock of whiskey and poured herself two fingers of moonshine. She rocked slowly and sipped at the fiery drink, smiling now at the bright crimson stain on the knife blade in her hand.

  “You’re wrong, Jeremy Patrick!” she said aloud. “There is one man for me, and he’s coming back to marry me. You’ll see!” She stared into the fire for a faraway moment. “They’ll all see!” she whispered.

  She closed her eyes and conjured up a vision of Steele Denegal’s sun-bronzed face and silver-gray eyes shining love into hers.

  “Steele, darling, come back to me soon,” she murmured.

  Only the crackle of the cedar logs and the pounding of the rain on the tin roof answered her.

  Chapter 11

  KEY WEST, FLORIDA

  January 12, 1860

  A bell tolled in the distance. Even though the hour was well past midnight, Steele Denegal could see hundreds of people swarming over the wharf area like so many bees in a hive. Excited voices drifted over the calm water to greet them as the Isabel limped into port. And a small cannon boomed repeated salutes.

  “Sure ‘n’ the whole town’s turned out to welcome us, unc!” Maggie giggled. “Are you some high and mighty gent and you ain’t seen fit to tell me?”

  “I’m sure they’re all here to get their long-awaited mail, Maggie, that’s all.”

  He glanced down at Maggie, standing beside him at the railing. Relief filled him that they had the storms and a six-week meander through the South Atlantic to use as an excuse for her shabby attire She’d left Savannah with the only two dresses she owned—a green silk “fancy gown,” as she called it, and her work dress of a nondescript color with a neckline far too low to be respectable and a skin-tight bodice attesting to the fact that her body was still groping its way to maturity.

  But many of the passengers looked bedraggled, and had lost their luggage to water damage. Maggie looked no worse than the rest.

  A cloud of orange blossom cologne suddenly enveloped them. Steele looked up to find a beautiful woman who’d shared their voyage standing near him at the ship’s rail. He’d seen her on the morning the Isabel left Savannah, but had caught only two or three brief glimpses of her from afar during the trip.

  First Mate Groogan had supplied the information that her name was Miss Caroline Mallory, and that she was a distant relation to one of Key West’s earliest and most beloved settlers, the late Ellen Mallory, whose son was Senator Stephen R. Mallory.

  “Reckon she feels like she’s too fine to associate with the likes of the other passengers on board,” Groogan had added disparagingly. “Sure ain’t like her cousin Ellen. That woman was a saint!”

  Steele glanced furtively at Caroline Mallory. She was turned out in an elaborate burgundy silk gown with puffed sleeves, a revealing decolletage, and a scalloped hemline, which offered a tempting peek at petticoats striped in gold and wine. But the light dusting of rice powder on her cheeks did little to hide the pallor of her skin. Steele guessed correctly that her seclusion during the trip had been caused by seasickness, not snobbery.

  Her chestnut curls bounced prettily when she turned quickly and caught Steele staring at her.

  “Do you always examine ladies in such a rude manner, sir?” she asked.

  “Hold on there! Don’t you be talkin’ that way to my uncle, miss,” Maggie retorted. “He’s a proper, fine gentleman, he is!”

  “Maggie,” Steele cautioned, then turned to Caroline Mallory and bowed. “Forgive my niece, Miss Mallory. She has an uncommon family allegiance of which I often find myself the brunt.”

  “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. I don’t remember our meeting, yet you seem to know who I am.” Her tone lost some of its haughtiness as she measured Steele with appraising eyes.

  “Forgive my lack of manners. My name is Steele Denegal, and this is Miss Margaret O’Connell.”

  Maggie preened at hearing her name spoken in such grand fashion.

  “Mr. Denegal, Miss O’Connell.” Caroline inclined her head and offered them the ghost of a smile. “Will you be staying in Key West long?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Steele answered honestly. “I have business to attend to. I hope it won’t take more than a few days.”

  Caroline Mallory gave Steele a reproving frown. “Perhaps you won’t be so anxious to leave once you’ve met some of the people in Key West and partaken of our special brand of hospitality. You’ll find our island warm and relaxing…. Some say, intoxicating.”

  Steele smiled. Something about this woman reminded him of Lilah, although her skin was fair as a magnolia petal and her hair a dark russet. Perhaps it was her love affair with her island, similar to Lilah’s with Rainbow Hammock.

  “Miss Caroline, honey, you take this shawl and pull it ‘round your bare shoulders.” A black girl of Caroline’s own age, about nineteen, Steele judged, bustled up to her mistress with an air of protective authority.

  “Very well, Venus,” she said resignedly.

  “I done seen Senator Mallory’s carriage, and your bags will be brought up directly. We got to get you home and out of this night chill.”

  Steele wondered, what chill? The tropic night air felt stimulating, with its strong salt tang from the Gulf and the exotic perfume of night—blooming flowers wafting out to them from the land.

  Caroline gave Steele an expressive look that seemed to indicate that she was a prisoner of her own servant. “Do you have lodgings arranged with friends or family, Mr. Denegal?” she asked.

  “Neither,” he replied. “This is my first trip to Key West.’ I’d assumed we’d take rooms in one of the local hotels. Could you suggest a comfortable establishment, Miss Mallory?”

  “The new Russell House on Duval Street is Key West’s finest. My cousin, Ellen Mallory, ran it until her death four years ago. You might miss the special touch Ellen gave to everything, but I’m sure you’ll find it a fine hostelry.”

  “Caroline!” A male shout broke into their conversation. The Isabel had docked while they talked, and a cheerily rotund man somewhat older than Steele rushed up the gangway and toward them, his arms outstretched. In the next instant, he swept Caroline Mallory off her feet and whirled her around so that Steele caught a glimpse of patterned, white stockings encasing slim ankles.

  “Oh, Stephen, put me down! I’m not a little girl any longer. You’ll trip us both overboard with all this exuberance!”

  He set her carefully on deck, but continued to cling to her arm, smiling into her face.

  “Angela and I have been worried sick about you, Caroline!”

  She
laughed charmingly. “I wasn’t feeling too well either, Stephen. But it’s over now… I’m home at last!”

  “And you’ve brought friends with you?” the chin-whiskered senator commented, indicating Steele and Maggie.

  “Actually, Stephen, we’ve just met. I’m afraid I was in no condition to be sociable during this dreadful trip.” She introduced her distinguished cousin to Steele and then, almost as an afterthought, to Maggie.

  “Stephen Mallory, Mr. Denegal.” He offered his hand and another broad smile. “Welcome to Key West!”

  “Thank you, Senator. If all the natives are as cordial as you and your charming cousin, I’m sure my niece and I will enjoy our stay.”

  “You’ll come to the house with us for a late supper, of course,” Stephen Mallory insisted. “My wife, Angela, is always delighted to meet newcomers.”

  “Well, it’s tempting, but we really should check into the hotel and get some rest.” Steele hesitated, not sure he wanted to test Maggie’s newly acquired table manners on such distinguished company.

  “Nonsense!” Caroline argued. “No one sleeps the night the mail packet comes in. Do come!”

  “By all means,” the senator asserted. “We can’t have new arrivals fending for themselves right off. That’s not our way here in Key West.”

  Something in Caroline’s pleading brown eyes persuaded Steele. And, besides, Stephen Mallory, with his island and political connections, might be the perfect person to help him cut through some of the red tape binding him, through his father, to Key West, keeping him from his reunion with Lilah Fitzpatrick.

  Steele bowed and said, “We thank you for your kind invitation. Maggie and I will be happy to join you.”

  Maggie eyed first Steele and then Caroline. Cold jealousy gnawed at the pit of her stomach. She’d had Steele all to herself for the entire voyage, and had gloried in his constant attention. True, he’d treated her only as a doting uncle would treat a favorite niece. He’d spent most of the time tutoring her and correcting mistakes she made. He hadn’t made one improper advance toward her, although she’d given him ample opportunity. But now he was ignoring her, almost flirting with this… this “island floozy,” she finally decided was the proper label. She could deal with his memories of the woman he’d left on Rainbow Hammock, but another rival, in the flesh, galled her beyond endurance.