“Hello, you two!” Lilah called back.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a cool drink of well water on you?” Brandon laughed. “It’s hot enough to sizzle the shoes off a doodlebug today.”
“Come on up to the house,” Lilah invited. “I think we can manage a drink of water and some cool shade.”
Moments later, the three of them sat on the porch of the overseer’s cabin, rocking and fanning themselves with palmetto fronds. Lilah glanced at Saralyn. The girl had blossomed into a lovely, mature woman. She’d gained some weight, and her cheeks were flushed with good health and happiness.
That’s what love will do for you, Lilah thought.
Brandon’s voice cut through Lilah’s musings. “May I tell her, Saralyn?”
“Brandon!” Saralyn replied in a shocked tone.
“But you said you wanted her to know, sweetheart,” he insisted, beaming mysteriously.
“That’s not a proper thing to bring up in mixed company, Brandon.”
“Whatever are you all whispering about?” Lilah asked.
“Saralyn’s going to have a baby,” Brandon blurted out before his wife could stop him.
“Oh, Brandon!” Saralyn tried to hide her blush behind her fan.
“That’s wonderful!” Lilah cried. “When?”
“You just shoo, Brandon Patrick! Lilah and I have things to discuss… alone,” Saralyn insisted, giving him a swat with her fan and a loving smile.
“All right! I know when I’m not wanted. I’ll go help Khea finish picking berries.”
The two women remained silent until Brandon moved out of hearing.
“Now, tell me, Saralyn, when’s the baby due? You don’t look like you’re showing at all yet.”
“It’s this loose dress. I’m five months along already,” she whispered.
Lilah did some quick figuring in her head. “But you were only married in late December. How…?”
Saralyn hid behind her fan again and answered, “On our wedding night, I think.” Suddenly, it was as if a dam broke. Saralyn poured out all the secrets she’d been dying to tell someone. “Oh, Lilah, it wasn’t at all like those awful tales you hear women whisper about. Brandon was so good and gentle with me. Why, I hardly felt any pain when he… you know. He has such wonderful, sensitive hands.” She shivered slightly and closed her eyes. “Oh, it just gets better every time.”
Lilah suddenly felt concern. “Saralyn, you and Brandon aren’t still…? It might not be good for the baby.”
Saralyn looked away, unable to meet Lilah’s forthright gaze. “No. Not since last month.” She paused, then rushed on Lilah, I’m shameless, I know, but I do miss it so!”
Lilah reached over and patted Saralyn’s small hand, thinking of her own unslaked needs.
“I understand, Saralyn, and you have nothing to feel ashamed about. Any woman would count herself lucky to have made a match like yours. Brandon’s devoted to you.”
Lilah thought for a fleeting moment of Amalee’s unfortunate match. If everything was perfect between Saralyn and Brandon, she sensed that the exact opposite was true in the case of Amalee and Henri.
Saralyn reached down and picked up Gypsy’s white kitten, stroking it thoughtfully before she spoke again.
“Lilah, I have a confession to make to you.” She paused again, trying to summon the courage and the proper words. “I know that Brandon loved you, and for a time I was jealous.”
“Not really?” Lilah tried to interrupt.
“Yes, really!” Saralyn was firm in her plan to speak her mind. “When he first came to Savannah, he was distraught. You know he’d always considered me something of a sister-confessor. He told me he loved you… that that was why his mother had sent him away. Now, Lilah, I want an honest answer from you.” She paused again, and Lilah heard a sharp intake of breath before she rushed on, “Lilah, did you return Brandon’s feelings? Did you love him?”
Lilah tried to look away, but Saralyn held her with a soft golden gaze.
“I won’t lie to you, Saralyn. Not even to spare your feelings. Yes, I loved Brandon, or thought I did. But it was only when I met Steele that I realized I’d never known what love was before.”
A long silence passed between the two women after Lilah’s admission.
“You don’t hate me, do you, Saralyn?”
“Hate you? Never! It’s long been my contention that a man seldom marries the first woman he loves. I happened to be in the right place at the right time. Brandon had lost you. and I was there to pick up the pieces of his broken heart.”
“But he loves only you now, Saralyn. No one could doubt that. Certainly, you don’t.”
Saralyn ruffled the kitten’s velvety fur and smiled. “No, Lilah. I have no doubts where my husband is concerned.” Her brow creased suddenly. “I do worry about Brandon though.”
“But why? I’ve never seen him looking more fit.” Lilah didn’t understand the turn the conversation was taking.
“Will you promise me something, Lilah? If anything should happen to me, will you be there if Brandon needs you?”
For several seconds, Lilah was too stunned to answer. When she did, she tried to laugh off Saralyn’s obvious fears. “Of course, I’ll take charge of your husband. He cuts a fine figure, and I’ve heard he has money too!”
Saralyn smiled and patted Lilah’s hand, understanding her discomfort and her efforts to cover her true feelings.
“Thank you, Lilah dear. I needed that reassurance. Now I’m totally happy!”
“As well you should be!” Brandon called from the yard. “Papa’s pleased as punch with you for offering him his first grandchild. And I consider you perfection personified!”
Saralyn stood and ran into her husband’s arms, clinging to him as if for protection.
“I think you’d better take your wife home for a rest, Brandon. She shouldn’t overdo, you know, now that she’s carrying a precious burden,” Lilah said.
“Exactly my intent.” Brandon tipped his hat to Lilah, then led Saralyn toward the shell path.
For a long time Lilah sat on the porch watching the two of them make their way back to Fortune’s Fancy. Saralyn’s odd plea still echoed in her brain. The words left her with an uneasy feeling. She brushed the thoughts aside. Surely all women carrying a first child must have doubts. Saralyn, Brandon, and their baby would all be fine…. Wouldn’t they?
Key West, Florida
June 14, 1860
My darling Lilah,
This letter will probably reach you at the same time I do, since we must both await passage north. But I feel a great need to write to you… to feel close to you tonight, my dearest.
I had hoped to return to you long before now, but my father’s unfinished business affairs have detained me overlong. He left behind, when he departed for the hereafter, five hundred souls who had been in his cruel care and are now becoming a burden on the citizens of Key West. At present I am trying to hire a ship and crew to return these Africans to their homeland, and so relieve this situation, which is my father’s fault and now my responsibility. I must remain here until this matter is settled.
But, enough of my problems here. Let me tell you something of this island paradise. The name, Key West, comes from the Spanish, Cayo Hueso, meaning “Bone Island.” When the Spanish first came here in 1815, they found the island uninhabited, but littered with human bones from a great Indian battle. By 1819 refugees from all over the world started arriving. Today the city is the largest in all of Florida. The inhabitants are proficient at wrecking, sponge fishing, and salt making. Many of the families brought fortunes with them to Key West.
I have met many agreeable people here in Key West, not the least among them, Senator Stephen R. Mallory and his lovely wife, Angela. Their cousin. Miss Caroline Mallory, traveled on the Isabel with me. They have introduced me to other island luminaries, Peter Crusoe from Gibraltar, Judge Winer Bethel from Nassau, Mr. R. A
. Russell, who owns the fine establishment where I have lodgings, Asa and Charles Tift, brothers and natives of your own Georgia. I hope someday to be able to bring you here to meet these generous and genial souls.
Lilah, I hesitate to mention this, but I have written numerous times to you since my departure from Rainbow Hammock. I have yet to receive a word from you. I know the mails from this place are uncertain, but I had hoped you would send news to me of your continued intentions to be my wife. Perhaps I ask too much. You are so young to be bound to a man miles and seas away. If your feelings have changed, I will try to understand. I must warn you, however, I will not give up my pursuit until you belong to another. I love you too much! You remain in my thoughts and in my dreams every waking and sleeping hour.
I hope when you read this it will have been delivered to you by my hand, dearest. I live for that moment….
Yours forever lovingly,
Steele Denegal
Steele wrote the final words of his lengthy missive with great difficulty. His hand shook, his eyes blurred, his head felt a disturbing lightness.
Perhaps his long hours haggling with ships’ captains over the cargo he proposed sending back to Africa were taking their toll.
He rose from the writing desk in his hotel room and looked into the shaving mirror. His skin appeared yellowish and dry by the lamplight. Perspiration beaded his brow and upper lip. His gray eyes glittered with fever behind dark, sunken lids.
He reached for the decanter of brandy, but spilled half a pony trying to pour it. When the room began to spin around him, he collapsed on the bed. A chill wracked his body, and he groped for cover and warmth, moaning.
The sound of his agony brought Maggie from her room next door, where she’d been sorting the seashells she spent hours each day collecting along the beaches. She stared, horrified, at the sight of the sunken, shivering stranger. He had looked haggard at dinner, but she’d marked it off to fatigue.
“Steele,” she cried, going to kneel beside his bed.
He stared up at her with unseeing eyes.
“Water,” he managed hoarsely.
“My God! It’s the fever!” she exclaimed, running to fetch the water pitcher.
All night Maggie stayed beside his bed. She called for no help, told no one he was ill.
It will pass, she thought. Steele Denegal is too strong to let this fever take him. He only needs time.
But when full light streamed in through the windows, Maggie, who had been half-dozing in a chair next to Steele’s bed, realized the worst. His skin had turned a sickly shade of yellow. Even his eyes had taken on the abnormal cast. Mechanically, she sponged his forehead, his arms, his chest. She held a cup to his lips, but what little water he tried to drink immediately resurfaced.
He moaned when she touched him. The slightest pressure on any part of his body seemed to bring severe agony. As carefully as she could, Maggie removed his clothing, then covered him with a fresh blanket. His fever raged higher, and he shivered incessantly.
“Steele, can you hear me?” she pleaded. “It’s Maggie.”
When he made no move, no sound of recognition, her tears came. All the long-submerged visions of her mother lying helpless on her bed in their cottage in Ireland came rushing back to haunt her. The terror of a young child, alone with only her sisters, returned to flood her emotions. Then anger replaced fear. She grasped Steele’s arms and shook him. He gasped for air, but made no other reply.
“Steele, come back here, you bastard! I won’t have you dying on me! I’ll not be left alone again. It ain’t fair! You hear me, Steele Denegal! You promised to take care of me!”
Maggie crumpled to the floor beside the bed. She was shaking now as violently as Steele, but not with fever. Only Steele’s sudden cries of pain brought her back to her senses. Quickly, she was up again, sponging, offering water, cleaning him, speaking words of encouragement, which he couldn’t hear.
For two days and nights Maggie fought her lone battle against the yellow demon that had possessed Steele. Terrified that they might both be thrown out into the streets if the management found out they were harboring a fever victim under their roof, Maggie let no one know of their plight. Once a day she managed to make herself presentable enough to go downstairs and order meals to be sent up. She explained that her uncle was involved in serious paperwork concerning business and could not be disturbed. Every morning, she went to her own room and pulled the covers back and rumpled the sheets so that even the chambermaids would not guess she was spending her nights at Steele’s bedside.
After one of these early morning missions, she returned to find Steele wild-eyed, half out of bed.
“My clothes… where are my clothes? Got to see the captain today. Have to get the slaves to Rainbow Hammocck… to Lilah. Then we sail for Africa.”
“Steele, no!” Maggie cried. “You must get back in bed. Here, let me help you.”
When Maggie tried to push the big man back into the bed, he lashed out, sending her reeling across the room. Stunned for a moment, Maggie could only watch as Steele lurched toward the door. His hand was on the knob when he suddenly slumped to the floor, unconscious. His full weight lay across Maggie, pinning her to the place where she’d landed.
Maggie held his head and sobbed, “Oh, Steele, what are we going to do? I can’t make you well. Oh, God help us both!”
Using the last ounce of strength in her, Maggie rolled, tugged, and dragged until she had Steele back in bed. She sat next to him, panting from exertion. Hopelessness filled her. She looked down at his face, calm now, but his lips cracked with fever, his skin dry and jaundiced. A nasty purple bruise was forming on his forehead where he’d hit the doorknob when he fell.
Her strength was all but gone. Help must be found. So resolved, she went about a new task, securing Steele to the bed with twisted sheets. He couldn’t be allowed to move and hurt himself while she was away. When she was sure he couldn’t get free of his bonds, Maggie combed her hair, put on a fresh frock, and left him.
It took her only moments to run down Duval to Greene Street. Roberts appeared at the door to answer Maggie’s knock. His manner this time seemed cold.
“I’d like to see Miss Caroline.” Maggie said.
“Miss Caroline say she not receivin’ this mornin’,” Roberts replied stiffly.
Not receiving Steele Denegal’s bedwarmer, Maggie thought, this morning or any other time!
Maggie controlled her urge to blurt out her need, and held back her tears. “Please tell her it’s most urgent, Roberts.”
Roberts didn’t invite Maggie in, but left her standing on the front steps in the broiling sun while he went inside to relay her message.
When he returned, he remained impassive. “I’m sorry, miss, but the lady is not seein’ callers at this time!”
Furious and desperate, Maggie pushed her way past the butler. She guessed correctly that Caroline Mallory would be in the breakfast room at this hour. When she burst in, Caroline rose with a look of loathing in her brown eyes.
“What are you doing in my house?” She started out of the room, but Maggie blocked her way. “Roberts!” Caroline called. “Show this woman out!”
“I’ll be on my way. This ain’t no social visit. You got good cause not to like me or want me around, but you can’t be so heartless that you won’t hear me out when there’s real trouble.”
Caroline looked Maggie over, taking special note of the drawn lines around her eyes and mouth, the trembling of her lips, and the pallor of her cheeks.
“Miss Caroline?” Roberts asked from the doorway.
Caroline waved him away. “Never mind, Roberts. Leave us, please.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Maggie replied meekly, tears in her gray-green eyes.
“Well?” Caroline prompted, her voice hardly less than icy.
“It’s Steele, ma’am. He’s bad sick. I been looking after him for three days now, but I can’t do much more.
I tried, but he ain’t no better. I’m scared, Miss Caroline. What’ll I do?” Maggie’s tears came in a rush now.
“Steele, sick? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s got a awful fever, and he’s half out of his head. I had to tie him down before I left the Russell House so he wouldn’t get up and hurt himself again.”
Caroline Mallory paled. She’d often helped her cousin Ellen nurse yellow fever victims. But Steele—he seemed so robust. How could he come down with the dreaded disease?
“Go back to the hotel, Maggie, quickly. He mustn’t be left alone. Tell Mr. Russell Steele’s ill. He’ll help us, if need be. I’ll dress and be there as soon as I can.”
Maggie’s tears were now of gratitude. “Oh, bless you, Miss Caroline I don’t know what I would have done if you’d refused me.”
“Never mind that now. You just hurry back to the hotel,” Caroline ordered, ushering Maggie to the door.
For the next week the two women worked side by side, their animosities forgotten for the moment, to try and save Steele Denegal’s life. Neither of them mentioned the scene at Mr. Mulrennan’s shop, the lies Maggie had told, or the hurt Caroline had suffered Every effort went for Steele.
Caroline had brought with her a bottle of laudanum she’d purchased at Allen’s apothecary. This eased Steele’s pain to some extent, but soon after she arrived he lapsed into delirium. Maggie had done well to tie Steele to the bed. The two women couldn’t have managed him without the restraints. Mr. Russell saw that ice, fresh bedding, and pitchers of water were kept at the ready.
“Maggie, go to your room and get some rest,” Caroline ordered. “The two of us will have to sit with him in shifts. You won’t be any good to any of us if you’re dead on your feet.”
Maggie obeyed thankfully. She dropped onto her bed without even removing her dress and fell into a deep sleep that lasted twelve hours.
Steele grew worse by the hour. As the laudanum wore off, his ravings became more frantic.
“Rachel, don’t leave me,” he cried out in agony of body and mind. “I want to go with you. Come back, darling!” His tone changed. “I’ll be home soon, Lilah… back to you… to our lives. Trust me… wait for me.” The bland sound of his words turned quickly to anger. “You sonuvabitch! Don’t you ever lay a hand on my mother again or I’ll kill you! Get out! I’ll take care of her. You never even wanted to. Go to your ship. That’s all you love!”
Rainbow Hammock Page 16
