Decision and Destiny
Page 2
He was halfway to the stables when Paul stepped out of the circle of men. Charmaine held her breath when they reached each other and Paul initiated an exchange, a concise remark she couldn’t hear. John waved a letter in his brother’s face: one single solitary letter. He spoke next, another short phrase that drew Paul around and sent his eyes traveling up the face of the mansion. Within a moment, he found her, a smile breaking across his lips. Charmaine shook her head. John must have known she was standing there, watching them. How had he known? Or had he? He was probably playing Paul for the fool and got lucky.
John disappeared into the stable, emerging minutes later with a great black stallion in tow: Phantom, according to the twins. The proud beast fought the bridle, his sable coat shimmering in the late morning sun.
A groom led another horse out. When George took the reins, Paul threw his hands up. “I won’t be long!” George called from the saddle.
Everyone seemed to be waiting for John to mount up as well. No one, not even Paul, rode the “demon of the stable,” so dubbed because he was constantly breaking out of his stall, jumping the corral fencing, evading stablehands or nipping the other horses. Great care was taken to segregate him. Clearly, John intended to do what his brother had the good sense to avoid, and Charmaine planned to laugh loudly when the stallion threw him onto his conceited rear end.
The steed was growing zealous for the freedom of the road, pulling fiercely at the bit, but John appeared oblivious as he conversed with George. He casually produced something from his shirt pocket and raised it to the animal’s large muzzle. The horse gobbled it up. John stroked his satin flank and then, with one fluid motion, swung into the saddle. The horse bolted, but John reined him in, his momentum ending in a lunging halt. With a loud whinny and a violent shake of his huge head, the horse began to circle in place. Charmaine snickered; the man was no horseman. Finally, a weakness to exploit when the moment was ripe!
“He’s rarin’ to go!” George averred. “He hasn’t been ridden in ages.”
John concurred. “I see my brother wasn’t brave enough to work him out!”
“No, John, I value my neck too much!” Paul called back. “If he throws you, it will be your own folly. You won’t control him until he’s had a good long run!”
“We’ll see, Paulie,” John countered. “It won’t take him long to remember all the tricks.”
As if to fortify his contention, he leaned forward and patted the animal’s sleek neck. A nudge to the flank, and the beast trotted toward Paul. John reached out and ruffled his brother’s hair, laughing heartily as the horse completed a wide sweep of the area, hooves tapping out a perfect rhythm on the cobblestone drive. John snapped the reins hard, and the steed shot forward, speeding past George and exiting the compound, his legs a blur, tail and mane sailing in the wind. George spurred his own mount into motion and followed in hot pursuit, disappearing in a cloud of dust kicked up by the vagabond stallion.
Charmaine stepped out of the house and felt liberated. The children were gay, chasing butterflies and picking exotic flowers that grew with abandon in the grassy fields. Though it was hot, the sky was a deep azure and the breeze carried the sweet scent of ocean spray. The tropical paradise was a balm for her turbulent mind, a welcome respite from days of sequestration in the nursery.
They traipsed northwest through three fields, their destination a special picnicking spot the twins had chosen. Ahead was a wooded area, breached only by a dark, narrow path of craggy rocks that appeared to lead nowhere. They entered the copse, trudging up an incline that wasn’t quite as treacherous as Charmaine had at first imagined. Soon the path leveled off and quite unexpectedly, opened onto a lush, grassy bluff that was enclosed on three sides by thick foliage. The western edge offered a lofty view of the ocean, a breathtaking vista.
“Oh, girls, this is just beautiful,” Charmaine sighed, returning their ebullient smiles. “Look at the flowers! And the sea—look how it shimmers in the sun!”
They giggled in reply, setting down the picnic basket. With her help, they spread a blanket in the shade of a tall cotton tree and laid out the bounty Fatima had packed for them: fried chicken, crusty bread, fresh oranges and bananas, cookies, and lemonade. Charmaine remembered many an evening in her impoverished home where soup and bread were the main course, portioned over a few days to make it last. If she were lucky, a feast such as this would adorn their Christmas table. She silently thanked God for her good fortune and prosperity this day. If only her mother could know how happy her life had become.
They delved into lunch, famished after their long hike. Even Pierre ate heartily, and Charmaine chuckled as he stuffed a third cookie into his greasy mouth. She wiped his face and hands clean as he squirmed away. Then he settled on the other side of the blanket and fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, content to take his afternoon nap in the open air.
John meandered into the kitchen in an attempt to shrug off the boredom that pervaded the study. The afternoon was drawing on, and there was no sign that lunch would be served any time soon. He had declined George’s invitation to eat at Dulcie’s. He wasn’t in the mood to mingle with the men who caroused there. So, he returned alone. He’d grown accustomed to being alone, and most of the time, he preferred it that way. But now he was hungry.
“’Afternoon, Master John,” Fatima greeted as she bustled around the sweltering room, setting a tray of warm muffins on the kitchen table.
“Good day, Cookie,” he returned as he sat down. “God, it’s hot in here! I still say that stove should be out in the cookhouse where it belongs.”
“Mind your mouth and don’t be giving your pa any ideas,” she warned. “I like it right here. Saves me a lot of running. And don’t go touching those muffins!” she threatened, catching sight of his avid eyes on them. “They’re for dinner.”
“I’m not after your muffins, but it’s nearly two. Where’s lunch?”
His question drew a grumble from Fatima, who was now stoking the oven. As she bent over, John snatched a muffin and concealed it under the table.
“There ain’t no table lunch today, Master John.”
“And why is that? Are you holding out for a raise in wages?”
“You know me better than that,” she chided, well aware he teased her. “I already sent a tray of food up to your pa and Missus Agatha. I didn’t expect you back for lunch.”
“What about the children and their governess?” John asked, stealing a bite of his muffin when Fatima visited the pantry and dropped potatoes into her apron.
“Miss Charmaine took the children on a picnic,” she explained, turning back to the table to dump them there. “I fixed them a basket of food before they left.”
“A picnic?”
Fatima eyed him suspiciously. “I know what you’re thinking, Master John.”
“What am I thinking?”
“If you’re hungry, I’ll fix you something, just leave Miss Charmaine alone.”
“Leave her alone?”
“I heard you picking on her last night. She’s a nice girl, and she don’t know you. So you leave her be, before you frighten her right out of this house.”
Fatima fetched a loaf of bread to make him a sandwich.
“A nice girl, eh?” he asked skeptically, grabbing another muffin and raising it to his mouth. “I keep hearing that. George is sweet on her, and my brother—”
His words were cut short when Fatima caught him red-handed. “My muffins!” she bellowed. “Now you put that back before I take a stick to you!”
John scrambled from the chair and was out the back door before she could maneuver her wide girth around the table. He sidestepped several frantic chickens that squawked as they scattered out of his way, then he nearly got tangled in the laundry on the clothesline. But he laughed loudly, knowing he’d escaped her.
“Go on, now,” she scolded from the doorway, shaking a knife at him, “and don’t you come back here ’til dinner!”
He tipped his cap, bowed
cordially, and walked down the back lawn, chewing on the warm muffin he’d nearly swallowed whole. It only whetted his appetite; now he was really hungry. He knew where he could eat—and a fine lunch at that! He laughed again, realizing the afternoon would not be boring after all. Poor Miss Ryan! She’d be alone with him; no Paul to come to her rescue. Well, at least the children would be pleased to see him. His destination was simple, since he knew exactly where they’d be enjoying their picnic.
Charmaine removed her bonnet, relaxed on the blanket, and took in her surroundings again. “How romantic,” she murmured, imagining herself in this paradise with Paul. “How ever did you girls find this place?”
“We didn’t,” Yvette replied matter-of-factly, “Johnny did. A long time ago.”
At the mention of the man’s name, Charmaine’s eyes darted around, searching the shaded areas. He’s not going to jump out at me, she reasoned. He rode o
“What’s the matter, Mademoiselle Charmaine?” Jeannette asked.
“Nothing. Tell me more about this spot. When did John show it to you?”
“When Mama was well. When we were little.”
“And if we close our eyes,” Yvette said, “we can pretend she is with us…”
Jeannette did as her sister suggested, and Charmaine indulged their poignant fantasy. “You mentioned John,” she finally said. “He discovered this place?”
Yvette nodded. “When he was a boy, he used to go on expeditions with George. That’s when they found these cliffs. Johnny swore George to secrecy. He told us, from then on, whenever he got angry with Paul or Papa, he would come to this hideaway because it was the one place on the island Paul didn’t know about, the one place where he could be alone. When he knew we could be trusted, he brought us here, too. But we had to promise never to tell Paul.”
Charmaine gritted her teeth. The gall of the man—setting the children against Paul.
“I decided you could be trusted, too,” Yvette added thoughtfully. “And if…”
“And if what?” Charmaine asked suspiciously.
“And if Johnny wants company today, he’s sure to look for us here.”
Wants company? First he has to return from town, then discover we’ve left the house. Certain both could not possibly happen, Charmaine dismissed the thought, pleased when Yvette suggested a game of hide-and-seek.
She and her sister scurried off, declaring their governess the seeker and the blanket, “home.” Charmaine covered her eyes and counted to fifty. Then she scanned the far edges of the encroaching forest, searching for any movement that would betray the girls’ hiding places.
The crunch of leaves caught her ear, and she headed down the path by which they’d arrived. A snapping twig pointed to the brambles straight ahead. Determined to surprise them, she broke into a run and rounded the brush at top speed, lunging to a sudden halt when she nearly landed in John’s arms, her bun falling loose and spilling its bounty onto her shoulders.
“Well, now,” he exclaimed, “I didn’t expect you to be that happy to see me!”
Fuming, she snubbed him, making a great show of turning away.
“Aren’t you going to tag me?” he pressed.
“No!” she threw over her shoulder as she stomped back to the clearing, pulling pins free of her hair. Unfortunately, the man fell in step alongside her.
“Johnny!” Yvette and Jeannette called in tandem, running from opposite sides of the bluff to greet him. “You did find us!”
“I was looking for lunch, and Cookie told me she packed a picnic for you.”
“You can have some!” Jeannette offered, pointing to the leftover food.
John walked over to the blanket and stared down at the slumbering Pierre. After a moment, he lifted a discarded plate and piled it high with food. Then he settled against the trunk of a tree and delved into his meal. Yvette sat next to him, while Jeannette prepared him a plate of cookies.
They ignored Charmaine, who continued to simmer as she coifed her hair. He obviously intended to stay. After an interminable silence, she found the nerve to speak. “Do you always intrude upon people uninvited?”
“Only when it’s worth it. And always when they’re unsuspecting.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“Let’s take you for example: My, my, the secrets I’ve uncovered by intruding on you!” His eyes twinkled, but he waved away her displeasure with the chicken bone he held, tossing it over his shoulder.
“Today I’m only intruding for lunch. This is delicious. The blisters I got on the journey here were a small price to pay.”
Charmaine bit her tongue and focused on cleaning up, grateful when the twins engaged his attention, asking him for stories about America.
Their voices woke Pierre, who sat up, rubbed his sleepy eyes, and smiled when he recognized John. Yawning, he left the blanket and walked deliberately toward the man, made a fist, and plunged a targeted punch into his shoulder.
“Pierre!” Charmaine cried in disbelief. The boy had never raised a hand to anyone before. She feared John’s reaction, certain he’d use the child’s bad behavior to discredit her. Instead, he doubled over as if seriously injured and, with a loud groan, flopped to the grass, where he lay perfectly still.
With great trepidation, Pierre stepped closer, oblivious of his sisters, who were winking at one another. No sooner had he crouched down, and John’s eyes popped open with the cry: “Boo!” Pierre jumped, then chortled in glee, not satisfied until he’d played “boo” three more times.
When John tired of the game, he drew the boy into his lap, pulled his cap from his back pocket, and placed it on Pierre’s head. It was too large and slid over his eyes and nose. Only his grinning lips were visible.
Charmaine leaned back against the tree and watched them guardedly. Pierre was warming up to his elder brother. Just what she needed, a third child begging to see John all day long.
“How’d ya get here?” the boy asked, peering up at John from under the cap.
“On Fang, silly!” Yvette interjected, casting all-knowing eyes to John.
“Fang?” Charmaine asked.
“Johnny’s horse,” Yvette replied presumptuously.
“Horse?” Charmaine expostulated, turning accusatory eyes upon the man. “I’m sure you’ll never recover from your large blisters.”
“I said I had blisters,” he rejoined, “I didn’t say where.”
The girls bubbled with laughter.
Charmaine was not amused. “Your horse’s name is Fang? If it’s the horse you were riding this morning, I thought his name was Phantom.”
“The grooms call him that because of his bad manners. A phantom stallion. Surely you’ve heard that expression before, my Charm?”
“Of course I have!” she snapped, thinking: like master, like horse.
John’s smile broadened. “Anyway, his real name is Fang.”
“Fang,” she repeated sarcastically, “why, that’s a dog’s name.”
“Dog or horse, it’s still an animal’s name.” John winked at Yvette when Charmaine turned away. “And he was given the name for a very good reason.”
On cue, Yvette skipped to Charmaine and grabbed her hand, insisting she examine the horse so she would understand his bizarre name. “Come, Mademoiselle Charmaine, we’ll show you.”
Unwittingly, she was drawn into the girl’s enthusiasm, and before she could object, was trekking the pathway with Yvette. She glanced over her shoulder to find John close behind, Jeannette at his side and Pierre on his shoulders.
The boy attempted to wave from his lofty perch, but quickly changed his mind, clasping both hands over John’s eyes. John peeled them away with the complaint: “I can’t see, Pierre! If I trip, we’ll be like Humpty Dumpty and all fall down.” Charmaine giggled when the three-year-old let go of John’s face only to grab fistfuls of his hair.
“That’s not Humpty Dumpty,” he dec
lared, “that’s Ring a Ring a Rosy.”
Moments later, they found “Fang” grazing in the middle of a wild field, his great head bent to the long grass, his tail swishing in the breeze.
“Come quickly!” Yvette urged, breaking into a run.
“Yvette!” John shouted. “Wait for me.”
She stopped immediately, arms akimbo. “Then hurry up!”
When he reached her, he set Pierre down and squatted, looking her straight in the eye. “I’ve told you never to go near Fang without me. I thought you understood.”
Yvette bowed her head. “But—”
“There are no buts, Yvette. The horse can be dangerous if he’s startled. You are not to go near him unless you are with me. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she replied meekly.
John’s genuine concern surprised Charmaine. After patting Yvette’s back, he placed his cap on her head, a privilege that regained her friendship. Now she tugged at his hand and called for Charmaine to follow.
“So, this is Fang,” Charmaine remarked apprehensively, jumping when the horse shook its head.
“Yes,” John acknowledged, stroking the black mane, “this is my horse.” He threw an arm over the animal’s neck and proceeded to introduce them. “Fang, this is Miss Ryan, formerly of Richmond, Virginia. Miss Ryan, this is Fang, my loyal steed.”
The twins were giggling, and Pierre joined in.
Suddenly, the horse stepped forward and, to John’s delight, neighed a greeting that petrified Charmaine. “That means ‘pleased to make your acquaintance’ in horse talk,” he explained, drawing more laughter from the children.
Charmaine smiled in spite of herself.
“Do you like him, Mademoiselle Charmaine?” Jeannette asked.
“He is quite remarkable,” she replied nervously, “however, I have yet to see why he’s named Fang. I still say that’s a dog’s name.”
John stepped closer. “You use the perfect word to describe Fang, Miss Ryan,” he replied, taking hold of her wrist to lead her nearer the steed. “You see, Fang has a remarkable characteristic that distinguishes him from other horses.”