“Your aunt believes she is in communication with your mother’s spirit,” Celine said softly.
“I don’t merely believe it,” Ada clarified. “I do hear her.”
Celine said gently, “I’m sure that you do, Aunt Ada.”
“I’m sure that you don’t.” Cord was scowling so fiercely at his aunt that Celine reached out and took his hand.
Whatever anger was brewing in him passed like a summer squall at her touch. When he glanced down at Celine again he concentrated on her beautiful face.
“She thinks she talks to my mother and you believe her?”
“Who’s to say it’s not true?” Celine countered.
Cord looked at the two women and then threw his hands in the air. “I’ve not been around women for extended periods. I’m beginning to believe you are all addlepated.” He walked back to his place at the head of the table.
“I don’t want to discuss this again, Aunt, if you don’t mind,” he said once he was again seated.
“Tell us about what you learned yesterday,” Celine encouraged him, as much to change the subject as to gratify her curiosity about the workings of the plantation.
As Celine ate, she listened to Cord give a detailed, businesslike account of all that he had seen and heard yesterday. He praised his aunt for her smooth management and gave equal credit to a slave named Bobo.
Celine watched him talk, intent upon the way his hands moved, the nonchalant way he shifted comfortably in his chair. She was reminded of the way his body had moved over and inside her last night. She could not help but recall everything he had done and made her feel. She felt her color slowly rise again when she recalled crying out in wild abandon as he’d brought her to a climax. She could almost hear the way his voice had sounded when he’d reached his own release.
How could he seem so unaffected now? He gave no sign whatsoever that he’d been touched by what had passed between them.
“Are you all right, Celine?”
Cord was leaning toward her, watching her closely. She couldn’t look away from the depths of his dark eyes. Nor could she find many words.
“I … why, I …”
“You’re red as fire.”
“I’m fine. Really.” She looked down at her plate and began to mobilize a pile of peppers into a straight line.
“Did you get any sleep, dear?” Ada leaned forward, her hands resting on the edge of the table.
Celine felt herself grow even hotter. “Yes, certainly.”
Cord, thankfully, did not comment, but when Celine glanced over at him, she saw a hint of a smile tickling his lips.
“What did you say you were going to do?” Celine asked, swiftly moving the topic away from herself.
Cord sobered. “I’m going to see how much more labor we’ll need in order to maintain the house as well as the crops. Perhaps you can oversee the garden and housework gangs for me?”
Celine nodded, thrilled she’d have a part in bringing the house to life again. “Do you want it exactly the way it was?”
“We have no plans to go by.”
It was more than apparent that he did care, but did not want to make it seem so. Celine was thankful she had the images from his memories to guide her.
“I can ask Alyce what the place looked like,” Ada volunteered.
Cord massaged a point above the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“I’m going down to the mill,” he told them. “I can’t waste any more time talking about consulting ghosts.” He pushed back his chair and stood up.
“Have I upset you, Cordero dear?” Ada was wringing her plump hands. There was a shimmer of tears in her eyes.
Cord had noticed, too, and rounded the corner of the table to hunker down beside his aunt’s chair. He reached out and covered both her hands with one of his. As he smiled up at Ada, Celine made a significant discovery: This man who tried so hard not to show his vulnerability to anyone had a smile that could charm the hide off a goat.
“Aunt Ada, I’m not upset.”
“But you don’t believe me about Alyce, do you?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Ada sighed. “Your mother’s disappointed to hear that,” she said.
Cord stood up and found Celine watching him closely. A knowing smile teased the corners of her mouth, the most delectable one he had ever tasted. Backlit by the windows, she sat with sunlight shimmering through her long, unbound hair. There was a smudge of jam on her lower lip and as he watched, the tip of her tongue peeked out to lick it away, removing the temptation for him to do it for her.
When she had walked into the room earlier, he’d felt himself quicken. Had it not been for his aunt’s presence and his willpower, he would have pulled her up out of her chair and carried her back upstairs for another round in bed.
Having caught his stare, Celine studiously ignored him, her cheeks aflame and her head bowed over her plate as if she were more interested in food than anything else in the world. He walked around the table and stopped beside her chair and almost reached out for her hand the way he had his aunt’s, but he stopped himself, determined to keep whatever intimacy they shared behind closed doors. It would do no good to let himself become dependent upon her nearness.
“I’m not sure when I’ll return,” he said.
She looked up, her cheeks on fire, her eyes sparkling with life and promise. Despite his resolve to see to the estate, he was ready to haul her into his arms, carry her up the stairs and lock them in a room for the rest of the day.
But before he could move, the door flew open without warning and Gunnie burst in. She started to address Ada, remembered Cord and turned to him.
“Obeah man be here. Trouble at de door.” The fright in her eyes spoke volumes.
Celine set down her fork with a clatter. Ada stood and nervously began poking her fingers into her hair, trying to arrange it. Cord let Gunnie lead the way.
They found a group of nearly thirty slaves gathered at the back door between the building that housed the kitchen and the veranda. He had met many of them just yesterday. All of them had been curious; none of them had been as hostile as they appeared now.
The men were openly scowling, the women frightened. The children were ominously quiet, some clinging to their mother’s skirts. In the center of the group stood a toothless, stooped old slave. In hands knotted with arthritis, he clutched a walking staff—a rattle ornamented with cat’s teeth and shells. A goat hide was draped over his skeletal shoulders. Bobo, who towered over the old man, stood beside him.
Celine put her arm around Ada’s waist. Cord stepped away from them and walked to the edge of the veranda. Before he could say a word, Bobo addressed him.
“Some folks went to market yestiddy. Dey hear all about a witch. Folks say she de one come here with you. She make one ship go down. Obeah man he come see.”
Cord glanced over his shoulder at Celine. She had lost all color.
“Step up here beside me, Celine.” He tried to keep his voice calm and even, tried not to frighten her any more than she already was. He wanted to be beside her if she fainted.
When she moved to the edge of the veranda, a hushed whisper rippled through the gathered slaves. Cord slipped his hand around her waist and gave her a slight, encouraging squeeze.
The obeah man took a step forward, craned his neck to look at her and held his rattle extended before him in protection.
Cord took her hand and addressed the crowd. “This is my wife. She is a good witch. A very powerful good witch.” His voice was full of authority.
Celine gasped. “What are you saying?”
“Trust me,” he whispered.
Celine stared up at him in disbelief and then looked back at the crowd. Dark eyes filled with suspicion stared back. The obeah man’s eyes were the most fathomless of all. One look told her that he possessed otherworldly power, but whether he used it for good or evil, she could not be certain. The power she saw in his eyes did not extend to his body. He was bent an
d twisted with age, so much so that it pained Celine to watch him move. He stepped forward, his swollen, knobby knuckles protruding as he clutched the rattle tighter and fiercely shook it at her.
“I tro grabe durtty upon you!” he shouted.
“What is he saying?” Celine gripped Cord’s hand tighter.
“ ‘I’ll throw grave dirt on you.’ It’s a curse. If the guilty come in contact with grave dirt, they weaken and die. His obeah, or magic, can kill those who believe.”
Celine stiffened. No magician was going to frighten her with false accusations.
“I suspect this is a bid to show he has more power than you,” Cord whispered.
“That’s ridiculous. I don’t want to usurp his position,” she whispered back. “Tell them I’m no witch.”
“They have already heard otherwise and will never believe me. They need to know that you’ll do them no harm, and so they have gone to him for protection. Magic fills the void in their lives. Their beliefs run very deep.”
She nodded, let go of his hand and took a step toward the edge of the veranda so that she could speak directly to the slaves.
“You have been here much longer than I. This is your home as much as mine. I swear I will not harm any of you.” She glanced up at Cord. “Neither will my husband.”
Cord was proud of her courage in a situation where most other women would have swooned. Celine stood straight and proud as the trade winds lifted the ends of her hair and fanned it around her shoulders. She tried to make eye contact with each of the slaves in the throng.
When Cord stepped up beside her and took her hand again, she felt a rush of warmth and gratitude.
“I have come home to make this place better for all,” he began. “My wife will help me. She—”
Suddenly a soul-shattering scream rent the air. A frantic woman darted through an opening in the overgrown shrubbery that surrounded the yard. Celine watched in startled fascination as the slave ran up to Bobo, clutched his hand and babbled uncontrollably between sobs.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” Celine asked, tugging on Cord’s hand.
The crowd no longer concentrated on Celine, but on the hysterically sobbing woman. All attention had been diverted from the obeah man and his challenge.
“She’s Bobo’s wife. Their little boy is missing.” Cord ran down the stairs and Celine plunged after him, the crowd parting to let them move up beside the gang boss.
The obeah man stood forgotten on the edge of the crowd. The unveiled threat in his eyes chilled Celine to the bone.
Ada came up beside her. “What’s happening? What is the trouble?”
“Bobo’s child is missing.” Celine’s heart went out to the young, distraught mother, who stood beside her husband sobbing her heart out.
As Ada began to lament the disaster, Celine tried to ignore the obeah man’s ominous glances. The slaves near her had stepped back a few paces, fear and distrust reflected in their eyes and postures.
Cord glanced around at the seventy or so people surrounding them and slipped his arm around her shoulder, drawing her to his side.
“The boy has been missing for almost two hours. He’s only six,” he explained.
As she stared at the young mother who was not much older than herself, Celine felt plunged into conflict. There was a chance she could learn something of the child’s past that might help divine his whereabouts, but it would put her in danger of escalating the slaves’ fear. Still, as she looked at Bobo and his wife, she realized she could not turn her back on the situation to save herself. Persa had warned her that there could come a time she would be forced to use her gift to do what was right even though the cost to herself might be high.
“Trust me,” she whispered to Cord. “Tell them I want to hold the girl’s hand.”
“What are you doing? This isn’t the time for theatrics.”
Celine knew that if the hard look in Cord’s eyes was any indication, there would be no changing his mind. The huge gang boss was her only hope.
She turned to Bobo.
“If I could hold your wife’s hand, I might be able to help find your boy.”
When Bobo stared down at her as if he hadn’t understood a word she’d said, she repeated her request slowly and then added, “I will not harm any of you, most especially the child.”
Bobo stared at his distraught wife. Celine could see that he was riddled with fear and indecision.
“Please. There’s no time to lose,” she prodded.
Bobo grabbed his wife’s arm and thrust her hand at Celine.
Celine took the young woman’s hand in both of hers. She had to hold tight, for Bobo’s wife was so frightened she tried to pull away.
“Tell her to relax and think of a place the child loves to play.”
“Celine—” There was a warning note in Cord’s tone.
“Tell her,” Celine urged.
Bobo spoke to his woman in a rush.
Celine shut everyone else out and opened her mind to the slave girl’s memories. At first she felt nothing, then her vision began to dim.
The bowels of a ship. Below the ’tween decks. Row upon row of shelves. No, not shelves, beds. All of them filled with bodies, some half alive, others dead. Misery, filth and offal. The clank of chains. Moaning, lost souls, too weak to cry. Sickness. Death and fever. Fear coupled with terror.
“Celine!”
She felt Cord’s fingers dig into her shoulder. She had tapped into the wrong memory and was forced to open her eyes and wait for her vision to clear. Swallowing lungfuls of air, she tried to clear the horror of the slave ship out of her mind.
“What in the hell happened?” Cord sounded more afraid than angry.
“I’m fine. Tell her …” Celine brought herself to look at the girl, suddenly ashamed of her own place in a world that looked upon slavery as a necessary evil. “Tell her to think of the child, only the child, and of his favorite places.”
“Stop this now.”
She heard Cord’s concern under the anger in his tone.
“I can’t. Not when I might be able to save the boy,” she said.
Cord glanced around the crowd. They had pressed in close, waiting and watching the white witch. Bobo spoke quickly to his wife and then nodded at Celine.
“Again. Try again,” he said.
A horse. Gray with a ragged mane. A bright, shiny pink shell. Bananas. Water, crystal clear and splashing. Not the sea. Clear water. Falling. Tumbling over rocks. Thundering into a pool. Sparkling like diamonds on moss and ferns. A waterfall. Overwhelming joy. A child scrambling up the slippery rocks. Pride and fear as she pulls him back. No! Do not go near the water. Too near. Do not fall!
Celine tore her concentration away from the images, let go of Bobo’s woman’s hand and took a deep breath. When she felt steady again, she looked over at Cord. He was glaring at her.
“I think I know where the child might be,” she said.
Fourteen
“What are you trying to do?” Cord ground the words out close to her ear. “Are you insane?”
“I’m trying to save a child.”
“Or get yourself killed. Look.” He nodded toward the old man.
She glanced over at the obeah man. One look at him convinced her that she should she speak out, she would make an enemy.
But with a child’s life in danger, she had no choice except to act. Ignoring both Cord, who was furious, and the obeah man and his penetrating stare, Celine spoke directly to Bobo.
“Is there a waterfall nearby?”
Bobo backed away from her a step. She read dawning understanding and awe where an instant ago his dark eyes had only harbored suspicion.
Slowly he nodded, then tossed words at his woman that Celine could not understand. Together Bobo and his wife shoved their way through the crowd and quickly disappeared beyond the tangled hedge. The crowd slowly dispersed, some running after Bobo, a few gathering near the obeah man and casting wary glances in Celine’s direction.
“Do you know of a waterfall nearby?” She laid her hand on Cord’s sleeve.
“I want to know what you’re up to—”
“There isn’t time. Please, Cordero, I’ll explain later.”
“We’ll take my horse.”
The commotion had drawn Foster and Edward outside. They took up positions on either side of Celine and Ada while Cord unhitched the huge white horse tied near a trough filled with moss-covered water. He mounted up before he rode over to Celine, who waited expectantly until he held out his hand and pulled her up in front of him.
Once she was safely mounted, Cord deftly held the reins and urged the horse forward. They thundered past the obeah man and the few lingerers in the yard.
Celine heard Ada call after them to take care. After that, it was all she could do to concentrate on keeping her seat while Cord kicked his horse into a full-out run. Unaccustomed to the jarring motion and terrified that she would slip and fall beneath the great animal’s flashing hooves, Celine held tight to the pommel on the leather saddle.
They passed the men and women running down the road, Bobo in the lead, and soon left them behind. The jungle undergrowth beside the road gave way as they ascended a bare hillside, then came down the other side. Here the terrain was more rugged, the wind stronger as it swept unimpeded over the crest of the hill. The path they took wound its way through rugged volcanic rock and sunburned brush before it dipped down into a ravine filled with foliage.
The waterfall and the deep, fathomless pool below it had been one of Cord’s favorite childhood spots. There had been many lonely days in Louisiana when he would dream of returning to St. Stephen and diving into the pool fed by a mountain spring.
The reality of this moment was quite different as he let his horse negotiate the rocky hillside down to the pool. The roar of the waterfall was thunderous. Mist drifted in the small, secluded glen. The bank around the pool and the stream that fell away from it were slick with moisture and rock. Cord was barely able to contain his fury as they rode into the glen.
“This is nothing but a wild-goose chase—”
“Look!”
His gaze shot in the direction in which Celine pointed. It took him a moment to make out the figure of the small, naked child against the black volcanic rock. The boy was perched halfway up the side of the waterfall on a narrow rock ledge, frozen with fear as he clung to a vine draped across the stones. His eyes were wide with terror as he pressed his back against the rock.
Day Dreamer Page 20
