by Silver, Lily
“He can ride in the wagon. We’ll need a wagon to bring back a tree trunk as you require.” Donovan added. “That’s a good idea, Lizzie. You and Miss Ramirez will come with us. We’ll make it a picnic on the beach near the lagoon. What do you think, Miss Ramirez?” He looked to Elizabeth’s friend for support. “A chance for all of us to get out of the house for the afternoon.”
“Yes. How romantic.” Chloe Ramirez beamed at Donovan. “Madame, we can pick more greens and some bougainvillea to decorate the table for tonight’s feast. Oh, it will be such fun!”
Elizabeth intended to spend the day differently. And yet, Chloe, like Uncle Gareth, had an exuberance that could not be denied. The pair were well suited for one another, with their pleasant personalities and their combined spirit of adventure; they would deal well together.
The party set off as soon as they finished decorating the parlor for the evening’s party. Donovan even included the two younger stable boys. They were riding in the back of the wagon with Kieran and the women while the men rode beside the wagon on horseback. The weather was beautiful for Christmas Eve Day. The sun was shining and it was at least 80 degrees. The wind from sea kept them from becoming too hot. They moved slowly along the perimeter of the island, past the recently cut cane fields. They paused at the north settlement to enjoy some fresh lemonade at the insistence of one of the elderly women residing in a hut next to the road. Before Elizabeth realized it, people had gathered around to greet the new Lady Beaumont.
Elizabeth and Kieran were admired by the villagers for their vibrant red hair, as the inhabitants of the north settlement were all of African descent. Elizabeth was presented with trinkets from the children as the new mistress of Ravencrest Plantation. She was given a dried starfish by one child, a sweet biscuit by another, some polished stones from a third child and a strange little white disk not much bigger than a shilling that had a star symbol upon it. A young woman stepped forward to offer Elizabeth a necklace strung with tiny little conch shells.
She was pleased to meet this group of islanders, a different crowd than the fishermen and sailors of European descent who lived on the western edge, in the village near the harbor. These people were slaves her husband had freed when he took over the estate four years earlier. They remained on the island because beyond it the world was still hostile to those with dark skin. If they left, they might be forced into slavery again on another plantation by ruthless men. So, they created their own village and worked for Donovan for fair wages, helping him run the sugar mill and process the cane each harvest season. The arrangement worked to the advantage of both her husband and the men as they oversaw the cane harvest for many, many years before Donovan arrived and they were experts at the exacting sugaring process.
After their visit to the north settlement, Elizabeth and her companions meandered around to the eastern side of the island, near the lagoon. It was a lovely place to set up a picnic. The calm waters of the lagoon were lined with pure white sand. The waters were such a bold, vibrant turquoise blue they were breathtaking to behold. A grove of palms provided shelter from the sun. There, beneath the shade of the palm trees, two footmen awaited them with a picnic lunch of bread, cheese, sliced fruits and wine. It was a pleasant way to spend the afternoon, so much different than how it might have been if they were in England searching for a Yule log. They would hardly be able to go barefoot or move about comfortably in shirt sleeves. They would be struggling through the heavy snow, freezing, with their cloaks wet and their noses and cheeks turning red from being in the cold wind for so long. The only danger here, at least to Elizabeth and perhaps Mr. Marceau, was that of being sunburned, as they were new to the tropical climate.
Elizabeth could hardly believe this was Christmas Eve day, yet, here she was picnicking on the beach as if it were the middle of summer. The two stable boys removed their shoes and hose and started making a sand castle on the shore. Donovan and Uncle Gareth walked along the sand in their bare feet, examining various trunks of driftwood to claim as their Yule log for the salon. Chloe and Mr. Barnaby took to exploring the foliage and collecting plants while Mr. Marceau chatted with Kieran and Elizabeth in the shade of the palm grove.
It was a perfect day. Only Elizabeth’s younger brother, Michael, and her Grandfather were missing from the fun but both were resting as they hoped to attend tonight’s festivities.
Elizabeth took a sip of her wine and reflected upon the tranquility of the day. It truly was a good idea to take everyone out to the shore for the afternoon in a group outing. And surprisingly, it was her reclusive spouse who had instigated the event. Perhaps he was coming around. She smiled in his direction, pleased that her husband, who hated having people about him, was making an effort to socialize and provide some amusement for his houseguests. Until today Elizabeth had been forced to provide daily amusements for their guests while Donovan retreated to his laboratory to brood over his specimens and wee beasties.
The sandy swells near their shady picnic spot began to move. Elizabeth started and rose from the blanket quickly. What kind of creatures burrowed under the warm sand and were now making an abrupt exit? Snakes? Spiders? The thought came unbidden, and made her scream.
Donovan turned at the sound and came running to her side. The other men quickly came, astounded by the strange sight of the heaving, moving, bubbling sand.
“It’s all right, my sweet.” Donovan’s arms circled her waist as he stood beside her. “Sea Turtles lay their eggs and then leave them. The eggs hatch some time later. See, there?” He pointed out a tiny head emerging from the bubbling and roiling sand. “The first one to emerge.”
“Oh, look!” The stable boys left their building project and drew close to the emerging turtles. “A new batch.”
Little Gavin came to Elizabeth’s side and bestowed upon her a gap toothed grin as he was missing his two front teeth. “They’ll make for the sea, my lady. Just watch. They’ll all wiggle out of the nest their mama made, crawl along the shore and then disappear into the waves.”
Kieran and others who lived here for some time seemed unaffected by the sight of the earth giving birth to hundreds of tiny round disks with squirming legs and arching necks. They came to stand and watch the proceedings but didn’t appear overly inspired by the event.
Elizabeth opened her fan and began fanning herself quickly. She felt a little silly now for screaming and bringing everyone to her side. “Have you ever kept one?” She asked the boys, and then looked up at her husband for encouragement.
“I did, once.” Donovan admitted, giving a rare grin at the memory. “Gareth and I were swimming here as lads. We found a clutch of eggs emerging like this. We brought them home as pets, about four of them, I believe. We put them in the fountain out in the front drive.”
“What happened to them, sir?” Gavin asked with childish wonder. “Did they live in the fountain?”
“Yes.” Donovan chuckled, warming to his tale. “They did live, quite well, I’m told. After I left to return to my home in America, Gareth kept feeding them worms and grubs. The turtles grew so big that the fountain became too confining. They couldn’t swim any longer. They kept banging their shells against the sides, trying to escape. They needed to go to the sea as it is in their nature. Some of the fountain tiles have large cracks from that episode. My grandfather had men come with pulleys and a wagon to have the grown turtles removed.” He grimaced, his look telling her that the creatures didn’t fare well with the rest of the story.
Elizabeth shook her head and tipped it in the direction of the boys, who were hanging on Donovan’s words with awe. His eyes met hers for brief instant, agreeing that it was not right to spoil the children’s day with a gruesome tale of murdered pets.
“Did they get put into the sea, so they could find their brothers?” Gavin asked with childlike innocence.
“Yes, they were put in the water.” Donovan affirmed in a very odd tone.
Elizabeth knew what he was implying but maintained a sunny smile for th
e boys benefit. Put in water, indeed! Boiling water, as turtle soup was an island favorite. She hoped Gareth had been spared the gruesome sight of the destruction of his pets.
“How could they break the tiles?” Elizabeth wondered aloud. She had spent some time a few weeks ago wading and playing in the fountain. It was an old Spanish fountain with three tiers, with the lowest tier being ten feet in diameter and about two feet deep. She couldn’t imagine the little creatures with fins emerging from the sand causing such massive damage to the old fountain. The boys laughed at her question, and started slamming into each other like pretend turtles as they flapped their arms like fins.
“They become as big as a traveling trunk, my love, when they mature.”
She stared at him for a moment of disbelief and then looked to the moving disks in the sand.
“It’s true.” Kieran, her elder brother affirmed. He and Mr. Barnaby went back to their walk, with Mr. Marceau in tow. Clearly the men were not as fascinated by the event as she and the children were. It was a miracle, of sorts. A Christmas miracle of new life.
Gavin, seeing her glance with wonder at the tiny creatures, ran out amongst them and picked one up. He ran back to her and held it up in his palm for Elizabeth to examine.
Donovan leaned his head close to hers as she bent to study it. “Pick it up, dearest.”
She glanced at him with uncertainty, and then at Gavin, as if to check the validity of her husband’s claim. With his mischievous bent of late, she wasn’t sure about Donovan’s motives or his claims. He was acting like her fifteen year old brother, Michael.
Gavin nodded, and pushed his cupped hands toward her. “Take it, my lady. He’s just a baby, a newborn baby, like a kitten.”
Elizabeth held out her palm. The child slid the wriggling disk into it. She gasped in surprise as the tiny fins tickled her palm. She started and almost dropped the poor wee thing. Donovan’s big hand cupped hers from beneath, steadying her hold as her left arm was bound due to her broken wrist. It was a tiny miracle. A small creature abandoned by its mother before it emerged from its shell, forced to survive by racing toward the sea.
“They don’t all make it to the sea.” Gavin’s brother, Danny, explained as he pointed to a diving gull. The bird snatched a tiny disk up into its beak and soared up into the sky again. Soon, they heard the cries of several birds as they began circling the moving buffet.
“Oh, no!” Gavin and his brother said as one.
The boys dashed out onto the hot sand, determined to save the turtles from the birds. The boys were barefoot. Elizabeth wanted to follow them. She had kept her shoes on until this moment. She hurried to remove them. It was a struggle with one hand. Donovan helped her remove her shoes and hose. She scooped up an empty platter and went after the boys to help them in their quest. Donovan followed her and together, the four of them gathered up as many of the tiny creatures as they could and then quickly ran across the sand to dump them into the sea.
It was a battle of life and death, with the four of them acting as intervening angels. Donovan’s large hands scooped up dozens of them. The boys used their shirts like aprons, loading the wriggling shells into the makeshift pouches and then heading for the waves when they had a bulging load to drop.
“Some will be eaten by sea creatures.” Donovan told her as he helped her stack her plate with the newly hatched turtles and they carried it together to toss the hapless turtles into the rolling waves. “But most will survive. The mother lays thousands of eggs each year.”
“I cannot believe you would eat such darling little creatures.” She said, teasing him a little.
“Turtle soup is delicious, my pet.” He replied. “And no, we don’t make soup from these little imps. We toss them into the sea and allow them to mature.”
“I cannot talk you away from your disgusting soup, can I?”
Donovan rolled his shoulders. “It’s a staple in the Indies, dearest. And a luxury in England, I might add, imported and served only in the finest households. I could stop enjoying the dish to please you, but what of the rest of the world, my dear?”
Of course, he would counter her sentimental plea with logic.
Elizabeth picked up one disk with flailing fins and cupped it in her hand. “Good journey, little one. And please don’t visit me again on my husband’s dinner table.” With that, she tossed the little disk into the waves and stood on the shore gazing out at the curling waves. The turtles were beneath the shimmering surface of the water now, safely beyond one hurdle but destined to encounter more before they reached maturity.
Donovan’s arm slipped about her. He, too, was gazing at the sea. He seemed as pensive as she was as he watched the ocean swells come and go before them. “Do you like this dress?”
The question was odd. Elizabeth turned to him with a frown, not following his meaning. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”
“Do you like this dress?” He insisted again. “If so, I’ll buy you another just like it.”
“Why?” She asked.
Donovan slipped his arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms.
“Salt water is hard on clothing.” He shouted, running into the water with her in his arms. He didn’t stop until the water as up to his waist. The sea was warm and briny as it soaked into her dress. It felt nice, like a soothing bath. The waves buffeted them. “Keep your arm up.” He directed, and hefted her higher so her bound arm remained well above the water. “I don’t wish to have to rewrap the bracings when we return home.”
“You are a scoundrel, sir.” Elizabeth chided but with her lips turning up so in a broad grin she knew her words lacked force.
Donovan was smiling as he stood waist deep in the water cradling her in his arms. “I promised to teach you to swim a few months ago.” He reminded her. “And I keep my promises, my lady. Once your arm has healed we will begin your lessons. I just wanted you to feel the warmth of the ocean, love. It’s very soothing. It will be like having our own private Bath resort with no crowds like the one in England. We can swim in the sea whenever we wish, in private, in the moonlight.” The deepening of his voice at the last word implied much, as did his eyes.
Elizabeth sighed. She was being overcome by his romantic inclinations. He was a charming rogue if ever there was one. “I’ll expect you to keep that promise, my lord.”
His lips made good on the promise, as he engaged her in a slow, tender kiss that did much to make up for his earlier boyish pranks.
As they headed back to the plantation house a short time later, Elizabeth’s mind turned over the tasks still awaiting her. As she made list of the trappings of a traditional Christmas in England, she realized her efforts to recreate it here would not suffice. Her grandfather and her brother would see only the deficiencies in her efforts. Michael was already complaining about the Christmas pudding and it was not yet served to receive criticism.
Oh sure, she could substitute palm branches, vines and exotic tropical flowers for the traditional Christmas greenery. She asked the cook to make mango tarts instead of apple or cherry ones. She could offer crab and lobster cakes to her guests this evening instead of mince pies. She seemed to be aiming for the moon with a sling shot. Perhaps she had overextended herself and set everyone up for disappointment in this mad scheme.
It didn’t even feel like Christmas. The weather was balmy, perpetual summer. She missed the snow creating a magical landscape. She missed the enticing aroma of a plump Goose baking in the kitchen. This year, she would not have pine boughs, mistletoe or cedar greens festooning her new home. Perhaps she had worked and planned this past week for naught. All the important things she remembered about Christmastide as a child were missing.
By the time they returned to the manor house, Elizabeth’s insides were roiling with uneasiness. Tonight, she was to play hostess at a party for the first time in her married life. Tonight and tomorrow, she was responsible for providing a pleasant and memorable Christmas holiday for her household as the new mistress of Ravencrest
Estates.
For the first time, Elizabeth began to fear her plan would fail.
Chapter Five
The clock struck the hour of eight o’clock in the evening.
The family was gathered together in the salon. The feast was laid out on a large dining table. The greenery was hung about the walls and on every shelf, including the mantle. Michael was seated near the open windows with a cushion beneath his sore bum. Grandfather was seated next to him. The musicians were at the ready in the corner. Donovan and Uncle Gareth stood near the doors, and Kieran O’Flaherty was standing behind the punch table, ready to serve their guests. His left arm was in a sling due to his injured shoulder, but he would be ladling punch with his good hand into cups Donovan and Uncle Gareth would hold for him. Together, they would serve each servant their first cup of Christmas punch. After Elizabeth made her speech they would all lift their cups in a toast to good health, good friends and good fortunes.
At Elizabeth’s signal, Donovan and Uncle Gareth opened the closed salon doors to admit their guests--the household staff and all of her husband’s retainers on the island.
Elizabeth stood near the musicians in the far corner, surveying the proceedings. The candles had all been lit and the mock Yule Log, a rather large piece of dried driftwood, was in the hearth. They would not light it until midnight, after the air had cooled. The Yule Log was a wonderful symbol for this year’s Christmas. Burning the Yule Log meant burning away the past year’s mistakes, faults and bad luck in the flames and starting the New Year with a clean slate. As it was fitting for this First Christmas at Ravencrest, as they needed a fresh start and a chance at happiness.
