Till Dawn Tames the Night

by Meagan Mckinney

  "You know that was just a sham for Ignatio. I've ex­plained that a million times." He shifted his weight. "Lis­ten, why don't you just sit here next to me. Perhaps a buss or two on the cheek will calm you down."

  Flossie froze. She clutched her chest in a rather melo­dramatic gesture. "And that's another thing! No more kisses! I asked you here to discuss Aurora, not to be kissed. You've already done that five times since our din­ner at the governor's, and I will no longer permit it to continue."

  "I rather thought you liked it—"

  "Good heavens, certainly not!" she gasped. "It's the most improper, shocking display—"

  "C'mon Flossie, I thought you rather liked me chasing you around the table the other day." Isaac grinned wolfishly.

  "I did not!" If she'd had her black parasol, she would have bopped him on the head. "No lady of quality would have enjoyed that."

  "Well, perhaps no lady of quality would. But you did. I heard you giggling the entire way around."

  "Whatever are you implying? That I'm not a lady?" Her voice rose several notes.

  "You look like a lady to me, Flossie, but what do I know? I haven't met too many ladies in my lifetime." He shrugged.

  "Well, I am one, I assure you of that! And I do not enjoy this vulgar pursuit of yours!" She began pacing again. "So with that out of our way, I implore you to reconsider helping poor Aurora. That man will eat her alive! You can see that! I shudder to think what might happen to the child if left too long in Vashon's clutches."

  "It seems to me she's holding up pretty well against him. If anything, he's the one who's falling. I wouldn't have ever thought Vashon could fall in love, and if you'd told me a year ago he'd succumb to some spinsterish little schoolteacher, I'd've thought you were plumb out of your mind. But now, the way he talks about her, I can see she's under his skin, all right."

  "However does he talk about her?" Flossie asked in­credulously.

  "With the most passionate contempt I've ever heard him utter."

  Flossie looked confused.

  Isaac shook his head. "Believe me, Flo, I've never seen anything like it. Vashon has had his share of women, and there was one in Paris one summer—you know, one of the fallen nobility, a pretty thing with blond curls and an angelic expression—that I really thought he was growing attached to. But nothing came of it. He tired of her soon enough, and moved on. His relationships invariably begin with lust and end with boredom. But somehow Aurora hasn't produced that reaction. I have to admit I thought he'd change after he jumped her in Grand Talimen, but now he's almost frothing at the mouth with contempt for her."

  "We will not speak of that," she admonished, her plump cheeks turning a pretty pink.

  He looked at her, pacing back and forth in front of him. Suddenly he flung his arms around her and pulled her onto the settee. "Grand idea, Flo, let's quit talking."

  "Unhand me, sir!" She wriggled on top of him; the settee groaned with their generous weight.

  "C'mon, just a bit of sugar." He tried to kiss her; she tried to slap him. "That's right," he said playfully, fend­ing off her blows. "I like my lassies with a little fire."

  "This must stop, Captain!" she gasped after he found, her lips for one short kiss. "We're not a couple of lovesick children! Recover your dignity at once!"

  "Flo, listen here, now. No one'll be the wiser," he said when she finally beat him back.

  "I'll be the wiser," she said, heaving herself to her feet without assistance. "And I'm a widow, if you'd take your hands off me long enough to see the color of my garb."

  "Your man Lindstrom's been gone for years and years, Flossie. Don't you ever get lonely?"

  She patted her face with a handkerchief embroidered in black. "Of course I get lonely. But I remind you I'm not a young girl. I'm not some trollop ready to go rolling in the hay."

  "I know that, Flo. But . . . well . . . truth to tell, I'm nigh on to three score years, and I'd feel damn fool­ish rolling with either a trollop or a young girl."

  "Oh, good heavens, such language!" She fanned herself with her handkerchief.

  "C'mon. Old Lindstrom'd understand."

  "I won't even consider such a thing with a man who is not my husband."

  "Well, I'm ship's captain, and as far as the law's con­cerned, I've just pronounced us married." He stood.

  Flossie backed against the large drum table centered in the room and fanned herself furiously with the limp linen square. "You have lost your mind, Isaac. What are you thinking of?"

  Isaac's gaze wandered to the adjoining room where Flossie's bedstead stood draped in bleached muslin. "Well, I have to say I'm thinking the worst," he admit­ted.

  "Oh, my heavens . . . I can't believe you even mean this."

  He walked toward her and slowly untied his shirt, re­vealing a bearlike covering of gray hair on his chest. "Flossie, now, come along. You know it's been a long time for both of us. How many children did you say you had? Thirteen? Fourteen? Enough to know you damn well liked it."

  "Oh, dear Lord!" Flossie swooned, placing the back of her hand on her brow and staggering backward.

  Isaac caught her wide waist in the crook of his arm. His hand rose to her delicate white lace collar. "You know I've been meaning to tell you, you look quite fetch­ing in this. It's a damned improvement to these weeds." His eyes moved lower. "And how do these weeds come off? Are there laces here, or—"

  "No, no, no!" She pulled away, blushing.

  "You don't expect not to take your clothes off, do you?"

  Flossie just stood there, wide-eyed and flame-red.

  "Well, I'll take mine off first, then when you see I'm not ashamed, we'll coax you out of yours."

  "You are an unforgivably bold man, Isaac Corbeil. Your kisses were wicked enough, but this, this!" she said in a strangled voice.

  "I'm sorry. I just don't know how to do it any other way."

  "I couldn't possibly!"

  "Oh, you can. Here, how about a buss to loosen you up?" He grabbed for her, but she trotted away.

  "Isaac, enough of this insanity. We're too old for this!"

  "Well, I know I'm not too old, and if you'd just let me have, pardon me, my way with you, you may see you're not too old either."

  Flossie gasped. "Such talk! Such wickedness! Where are those smelling salts?"

  "You don't need those smelling salts, and you aren't going to faint, either." He grabbed her and this time held fast. He gave her a long, passionate kiss, and when they parted Flossie looked as if she'd been drugged.

  "Are you ready?" he whispered.

  She sounded a weak protest. He took her hand and beckoned her into the bedroom.

  The doors were closed behind them. It was quiet for a moment, then Flossie exclaimed, "No, no, Isaac! You can't corner me into doing this! And put your shirt back on!"

  Two heavy thuds sounded and Flossie burst out, "Why are you taking off your boots?"

  Isaac could be heard chuckling, then Flossie cried out, "Not the belt!"

  The large pewter buckle hit the floorboards with a clunk.

  There were more feverish denials and shocked excla­mations emanating from the bedroom—until Isaac's last garment slid to the floor. Upon that, Flossie gasped, "Good heavens, Isaac. You're a Jew!"

  Then silence reigned.

  For at least an hour.

  Chapter Twenty -two

  Aurora lay in her bed that night unable to sleep, her thoughts filled with images of Mirage. The day had been surprisingly wonderful. Vashon had taken her all around the island in the kittereen, introducing her to some of the island's workers: tall, muscular divers who offered armfuls of conch and spiny lobster, old men on donkeys who wove baskets from the mangrove, and pretty dark girls adorned with scarlet-and-black jumbie beads, whom Aurora was envious to see going back and forth from the kitchens en chemise.

  Afterward Vashon showed her Monkey Hill, where Benny had found Koonga. The animals had been brought to St. Kitts a century earlier to be the pets of a wealthy pla
nter. He told her the story of how the monkeys were occasionally hunted on St. Kitts. When too many of the creatures had become harassed by the hunters, they would then suddenly appear on Mirage, firing the specu­lation that there was an underground passage running between the two islands.

  Next he took her to the soufriere atop the mountain, the boiling sulphurous pit that had once erupted to create the black beaches. They wandered through the misted jungle at the top, and she knew if she remembered nothing of Mirage in years to come, she'd remember the orchids growing on the manchineel trees, with petals in all the pale hues of yellow, pink, and lavender.

  Last, as they headed back to Dragonard, Vashon stopped by a small tree and picked what looked to be, but were not, a handful of small limes. He sat with her on the sand beneath the tree and showed her how to eat them. Popping one genip out of its peel, he put it in her mouth as if it were candy. It was unimaginably delicious and as they sat eating handfuls of them, she had watched him and thought how much he loved Mirage, Mirage that was as wild and awe-inspiring as he was.

  But now, as she restlessly tossed in her bed, her thoughts moved to something else, something that had nothing to do with Mirage, or genips, or soufrieres. Some­thing that nagged at her like an itch that was just beyond her reach. She was thinking about bananas.

  Disgusted, she threw back the covers and rose from her bed, hoping to release her pent-up frustration by pac­ing the floor. But it didn't work. She knew she had to figure out Vashon's little joke or she would never sleep.

  That evening they dined on the marble terrace again and when she arrived, just as at breakfast, there was a banana placed atop her napkin. She tried to ignore it, but this only seemed to amuse Vashon further. The entire episode vexed her, and until she knew what he was hint­ing at, she vowed never to go back to that terrace again.

  She went back to her bed and whipped off the covers, making sure there were no centipedes beneath the pil­lows, then crawled into bed and stared at the blank can­opy and thought about bananas.

  She remembered the first banana she'd ever seen. They had taken on an entire branch of them in St. George's, and at first she'd thought they were a rather perplexing fruit. She'd tried to eat one with a fork but had found the skin too tough to cut. With a sharp fruit knife, she had finally cut the thing into slices and scooped out the flesh with a spoon. But she vowed never to eat one again, for no matter how much she liked the taste, it was an awful bother to eat.

  But one day when Benny was in the galley preparing a passenger's tea, she'd watched Koonga take a banana from the stalk. The way the monkey ate it, the peeling came off as easily as butter sliding off a knife. It was astoundingly simple, and ever since then she'd had no problem with them. Until Vashon's little amusement was born.

  She rolled onto her stomach, pulling her long, thick braid out from beneath her. In the striated moonlight from the louvers she spied a silver bowl on the night table brimming with polished fruit, several of them bananas. Irritated, she sat up and examined one.

  The banana was really a ridiculously awkward fruit. It lacked the symmetry of an orange or the plumpness of a pear. She peeled back half its skin and almost blushed at how peculiar it looked. In fact, it embarrassed her to no end to even think about the fact that it looked like . . .

  She choked.

  No, it wasn't possible. Vashon couldn't have been using it as some sort of a metaphor for . . . ? Her cheeks flamed. Good God, what was he thinking of asking her to . . . ? Not in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine a woman might . . .

  She choked again.

  That had to be why he wanted to watch her.

  Was that strangulating sound coming from her?

  She looked at the banana and suddenly she was furi­ous. Of all the vile, lascivious, lewd pranks! Her cheeks turned a brighter red, but whether it was from fury, hu­miliation, mortification, or all three, she wasn't sure. One thing she was sure of: tomorrow, he would pay. She'd reveal him for the licentious beast that he was and show him exactly what she thought of his little joke. With that in mind, she took a vicious bite off the tip of the banana and enjoyed it immensely.

  To breakfast the next morning Aurora wore a gown of ivory gauze so sheer, if not for the blush-colored silk chemise beneath it, one might mistakenly believe its un­dertone to be skin. The corsage was fashionably—even daringly—low, and it clung in seductive splendor to her every curve. Perhaps at any other time she might not have had the courage to wear such a brazen gown.

  But not this particular morning.

  She walked confidently along the marble tiles to where Vashon sat admiring the view. He was no longer staring at the Caribbean. To her deep satisfaction, his gaze fairly locked on to her thinly draped figure, and he watched her approach with stunned approval.

  If she'd really been brave, she thought derisively, she would have bent over him and with one finger, closed his gaping jaw. But this morning he would be getting more of a show than he deserved, so she merely took her seat and blessed him with a most comely smile.

  "It's another beautiful day, isn't it? How lucky you are to have Mirage." She leaned her bodice against the table.

  His wretched emerald gaze went just where she thought it would. It was all she could do not to wrap her arms over her chest and run to her room, but she was too angry to back down now.

  She lowered her eyes, and pretended to notice the ba­nana for the first time. She watched him as she ran her finger slowly down the fruit.

  His jaw dropped further. If she'd kissed the thing right then and there, he'd have probably died of shock.

  She could have stuffed it right up his nose.

  He closed his mouth. His eyes lifted. A vague distrust crossed his features. "You're in an oddly cheerful mood."

  "And why shouldn't I be?" she asked, making a great display of placing her napkin on her lap.

  "No reason," he answered hesitantly.

  "I'm famished." Again, this time with excruciating ex­actness, she ran her finger down the banana. His gaze helplessly followed. "Are you?"

  "Am I what?" he asked, his thoughts obviously else­where, obviously right where she thought he kept them.

  "Famished."

  He looked at her, challenging her. He nodded.

  She picked up the banana. Slowly, as if she hadn't eaten in days, she peeled back the skin, savoring every rip. Her eyes darted to him and she was pleased by his obvious anticipation. He couldn't know that hers sur­passed it. She nervously licked her lips, unaware of how this made her appear. When she looked at him again, he was entranced.

  A soft, beckoning smile curved her lips, and her hand reached down to a satin ribbon tied to her dress. She grasped her stork scissors, which were tied to the end of it, and with her gaze never losing hold of his, she opened the tiny embroidery scissors and cut the banana in two.

  He nearly jumped out of his seat. Though she couldn't see beneath the table, she had no doubt he'd instinctively clamped his thighs together in terror. Satisfied, she dropped the mutilated banana and stood.

  "You wretch," she said, her fury overflowing. She gave him her most vile look, then prepared to stomp off, but instead of the anger she'd expected, he suddenly burst out laughing so hard he nearly fell from his chair. She turned and glared at him, unable to leave while he was so amused.

  "How dare you laugh!" she scolded, her hands on her hips. "You should be skulking from my presence like the cur you are!"

  "How did you get those scissors back?" he gasped be­tween fits of laughter.

  "They're mine. I took them from your desk one day while you were on the quarterdeck with Isaac."

  "Well, give them back." Before she knew it, he reached for her. He chuckled and his arm went around her nar­row waist, pulling her down on his lap.

  "Let me go this instant!" she said, clawing his bare chest.

  "So you figured it out. I'm amazed you did it so quickly. I've corrupted you, Aurora."

  She colored and stabbed him with an angry
gaze. "We will never discuss that again."

  "Yes, why discuss it when we can do it. . . ."

  She groaned and he laughed.

  "You really are a swine, aren't you?" she said.

  "That was ungentlemanly of me, but then I don't pro­fess to be a gentleman." He smiled. "I admit, I truly didn't think you'd ever figure it out."

  "Well, I have, so let me go. I want to have my break­fast." She squirmed; he held tight.

  "Here?" His green gaze beckoned.

  "Not with you, ever again!" She pulled back, but he kept her where she was. Her hands pressed against his bare chest, and as much as she hated to admit it, the feel of him was hard and fine.

  "Are you reconsidering?" he asked, obviously noting her pause.

  She glared at him. "Certainly not."

  "Can't we call a truce?" His eyes turned to the dam­aged banana at her place. "After all, you've had your vengeance."

  She looked over at the snipped banana. She'd definitely evened the score. When she thought about his expression after she produced those scissors, she almost smiled.

  "Come along, have breakfast with me," he said.

  "I suppose I might stay . . . if you let me go," she bargained.

  He dropped his hold. She climbed off his lap.

  "Where are you off to?" he snapped when she began walking away.

  "I'm going to change this ridiculous dress."

  "No, you're not." He stood and took her by the arm. "I like that gown. In fact, I want to see more of it."

  "How odd. I'd have thought you'd want to see less of it." She looked down at the low neckline and added bitingly, "As if that were possible."

  He laughed again. "You really are in fine form this morning, love. When did you acquire that scathing tongue?"

  "A long time ago. When I was kidnapped by a pirate."

  "How terrible . . ." Catching her by surprise, he reached over and grabbed the ribbon on her dress that held her stork scissors. With one sure rip, he took it from her, scissors and all.

  "What are you doing?" she exclaimed as he walked to the edge of the terrace.