A Whisper Of Destiny

by Monica Barrie

  “I know,” Kira said in a weary monotone. “It’s time for dinner.”

  “Master James sent me for you…” Kira saw that Ruth was troubled and waited to give her friend the opportunity to continue. “Kira, what will happen to us?”

  Kira had spent the better part of the day figuring out how to make the best of her current situation and how she would go about regaining what was rightfully hers. The course of action she’d decided on seemed the simplest and best to her. It involved her apparent surrender to James Cornwall. She would become a docile member of her uncle’s family until the time she could prove her uncle a fraud. If that failed, she could always marry. But every portion of her plan seemed time-consuming as well as difficult.

  Kira shook her head. “I don’t know. God help me, it will be hard.” Kira turned back to the window, watching with tear-misted eyes as the last rays of light faded from the summer day. She sighed deeply, straightened her back and started from the room. “We’ll talk after dinner. I should have more to tell you by then.”

  Ruth nodded as Kira passed by her and out into the hallway. The young black woman followed her mistress, watching as Kira placed a lightly tanned hand on the dark wood of the bannister and went down the stairs, out of her sight. Then Ruth hurried to the back of the house, down the servant’s staircase and through the serving kitchen to her own cabin, fifty yards from the main house where she and Abraham lived.

  Her husband was waiting for her at the cabin door. She fell into his arms, sobbing.

  “Abraham, I’m frightened.” He held her tightly. He himself was terrified, but he couldn’t admit that to her. The death of a plantation owner, especially a kind one, was one of the things a slave feared most. The promise of manumission had eased those fears for the slaves of Haven. But now, with James Cornwall in control of their future, they could no longer be sure of what would be done with them.

  “I know, my girl,” Abraham soothed, his breath warm and soft on her face. “We’ll be all right, Ruth. Trust your Abraham.”

  Ruth choked back the sobs and dried her eyes on her apron. Her mind was in confusion, and she was afraid of the future. With the change in the will, she and Abraham might be separated.

  Her love for him welled up inside her and she felt her need and desire grow. Her life would be nothing without her beloved Abraham. She raised her hand to his face, tracing the jaw and high-set cheekbones, tracing the flaring nostrils and the full, broad lips. Then her hand slipped to the back of his head and drew his lips to hers.

  Abraham kissed her gently, responding to the tension in her slender body, and held her even tighter. Their kisses became more passionate, deepening in intensity, until at last he lifted her and brought her to the bed that he’d built two years ago and gently placed her upon it.

  <><><>

  Kira entered the richly appointed dining room. James Cornwall was seated at the end of the table. His personal valet stood behind him, in his fine red and black livery, awaiting his master’s requests. The table had been set with Haven’s finest eggshell china. The shining surface of the dishes reflected the candles burning along the length of the dark teak table. Kira inquired about Aunt Emily, and Uncle James explained that although Emily had taken all her meals in her room since Benjamin’s death, he had ordered a place set for her this evening in the hopes that she would join them and make their family complete. She shivered, hearing these words, and remained standing at the end of the table opposite her uncle.

  “You look lovely tonight, my dear. Sit on my right.” Kira did as told. She wore a simple black dress. Its color and the severity of its unfashionable lines should have reminded her uncle of mourning, but he seemed to be oblivious to her mood. As she slid into place, another servant poured her father’s favorite rich, red wine into the goblet before her.

  “To better days.” James raised his crystal goblet and waited for Kira to do the same. When she reluctantly complied, he smiled and took a sip. “We have much to discuss this evening, but first let’s enjoy this fine meal.” Cornwall lowered his head, but kept his cold eyes fastened on Kira’s.

  “As you wish, Uncle,” she replied in a flat monotone.

  Throughout the seemingly endless dinner, Uncle James kept up a flow of talk, ignoring Kira’s lack of responses, and pausing only long enough to fill his mouth with hefty forkfuls of food.

  Although Kira had no appetite, she forced herself to eat, absorbing herself in the movements of her knife and fork, or counting the number of times she chewed a piece of food before swallowing. She would not give her uncle the satisfaction of another show of emotion.

  She studied him from behind her wall of composure as he used the silverware her mother had brought to Haven as part of her dowry. She watched him drink her father’s wine from the French goblets she had given him on his last birthday. Kira looked on as James emptied glass after glass while he remained, apparently, unaffected—aside from becoming even longer-winded.

  Kira wished Emily had joined them, although in her present state, it was doubtful that she would have helped to balance this gross and uneven conversation. But at least they were kindred in their grief—and, Kira suspected, in their dislike for James Cornwall.

  Kira felt a chill of apprehension when the meal drew to a close and reminded herself of her resolution to accede to James’ whims. Her uncle would never allow her to remain at Haven, to run the plantation as it had always been run, nor would he permit her management of the shipping business. But she would have to accept these things and bide her time.

  The servants cleared the table and served tea. Then Uncle James abruptly dismissed them, clearly indicating by his tone and manner that these slaves—any slaves—were no more to James Cornwall than mere animals to be ordered about. Kira was livid, and she wondered if this attitude had wider implications.

  The answer came swiftly as James Cornwall finished the elaborate procedure of lighting his cigar.

  “Excellent meal,” he commented in a low voice, sitting back and stroking his stomach with one hand. “I think the cook will make a fine addition to the staff of New Windsor.”

  Kira stiffened, but forced herself to speak as softly and calmly as her uncle had just done. “If you feel that would be best, Uncle James, I can make do with another.”

  “Oh no, my dear,” said Uncle James, playing his game. “I won’t have you making do.” He gave her a hard, penetrating stare.

  Uncle James took another long draw on his cigar and slowly let the smoke out, forming a cloud in the air above him.

  “In two days you will move to New Windsor.” His words were needle sharp as they pierced Kira’s hopes. She could see the slight smirk on his lips as he paused to remove the ash from his cigar. “Select whatever items you wish to bring to your new home. I have decided Haven is too large a responsibility for a young, untried woman.”

  Dullness crept over her. A part of her mind refused to accept the finality of his words. She stared at him, mute.

  “These slaves here at Haven are poor workers, undisciplined and slovenly in their attention to their duties.” James Cornwall watched Kira carefully, smiling at her silence. “I intend to sell the lot of them and replace them with slaves who will work properly! My brother was always too soft.” His eyes gleamed darkly as he saw the shock finally register on Kira’s face. “You may bring your girl with you,” he offered with a smile of benevolence.

  “You are most kind,” she said, fighting desperately for self-control. She tried to hide her sarcasm with a thin smile. “But what of my driver? Ruth’s husband? May he come along also?”

  “Husband? Since when have slaves been granted the right to marry?”

  “Please, Uncle. You know my father allowed his slaves marriage. But that’s not the point,” she lied, not wishing him to see how much the matter meant to her. “I would like to have my driver.”

  “I’ll look into it,” he promised with gruff dismissal, standing and walking around the table. He stopped at her side, looking dow
n at her as he placed a meaty hand on her shoulder.

  “Kira, my dear,” he began with insincere gentleness. “I…we want you to live with us. To make New Windsor your home. Emily is not well. She’s taken Benjamin’s death badly.” As Cornwall spoke, his hand began to rub her bare shoulder, but Kira pretended not to notice.

  “And what of my loss, Uncle?” She pushed her chair back abruptly, displacing his hand as she stood. Her anger flared, breaking out of her self-imposed bonds. “What of my father? What of my home?”

  James Cornwall stepped away from her rage, caught off guard by the sudden outburst. “Indeed. I would not think of leaving you alone in this house at such a time. No, it will be best for you at New Windsor.”

  “I—”

  “No more!” commanded James Cornwall, dropping his charade of kindness. “It’s been decided! By your own father! I am your guardian now and you will obey me!” James Cornwall’s face was a fiery red hue, a combination of temper and drink. “You are too wild. Untamed! I will do my best to make a proper Cornwall woman of you.”

  Kira glared at him, no longer caring that her hatred showed, enraged that he would so blatantly lie about her father’s decision. She prayed for a weapon to destroy the beast standing before her; but in the recesses of her mind, caution whispered, and she forced herself to become rational.

  Cornwall, his voice under control, stared at her. “In two days’ time you will leave Haven. Be sure to say goodbye to everyone and everything you leave behind. You will not see them again.” With these final words, he strode across the room, opened the door, paused, and then turned back to Kira.

  “I understand your grief, Kira, and I will make allowances for it. But do not think to play games with me. You will be the loser!”

  Kira went directly to Aunt Emily’s room to beg for help, but the door was locked. Aunt Emily would not respond to Kira’s pleas or knocks. Dejected, she returned to her room to find Ruth already there, waiting.

  The brown-black eyes of the slave she had grown up with asked a thousand questions with their first glance. Kira could not speak for the tears welling up inside her. The two women threw their arms around each other, drawing close and giving silent comfort. Kira felt the hopeless desperation of one condemned to death.

  “1 am to move to New Windsor,” she sobbed, pulling away from Ruth and sitting heavily on the nearest chair. “I must be ready in two days…” Ruth stood still, looking at Kira. Her heart went out to her mistress, but her own fears made her unable to voice a response.

  “Uncle James said that you are to go with me.” Kira saw the panic in Ruth’s eloquent eyes and she hurried on. “I asked for Abraham, too. I don’t know...” Ruth’s eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see the possibilities before her. For a moment, Kira thought her friend might faint. But then she saw the tension ease as Ruth nodded her head and opened her eyes. They held no bitterness. “I’ll try again,” Kira promised, “but tonight wasn’t good.”

  “No!” Ruth’s voice was calm, but the single word spoken sternly. “Please don’t speak to him about Abraham. Master Cornwall is an evil man. If you ask him again, he may do something bad to Abraham.” Ruth shook her head, cutting off Kira’s protest. “I’ve been your friend, and your servant from the time we both were born. But there is a big difference between us. I am a slave, as is Abraham. A slave must learn to endure, to find the ways that make life easier. I, and Haven’s slaves, have had a far easier time than most. When Abraham and I were married, we knew then we might be separated. We’ve been together for two years and I’ve been happier than I ever thought I could be. If we don’t cause trouble, your uncle may leave him here at Haven and I’ll be able to see him sometimes. And even if I can’t see him, at least I’ll know where he is.”

  Kira’s sadness dissipated as the lesson in the young black woman’s words struck her. She stared at Ruth, as if seeing her for the first time. “Do you know, all these years I thought I was teaching you, educating you, but I realize now it’s you who has been teaching me.”

  Thankful for Ruth’s strength because it reminded her of her own determination, she said, “But I promise that no matter what my uncle does—if he sells Abraham, or you—I will see you together again. I will see you together and I will regain Haven from James Cornwall.” With her words, a sense of peace settled within her for the first time since her father’s death. She knew, as she stared into Ruth’s eyes, she would accomplish what she intended, no matter what the odds.

  Ruth left quietly and Kira remained sitting on the chair, watching the dancing doll on the base of her vanity clock. How she loved this timepiece! It had been a gift from her father on her tenth birthday. As the little figure spun round, Kira’s mind was busy shaping a plan. If she were successful, she would not be leaving Haven, nor would any of the plantation’s slaves be sold off. In the morning she would explain to Ruth what must be done. Ruth would begin packing, according to Uncle James’ instructions, while Kira ventured to Charleston.

  During dinner, James mentioned he would be meeting with several of her father’s former business associates over the next two days. This meant her father’s office was still open and, hopefully, she would be able to gain entrance. She had to get access to the safe, for inside was the one thing that could free her: a legitimate copy of her father’s will. Kira knew that he had kept one so that he could amend it without having to have the entire document redone. She only hoped Uncle James had not known this.

  The small figure did a pirouette to mark the change of an hour. Twelve o’clock. Kira rose and walked to the bed.

  CHAPTER 7

  “I can’t believe her rotten luck,” said Dr. Robert Chatham, as he and Sean discussed the report they had received that evening from their spy—one of Jonathan Cornwall’s first employees, who had been in attendance during the reading of the will.

  “Don’t bring luck into this!” Sean, paused in his pacing of Chatham’s study. “You don’t seriously believe the validity of that will, do you?”

  Chatham shook his head.

  “I rather thought not.” Sean stopped and stared out the window, seeing nothing of the darkness beyond. In his mind, everything had the clarity of a bright noonday sun. “Robert, you should have seen her. She stood proud and beautiful throughout the funeral, she was regal! Even as she watched the final shovel turned on the grave, she shed not a tear. No, there was no satisfaction for James Cornwall there.”

  “Sean?” said Chatham, his voice both gentle and tentative. “You have feelings for this girl?” The question took Sean by surprise. Before answering his friend, he stood thoughtfully for a moment.

  Do I have feelings for her, or do I just desire her? Unbidden, her face swam up in his memory. Within the depths of her sea green eyes, he saw the promise of passion and tender devotion. He remembered the softness of her skin under his hand, the way her pale russet-colored hair flamed in the afternoon sun, and tasted the warmth and softness of her lips as they had pressed against his that night on the road. Do I have feelings for Kira Cornwall? he asked himself again as he shook away her beckoning image.

  “I don’t know, Robert,” Sean admitted aloud, “but she holds a powerful attraction for me.”

  “I can name ten others you’ve spoken the same about, including Clarissa Bearden.” Sean smiled uneasily at his friend’s reference to his former fiancée, but relaxed somewhat when he recognized the joking tone in Chatham’s voice.

  “And I can say the same about you!” he responded quickly.

  “Can you really?” asked Chatham in a tight voice. Sean wondered what responsive chord he had struck.

  “Maybe not, Robert, maybe not.” Sean shrugged off the topic, realizing more urgent matters concerned them now, specifically Jonathan Cornwall’s will. “I just wish I could have been in the room during the reading of that document. I feel I could have done something for her somehow. God, I feel so impotent!”

  “Personally, I think you were a bit of a jackass to go to that funeral. If cert
ain people had seen you there, you would have been killed on the spot.” Sean held back his reply, knowing the futility of telling Chatham of his need to see Kira.

  “It was stupid!” Chatham went on heatedly, getting up to pace the room. “You jeopardized the entire operation for another glimpse of that girl. Jonathan Cornwall was helping us: he was killed for doing so. If James Cornwall even thinks his niece is involved, he will not hesitate to do away with her.”

  “He wouldn’t take the chance,” Sean protested, appalled at the image Chatham’s words brought to his mind.

  “What chance? Kira Cornwall is known to be hard-headed and free-spirited. An accident while out riding in the fields? Very easy. Very safe.”

  Sean sighed deeply. “You’re right, Robert, I just prefer not to think of that possibility.”

  As the two men stared at each other, a soft knock sounded at the door. Chatham spoke softly and the door opened. Jeremy entered, holding a long, burning taper in one hand and several fresh candles in the other. Both Sean and Chatham fell silent, as the servant replaced the almost burned out candles with fresh ones. Sean went to a chair and sat down, and then looked at his friend in the flickering light.

  The sharp lines accenting Robert Chatham’s face lent prominence to his chin and gave the young doctor a look of strength and determination. The strong, slightly large nose emphasized his powerful features. The only softness that Robert Chatham’s face betrayed was in the color of his eyes, which were the clear blue of an early dawn sky at the very moment the sun tops the horizon. His distinctive face was capped by a full head of wavy blond hair that Chatham, like Sean, never powdered, even on the most formal of occasions.

  Sean had known Chatham for ten years, and in that period the men had become fast friends. Although Sean was Chatham’s superior in this assignment, he never acted the part.

  They were together, that late spring of 1801, in the naval battle at Tripoli. Side by side they had fought, until the enemy overwhelmed them and they were taken prisoner. They had shared the same cell until they managed to escape. From that point on, they knew that their destinies were locked together.