The Merchant's Yield

by Lorri Dudley

  Nathan was saved from further discussion of the topic by the arrival of the main course, comprised of mango chicken, peas, and rice.

  As the night progressed, Lottie relaxed and participated more in the conversation. She tilted her head to the side and addressed their hosts. “You’re aware of our unusual introduction to each other. How did the two of you meet?”

  They issued each other a sideways glance, and Julia shrugged as if to say, you tell it.

  “At a young age, even younger than our friend Charlie, I’d been impressed onto one of the ships run by the East India Trading Company.” Fielding’s eyes garnered a faraway look. “We sailed up the Hooghly River into Kolkata in Bengal to load up a shipment of spices.” He chuckled. “I still smell the heavy scent of cinnamon and ginger even now thinking about it.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Imagine my awe when I spy this fair lady”—he nudged his wife—“riding into town mounted on none other than an elephant.”

  Julia raised the crystal goblet to her lips and spoke over the rim. “I’d been born in India. Riding an elephant was as common as riding a horse.” She sipped the mead.

  “I knew it was love the moment I laid eyes on her, but she didn’t give me a second glance. The first mate caught me staring and said she was the daughter of a nabob who’d moved from Bristol, England, and had been awarded a jagir, a land grant, on the outskirts of Bengal.”

  “My father was a good Englishman, but he was a poor overseer.” Julia set down her glass, and her eyes darkened. “He treated the Indian people harshly.”

  Captain Fielding silenced Julia with a sideways glance. “The first mate granted me temporary leave from the ship. I used all of my meager wages and purchased a small bauble of a necklace—the most beautiful thing I could afford. A deep blue lapis stone hung on a silver chain. I had a slave child offer it to her. She asked where he got it, and the child pointed to me in the crowd.” He squeezed his wife’s hand. “At that moment I knew I could die happy because she’d smiled at me.”

  Julia shrugged. “I told you he was prone to exaggeration.”

  “We set sail a few hours later, and I despaired thinking I’d never lay eyes again on my beautiful Indian princess. Fate had other plans, however.” His expression sobered. “The sea hardened me into a man, and I moved up the ranks to take over the helm as a first mate. We received papers to return to Kolkata. The second we weighed anchor, I knew something was amiss. There was tension in the air. Much of the land had been converted to poppy fields because its sale as opium to the Orient held the greatest yield. It had taken a toll on the area, which I saw in the vapid stares of the people. Julia’s father, too, had become an opium-eater, her home an opium den. It didn’t take long for the slaves and workers to rise against their master.”

  Julia placed her hand over her husbands. “They slit the throats of my mother and father in their sleep. My maid helped me escape through the jungle and back to the main port. That is where Jere found me begging in the streets.”

  He glanced at his wife. “It was you who found me. I’d been overseeing the loading of cargo when a woman approached me. Even the dirt and filth that covered her body couldn’t hide her beauty. She held up the necklace I had bought her ages ago.” He snorted. “As if I wouldn’t have recognized her. I persuaded the captain to allow her on board, and we were married as soon as the helm reached international waters.”

  I brought her back to England and set her up in a small cottage near the sea, but England was too cold for mo ghrá.”

  Julia shivered. “I could not get the chill out of my bones.”

  “My commission with the East India Company ended,” the captain said, “and my grandfather reminded me about land in the West Indies where the climate was similar to the East Indies. At the time, Nathaniel was investing in his first ship. He needed a captain to sail the vessel, and I needed a ship to take il mio amore to the Caribbean.” He winked at Julia.

  Lottie sighed. “Such a romantic story, and it’s obvious the two of you are a love match.”

  Nathan swallowed. Did his wife wish for love? He sipped from his glass. If so, she would be destined for more disappointment, for he had none left to give. It had been buried in the graves of his family members.

  Fielding nodded. “Indeed, but passionate people like ourselves have our share of spats that escalate into battles. Those fights always end in delightful reconciliations.” He sent a rich smile to his wife.

  Even in the dim light, Julia’s tanned skin blushed a deep red, which only caused Fielding to laugh.

  Silence fell over the group as the captain tipped back his glass and downed the rest of his drink.

  “I fear for our island.” Julia frowned. “I see similarities to what happened in India. The land isn’t producing. The overseers beat their slaves to get more work out of them. Slave workers outnumber their absentee planters and grow in hatred toward white overseers. A rebellion is brewing. I don’t want to be here when it takes place. I cannot go through it again.”

  Fielding grew serious. “Rightly so. On our next voyage, if we make good time, I’d like to scope out territory in Barbados. I hear they haven’t had the same struggles, or perhaps in Louisiana. The Americans are not like the British Creoles. They came to America to stay and prosper. They’re reproducing and are not outnumbered by their slaves.”

  His friend spoke the truth. Nathan loved St. Kitts. He had been born and raised here. It was his home, but even he couldn’t turn a blind eye to the tragedies brewing. He ran a hand down his face. “The land is tired and ill at ease, but I can’t give up on her yet.”

  A footman interrupted to serve coconut pudding. Nathan couldn’t help watching his wife as her eyes closed while she savored each bite. Her pink tongue licked a dab of coconut cream from the corner of her lips, and his stomach flipped over twice. The image would surely keep him awake this night as he lay in his bed—alone.

  “Indeed.” Fielding raised his glass in salute. “You’ve kept hope alive by handing the plow to an overseer and taking to the sea.”

  Nathan sighed. “Even that is not without its struggles.”

  “Yes, but your husband here”—Fielding leaned over the table and peered into Lottie’s face—“can evade any privateer in the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “Except for when the mainsail ripped from head to foot because Charlie’s mending didn’t hold fast.” Nathan raised his glass to Lottie. He had to credit her courage, even if it might have been sheer madness. “It was Lottie’s quick thinking that saved our crew from being impressed into His Majesty’s service.”

  Captain Fielding retold the story from its start for Julia’s benefit. Lottie flushed as he hailed her for her acting skills.

  Guard yourself. Nathan already had grown too fond of the woman, but being among close friends made it easy to relax. He slid an arm over the back of Lottie’s chair and brushed his thumb across the bare section of her shoulder under the puff of her capped sleeve. The rosy color of her cheeks heightened.

  Captain Fielding and his wife exchanged a knowing glance.

  “Ah, mi cheri, I do believe the patrons are becoming a bit too rowdy.” He pushed back from the table, rose, and pulled the chair out for his wife. “Please do excuse us.” They stole away into the next room.

  Nathan stared at the beauty beside him. His fingers itched to pull her into his arms and see if her lips still tasted of coconut cream.

  “Dinner was delightful.” She filled the silence. “The food was nothing like I’ve ever tasted.”

  You are nothing like I’ve ever tasted.

  She twisted her napkin in her lap. “Mrs. Fielding—er—Julia is as wonderful a woman as you described.”

  Not as wonderful as you.

  Lottie swallowed and ran her fingers over the remaining silverware, straightening it.

  His sister Katherine used to do the same thing. She loved to straighten things. He pictured her neatly folding her napkin and aligning the knife and spoon to perfect parallel positioning.
She’d been so full of life, so sure of herself, and strong as any Kittian-born woman, but the fever had been stronger.

  Nathan dropped his arm to his side and closed his eyes. The fever ravaged his beautiful, vibrant sister. He could still feel Katherine’s body so light and frail in his arms as he held her until the wracking coughs subdued. His hands shook as he gently wiped the blood from her pale lips. He’d stayed by her side for days, mopping sweat from her brow until the light slowly dimmed in her eyes. Her body trembled as she expelled her last breath. He clung to her, sobbing into her hair, unwilling to let go. Nathan stared at his fingers resting on the edge of the table. Part of his heart deadened when he closed Katherine’s unseeing eyes.

  He swallowed. He should say something to Lottie to put her at ease, but when he looked at her, he saw her pale face lying in a cedar box. He grabbed his drink and downed it. He couldn’t face that pain again.

  He set his glass down and stared at his grip. His hands had been strong, but never had they felt so helpless. Fresh dirt from Katherine’s grave had still been under his fingernails when he helped dig his brother’s and mother’s graves. He’d lost over twenty slaves and an overseer to the fever, and still had fields to plant and mouths to feed, but not enough workers to get the job done. Rolling up his sleeves, he’d once again dirtied his hands, this time to feed those who’d fought the fever and tended the sick alongside of him. They were his responsibility and he owed them as much. In a way, work had been a blessing. As long as he kept working, kept moving, he could stay off his despair. It had looked like they were going to have a good crop, even though they’d planted later in the season, but then a hurricane hit in the fall, washing out the lower fields.

  He should have seen the signs then.

  He rose with a sigh. “It’s late and time for us to also retire.”

  She nodded, and he helped her rise. Her mouth quivered, and she licked her lips. “Would you see me to my room?”

  His breath stilled in his lungs, and a sweep of emotions tingled the fine hairs over his skin.

  She placed a slender hand on his chest and in a quavering voice said, “You need not go.”

  He swallowed down the lustful feelings he couldn’t allow himself to feel. Instead of devouring those rosy lips tempting him, he raised her hand and kissed the back of it.

  Her fingers quivered. It must have taken all of her courage to say those words.

  “I must.” He was a coward. “I’m eager to get back to the farm, for there is much that needs my attention, but I’ll return tomorrow to show you more of the island.”

  He released her hand.

  The shadow of disappointment clouded her eyes, and he lowered his gaze so he wouldn’t have to witness the pain. He backed away a few steps, ignoring the clench in his gut that made him feel hollow, even after a full meal. He bowed and forced his feet to turn and walk out of the room. Once outside in the tepid island air, he rubbed his jaw to alleviate its tightness.

  He was a cad.

  She’d been as much a victim of all this as he. She was alone in a strange country, deprived of her family and friends. It would have been so easy to stay. God’s teeth, it was his right as her husband. The closeness she desired was the one thing he couldn’t give, because the closer he came, the more painful it would be to watch her slip away.

  Chapter 15

  Perhaps I shall paint you a watercolor. I sincerely doubt, however, that my abilities can capture the splendor of the island, specifically the delightful shade of the turquois-blue water.

  ~ From Lottie to Miss Priscilla Middleton

  Why had she asked him to stay the night? Lottie pressed the heels of her hands against her puffy eyes. She’d laid her heart bare, and he’d brushed it aside with a light kiss on the back of her hand.

  Despite her weariness from travel, she’d slept fitfully in the strange bed. Shouts and revelry emanated from the tavern below until the wee hours of the morning. Their merriment awoke Lottie whenever she did fall asleep, and her mind hovered over each mountain of worry, unable to find a soft place to land.

  Nathan neither desired her nor needed her. If it hadn’t been apparent before, she could see that fact clearly now. She must either find a way to endear herself to him—love seemed too lofty a goal—or learn to enjoy the independence for which she’d always prayed.

  She was grateful for her freedom. But why did she feel like she was still inside her sickroom watching the other children play, hoping someone would notice her and wave or perhaps ask her to come out and join them?

  She didn’t know the first thing about island life. After preparing for the day, reading a small pocket Bible she’d found in the drawer of the night stand, and breaking her fast, she’d wandered back to the room. What was she to do? How would she fill her days? The desire to be useful left her restless.

  It grew worse when Nathan didn’t come calling that day or even the next. He did send a note, apologizing for his absences and explaining how things needed dire attention on the plantation. On the third day, she’d had enough waiting around, and accompanied Julia to the market. She’d do some sightseeing around the island on her own.

  The market bustled with merchants selling coffee, plantains, a root Julia said was called cassava, reams of cloth in a variety of bright colors, and even cotton hammocks. The blended smells of smoked meats, tropical fruit, and human sweat hung in the humidity of the open air. Slaves sold their wares on the outskirts where wild dogs, goats, and chickens lingered until someone shooed them away.

  The footman who accompanied them didn’t drift in the background like English servants did. The man Julia referred to as Paul stood at the point of Julia’s elbow. He towered above them, his solid arms crossed over his barrel-sized chest. Paul might have been a slave, but he seemed to have an advanced position and acted as a sentinel standing guard over his mistress while she selected fresh mangos and papayas from a dark-skinned woman with no teeth.

  The merchant woman kept staring at Lottie. Her breath quickened. Was it curiosity over a stranger, or had she spilled something down the front of her gown? She glanced down. No stains that she could see. The patrons and vendors alike stared as she passed or stole sideways glances while they conducted their business. Her hands itched to fidget. Lottie pulled her bonnet rim lower over her face and tried to stay next to Julia.

  “It’s your hair,” Julia said. “Very few Islanders have seen a redheaded lady.”

  Lottie released a slow breath. “That’s all it is? Thank God. I was beginning to feel like I had something on my face or stuck between my teeth.”

  The dark-skinned woman selling papayas extended her hand and nodded toward Lottie’s hair. Paul stepped between them.

  Julia pursed her lips as if annoyed. She sighed and shrugged a shoulder. “Might as well get it over with so they stop asking.”

  Paul moved aside.

  Lottie smiled at the woman’s wonder-filled eyes and removed her bonnet. The woman raised a timid hand, and Lottie nodded, encouraging her to feel the texture of her red hair. More women approached and asked to touch in their thick creole accents. Soon a crowd of women formed all around her, chattering in French, Creole, and English. They smiled brightly and offered her small gifts—a tiny cross made out of reeds, a necklace of tiny shells, and scraps of brightly colored fabrics.

  She thanked them all as best as she could with the language barrier.

  Paul crossed his arms and scowled at the gaggle of women.

  Julia surveyed the excited group. “It seems you’ve already endeared yourself to the island women.”

  “I’ve never met people so easy to please. All I did was let them touch my hair.”

  “Ironic isn’t it? They have so little, yet they are grateful.”

  Eventually, the women dispersed, and Julia continued to purchase the foodstuffs she needed for the inn. Her aggressive haggling with vendors jarred Lottie, but Julia reassured her it was what everyone did. As Julia engaged with a particularly stubborn vend
or, Lottie wandered to the next cart filled with dyes for making cloth. Dark indigos, bright yellows, and deep pinks spread before her.

  “Did you see the Katherine is back in port?” A deep voice caught Lottie’s attention.

  She could only see the shadow of two men behind the dyed indigo sheet hanging between the carts.

  “Indeed. Did ya here about the deal he’s makin’ with the planters? Payin’ dem in advance fer their cargo.”

  “Unless he’s God,” said the Northern English accent, “I don’t see how he can ensure the safe voyage of all his cargo. Mark my word, he’ll be out of the shipping industry in under a year.”

  “I heard he struck a deal wit da pirate king trollin’ these waters.”

  “Lafitte?” The Englishman coughed. “Is that of whom you speak, Jean Laffite?”

  “Whyever not? Dey both were schooled here.”

  “Seems likely that Winthrop would do business with his old friend.”

  “Dere’s gossips a plenty sayin’ Winthrop is one of dem.”

  “A pirate?”

  The islander’s shadow nodded. “He and da Captain Fielding.”

  Pirates? Lottie chuckled to herself. Nathan was no more a pirate than he was the prince regent.

  “Would ya care ta purchase some dye?” A young mulatto girl held out a tin towards her. “I got a pretty blue ta match da color of yer eyes.”

  “Thank you, but no.” Lottie meandered away from the cart and peeked around the cloth to see who the men were, but all she saw was their backs as they strolled away.

  Julia raised a hand to signal her. “It’s time to leave.”

  Paul jostled several loaded sacks in his large hands down the sandy road.

  Lottie fell into step next to her friend. “How long will Captain Fielding be with us before the Katherine sails again?”

  Julia sighed, and her pace slowed. “A little longer than two weeks. Since we received word that the Amory’s cargo was confiscated by the British navy, they must sail to Central America for more supplies and food.”