Veil of Pearls

by Marylu Tyndall

  Sir Walter gave a malignant grin and grabbed his drink again. “Bah! No one is going to deliver you, my pet. But the obeying part, I find quite to my liking.” He slid a finger down her jaw and twirled it through a lock of her hair.

  Adalia stepped back, out of his reach. “And three. I am not to tolerate your lecherous advances. You may work me to the bone, order me to do whatever you wish, and I will obey you. But I will not allow you to touch me inappropriately again.”

  His wicked chuckle filled the room. “Indeed? Is that what your God told you?”

  “It is.” And so much more that she wouldn’t mention. That God loved her, that He was with her. And that He would never leave her. No matter what happened.

  Sir Walter contained his laughter then tossed the rest of his drink to the back of his throat. After setting down his glass, he grabbed the lapels of his coat. “And how is this God going to stop me from having my way with you?”

  “He may not. Or He may. I am merely telling you that I will fight with everything I have within me.”

  A flicker of sorrow crossed Sir Walter’s eyes, quickly doused by fury. “It’s that foppish toady, Morgan Rutledge, isn’t it?” He swayed on his feet.

  The sound of his name sliced through her heart. She lowered her gaze. “This has nothing to do with him.”

  “You love him.” Sir Walter snorted. “But he loathes you. Rejected you.” He gripped her arm again and shoved her against him. “Yet I adore you. Love you, even.” His breath sent a shiver of disgust down her neck. She turned her face away.

  “This is not love, Sir Walter.”

  He tightened his grip, grabbed her other arm, and splattered kisses down her cheek and neck.

  A bitter taste coated her mouth. She jerked from him and backed away. “I beg you, Sir Walter, ask God to help you, to forgive you. You can still be a good man, an honorable man.”

  Lip curling, he started toward her. But then he froze as if some invisible barrier forbade him go any farther. He grabbed his glass and brought it to his lips. Upon finding it empty, he tossed it against the stone wall. It shattered on the floor in a dozen glittering shards. “Get out of my sight!”

  Adalia dashed from the room before he changed his mind. Yet as she mounted the stairs to her chamber, she knew it was only a matter of time before Sir Walter’s anger and lust overcame his need for her compliance.

  And then no one could rescue her but God.

  Morgan went to the one place where things made sense. He went to sea. Thankfully, Captain Bristo had made a full recovery and enlisted Morgan’s help on a run to Jamaica with a load of rice, finely crafted furniture, and various musical instruments. Yet even after they’d anchored at Kingston, offloaded their cargo, and were heading back to Charleston, Morgan found no solace in the waves or wind. In fact, the ache in his heart had grown worse and began to spread throughout his body until he’d contemplated jumping overboard to end it all.

  The evening breeze blasted over him, tossing his loose hair and filling his lungs with the smell of brine and tar. Unable to sleep, unable to shake loose the memories of Adalia, he’d come above deck to clear his head and seek answers. Yet now as he gazed over the onyx sea, he only felt more confused. Leaning over the railing, he watched the wake bubble like liquid crystal in the moonlight—frothing and churning and blistering just like the chaotic thoughts battling in his mind since Adalia left.

  He loved her. He didn’t want to live without her. But the truth that she was a Negro slave made him question his own sanity. How could he have fallen so deeply in love with a Negress? A Negress who was smart, kind, generous, fun, innocent—wonderful in every way. He’d never met a woman like her and probably never would again. But how could he reconcile everything good within her with who she really was? Weren’t Negroes ignorant beasts—kind, yet incapable of taking care of themselves? Wasn’t that why they were suited so well for slavery?

  Morgan rubbed his head. None of it made sense anymore.

  Then there was Adalia’s God. Morgan felt Him everywhere. In the sea, the creak of the ship, the thunder of the sails. In the sunshine and the rain. Morgan saw His face in the clouds drifting overhead. Even now he heard Him in the whisper of the night as if God were calling to Morgan, as if He had an important message to give him.

  Yet Morgan wasn’t ready to hear it.

  Footsteps told him he wasn’t alone. Captain Bristo slipped beside him. “It’s nearly dawn. Have you been up all night?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.” Morgan shifted his shoulders.

  “Something troubling you?”

  Morgan gripped the railing, his jaw clenching. “Yes” was all he could manage.

  “Miss Winston?”

  Morgan nodded.

  Leaning back on the railing, Captain Bristo crossed his arms over his chest. “Want to tell me?”

  Before Morgan even stopped shaking his head no, he’d already begun to spill the gruesome events of the past weeks.

  Captain Bristo listened intently, offering the occasional nod and grunt and the expected start of surprise at the news of Adalia’s heritage. Surprise but not abhorrence.

  When Morgan finished, he shoved off from the railing and took up a pace across the quarterdeck. “She lied to me.” He tried to conjure up the anger he initially felt, but it had long since abandoned him. “Made a fool out of me.”

  Morgan braced himself as the ship bucked over a wave.

  “Yes.” Captain Bristo’s gaze followed him. “She didn’t disclose the truth. But do you blame her? You offered her luxury, wealth, and delicacies beyond her imagination? Not to mention, love.”

  “Still, she should have denied my suit. She knew who she was. Who I was.” Morgan shook the sea spray from his face. Yet, now that he thought of it, she did try to discourage his advances. Quite vehemently in the beginning.

  “Perhaps.” Bristo shrugged. “But perhaps she fell in love?” He cocked one brow.

  Morgan stopped. If Adalia’s feelings for Morgan were anywhere near what his were for her, ending their relationship would have been as impossible as stopping a wave crashing upon the shore. He stared at his friend, envying the peace that always seemed to surround him. “You aren’t shocked at who she is? Disgusted?”

  “Shocked? Quite.” Bristo smiled. “She doesn’t look like a Negress, I’ll give her that. Disgusted? No. She is one of God’s glorious creations, as we all are.”

  Morgan ran a hand through his hair. He gazed at the myriad stars sprinkled across the black sky, longing for their light to penetrate the darkness churning in his soul.

  “Only one question remains,” Captain Bristo said.

  Morgan huffed. The man had a way of simplifying life that always put Morgan at ease. “And that is?”

  “Do you still love her?”

  Morgan released a sigh. “With all my heart.”

  “Then why are you allowing Sir Walter Miles to have her?”

  Morgan shook his head. A sail snapped above him. “I cannot marry her.” He fisted his hands and took up a pace again.

  “Why not?”

  “My father would disown me.”

  “And …”

  “I would lose the Rutledge name.”

  “A tragedy. The men who bear it are so honorable.”

  “I would lose my place in society,” Morgan continued, ignoring the man’s sarcasm.

  “Another tragedy since that position has made you so happy.”

  Morgan eyed him. How could the man disarm him so quickly? “I would be penniless. Have to work to earn my way.”

  Bristo chuckled. “Egad, unheard of!” He clapped him on the back. “However, I do know a certain merchantmen with an opening for a first mate. And from the looks of things”—his face grew serious as he scanned the sea—“I may need a good privateer should war break out with Britain.”

  Morgan smiled. The thought of sailing for a living was exciting enough, but privateering? That sent his heart soaring into a dream world he never thought possible
.

  “I intend to purchase another brig, and I’ll need someone to captain her. Privateering can be quite lucrative, you know. With the added bonus of serving one’s country.”

  “And you would entrust me with your ship?”

  “You’ve more than proven your skill.”

  Morgan rubbed the back of his neck. “What if I fail?”

  “Trust God.”

  God again. “I do not know this God of yours.”

  “You can.”

  Seek Me. The gentle words floated past Morgan’s ears. He drew a deep breath of salty air and snapped the hair from his face. “I’ve had my fill of fathers.”

  “This one is different. He cares for you. He has a plan for your life. Just turn to Him, Morgan. Seek Him. Ask Him what to do.” The sincerity in his friend’s eyes tugged on a longing deep within Morgan.

  Gripping the railing again, Morgan stared out to sea. Hadn’t God answered his prayer when Morgan had faced the British privateer? “I have felt Him … Someone. I don’t know.”

  Bristo gripped his arm. “Then answer Him.” Releasing Morgan, he headed across the deck.

  Morgan closed his eyes and lowered his head. God, if You’re there, what would You have me do? About Adalia? About sailing? Do You even care?

  The brisk wind changed direction and began swirling around him.

  Around and around, fingering his hair and caressing his skin. A tingle alighted upon his head and sped through his body as though the finger of God had touched him. God?

  My son.

  Son. Morgan fought back a burning behind his eyes. Instead of the expected disappointment, the chastisement from a demanding father, an overwhelming feeling of acceptance and love washed over him. A feeling of value and worth that made Morgan’s desire for wealth and status seem like refuse by comparison. I’m so sorry, Father. For everything. For not believing in You. For making such a muck out of my life.

  Still the sense of love remained, stirring his soul with hope, with meaning, with purpose. A breeze feathered his hair and flapped his shirt like a gentle caress.

  God, what would You have me do?

  Follow what I have put on your heart.

  Morgan opened his eyes. A ribbon of gold tinted the horizon, pushing back the night. God was real! He was real and knowable and powerful and loving just as Adalia had said. His heart surging with hope, Morgan shook the moisture from his eyes and spun around. He marched to the quarterdeck railing and scanned the deck. Captain Bristo stood talking with another sailor by the foredeck ladder.

  “Captain!” Morgan shouted. “May I borrow your ship?”

  Captain Bristo’s knowing smile lit up the deck. “For what purpose?”

  “I have a lady to rescue!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Adalia knew her period of grace had come to an end. She knew because she could hear Sir Walter thumping up the steps, bellowing a ribald ditty. He was drunk. Striking flint to steel, she gathered a flame in a tinderbox and lit a candle, then glanced at the clock. Four in the morning. He was usually passed out long before now—long before she normally rose at four thirty to help in the kitchen. But something had awoken her over an hour ago. A gentle nudge … a bright light … the man in white. She couldn’t be sure. It seemed like a dream now. Yet, unable to fall back asleep, she’d lain in bed praying.

  “With women and wine I defy every care

  For life without these is a bubble of air.”

  Sir Walter’s slurred voice caused her stomach to convulse. The singing grew louder. And more garbled.

  Another footfall pounded on the tread.

  Perhaps he was simply heading up to his chamber to retire. But Adalia knew better. His behavior had changed over the past week. He had become bolder, more insulting, more demanding. And the more obedient she was—the more she returned his furious outbursts with kindness—the angrier he became.

  Adalia darted to her wardrobe, thankful Sir Walter hadn’t shackled her ankles since she’d returned. Instead, he’d posted more guards around the house at night and ordered one to follow her everywhere during the day. She was never alone. Quickly donning her stockings and stays, tying them up as best she could from behind, she flung on her petticoats and tossed a gown over her head. With trembling fingers, she did her best to button up the front. Better to be dressed as modestly as possible when he burst into her chamber.

  Another footstep echoed in the hall.

  “For life without these

  For life without these

  For life without these is a bubble of air.”

  Still fumbling with her buttons, Adalia moved to look out the window. She gripped the bars and shook them, desperate to escape. But the moist iron bit into her skin, stinging her fingers and spearing her heart. A heart that now crashed against her ribs as she fell to her knees and peered into the darkness, searching for an answer to her prayers—a light, a hope, a rescuer coming to take her away. But all she saw were clumps of dark trees and shrubs dotting a bleak, moonless landscape. “God, please help me.”

  “Each helping the other in pleasure I roll

  And a new flow of spirits enlivens my soul

  Each helping the other in pleasure I roll

  And a new flow of spirits enlivens my soul.”

  He stopped singing. She could hear his shredded breath though the door. The key jangled. Clasping her hands together, Adalia bowed her head and whispered prayers. The keys fell to the floor. Sir Walter groaned as he no doubt bent to pick them up. The lock clicked, and the door burst open, drawing a breeze from the window that swept away Adalia’s prayers.

  Rising to her feet, she wiped a tear from her cheek and stood to face the monster.

  He staggered toward her, a besotted grin on his lips. “Ah, how unfortunate you have wasted your efforts in getting dressed.”

  Only then did Adalia notice the whip in his hand.

  “I have work to do, Sir Walter. If you’ll excuse me.” She attempted a wide angle around him, but he leapt and grabbed her arm.

  “Not so fast, my pet.”

  Pain shot into her shoulder. She winced. “Please, let me go.” Though tears burned behind her eyes, she kept her voice steady and her gaze straight ahead. “You have no right.”

  “I’ve had enough of your impertinence.” He shoved her. Adalia stumbled backward. Her legs slammed against the edge of the table.

  “I give you all of this.” He waved his hands over her chamber. “A room of your own, a soft bed, plenty of gowns, food. And what do I get in return?” Angry eyes shot her way.

  “If I have offended you, sir, I’d gladly sleep with the rest of the slaves.”

  “If you have offended me! Bah! You offend me every day you reject me.”

  “As I have said—”

  “Enough talk!” he roared, startling Adalia. Then drawing a deep breath, he pasted on a smile. “Come now, my pet, I give you your choice. Submit to me, or suffer the whip.”

  A quiver ran across Adalia’s back, awakening agonizing memories. Pain like she’d never known before. But there was a different kind of pain—a pain that injured her soul—that was far worse. She swallowed. “I choose the whip.”

  The muscles in Sir Walter’s face bunched into knots. His eyes became menacing steel. She didn’t have time to react before he charged her, spun her around, and shoved her facedown onto the bed.

  Adalia’s breath came heavy and hard against her sheets, enveloping her in a cloud of terror. Cringing, she awaited the first strike. She heard him loosen the whip. Heard it snap in the air. He grabbed her collar and ripped her gown down the back. She closed her eyes.

  Twack! Pain seared across her skin, releasing her tears. He chuckled and raised the whip again.

  But no burning spasm struck her, no leather sliced her skin. Instead, she heard boot steps drumming over the floor. Sir Walter cursed. Shuffling sounded. The crack of a bone, a loud moan, another crack, a thud, boots scraping. Adalia peered through the tangle of her hair to see a large m
an tear the whip from Sir Walter’s hand and toss it into the corner. Sir Walter swung at the intruder, but the man slugged him across the jaw, sending Sir Walter tumbling backward. His head struck the corner of Adalia’s dressing bureau before he slumped to the ground.

  Her mind spun. Who was this man who dared defy Sir Walter? Was he friend or foe? With his back to her, she could not see his face. But she could hear his heavy breaths. She must leave before he turned his attentions her way.