Island Queen

by Vanessa Riley

  I held my daughter. “I remember being scared to sleep sometimes in Demerara.”

  My pretty brown girl quivered in my arms. “Papa Cells would never let anything happen to you. He still writes asking about you.”

  Groan. Sighing inside, I shook my head. “Child, you have to believe you’re safe. Fretting over things you can’t control will never sit well.”

  “Papa Cells writes the same thing.”

  My head was atop Charlotte’s thick crown of braids. She didn’t see me roll my eyes. “He’s right about that. Jean-Joseph Fédon has the passions of any young man, but he’ll get to be older and wiser. His love for you will keep him safe.”

  She nodded but held on to me like I was a comforting blanket.

  Jean-Joseph came in, handsome in his onyx waistcoat. “Miss Kirwan, how are you today?”

  “Just fine since I’ve seen my girl.”

  “Well, the dray is full of supplies. I think we’ll head on before the storm brews.”

  “You’re not predicting bad weather?”

  “No, ma’am, not a rainstorm. All these cyclone soldiers crawling all over the place like they own it. They think they have rights to our women. Never.”

  I picked up my ladder. “They have rights to the ones who wish it, the ones who’ve been paid a fee.”

  Jean-Joseph trotted over and took it. “Just not right. Where do you want this?”

  “The storeroom. Thank you, young man. Then come have your say.”

  Charlotte put her hands to his buttons. “No. Let’s go. Bye, Mama.”

  I clasped her arm. “Let him speak. Mr. Fédon?”

  “While I appreciate the things you’ve been able to accomplish, Miss Dolly, they shouldn’t have our women, and you shouldn’t provide them a means to get them.”

  I tugged off my apron. “Then that would be stupid.”

  “That would be principled.”

  “Again, stupid. You think that my not providing safe opportunities for my housekeepers will keep men from wanting them? I make sure my girls are paid to clean and cook in safety. If more is offered, it’s the woman’s choice. No one’s forcing anyone.”

  “Ma’am, I mean no disrespect, but it’s distasteful.” He shook his head. His close curly hair bounced. “There are other ways to win and to earn money.”

  “Fédon, that’s what freedom is. The ability to do what we please to earn our bread. It surely must extend to women too.”

  He looped Charlotte’s arm. “There are other ways. You’ll see.”

  The fellow was bullheaded and honest. Expecting him to also be fair was a lot for a man.

  Admiring his forthright stance and how well and in love they looked, I smiled at Charlotte and Jean-Joseph. “I look forward to you making other ways for women, Mr. Fédon.”

  Charlotte kissed my cheek and dragged her husband out of my shop. They crossed in the path of soldiers probably heading for entertainment near the shore.

  My daughter snuggled closer to Fédon and kept him moving. There were enough soldiers with guns to make trouble. A hotheaded young man needed to take care.

  I locked the door and prepared to walk home alone. Tomorrow, if I wanted an escort, I’d need to go fix another stubborn man.

  Grenada 1790: My Man

  With a basket of tools, sheets, jars of cure-alls, and a little rum to chase away the pain, I made my way up to Grand Etang Road. The man had the nerve to lease far enough away that I had more than enough time to talk myself out of going.

  But I didn’t.

  The plain building of wood construction made me miss England.

  Thomas’s door was open, and I stepped inside.

  Right in front of a small sofa and table sat a pile of clothes on the floor. Typical of him.

  Putting my basket down, I passed his clothes, then turned and scooped up his jacket. It smelled of sea salt, cigar, and man.

  I always liked that.

  Tapping loudly in my sandals to stir him if he was awake, I walked deeper inside.

  It seemed empty and sparse. No paintings, no books, nothing on his desk.

  It was well past supper, he should be about. Had he taken to bed?

  Maybe he’d become ill.

  My frustration dissipated a little more.

  Then I heard a whisper, a hot laugh, a high-pitched voice.

  Sweet, fiery jealousy swept inside. I had to remind myself that I hadn’t kept myself lonely waiting for him. There was no reason to be mad.

  But I came to remove chiggers and talk of our child.

  The front door opened. In came Thomas and a pretty young thing Lizzy’s age at his side.

  “Oh! Miss Doll,” he said, “this is Miss Lemont. She’s here for the housekeeping services. I didn’t think you’d take me on as a client. I’m in poor shape.”

  Was my stare at Thomas enough to burn a hole clean through him? “I wasn’t, either, being shorthanded. Thought I’d see to it, but—”

  The young woman started backing up. “Miss Dolly, I didn’t know this was your man.”

  “Mine . . . mmm no.” I glanced at the beaming Thomas. “Miss Lemont, when I thought about those dripping sores and the pus . . . He needs to be cleaned before the infection sets in.”

  I walked to the miss and shoved my basket, making sure to expose the pliers. “Here, you get those out of him right away. And try to keep your hands clean. It’s awful.”

  She pushed the basket back. “No, Miss Dolly. I was looking into the position, but it seems you have it.”

  The young thing was quite nimble. She rounded Thomas and fled out the door.

  He shut it, his head shaking. “Was that necessary, Doll? You could’ve just said the position was filled. It is filled? It’s hard to get good help. And I like to be handled properly.”

  “Take off your pants and let’s get to this.”

  “Love a forceful woman.” Like I’d asked him to dance, he stepped to me. His gaze wrapped about me, but his fingers locked upon his waistband.

  Then he kicked off one dusty boot and then the next.

  Belt strings went over my head as his breeches dropped.

  “Follow this way.” He led me to his bedchamber, with his thick bowed legs lumbering until he flopped facedown into his pillow. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t let me suffer.”

  “Stay quiet. You haven’t won anything.”

  The bed rocked as I climbed next to his pale behind pointing up. “You’re here. Means I have a chance to fix things.”

  “Hush.”

  “I found something, well, someone, for you.”

  I tugged my basket closer and began rummaging for the ointments. “I need you to stop talking. I have to concentrate.”

  “But this is important. I found your grandmother. I came back to Roseau to tell you, then your mother said you’d gone away.”

  Mamaí knew her mother was being located and said nothing?

  “I found her, Doll, to prove to you I was serious about building our family. It was stupid to think you’d wait.”

  I hit his leg. “I need to concentrate. I don’t need you saying these things when I’m about to dig a chigger from your arse.”

  “I’m an arse. I checked with her master last week. He’s still amenable to sell her. Your grandmother, Sally, is here in Grenada. We can have her freed and with us.”

  The lump in my throat grew heavier. “Please, I have to fix you up. When I left for London, I was done with you. I didn’t think about us. There was no us.”

  “Doll, I thought of you every day, but everything I did failed. I was lucky to get out with my investments. I came back to Grenada to bury my father. An only son burying an only son. No more Thomases.”

  “I’m sorry. I truly am. Now quiet. You’ve got at least two chiggers.”

  It took longer than I wanted, but he did indeed have two burrowed into the fat of his taut buttocks. With a needle and pliers, I worked and got one out, then the other. The man didn’t whimper until I poured rum into eac
h of the wounds. Then I put on Mamaí’s cashew cherry oil.

  That burned.

  He winced. “That hurts, but rub me and make it better. Be a helpin han, Doll.”

  “You keep yourself clean and out of the woods, you’ll have no problems. But you are warm with a little fever.”

  With a yelp, he rolled over. The man wasn’t shy.

  I tossed sheets on him.

  “Just a fever? Don’t you have something in that basket for it? And goodness, that stings. Stay and talk to me about Eliza. How big is she? I want to see her.”

  “Come tomorrow for dinner. You can spend time with your daughter.”

  “Thank you. I won’t hurt her. I love her. I’ve loved her since I heard she exists.” His hands settled on my hips.

  This was never good, me straddling Thomas with his fingers trying to find skin.

  As fast as I could, I swung my leg and slipped off the mattress. “I came to fix you up, that’s all.”

  He kissed my wrist. “I’m mediocre at shipping, at mercantilism, at everything important. I’m a very ordinary businessman.”

  “Your free legal services are superb.”

  “Doll, I’d love to offer my services and my heart.”

  With a shrug, I tried to leave but he kept holding my hand. “You don’t care I went with a prince to see the world, that there are sketches of me and him and a hammock?”

  Thomas eased up and kissed me. He kept at it until I kissed him back.

  “Don’t care. He’s a sea away. I’m right here. And I want to be a father to Eliza, and Frances. Plus poor Edward is still outnumbered. I need to be your lover and friend. Not particular about which you choose first.”

  No. We’d done this before. I’d trusted and failed. “You need the sea. I understand its call now. The prince—”

  “I love you, Doll. That never stopped, not for one minute. It never will.”

  I had stopped loving him. I’d pushed him out of my head when the birthing sadness made it hard to love myself. With my hand latched to his, I stared at his dusty feet, the arch of his toes. “It’s late. I should go.”

  He followed me to his main room, clutching the falling linen. “I don’t want anyone caring for me that’s not you.”

  “Well, I don’t hate you anymore.”

  He bent and kissed my cheek. “That’s enough.”

  “Go back to bed. Meet me at the store tomorrow to walk me home and meet Eliza.”

  “Our daughter.” He closed his eyes. “Put me to bed. You remember how.”

  “What?”

  “Or I’ll follow you home just like this.”

  He would be ridiculous. I pushed him back to his bedchamber and made him lie down. “Keep yourself covered and cleaned. I’ll send a girl to keep you tidy, but if you need hands-on help, you call for me, Thomas.”

  “I’m asking now. Infection may have set in. Could make this fever bad. I don’t want to be alone.”

  Fevers were dangerous, and I had waited too long to treat him because of my stubbornness.

  “Don’t leave, Doll. It’s dark. The streets aren’t safe.”

  His sea-blue eyes held concern and much more. “I won’t ruin things this time, Doll. You can trust me.”

  It was dark, and I’d made everyone promise to not travel the streets at night. “I guess I’m stuck here.”

  He patted the mattress. “Here’s your spot.”

  Thomas’s arm tucked about my lap. “Thank you, I didn’t want to die alone.”

  “Now I know you’re joking.” His hold was firm and tight just like I remembered, like I liked.

  “Doll, I’ve been dying knowing I lost my Kirwan family.”

  “Thomas, please.”

  He snuggled his head on my lap. “And I’ll be good. Unless you don’t want me to. Should be plenty of ways to pass the time and break this fever.”

  “Thomas.”

  “Fine. At week’s end, if my end is better, we’ll ride out to Mount Qua Qua. There’s a plantation up there where Sally is.”

  Despite my doubts, a man claiming to be devoted to you, trying to free your grandma, needed a path to get to you. I’d show him the way to be friends again. We were better at that than lovers.

  ’Course, with his hands clasped to my hips, snoring into my thigh, I wasn’t clear where this path stopped.

  Grenada 1790: My World

  Armed with a bill of sale that Thomas had crafted, he and I set off to Mount Qua Qua. This was the way to get to Belvedere Estates. If I’d studied those plantations instead of averting my eyes, would I have seen my grandmother?

  “This Runyan, he owned Sally and sold off my mother?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Thomas rolled his hips and sat in a new position on the cushion I brought him. Wasn’t anything like those padded carriages in England, but it should help.

  His fever did linger and he spent time at my town house until Mamaí’s teas finally broke it. The man still looked to be in pain.

  “You didn’t need to come, Thomas. I could handle this.”

  “This is not exactly for my comfort. I’m not letting you out of my sight, traveling my Grenada. This is my island, and we’re headed to people who won’t recognize an enterprising woman, ’specially one like you.”

  He was being Thomas, not saying the obvious. That my grandmother’s owners were the worst type of planters—rapists, thieves, murderers—all under the legal system of enslavement.

  We weren’t even there and my stomach knotted.

  “Doll, you’re looking a little green. You feeling well? Edward didn’t look good this morning, either.”

  “You keep driving. My grandma is enslaved, and I have the means to free her. No dawdling ’cause I’m feeling poorly.”

  He waved his hat at his face. “You’re a strong stubborn woman.”

  “And that’s wrong?”

  “No. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

  From the side of my eye, I saw his chuckles. His smile was full and lovely, but I looked away to the thick growth of ferns hugging the muddy trail. Tall scraggly pines and thick bamboo made canopies of shade. It was cooler here, not humid like it was near the shore. I was glad for the warmth of my shawl and kept praying that the rain would keep.

  Thomas shifted. “This could’ve waited another week so I could do it alone.”

  I hated I had to let men, white men, British men, do my bidding, but it offered me better pricing and kept the cheating low.

  This made me realize how much more I had to do to make sure Edward and my girls had their chances to shine.

  The air smelled like horrid mint. A delicate mist shrouded the top of the mountain. “At least it will only get cooler.”

  Thomas tightened the reins and made my horse go faster. We moved with a bit of speed. “We could sit a spell at the crater lake if you need to rest. Heard it’s romantic.”

  “Sir, if you say one more thing about stopping, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  He slowed the carriage to a crawl.

  “What? Woman, what exactly are you going to do? I have the reins. I’m driving this beast, Doll.”

  “I’m going to stare at you and wish you fall off the dray.”

  “Not happening. And if I did fall. I’d still catch up and make you slow down.”

  He started to laugh. “Maybe you are feeling better. You’ve threatened to kick me out of your life again. That’s particularly cruel when I have plans to give you a few more of my children.”

  “What, Thomas? We’re not together. How can you even think such a thing?”

  “’Cause you’ve been kissing on me when you check on me.”

  “No.”

  “But you’ve been thinking on it. I think about you constantly. And it’s time we do something about it. Something legally binding. You will know I’m with you, and I’ll know where to come home to. You will too.”

  My heart raced, for I had kissed him a little and checked on him a lot. “Fevers
are bad.”

  “I love you, Dorothy. Marry me.”

  He took my hand and slowed the dray more.

  The smoky crater lake, Grand Etang Lake, sat calmly to my right.

  “Don’t say no, not without hearing me or thinking about it, or letting me have my way with you once.”

  “Can we talk about this foolishness later? I need to save my strength for the negotiations. My grandma Sally’s freedom is more important than your jokes.”

  “Fine.” He made the dray move a little faster.

  At least Thomas was listening. But a week of us getting along, of him visiting and playing with Eliza and Frances and promising to fish with Edward, didn’t make us one big family.

  After passing the lake, we drew closer to a plantation.

  Silk cottonwood trees rimmed the land. That white bark was unmistakable. Sugarcane fields, high emerald stalks, grew everywhere with brown dots holding up the rows.

  A little closer, the distant dots became men, black and brown. Sable women followed behind picking up the cutting.

  Half dressed or poorly dressed in these woods of chiggers was cruel. An overseer on horseback shouted and whipped at them.

  The angry shouts.

  A low mournful song hummed from the enslaved. The moaning kept them in rhythm. The tune meshed with ones stuck in my head from the slave boats, yo-yo-yo, and my memories from Pa’s plantation, the left side, the bad side.

  The mint.

  The peppermint.

  The familiar feeling of death swept over me, ripping at my skin.

  That moaning was stronger. There was no escaping it. No not-seeing it, not today.

  In my mind’s eye, I was little again with more osnaburg than others because my pa, a white planter, claimed me. From those first days of helping Mamaí at the sick house, I learned not to see the bad. I always looked to the right, never the left.

  Whipping was on the left. Stocks and the sick house were on the left. Mamaí would make me help her aid the sick, the ones raped so bad they bled for days. I wiped up the blood, cleaning with peppermint water.

  On the left . . .

  Pick and sing.

  Bleed and sing.

  Die and sing.