Island Queen

by Vanessa Riley

  The local council had made more rules that showed how they hated the colored planters. I needed my sons to have businesses that were not sugarcane estates. That was safe money. “When Frances grows up, she’ll run the store on Blaize. She’s already good with numbers for a six-year-old. Exceptional.”

  She grabbed me. “I’m scared, Dolly.”

  “Kitty, I learned so much in England. I know what it takes to get the top coins. Why let men get wealthy when that wealth could be ours?”

  “Aren’t we doing fine? Do we need more?”

  We were, but I wanted more. “Yes. My connections through Coxall and King can supply me the finest goods. Thomas has brought some of the Garraways, the good solvent ones, into my network. I can’t stop now because I’m a woman, a woman with child.”

  Kitty tugged at her puffy sleeves made stiff with cording. I had the overdress of red linen designed for her because the silky fabric made her smile. She loved bright colors.

  Then I remembered Kitty still danced with the old, the time before everything changed, when it was her and me against all the jumbies, all the evils. To soothe her, I took her palm in mine and hummed the old for her, our old hymn.

  Rop tú mo baile.

  Rop tú—

  “Don’t die, Dolly. Don’t go away.”

  “Kitty, I’m going to be fine, but Thomas and Mamaí will care for you if I’m sick. You promise to keep this baby safe.”

  “Yes, Dolly. I will.”

  I turned my back to my land. My sister needed me more than trying to build. This dirt, this plot of land, was still mine. It would have a hotel, Mrs. Dorothy’s hotel, the finest offerings in the Caribbean, fit for a prince.

  Or a wonderful solicitor.

  Thomas and Edward, Frances, and Eliza were out on the Mary. The blue pole of the sloop bobbled out in the water. I wanted to wave, but he was too far to see.

  His businesses struggled, but the man was the best father to all my children, even going to Belvedere Estates to check on my Charlotte.

  Life was cruel. She was barren, and I was a fertile sow.

  “After this baby, can you be done, Dolly?”

  I loved my children. I loved making children but not the darkness and struggle bringing them into this world.

  I offered Kitty another hug. “Let’s go see what Sally has cooked.”

  Our mouths watered. My grandma was silent most of the time, but she could cook anything from hens to breadfruit stews. “Maybe she made oattie bread.”

  “Mmmm.” Kitty licked her lips. “Oh, that’s good with cream.”

  My sister quickened her steps. “Come on, but talk to Thomas. No more babies.”

  Her pretty voice was hard and definitive like that was all it took, just saying it out loud.

  With a shrug, I patted her arm. Joseph Thomas wouldn’t understand. All he wanted was children. They were his pride.

  After this one, I’d resort to Mamaí’s garden again. For I wanted my dreams, my family, and Thomas. Everyone would have to understand.

  Grenada 1792: My Sons

  Little Harry had a strong cry and a bigger appetite, more than I could offer. When he was done with me, I passed him to Kitty and she took him to the wet nurse.

  My eyes shut until I heard Thomas’s laugh.

  Blinking, I saw him in our bedchamber, a happy room with sunny yellow paint.

  “There’s your mama, Josephy. She’s looking tired and scrumptious.”

  “Mama.” My boy held Thomas’s hand and walked beside him. His little steps were unsure, but getting better. Being born early didn’t seem to hurt him too much. In another year, we might not notice at all.

  Thomas picked the wiggler up and sat on our four-poster bed, then leaned in and kissed me.

  It wasn’t the chaste offerings he’d done the past month since birthing Josephy’s little brother.

  This was hunger.

  This was the beginnings of the dance that would flood my womb with another baby.

  No more. Nine was enough. At thirty-six, it should be.

  Josephy pulled at my braids. They slipped through his tiny fingers.

  “How we doing, Mrs. Thomas?”

  Propping up against the pillows, I snuggled Josephy, loved his dark, midnight eyes. “How’s the hotel going? Did you get the laborers started?”

  Putting sloppy kisses on top of my squirming Josephy’s head, Thomas took the two-year-old to the door. “Miss Kitty.”

  My sister came and poked her head in. “Yes, Thomas.”

  “This one’s ready for you. I think you said oat porridge and a bath.”

  She winked at me. “Come, Josephy.”

  My son waved. “Bye, Mama.”

  Thomas leaned against the door. His white shirt beamed from beneath his slim emerald waistcoat. He came to me, scooping me into his arms. “You’re beautiful. Maybe I can get you something.”

  His lips nibbled his way down my throat. Like a habit, my arms reached for his shoulders.

  Then I pulled my hands away. “I asked about the workers.”

  “The government is getting stricter. They’ve asked me to hold off on construction for a while. Samuel Williams is acting governor again. I think it will be better when the permanent person is in place.”

  “Thomas, I own that land outright. How can they stop me from doing what I want?”

  “Not many can, Doll. But the governing council can do pretty much what they want. They think you’re building a brothel.”

  “No. It’s a hotel, where important guests can stay.”

  Thomas’s face blanked. He wiped his mouth, but I saw the change.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing that matters. Doll, you’re doing well. We’re doing well. We don’t need to cause problems.”

  I grabbed his arm. “Thomas, what is it?”

  He looked down at his boots, those old dusty boots with the buckle he wouldn’t toss away. “Doll, the council is in charge. We don’t need to call attention to us.”

  His strong voice had a sound of something I’d never heard from him, fear.

  “What happened?”

  “They stopped Edward last week.”

  I felt my eyes widen. “My boy, is he well? Edward!”

  “Yes.” Thomas pulled me back against him. “They had him cowering, about to put him in jail until I came along. Pure intimidation.”

  “You should’ve told me. He’s my son. I could’ve done something. Don’t they know who he belongs to?”

  His arms stiffened. “Edward is ours. I claim him now too. Doll, I don’t need them targeting you or him or any of our family, especially not our sons.”

  “You think boys are more prone to harassment? They’ll go after them all, boys and girls. I’ve been laid up too long.”

  “It’s confinement. It’s necessary for a woman to have a safe birth.”

  “Well, I don’t need more births. Those men need to know who they’re dealing with.”

  He put his hands to my face. “You’re filling with fear, hysterical nervousness. I told you. I protected Edward. We just have to be more careful.”

  “No. I’m going to fix this.”

  Thomas released me and bounced up from the mattress. “It’s hard to talk to you like this.”

  “Send Mamaí to me. Have her bring her tea. Tell her whatever she needs to strengthen me, put it in the pot. I’m not going to be confined again. I have to be strong to fix this. They came after Edward.”

  “You don’t need tea or poison in your body to keep you from being pregnant again, Doll. There’s better ways.”

  He stormed out of the room.

  Thomas was angry, but I wouldn’t soften. My children were under attack. That was more important than anything, even his anger.

  The opening of the hotel was ablaze. The front parlors were packed. It seemed all of Grenada had come to celebrate. Even the new governor, Ninian Home, had said he’d stop by.

  But I wasn’t there.

  In my town
house on Blaize Street, I sat still with my insides cutting to pieces. I prayed for healing, waiting by Edward’s bedside.

  Dr. Hay put his fingers to the side of my son’s throat. Then he put an ear to his floundering nightshirt. The man stood upright and shook his head. “Any moment. I’ll send up Father Mardel.”

  Thomas clutched the doctor’s hand. “Thank you for what you’ve done. Let Mardel wait. Tell the priest we’re not ready.”

  Priest Mardel had been coming to the house, holding church in my parlor for our neighbors. We needed secret meetings since the government seized the church.

  I hated Grenada for that. Now it was stealing my Edward.

  The doctor nodded. “Sorry, Thomas, Mrs. Thomas.”

  He left and closed the door. It was a quiet final, world-shattering thud.

  “Why did you thank him, Thomas? He didn’t fix Edward.”

  “Doll.” Thomas clasped my shoulders.

  No man could make my boy breathe right when bulam fever fell upon him. But God. God on high should stretch his finger to my twelve-year-old son, touch his temple, and save his life.

  “Everyone tried,” Thomas said softly and knelt at my side. “Even Sally and your mother. Nothing. His body is weak. He’s always been a little weak. That chest of his won’t fight for air.”

  “You’re giving up? You always give up too soon.”

  The tremor in his cheek made me see how pale Thomas was. Nothing to Edward’s fine brown skin.

  “You’re in pain, Doll. I’m going to ignore that.”

  “Haven’t you done enough of that?” Thomas stayed in a bedroom down the hall or on his boat most days. He was never gone long enough for the children to think anything was wrong or for me to think he’d deserted us.

  But he was gone from me, from our bed.

  I’d lost him somehow, even though he was close enough for me to reach.

  Boots tapping, he stood. “I think you should walk around. Get blood flowing in your limbs.”

  His palm lighted again on my shoulder, then disappeared.

  I swallowed hard. “Maybe he’ll wake up. When he was small, Cells . . . his doctor was able to get him to breathe again.”

  Thomas’s sigh was long. “You know I want him to get better.”

  “You do your ritual. Get your prayer books, and I’ll do my sacraments. Somehow, God will hear, Thomas. He’ll save Edward.”

  “Doll, you heard Dr. Hay. He’s been treating him the past two years. He knows. Feel his wrist. There’s barely a pulse.”

  “Hush. Edward can hear you. Edward, you have to get up. Mama’s hotel, the one you helped me with, it opens today.”

  “Doll.”

  “Did Hay try everything, Thomas? Did he? Or did he see a brown face, a small brown face, and do just enough to collect a coin?”

  “Don’t think like that. Woman, you can’t. You’ve never thought—”

  “I just never said. There’s a difference.” I picked up Edward’s wrist and blew on it. It wouldn’t take my heat. “You told me not to keep pushing. I didn’t listen, I built my hotel. Maybe the council members got to Hay.”

  “Hay’s a good man. He truly wants to save lives. Charlotte’s sister-in-law says he’s good.”

  Rose Fédon? “Harry or Josephy, one of them needs to be a doctor. Maybe one of Lizzy’s will know medicine. Then we’ll know that coloreds will have the best care. I’ll know someone cared.”

  “Don’t do this, Doll. Don’t let skin separate us now.”

  “It will just be one more thing, Thomas.”

  He took a handkerchief from his pocket, a big linen square and mopped his face. “My blood surely should be in Edward’s veins. He’s my boy.”

  Thomas leaned over the footboard of the bed then gripped the walnut posts. “Edward would want you to keep your strength. Maybe get up and check on baby Harry.”

  “The wet nurse and Kitty have him. Mamaí is taking care of Ann. Grama Sally has the rest of the babes. Frances and Eliza will take this hard. Charlotte, too.”

  “You’re right. He’s still fighting. He’s strong and stubborn like you.”

  “It’s my fault. I let him work too hard these last few months.”

  Thomas moved to the window and acted as if he didn’t hear me. I guess I’d become too good at pushing him away.

  He pulled back the curtain. “I can see the hotel from here. It’s a sight, the lines to get in. You’ll make a great deal of money tonight.”

  This time I said nothing.

  If Thomas thought money would distract me, he was wrong. My boy had all of me. I’d watch his chest until it stopped moving.

  Mopping my son’s forehead, I saw Lizzy’s pout in his drawn face, Charlotte’s lashes.

  “I count another ten boats coming up from the harbor. More guests. More money.”

  “Get away from the window. If you must busy yourself, go down and get another candle. Let’s make this room bright. Edward hates the dark. I told him to be brave. I haven’t been brave. I faltered so many times.”

  “Doll, you’re tearing yourself up. Please.”

  I shot him a look that hit him like a wet rag.

  Like soursop fruit picked too soon, I dripped in bitterness. “Is this the cost for me surviving my twelfth birthday, that he wouldn’t celebrate his?”

  “Quiet, woman. You’re spewing pain.”

  “It’s all I have.”

  “You have more than that.” He wiped at his eyes. “Edward’s drifting to peace. Let’s be civil and send him off knowing his family is going to be well.”

  Edward coughed. His eyes didn’t open. His wheezing shattered my chest.

  “Our boy loved helping.” Thomas’s voice broke into bits. Then he pulled his hands together again. “Checklists. He loved those checklists. He loved making deliveries with me. I never left him alone to do them, not since that first bit of trouble.”

  I didn’t know that. I thought Thomas sulked on his boat. Edward did those deliveries every day until he got sick.

  “We used to stop and watch the construction, Doll. He loved the hotel, every beam, every wall.”

  “The dust from sanding and painting walls to make things perfect. It’s what’s done him in. My choice for this hotel made him ill. I’m guilty.”

  I pulled free of my shawl. It felt tight like a snake coiling about me. “Everything I’ve done was for my children to live better lives and to keep living better lives. Now this.”

  “Even London?”

  “What?”

  “You left your family to get over me. You left Edward, too.”

  “Jealousy now? Did you think I built the hotel for the prince to return? That was low for you.”

  “You’re still keeping up with him. I saw the letter.”

  “I received a note from Mrs. Clarke, my friend. The wife of the former governor of Jamaica. She’s moved back to London. She loves to send gossip. When I go to London again, I’m going to see her.”

  “Good, you two will chat of the prince.”

  “Mad now, Thomas? My boy is dying.”

  He gritted his teeth, his rare temper flaring. “Our boy. Ours. Someone whose loss we share. You won’t be selfish in this. My love for Edward is true.”

  “I’m not selfish. If I were a man, I’d be admired.”

  “I am a man, and though you claim the hotel as yours, everyone helped. When you were laid up having our babies, I made sure your orders were carried out. I was here for you, not off dancing in London or on a frigate. And though my face isn’t brown, I understand.”

  I couldn’t believe him, spewing this nonsense. “I know you helped, but I can’t be fair right now, not when Edward’s tipping into the grave.”

  Tears blinded me. “Go sulk on your boat. Or let it take you away. I’ve been waiting for that.”

  He threw open the door like he’d pull it off the hinges, but he stopped and came back inside. “Push me away when the next crisis comes. I’m losing my son. I’m not going anywhere.”


  Thomas combed at his hair, thick and dark, beginning to show threads of silver. “I’ll not be run off. I’ll support you like I have. Maybe you’ll see that one day.”

  He sat on the other side of the bed. “You told me to be good to your mama even when it was hard. I’ll do that for you, my boy.”

  He kissed Edward’s cheek.

  We both held our son’s hands, but I didn’t know how to say sorry, not with all the tears lodging and sticking in my windpipe. What good was all my building if I outlived my children?

  Grenada 1795: The War

  I stared at Mamaí and Frances, the backs of their capes, red and brown, flapping as they headed out of my store. They were holding hands. Tall brave Frances. Stoic Mamaí. I wish my daughter had read us better news.

  My London solicitor had gotten Mr. Webster to agree to terms, but all the paperwork wasn’t done. It would be many more months before my mother’s first daughter, Ella, would be freed.

  Mamaí’s stoic face looked broken, but only for a moment. She veiled her pain and went out into the street.

  I hurt for Mamaí. Ella was my Catharina. One daughter sold off by my mother’s pa, the other one given away by a weak mother.

  Though I had Charlotte send Cells a message for Catharina on her birthday, that didn’t make up for not knowing her. I only missed one note. The year Edward died.

  Three years gone.

  Catharina never knew him, her blood brother, never saw his smile or his love of checklists and making deliveries. I found every one of his lists in the desk in his room. His checkmarks were crisp.

  I closed the shop door and rearranged a shelf of silverware.

  Charlotte would come today. Hopefully, she’d read another tale about Catharina at a ball. I knew what a British one was like.

  My daughter was safer in Cells’s world. My colored one was under attack.

  The council began stealing from the free coloreds with taxes and fines and license fees. I understood better why Cells was desperate to cling to his place in society.

  My eyes drifted again to Blaize Street. By now, Mamaí and Frances should only be a few blocks from home.

  I’d wait for Charlotte and balance my ledger, but the sense that something was going to happen, that a jumbie was around the bend, never left.