Love Me, Marietta

by Jennifer Wilde

  “Fancy meeting you here,” Em said coyly.

  “Whadda ya mean? Ain’t no coincidence, is it?”

  I could hear their voices clearly, and although I couldn’t see their faces, I could visualize Em’s flirtatious smile and Grimmet’s sullen, determined expression. Em had chosen her man well. Grimmet was a hot-tempered, belligerent lout who was a natural born bully.

  “You gimme a message,” he said, “swishing around in that red dress you’re wearin’, makin’ eyes at me. Made a point a tellin’ me you’d be takin’ a stroll and ’ud like some company.”

  “Did I?”

  “Ya know ya did. I got your message, yeah. Guess Cleeve ain’t enough for you.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean, wench. I can use me some, ain’t had any since that slut Maria was shipped off to South America. She kept all a us happy, that one. Regular spitfire.”

  “I think you’ve made a mistake,” Em said. Her voice was crisp.

  “Whadda ya mean?”

  “I may have smiled at you, and I may have mentioned that I planned to take a stroll this evening, but I certainly didn’t intend to imply that I wanted your company. I like men, not surly, overgrown boys.”

  “You sayin’ I can’t handle it?”

  “I’m saying you’d better not try.”

  Her words incensed him. Grimmet snorted and seized her arm. Em tried to pull away. He slung his free arm around the back of her shoulders, jerked her to him, and slammed his mouth over hers. Em struggled furiously, banging her fists against his back, kicking at his shins, fighting so vigorously that Grimmet lost his balance and fell to his knees, taking her down with him, his mouth still locked over hers. A moment later Em was on the ground, on her back, Grimmet astride her. She seized his hair and tugged at it and, once her lips were free, let out a deafening scream that could easily be heard all the way down to the harbor.

  Men came pouring out of the barracks in a mad rush. Stunned, Grimmet tried to get to his feet, but Em held him fast, struggling beneath him in a frenzy of thrashing legs and flying skirts.

  “Rape!” she cried. “Rape!”

  The men were upon them in a matter of seconds, Cleeve in the lead, grabbing the unlucky Grimmet by the shoulders and pulling him off Em with ease as she relinquished her hold. Sobbing, marvelously hysterical, she climbed to her feet, covering her face with her hands as Cleeve threw a mighty punch that sent Grimmet sprawling. The men yelled and cheered, urging them on as the fight began in earnest, Cleeve and Grimmet filled with murderous intent, hitting and grappling and rolling on the lawn in a tangled fury.

  Em backed away, completely ignored, and once she was clear of the circle of jubilant, rowdy men who lustily encouraged Cleeve and Grimmet to kill each other, she dashed nimbly across the lawn to where I stood concealed under the shadows of the tree.

  “How was I?” she whispered merrily.

  “Magnificent.”

  “Come on, luv, we haven’t a second to lose.”

  Keeping to the shadows, we hurried to the side door of the barracks. Em opened the door, and we darted into the armory. It was very dark, only a few rays of moonlight streaming through the windows, but Em knew where everything was and exactly what she wanted. She seized three powder horns and slung them around her neck and grabbed a musket and thrust it into my hands. Scooping up two pistols, she led the way back outside, and we dashed to a clump of shrubbery she had picked out earlier and deposited our loot under it. The fight was still raging, the men yelling louder than before, laughing and scuffling among themselves as Cleeve and Grimmet continued to pound each other.

  “Quick, luv, we’ve got to make another trip!”

  We raced back to the armory, and Em pointed out the wooden box of ammunition. We heaved it up together, for it was far too heavy for either of us to carry alone. We hurried back to the shrubbery and shoved it under the thick, leafy branches, both of us out of breath. I stayed there, heart pounding, while Em returned to the armory to grab two bags of buckshot for the musket and lock the door. She joined me in less than two minutes, and together we hurried to where the men were fighting, Em sobbing beautifully.

  I wrapped my arms around her and tried to comfort her, telling her it would be all right, telling her it was over now. It hadn’t taken us a full ten minutes to carry out our mission. Cleeve and Grimmet were standing, staggering, both of them bloodied and bruised, exhausted. Em cried out, begging them to stop. Grimmet threw a punch and missed and fell to his knees. The men yelled gleefully as Cleeve aimed a kick and smashed the toe of his boot into Grimmet’s temple. Grimmet sprawled backward, out cold. The fight was over.

  Burke stepped foward to peer at the unconscious man and turned to Cleeve with accusing eyes. I hadn’t seen him before. How long had he been watching? Had he come running out when Em first screamed? He demanded to know how the fight had begun and reminded everyone that fighting was forbidden and that both men would surely be flogged. They all hooted at him, and one man told him that if he knew what was good for him he’d keep his bleedin’ mouth shut or else have his tongue ripped out. They howled at that, pounding each other on the back. Burke was livid, but he knew better than to stand up to this lot.

  “Lucky for you Red Nick isn’t here,” he grumbled to Cleeve.

  “Shove off, mate!” Cleeve snarled. “If word of this gets out, you’re gonna be sorry. I’ll personally see ya are.”

  Burke muttered something under his breath and turned away to go back to the house. Seeing me standing with my arms around the sobbing Em, he paused a moment and glared at me as though I were solely responsible for what had happened. I ignored him, repressing a shudder as he moved on angrily. Deciding it was time to stop sobbing, Em straightened up and wiped the false tears from her eyes and let out a gasp when she got a good look at Grimmet.

  “Oh my!” she exclaimed. “You men had better take him back to the barracks and tend to his wounds. What a dreadful, dreadful experience—I don’t know what came over him. Unbridled lust, I suspect. Just couldn’t help himself. You come with me, Cleeve. I’ll patch you up myself.”

  She led away the unprotesting Cleeve, and the men picked Grimmet up and hauled him back to the barracks. After all the noise and excitement, it was very quiet, very calm. I strolled slowly across the silver-brushed lawn strewn with elongated velvety black shadows. Leaves rustled. A bird cried out. From the barracks came a single, husky laugh. I could hardly believe that Em’s plan had worked so well, and, now that it was over, I was horrified at our boldness. While we were actually carrying it out, there had been no time for nerves, we had been much too busy, but now I was so weak I could hardly climb the wide stone steps and open the front door. If we had been caught … but we hadn’t been. We had carried it off with marvelous aplomb.

  I paused for a moment in front of the long mirror that hung in the huge foyer. Candles burned in silver brackets on either side of it, creating a softly diffused light that was highly flattering. Rich copper-red locks spilled down to my shoulders in tumbling disarray, and my cheeks were slightly flushed. Faint, delicate blue-gray shadows stained my lids, while my eyes were a deep, deep sapphire, weary, sad. My shoulders were smooth and creamy white, bare, the sleeves of my dark blue gown crumpled, the low-cut bodice lightly soiled from our exertion. I gazed at the reflection for several moments, remembering another Marietta, wondering if I would ever see her gazing back at me again.

  I went up the stairs to the large, elegant master bedroom to wait. Red Nick always made love to me on that grand, ornately carved white bed with its mauve and silver hangings, its mauve satin counterpane embroidered with tiny fleurs-de-lis in rich purple silk. After he had satisfied himself and, yes, satisfied me, too, at least physically, he always returned to his own, smaller bedroom down the hall. I stared at the bed, thinking of his lean, tan, superbly conditioned body and his savage expertise. How was it possible to hate someone so much, to actively long for his death, yet still respond to his strength
and that curious combination of brutality and tender calculation?

  I hoped I would never see him again. It was too much to hope that his ship would sink, but perhaps we could make our escape before he and Tremayne and the others returned. Had they been here this past week, it would have been impossible for us to have accomplished what we had. Their absence had been providential indeed, and their return now would be disastrous, increasing the danger many times over. Putting out the lights, sitting down in one of the plush, ivory satin chairs to wait, I prayed we would be safely on our way before The Sea Lyon came sailing into harbor.

  The darkness was soon alleviated by pale, hazy moonlight that fell across the balcony and streamed in through the open French windows. The house was still, the silence broken only by the ticking of the clock and the gentle rustle of the drapes billowing inward in the faint evening breeze. They were mauve satin like the counterpane, embroidered with identical purple silk fleurs-de-lis, billowing with a soft swoosh, falling back, billowing again as the breeze caught them once more. Moonlight silvered the parquet floor and rich Aubusson carpets, and I could smell the gardens and, more faintly, the salty tang of the water half a mile away. An hour passed, another, and it was almost two in the morning before the pebble finally plopped lightly against a window pane. I moved quietly out onto the balcony and, leaning over the railing, peered down into the darkness. I could just see Em standing in the shadows of a tall shrub.

  Hurrying back into the bedroom, I pulled the aprons out from under the bed and dragged them back to the balcony. I dropped them over, one at a time, and they landed with dull thuds that seemed frightfully loud. I crept down the hallway and started down the staircase, peering nervously around me in the darkness. I paused halfway down, certain I saw someone standing against the wall in the foyer, a distinct form slightly more solid than the dark shadows surrounding it. My skin chilled. I actually seemed to be encased in ice. I stood there for a long time, frozen, terrified, my eyes never leaving that dark bulk, darker than the shadows. There was no movement, no sound. I realized at last that my imagination was playing tricks on me, and I continued on down the stairs, moving very, very slowly, damning myself for wearing taffeta when I knew it rustled much louder than other materials.

  Reaching the bottom of the staircase, I paused again, peering once more at the mass of shadows against the wall. The darker bulk I thought I had seen was no longer there, had vanished completely. I had indeed imagined it, just as I now imagined a pair of eyes staring at me, hostile eyes staring so intensely it seemed I could actually feel them boring into me. That was absurd. Of course it was absurd. There was no one standing against the wall, and no one was staring. I hurried down the narrow passageway that led to the back door, and a moment later I stepped into the gardens. My skin was still icy when I joined Em. A bird warbled sleepily. The sound made me jump.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Nerves.”

  “I’m a bit jumpy myself, luv. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “I thought I saw someone in the foyer as I came down the stairs. I thought someone was staring at me. It was—very unnerving.”

  “You’re certain no one was there?”

  “It—it was so dark. I’m pretty sure I imagined it.”

  “Let’s hope so, luv. I don’t trust that fellow Burke. The way he looked at you tonight—it gave me the shivers.”

  “Did you have any trouble with Cleeve?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’s out cold. I sent him straight back to the barracks as soon as I got through washing his wounds and dabbing on a bit of ointment. He wasn’t up to any more activity this evening.”

  “It’s so late, Em. Why did you wait so long to come?”

  “I crept over shortly after midnight, luv, thought we’d get an early start, but there was a light burning in the servants’ quarters—Burke, probably—and I didn’t dare signal you until the light went out. I didn’t want you traipsing through the house while someone was still up. However, I did make good use of the time. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve already brought the guns and things to the foot of the steps.”

  “You carried that box of bullets by yourself?”

  “Shoved the bloody thing, luv, every inch of the way. It wasn’t jolly, I assure you.”

  “You should have waited and let me help.”

  “I didn’t know how long that light was going to keep burning, and time was getting short. We’d better get right to work, Marietta. It’s going to take us quite a while to get all these things dumped over the wall.”

  We picked up the aprons and, crossing the gardens, carried them to the foot of the narrow white stone steps that rose to the walkway that ran all around the top of the walls, with cannon stationed at strategic points. I fetched the rope and basket we had hidden under a shrub and, filling it with powder horns and pistols, we climbed the steps and moved along the wide walkway until we reached the point near one of the cannons. Tying the rope to the handle of the basket, we lowered the basket over the wall, dumping its contents behind a clump of underbrush growing near the wall, then pulled the empty basket back up.

  Although tall trees grew in the gardens, their spreading limbs rising higher than the walls and concealing our progress along the walkway from anyone who might otherwise have been able to observe us from the windows of the house, I was nevertheless thankful that the moon had gone behind a heavy bank of clouds. It took us three more trips to get the rest of the things, and we had an extremely difficult time with the box of bullets, carefully hauling it up the perilously narrow steps. There was no railing, and one slip could have sent us crashing down to the ground below. The box completely filled the basket, and once we had lowered it, we found it impossible to tilt over and dump. After several attempts, we finally just let the end of the rope drop over the side of the wall.

  “I’m afraid we’re going to have an even jollier time getting it down to the boat,” Em observed.

  “It shouldn’t be too difficult,” I said. “We’ll simply pull it in the basket. Thank goodness that’s the last of the lot.”

  The clouds began to drift, silver spilling over their edges, and finally the moon appeared again, illuminating the scene with pale light. Exhausted, we stood there on the walkway for several minutes, peering across the woods to the water, pewter gray in the moonlight and gleaming with silvery reflections. The mainland beyond was a solid mass of darkness, dense, forbidding. In the stillness we could hear the waves sloshing over the sand half a mile away, the sound like whispers in the night. I shivered.

  “Frightened?” Em asked.

  “A little. I never thought we’d get this far.”

  “Neither did I, truth to tell, but we’ve done magnificently, luv. We’ve been quite resourceful. We’ll get everything down to the boat tomorrow—that’s going to be quite a chore—and then—” she paused. “Then we’ll be ready to make good our escape.”

  She turned and sighed, and, without speaking, we left the walkway and moved down the steps and crossed the garden, leaves rustling, the ground a patchwork of silver and black. Em walked to the back door with me, and we stood there for several moments, silent, awed by the enormity of what we had undertaken. I finally spoke.

  “Do you really think we can make it, Em?”

  “Resourceful girls like us? Of course we can.”

  There was a hollow ring to her words, and I knew that she was as apprehensive as I was. I reached for her hand and squeezed it, and we were silent for a few more moments, comforting each other, trying to quell the fear that suddenly possessed us both.

  “Look at it this way, luv, the hardest part’s behind us.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “We’ve got a boat, food, water, weapons—what could go wrong? We’re going to do beautifully.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You can handle a gun?”

  “I shot an Indian once. On the Natchez Trace. He was in a tree, ready to leap on Jeff with a tomahawk.”

  “Maybe—maybe we won’t run i
nto any Indians.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Em sighed again and let go of my hand. “I’d better get back, luv. It’ll be dawn soon, and I don’t want anyone to see me sneaking back into the cottage. We’ll take our walk in the woods early tomorrow afternoon.”

  “And leave tomorrow night,” I said.

  “Tomorrow night it is, luv,” Em replied. “The sooner we get off this bloody island the happier I’ll be!”

  Sixteen

  Everything was in place, evenly distributed at either end of the boat, and we stared at it for a moment there in the dimness of the cave: guns, ammunition, enough food and water to last us for three or four weeks if we portioned them carefully. Satisfied with our accomplishment and extremely tired after two hours of work hauling everything down to the cave, we turned and moved down the wide damp tunnel and stepped into the dazzling late afternoon sunlight. Both of us were grimy, our dresses stained with perspiration, our hair all atangle, and I brushed a long cobweb from Em’s cheek.

  “Cleeve’s going to be very suspicious,” I remarked.

  “Don’t worry about Cleeve, luv. You’ve got a smudge of dirt on your left cheek.”

  I wiped it away and gazed at the waves washing gently over the fine gray sand littered with delicate pinkish-orange shells. Across the water the mainland was brown and green, festooned with long black shadows, and I wondered if the Indians were watching us. In my imagination every tree trunk concealed a tall, naked savage painted black and white, smeared with alligator grease and carrying slings of arrows and bows six feet long. Was it true that they actually ate men alive, slicing strips of flesh off a victim lashed to a stake and screaming in agony?

  “Don’t think about it,” Em said, guessing my thoughts.

  “I shouldn’t, I know, but I can’t help it. All those stories—”