“No, she shouted as she again kicked out at him with a booted foot. “You’ve got it all wrong, Troy Markham. You can try all you want to blackmail me, but you can’t take my parents’ store away from them.”
He shoved her away with a snort of contempt.
“You don’t know who you’re playing with. I suggest you check all your facts before you make any accusations.”
Freed from his grasp, Sabine fled, her heeled shoes clattering indignantly in her wake. Troy watched her, amused. She’d be back; her sense of family was far too strong to allow her parents to be left out on the streets. He would get his way; he always did.
XXX
Sabine slammed the door behind her, and only then did she allow the release of her shame and frustration. How foolish and naïve she had been! Why hadn’t she seen it in the first place? The flattery. The flirtatious looks. The pendant. All lures to seduce her into his bed. Why hadn’t she been able to see it with her own eyes? Mama was right. Troy Markham was no good, and like a bullheaded idiot, she had refused to see the truth.
In the darkness, Sabine knelt in the cropped grass beneath the comforting arms of an oak tree, the strains of laughter wafting out over the night breeze, Troy’s standing out among the rest. The hot pressure of tears unloosed themselves from her eyes in a torrent, and sobs racked her body, intensifying the humiliation that encompassed her.
He had never intended to use her for anything other than his toy – something to play with until he tired of her. Well, it wasn’t going to happen, she thought bitterly, regardless of his twisted schemes.
Why had she been so stupid? Sabine beat her fist against the rough bark of the tree, not feeling the pain that accompanied the scrapes and bruising. She didn’t care; it didn’t matter…not anymore.
But the nagging thoughts of Troy’s accusations assaulted her brain, compounding the confusion that already churned within her. Three thousand dollars…her family out on the streets…. None of it made a stitch of sense.
And now Troy Markham had given her an ultimatum, and he had her trapped. She had two choices – confront her guardians and admit her disobedience or swallow her pride and play along with his game until he tired of her.
But she had no intentions of playing his games; she wanted to be left alone. She wanted everything to be the way it had always been – before Troy Markham had ever entered her life.
“Miss,” a voice spoke up beside her, “is there something wrong? Something I can help you with?”
Sabine did not look up at the man who belonged to that voice. She had had enough of men and their ways. Why couldn’t they all just go away?”
“No,” she said, sniffling. “Just leave me alone. I’m fine.”
Embarrassed that anyone should bear witness to her lapse of self-restraint, she bowed her head, obscuring her tear-stained countenance with her curls. She wiped away the tears with a trembling hand while she fished through her reticule in search of a handkerchief. She found none, and scolded herself for being so forgetful. After everything else that had happened this evening, a simple hankie should have been the least of her worries. But everything had gone wrong tonight, and this was the last straw. Her weeping began anew.
“Take this,” the man said, and held out a neatly pressed square of linen. “It looks like you need it more than I do.”
Gratefully she accepted his offer, and dabbed at her swollen eyes. She had to regain her composure before she returned home; these tears would not do.
“Thank you.”
She looked up at him and offered a sad, tentative smile. The man leaned up against the tree’s trunk, his features obscured by the darkness. The pale moonlight hinted at the outline of a thick beard and a battered hat which he had pulled down over his brow.
“Do you need someone to escort you home?”
Sabine shook her head and rested her head up against the oak tiredly, her emotions and energy drained.
“I’ll be fine, thank you,” she replied after a pause. “You wouldn’t be wanting this back, would you,” referring to the handkerchief.
She was left unanswered. He was gone, whoever he was, and she was left with a handkerchief she could never hope to return. She ran her finger over the cloth’s edge before tucking it into her reticule. Then, rising to her feet, she brushed the loose grass from her pink skirts.
She had to go home – sneak back the way she had left, feeling guilty and ashamed. And she would have to think of a way to confront her guardians with the lies Troy Markham had flaunted before her. Until then, however, she would have to hide her shame from everyone.
XXX
“Good God, Henry, there was under some damn tree sobbing her heart out.”
Michael Pierson sat in the corner of the rundown room over the tavern and stretched his legs out before him. He ran a tired hand through the loose curls of his blond hair and poured himself a glass of whiskey.
“So what about it,” his friend asked through a bushy moustache. “You didn’t get involved did you,” he probed with narrowed eyes. “Women are more trouble than they’re worth. You of all people should know that.”
“Did you have to remind me,” he replied impatiently, and rose to look out the window over the darkened street. Henry was right, and maybe it was a good thing after all that she had rejected his offer of help. He shook the ponderings from his mind. Henry was right, he assured himself again. He’d probably just get into more trouble.
“Any word?”
Henry poured himself another drink.
“Yep. They’re still lookin’, Mike. They got word you headed south.”
“I’m heading out before dawn.”
“Goin’ back?”
“Cuba’s not so bad after all, I suppose.”
An uncomfortable silence permeated the room, leaving both men with their thoughts.
“So what’d she look like,” Henry asked after a spell.
“Don’t know,” Michael replied with a short laugh. “All I saw were a bunch of skirts and about ten good handfuls of dark curls.”
“Too bad,” he joked. “If you had gotten a better look, she might’ve been worth your swinging from a tree.”
Michael poured himself another drink from t he brown bottle. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough of women after what’s happened over the last two years?”
Henry laughed out loud. “Come on,” he teased. “What’s life without some adventure?”
Michael shook his head and turned back toward the window. Adventure, he decided as he scratched a hand through his thick beard, was something he wasn’t quite interested in anymore.
Chapter Three
Sabine leaned against the empty crate, her hungry eyes taking in the excitement that surrounded her.
Her favorite place had always been in the market area, with its air continuously filled with a multitude of smells: rich flowers, sweetly scented fruits, the pungent smells of the fishmongers. She loved the marketplace, and it was possible for her to spend hours there just watching the people. Within those few short blocks, every conceivable walk of life was represented. Kitchen maids came to shop for the more well-to-do. Occasionally the proud, painted ladies of the waterfront sashayed through the vendors’ stalls with their flashy clothes and snappy mouths. Street urchins darted past, their nimble fingers picking pockets and snatching goods from unaware merchants.
What saddened her the most, though, were the freed slaves whose owners had been neglectful in making provisions for them. Sabine believed the abolitionists had intentions that were all well and good, but it seemed they lacked the foresight as to how these people were to survive once granted their freedom. Many of them ill-clothed, they wandered through the market, begging for handouts. With little prospects, some of these people were forced to purchase produce that was barely edible; most often it was rotten. Sabine’ heart went out to them, and although her family’s finances were not abundant, she managed once or twice to slip a few pennies to an elderly Negro woman whom she fo
und digging through the trash in hope of finding something to eat.
She watched as two light-skinned women sauntered by, her attention drawn from the old woman in rags who was presently digging through a bin of discarded vegetables. Suddenly she didn’t feel envious of their rich clothing and social position anymore. After her ordeal with Troy last week, she was glad to be the unobtrusive daughter of a shopkeeper; it wasn’t’ nearly as terrible as she had perceived it to be.
Leaning back, she retrieved a peach from her basket and bit into its succulence, catching the juice before it slipped down her chin. No, it wasn’t so bad, she mused with satisfaction. She had a home, nice things, and two people who loved her more than anything. She didn’t need fancy clothes or a gentleman to parade her around on his arm.
But Troy’s words still nagged at a tiny part of her conscience, and his reminder almost spoiled her afternoon. She still had not concocted a feasible way to approach her parents with his threats and accusations. Each one seemed so contrived, inadequate. And she felt ashamed that she had ignored all Mama’s warnings and stolen out of the house like a thief in the night. Every time she looked at Adele, she wanted to throw her arms about her neck and confess her sins – make things right so that Sabine could feel whole again.
Hoisting her basket onto her arm with a sigh, she picked her way through the vendors’ stalls, carefully choosing produce that had not withered in the heat of the day. Her peach cotton frock, damp with perspiration, clung to her uncomfortably. What would she not give for a nice, cooling downpour to relieve the heat and humidity that hung heavily in the air.
“How dare you – “
Startled from her thoughts, Sabine’s words came out in a gasp as she felt a foreign hand grip onto her shoulder. Instinctively she swung around to confront the person who boldly accosted her.
“What do you know about this?”
She looked up into familiar, angry eyes. Troy’s eyes. His free hand gripped her shoulder tightly, unwilling to let her go. The other brandished a piece of paper in her face. Fresh feelings of disgust rose again, churning with the bitter bile that contracted in her stomach.
“Please, Mr. Markham,” she insisted coldly. “Just leave me alone.”
She tried to wrest free of him, but he held her firm, his fingers digging deeper into her flesh.
“What do you know about this,” he repeated.
“Know about what?”
Troy dragged her into the alley and pinned her against the coarse brick, shoving the paper in front of her.
“You know I-I can’t read,” she fumbled.
“Don’t give me that,” he shot out savagely as he shook her hard. “You can write, and you damn well can read. You think I’m an idiot? It doesn’t take a genius to see what’s been going on behind my father’s back.”
“Stop it,” she stated as she attempted to twist out of his grasp. “I’ve had enough of your lies.”
“My father died earlier this week, Sabine,” he informed her through clenched teeth as he bit back a harsh laugh. “You were mentioned in the papers he left.”
“What?”
Her body went numb, her words wooden. It made no sense, no sense at all. Clinton Markham didn’t know her; and even if he did, why would he have even thought to mention her in writing?
“Read this.”
He jabbed a finger to the middle of the neatly penned page. Sabine read the words carefully, her eyes widening in disbelief. Her eyes shot frantically to the bottom of the paper.
“No,” she breathed incredulously, panic rising within her. “It can’t be true.”
A bitter, self-satisfied laugh came from within him, and the cold blue of his eyes pierced hers.
“You’re mine, Sabine,” he said bluntly, “to do with as I please. So I suggest you come along quietly, my dear. You’re going back with me.”
A wave of numbness swept over her, mingling with the fog of disorientation that enveloped her brain. Everything she had been led to…the stories she had been told for seventeen years…they had been lies – all lies!
“But – “
“And John and Adele DuBois have already been notified that they’ll no longer have your services,” he told her with a smirk as he held her fast. “How else would I have known how to find you?”
Her hands flew to her ears in the hopes of blocking out the words she did not want to hear. The market basket fell to the ground, its forgotten contents scattering about her feet.
“Listen to me,” Troy bit out as he snatched her hands away. “That’s not all.”
Sabine stared at him, her emerald eyes brimming with tears. She didn’t want to hear any of it. What other horrid stories would he tell her? Could he not see that her world was already shattered?
“That three-thousand-dollar debt your parents owed? I found out it was to support you all these years.”
“I don’t believe you,” she told him in no more than a whisper. It couldn’t be true; it just simply did not make sense.
“Clinton Markham is your father, little sister.”
“No!”
Her anguished scream cut into the tense air between them, and she wrenched from his grasp. She had to get away, go somewhere, anywhere but here. She was not going with him – not now, not ever. Sabine fled recklessly away, toward the waterfront, frantic to hide, to sort out her troubled thoughts.
“Sabine!”
Troy shouted after her, angrily kicking at her forgotten basket. How dare she disobey him! She was his, and dammit, he wasn’t going to let some Negro girl get the best of him. She’d learn soon enough who was the master here.
But even in the midst of his rage he had to laugh. Sabine had no idea that his father had intended to give her papers of manumission on her eighteenth birthday; cleverly, craftily, he had hidden that bit of information from her with the simple crease of a page. And legally she was his, at least for a few months, to do what he pleased.
Troy continued to call after her, but to pursue her through the narrow alleys of the riverfront properties was a futile task. She was so intent upon losing him that he was sure she would soon find herself hopelessly lost. The best thing to do was wait; she would not go far before returning home, and then he would collect her tonight.
XXX
Sabine heard nothing but the pounding of her heart and the thud of her heels on the packed dirt of the streets. She slipped into a nearby alley and leaned against the sooty brick of a crumbling building as rivulets of perspiration trickled down her temples and between her breasts. She closed her eyes tightly, staving off the tears as she fought to catch her breath in the humidity of the afternoon air.
Lies! Her whole life had been nothing more than a tangle of lies! Her small fist pounded at the bricks in anger. How could her parents have knowingly deceived her all these years? They must have known about it. Why didn’t they tell her?
But the note…she was sure it was genuine. What should she do now? There was nowhere for her to go, no money in her pocket. Pocket! Her reticule and basket were still in the alley! Everything was gone.
She couldn’t think of such a trivial matter as that now. Sabine slid down the brick until she lay in a crumpled heap. So many conflicting thoughts flew through her brain. She wanted to return home for an answer to all the deceit she had been subjected to. But at the same time she knew she couldn’t. Troy would be waiting for her, waiting to tear her away from the only home, the only life, she knew. A trembling hand brushed away a stray tear that zigzagged down her cheek.
She peered out of the end of the alley to see if he had followed her, and a sigh of relief escaped her when no trace of him was to be found. She stepped out from her hiding place and surveyed her surroundings. Where would she go now? Which way had she come? So many turns in unfamiliar territory now presented her with the problem she feared most of all…she was lost, and the late afternoon sun was sinking fast behind the buildings.
Sabine headed haphazardly toward a place she thought might give he
r more bearing as to her location. If she could find the dock area, she was sure someone there would help her out. There seemed to be no one here to give her directions or to tell her of a place to stay until she decided what to do. She wiped her dirt streaked hands on the skirt of her peach frock and continued her trek, stopping only once to straighten the limp, soiled ribbon that held back her hair.
As she grew closer to the sounds of softly lapping water, the world she found was so alien to all that she had ever known. The squalid streets were lined with filth, and raucous laughter rang out from the alleys and upper-story windows. A sailor drunkenly staggered from a tavern and reeled toward her.
“Hey,” he slurred indignantly as Sabine tried to sidestep him. “Where ya goin’?”
He made a grab for the sleeve of her dress. Terrified, she spun away from him and fled. Loud laughter followed down the alley after her as the beat of her heart pounded in her ears.
The summer light had dwindled to nothing more than a faint glimmer, and Sabine was still unable to find her way out of the waterfront district. What would happen when the light faded for good? She had heard stories about what happened here after dark. No one was safe. Rumors whispered off girls being kidnapped and secreted off to Mexico and Brazil to be sold as prostitutes. Panic seized her, and all thoughts became once more muddled and confused.
“Hey, honey.”
She dared not look up but the beguiling, feminine voice intrigued her. Above, leaning out of a second-story window was one of the strangest women she had ever come in contact with. She had, in the past, seen these bad women in the market, but never before had she witnessed them in their accustomed surroundings. Though she seemed to be not much older than Sabine, the woman was dressed scantily in a cotton chemise with plenty of bosom showing. Her hair, a vivid orange-red, was arranged in an abundance of ringlets encircling her round face. Surely that wasn’t her natural color! Her cheeks were heavily rouged, her mouth drawn up in a big, red smile.
Surrender to Love Page 4