“I – I wasn’t there,” she cried out in denial. “I wasn’t!”
“She was probably – “
“Stop it,” Sabine cut Patsy off sharply. Her voice was shrill with exasperation. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter who she is or who we are or where we come from. I don’t know where I am or even where I’m headed. I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice breaking as she desperately fought back the despised tears that built up behind her eyes. “And I want to go home.”
“I know where we’re headin’,” Patsy said, more subdued, her voice softening. She slowly counted the destinations off on each finger. “Cuba, Mexico, South America.”
Sabine gasped incredulously, her hand flying to her breast. Surely what she was hearing was only her imagination!
But it was true – horribly and terribly true. The pitiful wails of the cell’s two silent women only confirmed the reality that Sabine desperately wanted to deny.
“Liar,” Arianna shot out. “You’re saying those things just to frighten us.”
“Believe what you want,” Patsy said airily as she twirled a finger through her hair. But her voice lowered conspiratorially when she continued. “White slavery. Illegal slavery. That’s what all this is. I ain’t no fool. I hear word on the streets, especially livin’ on the docks and all. And I intend to use this opportunity. Sellin’ us off for cash. Some’ll work on the plantations. Some of us’ll be going to those fancy whorehouses in Brazil. I’m hopin’ some rich young planter will scoop me up. Make a real lady out of me, you know?”
Arianna jerked her head around furiously, her mouth slack with disbelief. Leaping to her feet, she threw herself against the barred door.
“I want out of here now,” she shouted loudly into the darkness. “I demand to see the gentleman who heads this ship.”
Sabine watched the young woman who furiously shook at the bars, and she felt nothing except the beating of her heart and the fierce wave that crashed over her soul, destroying every fiber of emotion she clung to. Fortune had spun her wheel, and they were all losers – all the women in this cell, on this ship. Their lots had been cast.
“What’s yer problem?” the same hulking giant demanded as he appeared before them.
“I demand to see your captain,” Arianna stated firmly with a toss of her head.
“Changed yer mind, eh,” he questioned with interest and dug out his ring of keys. “Thought you’d be wantin’ to scratch that itch of yers after a while.”
“I wish to speak with him.”
The door opened with a shriek of its hinges, and Arianna boldly stepped out to meet him.
“I’m sure he will listen to me, even if you won’t,” she said.
Their footsteps retreated into the darkness, and Sabine leaned against the planking wearily, her temples throbbing. Arianna, you silly thing, she thought. You’re not going home, no matter how much you desire it. No one’s going to listen to you. We’re stuck – all of us.
And then there was Cuba…Mexico…South America. The names swam through her brain. She had never really given them much thought before. Until now. Now they represented sinister places; places where she would be a stranger; places where she did not speak the language; places where she would be held a captive.
And she would never see Mama or Papa again. Never seemed like such a long, long time. Never again would she see their smiles, or feel their love or…
But she wasn’t supposed to return there, if Troy Markham had had his way. By now she would have been his, at his home, forcing her to succumb in every manner he desired. Her stomach twisted into acidy convolutions, twisting, turning, gnawing at her insides. She hated him with every fiber of her being.
So what would happen to her now? Mulattoes and quadroons were highly sought after as mistresses in New Orleans, but how would they be viewed elsewhere? Would she be forced to serve as some rich gentleman’s mistress? Entertain men in a fancy house that reeked of cheap perfume?
Never, the tiny voice inside her threatened. You’re not going to sit here feeling sorry for yourself. Or dwell on what might be. Think about now. The present. Survival.
And she would survive, no matter what it took. Sabine DuBois would survive, and she wasn’t going to serve as some man’s fancy lady to do it.
Straightening her shoulders, she looked to each of the women who shared her quarters. Yes, she would do whatever she had to, and God help the person who tried to stand in her way.
Chapter Five
The street she found herself on was dark- a dark that was thicker than anything she could imagine. And she knew, without even taking another step, he was there, waiting for her somewhere in the shadows ahead.
She ran from him, her heart beating a wild tattoo as she tried to escape through the fog-laden alleys of the waterfront district. But he was there, every place she looked, every place she turned.
And as she ran, he grew closer and closer until his hand reached out and grabbed her sleeve, pulling her toward him, capturing her in his ironclad grasp….
Sabine awakened with a start, bolting upright in the fetid darkness with terror racing through her. Even in her dreams Troy plagued her – relentlessly tearing at any thread of sanity she still possessed until she felt she might scream.
Well, she was far away from him, she thought as she patted the cold perspiration from her cheeks. She was farther than she ever imagined she could be – bound for some foreign island she had only read about in books. Was it really better? Should she actually kneel down and thank her lucky stars above for letting her to escape Troy’s cruel torment?
Sabine stared out into the blackness, releasing a sigh as she massaged the chaffed skin beneath the iron cuff that still encircled it.
But now, the future loomed frighteningly before her. The very concept of it boggled her mind. So many times she had played the scenarios over and over in her head. And the outcomes were always the same, no matter how hard she tried to change them. Embarrassment. Degradation. Humiliation.
She shook the terrifying thoughts in her head and ran a hand through the dirty snarls from her dark curls. The bleak darkness must be affecting her brain, she decided, for all she could think of was might be…and all that she fervently missed.
And the days had blended into one down here where the hot press of unwashed bodies assaulted her, churning her stomach into a writhing mass, while the hypnotic slap of the waves constantly numbed her brain until she felt no rational thought would ever again enter her consciousness.
And sunshine. How long had it been since she felt the warm rays of sunshine fall on her face? She passionately wanted to feel it renew her soul, bathe her fully in its richness. Would she forget what the sun looked like, felt like, if she remained here much longer?
And she passionately yearned for something more substantial to eat than the two mealy boiled potatoes and the meager hunk of stale bread she was allotted each time they brought around the rations. It wasn’t nearly enough…nor would it ever be. Her stomach cried out loudly with hunger pangs, joining with the chorus of the four others that rumbled out in protest around her.
Pale streaks of light filtered across Patsy’s prone form as she stretched out across the planked floor, her dark eyes staring at the cobwebbed rafters above her. Her heels drummed a faint, rhythmic beat against the gritty boards as she dully inspected the dust-laden webwork.
“Has anybody ever heard what happened to Arianna?” she asked nonchalantly kicked at a dusty brown rat that poked about busily in a corner. It gave an indignant squeal before slipping out through the bars.
“Haven’t been listenin’,” the older woman commented. “’Sides, it really isn’t any of our business what that society tart does.”
“Well, come on, Mauda,” Patsy replied, rolling over on her stomach. “Aren’t you in the least bit curious? I mean, it’s been forever since we’ve seen her.”
“Only a few days,” Mauda told her with a shrug.
“Is she dead,” the you
ng Negro girl Pauline spoke up fearfully. “Do you thinks maybe they done murdered her?”
“Not likely,” Mauda grunted and tied back her matted hair with a leather thong.
“But she hasn’t come back,” Pauline insisted.
No one answered her, and silence befell them again; only the monotonous wash of waves punctuated their thoughts. Sabine didn’t even want to consider it – whatever it was that happened to Arianna. She didn’t want to think or feel or concern herself with anything that might unravel the bits of sanity she clung to. Arianna was only another reminder of what might be…a frightening indication of all the uncertainties that lay ahead.
“Do you ever think of it,” Felicity asked wistfully.
“Think of what,” Sabine replied, her voice void of emotion as she looked over at the plump girl who sat across from her.
“Home.”
Patsy snorted in disgust. “Home,” she retorted. “You call livin’ in a coal bin home? Least I know where my next meal’s comin’ from as long as I’m here.”
“I just thought…” Felicity’s voice trailed off meekly, her face paling at Patsy’s sharp remark as she shrank back against the roughly hewn walls.
Sabine reached out and nudged Patsy’s side with her foot, sending her a stern look of warning. Her heart went out to the poor girl, for Felicity was such a nervous creature who rarely spoke above a whisper. Flighty and high-strung, she always hid in the shadows whenever the men came near, and her screams of terror often rang out in the midst of her dreams.
“I’m sorry,” Patsy muttered as Sabine shot her another hard look.
“It’s all right,” she conceded after a pause, and averted her gaze to the floor.
“I think about it, Felicity,” Sabine assured her companion when she saw the girl’s pained expression. “No matter how hard I try not to.”
“What do you miss the most?”
There was so much, Sabine thought. The marketplace where the vendors displayed their wares. The park where she used to buy pastries. Mama’s peach pies.
Oh, every time she turned around, it seemed, her thoughts were continually barraged with images of food. Pies…sausage rolls…cornbread with lavish slatherings of butter.
Why did Felicity even have to mention home? With it came painful memories that Sabine tried to bury deep within her. She didn’t want to think about this. She wanted to forget – put it all behind her so that the fond remembrances she held were permanently away where they could never harm her again.
But Mama and Papa. Were they thinking of her? Did they know, by now, that she was not with Troy? Would they wonder where she was? Did they care? Were they worried? Angry? Relieved she was far from his clutches? Sabine wiped away a stray tear with the back of her hand, and sniffed away the sob that rose in her throat.
“I always lived out in the country. My pa owns an inn,” Felicity said with a sigh, “and I miss the smell of outside after it rains.”
“I don’t miss anything,” Patsy spoke up again. “I guess you can’t understand it,” she said with a hint of apology, “but I’m fed here…and dry.”
“I miss runnin’ the taps in one of the local taverns,” Mauda spoke up from a corner.
“Which one,” Patsy asked, suddenly interested.
“The White Horse. Jackie Taylor’s place.”
“Hey, I know him,” she replied as she rose to a sitting position. “Nice guy. Let me spend a few nights in his back room last winter.
“Know what I miss,” Pauline piped up in the midst of their conversation, and a rare smile spread across her dark, worried features. “I miss,” she continued with a mischievous glance, “boiled okra for Sunday dinner.” And she then broke into frivolous laughter, the others joining her. “I don’t know why. I never liked okra in all my born days. I cain’t seem to figger out why I’s got a hankerin’ for it now.”
Their laughter spilled out a strange melody in the somber darkness , and strangely enough, Sabine felt an odd sense of camaraderie swell within her breast. These were her friends…and she finally felt as though she belonged – even if it was in the filthy, rat-infested hull of a thief’s ship.
XXX
A soft bed. Plenty of food. And the fresh, clean smell of the outdoors. Was it really so much to ask for?
It seemed as though she had spent a lifetime down here, but Patsy assured her it had been only three days. Where was her hero? Wasn’t there supposed to be a dashing rogue pirate prowling the high seas somewhere in search of distressed women to rescue? So many times daring adventures and salvations had fulfilled Sabine in her treasured stories, but now she felt utterly abandoned, except for her companions and the solitary mean-tempered crewman who ventured by once a day.
The heavy thud of boots and the rattle of keys sharply drew Sabine’s attention. With feeling mixed with fear and expectation, she turned to the sounds that grew near in the shadowed darkness. The footsteps meant only one thing: her daily allotment of over-boiled potatoes and bread, accompanied by ill-concealed harassment from her captors.
“Come on, you gals.”
She heard the growl of a voice above her, and Sabine raised her head in a tangle of curls. What would be today? As of late she had experienced a virtual spectrum of indignations. There were always the series of unconcealed gropes and pinches whenever rations were distributed, slop buckets emptied. And every day she had kept her hands tightly clasped together for fear she would impulsively strike out against him, thus incurring the giant’s wrath.
“Where you takin’ us,” Patsy shot out as the ugly hulk fumbled with a fistful of keys.
“Topside. Get yourselves some fresh air.”
“’Bout time,” Mauda snapped.
Outside. The thought seemed so foreign, but it stirred a strange excitement within her. A shiver of anticipation rippled along her spine, and she rubbed the shill from her arms. Fresh air. Sunshine. The warm caress of a breeze against her face. It was almost too wonderful to be true.
Her captor shackled the ankles of each of the women, their movements restricted by the short length of chain that suspended between their bare feet. Single-file, they shuffled down the narrow walk space that stretched the length of the ship.
The cargo stacked in the hold was a pirate’s collection of ill-gotten gains. Crates of French wine and a tower of wooden boxes haphazardly marked “SILKS” lined the arched walls. Four more crude cells oufitted with iron bars interspersed between the merchandise.
And musty odors, laced with the not-so-unpleasant smells of stolen spices, assaulted her delicate nose. Cinnamon, Sabine detected amongst the sourness. And cloves. Christmas smells…in the middle of July. They made her think of home again; but the pangs that had once struck her heart painfully now resounded with only a vague, hollow reminder – almost as though it really didn’t matter anymore.
The powerful brightness of the sun struck her blind as she stood transfixed on the last ladder rung that led above deck, her eyelids screwed tight to ward off the burning glare that besieged her. Pungent, salty air pricked her nostrils, reassuring her failing belief that she was truly alive, not simply an empty husk of a person.
“Get a move on.”
A callus-roughened hand shoved her from behind and Sabine sprawled unceremoniously across the deck. She squinted, her eyes tearing painfully in the brilliance. It hurt. It hurt so fiercely she thought she might truly cry. But it was sunlight…and a sense of freedom.
The rattle of chains invaded Sabine’s thoughts, and the tight pack of two dozen or so women closed around her, stealing away her fresh air and replacing it with the rancid familiarity of pressing bodies. Pushing her way to the edge of the crowd, she filled her lungs with the precious salt air she had awaited for so long.
“What do you expect us to do now?” Patsy quipped saucily, her hands propped defiantly on her hips.
“I’ll show ya.”
A wiry, copper-haired youth smiled and winked invitingly, taking a step toward her before another gr
abbed him by the arm and jerked him forcibly to the side.
“You ain’t ta do nothin’,” the other snapped as he rubbed impatiently at the thin, jagged scar that ran the length of his cheek. “Blackie’d have yer hide.”
“I was only jokin’,” the smaller man whined as he slunk guiltily away from the group.
Sabine ignored their arguing and closed her eyes against the warmth that bathed her tired face. She didn’t want to think of them. And she was unwilling to allow these men to spoil her precious moments in the sun. She stubbornly refused to hear anything, but instead focused fully on the rhythmic rising and falling of her breathing and the breeze that ruffled her hair.
From behind the crowd came the sudden outburst of raucous male laughter, followed by the terrified squeal of a panicked voice.
Felicity. Oh, God, came Sabine’s frantic thoughts as her eyes flew open. Where was she?
Sabine spun as a blur of blue cotton dashed past her. Loose hair streaming about her face, the girl clamored awkwardly atop the ship’s railing, clutching desperately at the coarse hemp ropes that rose above her.
Felicity.
Two burly men rushed to recapture her, and a scream of terror sprang from the young woman’s throat. Heart racing, Sabine tried to look away, but couldn’t; she just couldn’t – no matter how passionately she willed herself. Her ears filled with the panicked screams, the rattling chains, the din of murmurings that surrounded her. And her eyes continued to fix themselves unmovingly on the girl who clung desperately to the ropes.
“You git down from there,” the man with the thin scar demanded as they advanced cautiously.
Felicity shook her head fiercely, a sob escaping her as her hands held fast to her rough lifelines, her balance wavering dangerously.
“Come on,” the red-haired man coaxed soothingly, his hands outstretched.
Sabine watched, her heart pounding, her breath arrested within her lungs as the two men approached the hysterical young woman. Please, she prayed fiercely as her hands intertwined with the threadbare cotton of her tattered skirts. Please, Felicity, come down. Come down safe, and everything will be all right. I promise. I promise to make everything all right.
Surrender to Love Page 6