And she wanted to. Suddenly, passionately, Sabine wished she could run to Felicity and throw her arms around her – comfort her and assure that nothing bad would happen to her ever again. Then they would return to New Orleans and forget the entire ordeal had ever existed in the first place.
The persuasive coaxing of the two men reached her ears once more. Sabine’s eyes riveted to the scene, tight hands of fear squeezing every ounce of breath from her body.
As they advanced closer, Felicity let loose another panicked shriek. In the midst of her terror, her feet slipped on the ocean-sprayed wood of her tiny precipice. Arms reeling, she struggled to maintain her balance. But her attempt was unsuccessful, and she plunged overboard, blue skirts twisting, screams echoing.
“Felicity!”
Sabine’s voice shrilled over the commotion around her. Eyes wild, she ran to the side, fighting the masculine hands that reached out to recapture her.
“Felicity!”
She prayed that she might see the young woman clinging to the side, but two hands grabbed her roughly, crushing her bones with their strength. Sabine fought savagely as they forced her away…but not before she saw the crazed panic in her friend’s eyes as she surfaced once, twice in the rolling waves, her arms flailing in a futile attempt to swim.
Shouts of orders were given, ropes thrown overboard. But she did not emerge – did not return from the blue depths. Felicity was gone.
Numbly, Sabine stood apart from the others on the deck, a hot flood building in her eyes as her gaze remained transfixed on the spot Felicity had stood only moments before. She did not release the tears. And she had no desire to be with the other women who huddled together in a frightened mass behind her. Pauline’s sobbing reached her ears, but she did not turn to the sound.
“What the hell is going on?”
The coarse shout, clipped with the undeniable accent of the British, came from above, followed by a string of violent curses. He stood there – dressed in black; long dark hair neatly slicked back from his face and captured with a strip of red ribbon. And beside him, held firmly in his grasp, was Arianna Covington, decked out in a sumptuous gown ostentatiously decorated with countless yards of lace and bows; her hair, sculpted in ringlets, draped across her naked shoulders. For a fleeting second her gaze locked with Sabine’s, her dark eyes hard, mean.
“Well?”
All action abruptly halted as the ship’s captain scrutinized the persons below. Tension and hostility crackled through the air, riding on the breezes that snapped the crisp sails.
“Everything’s under control, Blackie,” assured the bearded hulk who had escorted the women topside.
Blackie did not reply, but his cold, steely eyes settled on Sabine, and she returned his gaze unmovingly, the muscles in her jaw twitching angrily.
“She’s gone,” the red-headed youth replied as he popped his head over the outside of the hull. “Gone. Not even a trace.”
The ugly giant turned on him savagely, sending him a look of pure hatred.
“Who’s gone?” Blackie demanded as he quickly descended to the ranks, dragging Arianna behind him.
“Felicity,” Sabine told him, her voice cold with the icy hatred that flooded her heart. “Felicity is gone.”
He roared out in anger, curses exploding from him as grabbed the torn shirtfront of the man nearest him.
“These women are to be watched every second,” he snapped, the clipped British intonations of his voice more pronounced. “Do you think we’re sailing for holiday?”
The group of men shuffled uncomfortably under his close observation, their gaze averting to the uneven planking beneath their feet.
“These women are not to be touched. They are to be watched,” Blackie said slowly, his voice growling in the uncomfortable silence. “If the merchandise is damaged, it won’t bring much money. And if they’re dead,” he bellowed, “they won’t bring a damned cent! Get them out of here. I don’t want to see them again until we dock in Havana.”
Sabine stumbled as a rough shove propelled her from behind, but her gaze did not leave the violent stare of the man who captained this vessel; behind him, the glittering eyes of Arianna watched with contempt.
As Sabine plunged into the fetid darkness, she tore her eyes away, and looked at the fatal spot where Felicity had stood. A pained sickness came to her heart once again as it filled with loss. Felicity. Poor, frightened Felicity who had wanted nothing more than to go home. Felicity, who had never been strong enough to rise above the situation, no matter how hard she’d tried, now lay in a watery grave somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico. She would never see the Louisiana countryside again, nor would she ever fill her lungs with the smells of the outdoors after it rained.
Why did it have to happen? The question rolled over again and again in Sabine’s mind as she shuffled through the sour obscurity below deck. It shouldn’t have. And it was all his fault – that man who called himself Blackie and captained this godforsaken ship.
The iron grate slammed behind them with a resounding finality. The frightened wails of Pauline echoed throughout the cell, but Sabine didn’t feel anything. No pain. No sorrow. Nothing. And it frightened her.
Had she become nothing more than a shell of the young woman she had once been? Her feelings, her emotions – all had deserted her.
The child was gone, Sabine supposed bitterly as she stared at the vacant spot Felicity had once occupied. She had been left behind somewhere in the lost innocence of her youth. Forgotten. And Sabine wondered if she would remain hidden away forever.
Chapter Six
Sabine bolted upright, her brain fuzzy from sleep. Her heart pounded frantically as she peered into the blackness. Something had suddenly roused her to consciousness. A shout? A thud of feet? Perhaps it was merely her imagination- false images induced by the fretful dreams that plagued her each time she closed her eyes.
“Get your asses up, you lazy pack of whores.”
“What the hell do you want?” Patsy snapped angrily. “Can’t a girl get any sleep around here?”
A harsh laugh pierced the darkness.
“Ain’t gonna be sleepin’ much at night where you’re goin’, so you better get used to it.”
The door swung open with a loud protest or its iron hinges. Swallowing the lump of foreboding that rose within her, Sabine watched cautiously as the shadowy bulk strode purposefully into the confines. The pale rays of his lantern swept over the faces of each of the women. Patsy and Mauda watched their captor’s movement with the intensity of cornered prey, their gazes hard with hatred. Only Pauline huddled in the corner, her eyes dangerously welling with tears, her lower lip trembling.
Gruffly the man grasped Sabine’s ankle and she jerked back in surprise, her eyes blazing. How dare he attempt to take liberties with her! With a bare foot she struck him squarely in the chest and sent him reeling to the floor.
“What do you think you’re doing,” she bit out venomously.
He answered her with the stinging slap of his hand. Her head exploded with pain as it snapped back, soundly striking a solid timber.
“You little bitch,” he growled, and roughly grabbed her arm. “I’ll be more than happy to see the last of you.”
As she wrenched away, Sabine’s free hand crept to the hard knot hat formed at the base of her skull. Damn him straight to the devil, she thought fiercely. And the rest of this crew, too, for their sadistic tactics.
The ferocity of her words frightened her. Such horrid harshness coming from the well-mannered young woman Mama and Papa had raised. It was scandalous, her behaving like a guttersnipe, uttering words only a sailor would use.
A sharp laugh escaped her lips. Who was she trying to fool? No one cared a whit that she had been brought up a proper girl who could read and write and do a thousand things that a colored person wasn’t supposed to. To these men she was only merchandise; something to be sold for a few gold coins.
“You got a problem?”
“No,�
� Sabine replied slowly as she met the man’s gaze steadily, her eyes glowing with the black rage that filled her. “I don’t.”
With his fistful of keys he unlocked each of the women from their fettering chains. Roughly he pulled them to their feet and herded the small group down the lantern-lit passage. Pauline’s nervous whimperings reached her ears, but Sabine forced the sounds from her consciousness.
Not now, she willed herself. Her nails dug tiny grooves into her palms as she fought back the hot pressure of tears that built up behind her eyes. She couldn’t allow the pitiful wails to weaken the solid defenses she had built around her. She must be strong. And she wouldn’t cry.
She would never, ever cry.
XXX
Long streaks of twilight stretched across the sky, settling into the hollows of the harbor city. The smells of the waterfront district pricked her nostrils – pungent stagnancy with just a touch of saltiness. And hauntingly familiar sounds wafted to the deck where Sabine stood.
So this was it.
Havana.
She stared out numbly over the water, the moonlight sparkling like a random scattering of diamond dust. The shadowy silhouettes of two fortresses stood as immovable sentries against the night sky, securely guarding the mouth of Havana Harbor. It should have been beautiful – could have been, had all of this been another time, another place.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!”
The piercing shriek sliced through the darkness, followed by the clattering of heeled shoes. Hair wild, Arianna Covington stood high upon the deck; a burly crewman held her captive. The darkened form of Blackie drew back a hand, striking out with a deafening smack. A startled yelp escaped her and she sagged in the restraining grip.
“You said you would spare me. I told you my father would gladly pay you a fortune for my return.”
“I never said a thing about when we arrived in Havana.”
Their voices drifted down to her ears, and Sabine turned away, disgust twisting her stomach into acidy convolutions. The woman was a ridiculous fool to be selling herself for the hope of freedom. It would never happen to her, Sabine vowed as she set her jaw and squared her shoulders in defiance. Never.
Arianna’s cries of protest rose to the night air once again, but were promptly subdued to muffled shouts as a cloth silenced her.
“Get them out of here,” Blackie called down, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
“Knock it off,” Patsy snapped angrily. “What do you think we are? Cattle?”
The glowering man with the thin scar didn’t bother a reply, but instead gruffly shoved Patsy with the rest of the women. Sabine looked at the struggling form of Arianna, who lagged behind until she was forcibly dragged to the fringes of the crowd, her muffled squeals crying out in protest. And then she glanced briefly at Blackie’s silhouette as he turned his back to the group.
Hatred seized her heart. God should strike him down dead for everything he had done…and send him straight to hell where he belonged.
The short, burly man who held Sabine firmly in his grasp grunted audibly as he pushed her roughly into an oxcart next to Pauline. Her bare feet tangled in the long skirts of cotton dress and she pitched into the wagonload of listless women, gasping painfully as the skin on her knees scraped free.
Warily, Sabine eyed the others as she felt Pauline’s small hands knot themselves into the threadbare material of her skirts. The dullness of their defeated and accepting stares stirred resentment in her breast. How could they? How could they just sit there and do nothing?
For the same reason you merely sit and ponder your own situation, the small voice inside her reminded sarcastically. What exactly would you do, and where would you go?
The voice was right. It was always right, Sabine conceded bitterly as she inspected the half-dozen men that surrounded the rickety construction of the oxcart – all of them mounted on quick, rugged ponies. What use was it to try to run in country where she didn’t have a chance? No one would think her word contained an ounce of truth anyway. She swallowed, and the bitter pill of defeat sank heavily in the empty pit of her stomach.
The oxcart’s iron wheels slogged through the quagmire of the muddy, plank-covered back alleys, and the unnerving sounds of the waterfront reached her ears. Glasses clinked, voices raised in conversation. The eerie familiarity sent a chill coursing through her.
Sabine craned her neck, desperate to catch sight of Patsy or Mauda, but they were nowhere to be seen. Fear clutched at her heart as she reached Pauline’s hand and squeezed it tightly. The security of their small group was gone. No longer would they be there to foster her new-found strength. She and Pauline were on their own now.
“Maybe things will be different here,” she said with false encouragement to Pauline as she slipped a comforting arm around the girl’s thin shoulders. “Maybe it’ll be better than New Orleans.”
“I thinks you’re dreamin’,” Pauline spoke after several moments. “I thinks you’ve spent too much time on that boat and you’re goin’ soft in the head.”
Well, Sabine thought with a sigh, maybe she was going a bit daft; but if it took fooling herself into believing that things would turn out perfectly, then that was what she would do. She had to rise above all this – survive and prove to everyone that she couldn’t be beaten.
The wagon lurched to a rickety halt behind a tightly packed row of buildings. By the pale rays of the lantern light, she saw glittering malice in the eyes of the man who stood next to her.
“Get out.”
Heart pounding, she cautiously inched her way to the ground, never taking her eyes from the brute who lingered nearby, a twisted and scarred bullwhip snaking through his hands.
“You,” he pointed at her, “the nigra with the green eyes.”
Her entire being constricted with trepidation, and Sabine looked up in alarm. What did he want with her? He had no cause to single her out.
Pauline wailed in despair and clutched desperately at Sabine’s skirts. Her frail form sank to the ground, her sobs muffled within the folds of the threadbare material.
“No,” the dark girl pleaded. “You cain’t let her go. Please! Please, it ain’t right.”
Sabine looked back as she was torn from Pauline’s grasping hands. She refused to cry, and not even the pathetic figure of Pauline would move her to the weakness she had vowed to fight.
A stranger led her up a set of listing sets, his clutching fingers digging into the tender flesh of her arm. She was thrust into a small room, bare of all furniture except for a small washstand. He set the rusted lantern next to the wash basin and threw a soiled, ragged cloth into the wash pitcher.
“You have five minutes. Wash up.”
Eyes wide, Sabine whirled to face him, and the door shut between them with reverberating finality. Fear and panic raced through her body, violently shoving aside her resolve. No! it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She was supposed to live out her life in New Orleans…perhaps marry someday. But not to be auctioned off as a piece of stolen property!
Sabine stared idly at the cracked pitcher and bowl on the washstand and rubbed the feeling back to her numbed cheeks. She dipped her hand into the water hesitantly, feeling it run through her fingers before pouring it into the basin.
“Come on. Time’s up.”
“But I – I’m not ready.”
Her words came breathlessly as bands of fear constrained her chest. No. Not yet, she thought frantically as her heart leaped in her throat. The sudden urge to flee gripped her, but her legs refused to obey. And there was nowhere for her to go. She was trapped.
A firm grasp held her as the stranger led her down a narrow, dimly lit hallway. Drawing a deep, wavering breath, Sabine straightened her shoulders and strode behind him, her steps never faltering, though her heart raced with uncertainty.
The burgundy velvet curtain was pushed aside and Sabine entered the brightness of the room, the smoke of cigar hanging heavily in the air. Swallowing the
lump that rose in her throat, her resolve quickly fled and salty tears of humiliation smarted her eyes. Damn them, she swore mutely. Damn them for betraying her! Couldn’t her own emotions even remain loyal? Must they continually play traitor and mock her at every turn?
The action in the room halted immediately, and she found herself staring out over the group of fifty or so men, many of them attired in finely cut suits – and they looked as though they had come with plenty of money to spend. She refused to meet their appraising stares, but instead focused all her attention on the velvet-curtained doorway at the back of the crowd while she fought back the bile that churned dangerously in her stomach. The forceful sound of a gavel struck upon a wooden podium, its crack echoing loudly in her ears.
“How much money for this woman?” the auctioneer shot out in Spanish. “Ella es una chica bonita. Look, she has the most beautiful green eyes. She would make an attractive addition to anyone’s household staff, wouldn’t you say? Let’s start the bidding at three hundred and fifty pesos.”
Sabine stood riveted, numb, eyes wide in fear as she looked out over the smoke-hazed mass. A hand lifted the mass of dark curls from her neck and stroked them appreciatively. Someone forcibly turned her in a small circle to parade her attributes. Another hand stroked the length of her neck, lingering briefly at the hollow of her throat. She wanted to scream, to lash out furiously against these men.
But she couldn’t. All she could do was stand, and allow herself to be handled like some sort of prized piece of livestock.
An older gentleman in the back signaled the auctioneer in an offer to bid.
“How about four hundred?”
“Four hundred,” another to the right of the room called out.
Sabine was jerked back to her senses, and she quickly glanced at the latest bidder. He was not like all the others who gathered here. He looked as though he could almost be American with his curly blond hair and blue eyes. Cocking his hat back on his head, he rested his hand casually on his hip as he leaned against the white plastered wall. He scrutinized her carefully with narrowed eyes.
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