Souls Aflame

by Patricia Hagan

  He turned to leave, then whirled about to point a finger at her and say raspingly, “Get your things together at once. I want you off my ship and out of my life.”

  “You can’t want that any more than I do,” she retorted acidly. “And now I can truly understand why your men call you Ironheart…if you even have a heart!”

  His black eyes burned with red fires. His nostrils flaring, he rubbed his hands rapidly against his legs. Never had he wanted so badly to strike a woman, and he was fighting for control. “If you stripped naked before me now and lay down on that bed and parted your thighs, I wouldn’t touch you! That’s how desirable I find you, wench. You were just someone for me to empty myself into, like all the others. Now get the hell off my ship!”

  Reaching out for the object nearest at hand, Julie grabbed the bowl of fish stew and sent it rushing through the air. It splashed upon his chest. “You bastard!” she screamed, tears of humiliation streaming down her flushed cheeks. “You damned arrogant bastard. I hope the Yankees do catch up with you. I hope they throw you to the sharks!”

  Julie watched, the captain leave the cabin without another word, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the walls rattle.

  She covered her face with her hands, furious with him and herself. To think she had found him attractive…how embarrassing to remember the hours she had reveled in his arms as he took her to heights of untold pleasures and ecstasy. Fool! She had been such a fool!

  Thank God she would never see him again. For that much, she was grateful.

  Derek took a deep breath, hesitating before he started up the steps. Damn her. He still hurt from the blow she had inflicted on his most vulnerable parts. It was a wonder he hadn’t lost control and killed her before he realized what he was doing. She was a wild one, but she also stirred something within him despite his ire—a twinge of desire…a shadow of tenderness.

  Hell, it was best she was getting out of his life. He’d known many women in his lifetime, but never the likes of Julie Marshal, no matter that he’d told her otherwise.

  He continued upward, drinking in the sweet salt air as he stepped on deck. There was a flurry of activity around him, but he removed himself from the fuss and walked to the ship’s railing. Tightly he gripped the worn, splintered wood and stared thoughtfully out at the rolling green sea. Julie had touched his life only briefly, and they would never meet again.

  Damn!

  He turned around and stared at his men scurrying about.

  He was a fool. She was spoiled, willful, nothing but trouble. He had enjoyed her body, but that was all. There could be no more. He didn’t want a woman around him constantly. His mistress was the sea, and he was ashamed of feeling even the most remote attachment for the girl with hair the color of midnight and eyes as green as the deepest waters.

  Someone called to him, and he moved in the direction of the voice. He had to leave his feelings behind, he told himself. There was no time to be melancholy. And what reason did he have, anyway? She was just another body, as he’d told her only moments before. Perhaps she was more generously endowed than most, but she was still merely a woman—good for a few hours of passion and frolic in bed, then to be cast aside.

  Officer Watson approached him. “Sir, we’re ready to move the women to the other ship.”

  “Then do so,” he replied tonelessly. “I’ll be in my cabin. We’ll go over the rest of the plans when you return.”

  Watson nodded, turned, then wheeled about suddenly to inquire, “Will you bid the ladies goodbye?”

  “Hell, no!” Derek stunned the man with his explosion, then, realizing how he’d reacted, lowered his voice quickly and said, “No, I’ve said my goodbyes. Proceed at once.”

  Derek continued toward his cabin, ignoring the men who called out to him as he passed.

  It was over. It had to be.

  But a voice deep inside caused him much distress, for it seemed to be telling him that…goodbye was not forever.

  Chapter Nine

  With Officer Garris commanding a skeleton crew from the Ariane, the captured Federal ship arrived off the coast of St. George on the northeast tip of Bermuda just two days after leaving the other ship.

  Garris paid only one visit to Julie and her mother, to explain how they would put into port.

  “We’ll anchor out in the harbor, and two of my men will take you to shore by rowboat,” he said tonelessly. “Once there, you will take your leave at once. We’ve no idea of what will happen once Guthrie and his men are found adrift and they start screaming piracy. We don’t intend to be around to find out. My orders are to set you on shore, then see to the safety of my crew. You’ll be on your own.”

  While they made the short trip into the harbor, Julie marveled at the beauty surrounding her. Peering over the side of the bobbing wooden craft, she gasped out loud as she realized that the water was crystal-clear. She could see down into its blue-green depths and watch the slickly gliding fish dart and weave as they searched for food.

  The air was sweetly cool, scented not with salt but with the delicate fragrance of flowers, which reminded Julie of rare imported perfumes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such beauty,” she commented in awe to her mother. “It’s the way I picture heaven.”

  Lost in the ethereal world surrounding them, her mother and Mammy Sara could only nod silently.

  They reached the beach, and once again Julie was struck by the splendor of her surroundings. Dazzlingly clear water lapped against sand the color of pink-tinted coral which had been ground powder-fine by the wind and the waves. As soon as her feet touched land, Julie stopped to touch the sugary substance, letting it slide through her fingertips and laughing with a child’s delight. “It looks so much like sugar, it makes me want to taste it!” she cried.

  Her mother had lost interest in the scenery and was arguing with one of the sailors. “What do you mean, you don’t have all our luggage? Several of my daughter’s valises are missing. This is ridiculous. That man took my cotton, my money. Is he so greedy that he steals women’s clothing as well?”

  “I’m sorry,” the sailor mumbled as though he really didn’t care. “We couldn’t get everything in the rowboat.”

  Mrs. Marshal pressed her hands against her temples and shook her head in frustration. “This is terrible. All her lovely gowns! I can’t believe it!”

  Julie started picking up her mother’s bags. “Let’s just be on our way and glad that it’s all over. We can buy a few things to last us till we reach England.”

  “Virgil is never going to stand for such effrontery,” Mrs. Marshal told the sailor, who snickered insolently. “He’ll see that your captain pays for his wickedness.” She continued to grumble, but Julie was too captivated with the majestic surroundings to be concerned about the loss.

  Bermuda gave the impression of being a gigantic, well-kept flower garden. Even though it was late December, masses of gorgeous blooms could be seen everywhere: fields of delicate white Easter lilies, mile-long hedges of oleander, hibiscus, bougainvillea, royal poinsettia, and myriad other flora.

  Beginning to feel intoxicated from the sweet essence that surrounded her, Julie delighted at the houses that dotted the landscape. Appealing and colorful, she knew they were made of limestone coral rock. Derek had told her about them, how the rock, which was soft enough to be cut with a wood saw, was cut from the ground. Once exposed to the air, the coral hardened with age.

  She marveled at the roofs made of overlapping coral shingles which measured about ten by fourteen inches and were an inch thick. She knew, too, that these were washed periodically with a coating of lime for cleanliness’s sake, since each household was dependent for its drinking water on the rains that slid over the shingles and were funneled into a reserve tank below.

  As the three women made their way along the sandy beach, Julie could see the “welcoming arms” steps of one house, which were wider at the bottom than at the top. The chimneys were all huge; the windows surprisingly small-pane
d, each trimmed with shutters hinged at the top and swinging up and out.

  Gazing about, Julie surmised that there was probably nowhere on the island where one would be more than a mile from the ocean. Bermuda was a busy place. This did not surprise her, since she was well aware that it was the chief supply depot for the Confederacy, and the port to which most of the South’s cotton was shipped. Its proximity to the ports of Wilmington and Charleston gave it a superior advantage. And while submerged reefs made navigating difficult, all of the light-draft blockade runners carried Bahamian bank pilots, who knew every channel along the islands. The Yankee cruisers, Derek said, had no bank pilots and, since they drew more water, were compelled to keep to the open sea.

  Captain Guthrie, Julie knew, would’ve had great difficulty navigating his ship out of the harbor. It was one of Derek’s men, a bank pilot, who had been able to guide them in safely past the treacherous hidden reefs and who would take the others back to where the Ariane waited.

  She explained all this to her mother as they walked.

  “How do you come by all this information?” Mrs. Marshal wanted to know.

  Julie hesitated, but only momentarily, deciding there was no point in being elusive. “Derek told me about it.” Then she rushed on as her mother gave her a sharp look, “All of the islands are surrounded by coral reefs and shoals, and the channels are quite intricate. I also know that before the war, the chief industries of the islands were the collection and exportation of sponges and corals.”

  “You and the captain became rather close, didn’t you?” Her mother spoke quietly, pensively.

  “At one time, I suppose we were,” Julie replied thoughtfully, not without a small twinge of pain, “before I came to fully realize what a savage he is.”

  The older woman raised her chin determinedly. “We will try to put it all behind us. Whatever happened on board that ship is now in the past. Let’s not speak of it again.”

  Julie understood what she meant. Her mother knew she was sleeping with Derek the morning they were attacked by the Yankees. She not only saw him rushing out of Julie’s cabin only partially dressed, but had noted his boots beside her bed. Now no more would be said about it. They had to concentrate on the future.

  Julie was grateful. Her mother had every right to condemn her behavior, and she was glad the older woman chose not to, particularly since she wasn’t sure she could explain it. How could she? Julie herself could not answer the questions burning inside her as to how Derek was able to possess such a hold over her.

  They left the beach area, moving through oleander bushes to a narrow road. It wasn’t long before a buggy appeared, with an old man wearing baggy pants and a shirt, a straw hat perched on his head, driving a team of horses. Mrs. Marshal and Julie waved to him, and he doffed his hat after obligingly reining in his steeds, bringing them to a halt.

  When he was told they wished to find a place where they could book passage to England, he informed them in a clipped British accent that Hamilton was the largest nearby town, and that he would be pleased to take them there.

  He drove them to a building on the waterfront. Mrs. Marshal handed him a few coins and thanked him for the ride. Then she turned to three men standing nearby and asked where she could find a shipping agent for vessels bound for England.

  One of them hooked a thumb in the direction of a glass-fronted office. “There’s an agent in there who represents the Lady Dawn,” he told her. “I understand she’ll be sailing before too many days have passed.”

  “Would you know exactly when?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. The agent will have that information. I’m a cotton buyer. I’m not traveling about at the moment.”

  “I see.” She gave him a wary look, then prodded, “Would you mind telling me the price of cotton here?”

  The man frowned. “Frankly, lady, it’s highway robbery. We hear cotton is being purchased in the Confederacy for eight cents a pound, but we’re forced to pay six times that sum once it gets through the blockade and arrives here.”

  Mrs. Marshal turned to Julie with a sick expression on her face. “Dear Lord, do you realize how much money that dreadful man will make on our cotton?”

  “We can’t dwell on the past, remember?” Julie touched her mother’s arm gently. “Let’s go inside now, all right?”

  Her mother nodded and followed her. Julie was glad to get away from the curious, staring strangers.

  When the agent told them the Lady Dawn would sail in just three days, her mother fumbled in her purse and brought out the money to pay for three tickets. Then she asked, “Could you recommend a decent hotel where we could stay till it’s time to board the ship? I imagine a town like this is full of rowdies.”

  “That it is,” he laughed understandingly. “I have a sister, name of Janie Margaret Odom, who runs a boarding house not too far from here. I’m sure she can squeeze you in for a few days. It’s best ladies such as you stay off the streets, especially after sundown.” He gave them directions to Mrs. Odom’s, they thanked him, and left.

  The town was wide awake. It seemed to Julie that every nationality on earth was represented there, and it was becoming quite crowded. She supposed the high wages ashore and afloat tempted adventurers from all over. The monthly wages of a sailor on board a blockade runner were one hundred dollars in gold, and a fifty-dollar bounty was paid at the end of a successful trip. Derek had told her that the captains and pilots sometimes received as much as five thousand dollars in addition to perquisites.

  All of the cotton shipped on behalf of the Confederate government was brought to land and transferred to a mercantile firm in Nassau, which received a commission for assuming its ownership. The cotton was then shipped to Europe under the British or another neutral flag. Derek also told Julie that the firm in Nassau made many thousands of dollars from these commissions.

  Of course, he added, there were many private companies, such as the one her fiancé would have her believe he represented. She winced at the word fiancé, and Derek smiled knowingly. She remembered hating him for mocking her.

  She and her mother had met Virgil Oates at a tea, where he was introduced as a cotton buyer from England. Word spread that he was also a member of an influential and wealthy family in London, and when it was discovered he was a bachelor, every eligible young woman in Savannah was literally paraded before him.

  But it had been Julie’s favor he sought, and while she never felt even the slightest twinge of affection for him, her mother was quite pleased and encouraged the match between the two.

  And, she remembered soulfully, at the time her life had been so full of strife and turmoil that she allowed herself to be swept along, unresisting, not really caring any longer what happened to her…concerned only with the fate of Myles and her mother, the people dearest to her heart.

  Looking back over her shoulder toward the main harbor, she could see the water crowded with lead-colored, short-masted, rakish-looking steamers. “I wonder if Captain Guthrie and his crew have been discovered yet,” she murmured.

  Julie’s mother followed her gaze. “I don’t know, but that’s another reason we need to be on our way as soon as possible. I want all of this behind us and out of our lives forever. I don’t want us to be involved should Captain Arnhardt and his men be arrested for piracy.”

  Mrs. Odom’s house was situated on a main street in the middle of all the hustle and bustle. Both Julie and her mother expressed doubt that there would be enough peace and quiet for them to get a good night’s sleep during their brief stay.

  Julie rapped on the door, and almost instantly it was opened by a gray-haired woman who told them that yes, she did have a room, and it was upstairs in the front, overlooking the street. While she was quite sorry that noise was a bother to be reckoned with, all her other accommodations were taken. Nodding toward Mammy Sara, Mrs. Odom said she could sleep in the room with her cook.

  Julie’s mother paid in advance, then asked if it would be possible for their food
to be brought to their room. “We don’t want to venture out.”

  “Oh, there’s no reason to be scared,” Mrs. Odom was quick to reassure her. “It’s true some of the sailors get a bit rowdy at night, but they frequent the taverns up the street. It won’t be dangerous for you to go out during the day.”

  “We’ll be willing to pay extra…”

  “Have it your way.” The old lady brushed by and led them upstairs.

  A large fishnet separated the parlor from the narrow stairway leading up to the second floor. Julie was delighted by the different-shaped seashells tied into the netting. The entire house was quaint and cozy. From what she had seen of the island, she loved it. It was a paradise where she could easily feel at home.

  Their room was small but adequate. Lace curtains billowed at the open windows. There were two wood-railed beds covered with bright patchwork quilts, a dresser with a porcelain bowl and pitcher on top, and two rickety chairs.

  “I’ll fetch something for you to eat,” Mrs. Odom said as she scurried from the room.

  Mrs. Marshal began to pace up and down between the beds, wringing her lace hanky in her hands and pausing now and then to stare out the window and down at the street. Julie frowned, hoping this was not the way the next three days would be spent.

  Mrs. Odom returned with a tray. “I have leftover cassava pie. I think you’ll like it.”

  Julie leaned over to examine it and take a sniff. “It smells good.”

  “It’s made of pork and chicken, and the crust is made from the grated root of the cassava plant. I also brought fried bananas and salt cod.”

  Her mother picked at her serving, but Julie found it quite delicious and ate her fill.

  The sun was high in the sky, and the room was stuffy and hot despite the slight breeze from the bay which found its way through the windows. Julie dragged a chair over to sit directly in front of the moving air, and occupied herself by watching the people moving about in the street below.