Tell Me I'm Dreamin'

by Eboni Snoe

  Nadine let go a laugh that sounded to her ears similar to Woody Woodpecker’s. “I believe you may be right. What did Mr. Sharpe call your estate, ‘the Protector of Eros’ Treasures’?”

  “That is correct. And I must add we have treasures of all kinds. Tangible and intangible,” Ulysses added in a husky voice.

  “Well . . . I’m . . . sure you do,” Nadine replied, almost choking on a piece of mango at his innuendo. “Your house is a virtual museum from the little I’ve seen of it. It must have been in your family for a long time.”

  “According to our family records, some, if they are authentic, and we have no cause to believe other than that, date back hundreds of years. Sovereign has been in existence since the early seventeen hundreds. Many of our books and art date back even further than that.”

  Nadine was fascinated to discover she was actually staying in a place that was rich in island history. Her facade forgotten, spellbound hazel eyes soaked up the source of information. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, I am not. If you do not believe me, you can always ask the statue of Poseidon to verify his origins.”

  At first Nadine was taken in by Ulysses’ serious tone. His quip had gone right past her. His eyes were the only thing that reflected his jest. They sparkled mischievously.

  “Why, Mr. Deane,” Nadine put on her best imitation of a mother chastising a naughty child, while at the same time trying to recover her composure, “we all have our fantasies. Mine just happen to be rooted in an overly active imagination.”

  “Is the fantasy undressing before a merman or just undressing before a man?”

  “Believe me, Mr. Deane—”

  “I believe as of last night we are well enough acquainted for you to call me Ulysses.”

  “Uh . . . Ulysses,” Nadine uncomfortably complied. “My fantasies are no different from any other woman my age.”

  “Is that so?” His voice was low, his eyes piercing. “I intend to make it my business to find out.”

  Nadine felt a twinge of fear and excitement from Ulysses’ mild but definite threat. With an all too flowery wave of her hand, she patted the French braid at the back of her head. Now what would Gloria say to that?

  “I wouldn’t be too hasty if I were you. You may take on more than you can handle.” She forced herself to look directly into his eyes, but underneath the table a nervous hand clenched and unclenched the silky chiton. Nadine pushed away from the table and rose to her feet, attempting a graceful getaway. “If it’s alright with you, perhaps later on today I could see some of the books and artifacts you have here at Sovereign.”

  Ulysses’ ebony eyes watched her with mild amusement. “You have my permission to do so. As a matter of fact, I will show you around myself.”

  “I’m sure with your having been away for a few days you’re far too busy for that. So I’ll just—”

  “I think I would be the best judge of how busy I am, Nadine.” His silky voice caressed her name. “I shall see you at two this afternoon if that is convenient.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “That sounds fine.” Nadine managed a brittle smile before turning away. Now how are you going to handle this? She entered the hallway. My goodness, I wonder if all the men from this part of the world are so direct. Once Nadine was alone she fanned herself with an open palm. But I can’t blame it all on him, she chastised herself. If I wanted to throw out sexual innuendoes I should have done it with someone a little more in my league. She could feel her stomach fluttering from the undercurrent of their conversation. Alright. Alright. Just get a hold of yourself. Nothing has happened yet, and nothing will, if you don’t want it to.

  Nadine stared blankly at the painting of a Caribbean sunset in the dim hall, her mind racing. What you are thinking about is simply sinful. Sinful I tell you. You had never laid eyes on that man before yesterday and you are thinking about allowing him to be your first. What would people say? Nadine stuck out her chin stubbornly as her inner battle raged on.

  For twenty-six years you have waited chastely, and where has it gotten you? Nowhere. People have poked fun at you, and had another reason to add to their fist for calling you strange. And it’s not like you still believe in saving yourself for your husband. The way your life has been going you will be as old as Methuselah before a potential husband is anywhere near the picture. Anyway, you know plenty of women who didn’t wait, and they are living healthy, happy lives. Married or not. So what if you do allow something to happen between you and Ulysses? This way you can get the preliminaries out of the way, and gain some experience to boot And when you are back in the States no one will be the wiser.

  Nadine smiled to herself. You never know. Gloria might be right. Maybe I have been like a bud whose blossoming is well overdue. After my rendezvous here, I can return to the States a full-fledged rose. Who knows? It’s possible, if I don’t seize some opportunity real soon, the bud may just wither and fall off the bush. She giggled to herself, but underneath it all Nadine knew she had a real fear of growing old and never tasting the virtues of physical love.

  With that Band-Aid of self-advice, Nadine decided she would let things flow naturally with Ulysses Deane. She turned away from the painting feeling more at ease, and headed back toward her bedroom.

  “Did you enjoy your breakfast, Miss Clayton?”

  “I sure did,” Nadine answered, eyes sparkling with harnessed anticipation. “But I wish you’d call me Nadine.”

  “Nadine it is then.” Catherine’s wise eyes noticed the glow on Nadine’s face. She threw a glance in the direction of the house where Ulysses remained. “If you do not have anything else planned, would you care to join me in my walk to the sugarcane fields? There is a small festival today at our rum still, and I usually bring some fresh molasses back to the house.” Catherine placed folded knuckles on her boxy hips. “Sovereign produces enough rum for most of the folks here on Eros. From what I understand we have the only still in these parts outside of the West India Rum Refinery near Bridgetown on Barbados.” Catherine lifted her chin a bit. “But their rum isn’t nearly as good as what we make here.”

  “I bet it isn’t.” Nadine smiled with understanding, picturing the homemade wine that Grandma Rose sometimes kept in the back of the kitchen cabinet. “I do have something planned a little later on today, but I’d love to see a real rum still.” She looked down at the green material that lay against her body. “But I’m sure this isn’t what I need to be wearing.”

  “Do not worry about that. Your clothes are waiting for you in your room, along with a couple of blouses and skirts I was able to dig up.”

  “You’re a blessing, Catherine,” Nadine stated appreciatively. “I’ll go change and meet you on the lanai, say in about fifteen minutes?”

  “Yes. Good. That will give me enough time to finish up a few chores.”

  Nadine felt more alive than, she had felt since she was a child. She walked through the house, staring. On an American scale, this would have been considered a very large house with extraordinarily spacious rooms. Unlike the majority of the structures in the States, the rooms were very rarely placed directly off hallways. You simply stepped out of one room into another.

  Nadine felt a heightened sense of anticipation as she closed the bedroom door. Removing the cord belt and taking off the chiton was simple. The pieces of material fell soundlessly to the floor when she unfastened the two brooches upon her shoulders. She turned the jewelry over in her hand for a closer look and was amazed at the weight and intricacy of the ornaments.

  A satyr holding a wineskin in his hands was carved upon one of the pins. The other displayed an olive-wreathed nude male riding a panther. Both appeared to be made out of solid gold. Carefully, Nadine placed them back in their original container, conscious of their apparent value, and the trust placed in her by allowing her to wear them.

  She felt almost buoyant as she dressed. What Nadine had experienced so far and what she hoped to experience was intoxicatin
g. The island of Eros was proving to be more of a treasure than she ever imagined. Why, here, at Sovereign alone, was Ulysses, a rich historical, literary source, and a possible source for more intimate things.

  With her thoughts in overdrive Nadine looked in the mirror. Her regular clothes were anticlimactic. The oversized top, like the majority of her wardrobe, had been bought to conceal her figure. Looking at it now, Nadine knew that it more than accomplished its purpose. A purpose contrary to her current plans. If she was going to play up Ulysses’ interest in her as a woman, these clothes wouldn’t do at all.

  With a lifetime of being inconspicuous to encourage her, Nadine sorted through the small pile of clothes Catherine had provided. She chose a white linen blouse with long sleeves and large, lazy ruffles trimming a V-shaped neckline, knowing it was just what she needed. Nadine held it up in front of her. It was soft and utterly feminine. Quickly, she put it on, tucking the tail into her navy-blue pants. Looking in the mirror again, she noticed a little cleavage at the bottom of the V, and decided she had been progressive enough for one day. She arranged the bountiful ruffles to conceal it, her upbringing still influencing her.

  With practiced fingers she unraveled her hair and found it was still a little damp from the night before. Through habit she began to comb it all to the back, placing it in its customary ball. Nadine stopped, then turned her face from side to side, examining it in the mirror. On impulse she let go of the auburn fibers, and shook her head vigorously. Using brisk movements she combed it out with her fingers. Nadine was pleased with the end result, and her eyes shone with more than the physical effort.

  When she arrived Catherine was not waiting for her in the designated area. Nonplussed, Nadine assumed she was still completing her chores and she went to look for her in the kitchen. As she entered the room she could hear muffled snapping noises coming from the direction of a screened door. Through it, she could see Catherine shaking out a square linen tablecloth in the midst of a flurry of white flakes. The delicate hand-woven diamond designs that edged the fabric seemed to blend with the floating chips, creating an illusion of snow. Catherine’s nose and mouth were covered with a red kerchief, protecting them from the flying material.

  Nadine watched the housekeeper take another tablecloth, identical to the first, and cover it with a bucket of white wood ash that she removed from a large beehive-shaped oven. After treating the material with the ashes and removing them with several hardy shakes, the linen was the purest of whites. Nadine stepped aside as Catherine brought the neatly folded squares into the kitchen and placed them in a convenient linen closet. She dusted off her hands.

  “Do you need to tell Madame Deane that we are leaving?”

  “No, she is fine. I mentioned the festival to her before she took her medication. I’m pretty sure she is sleeping by now. It will be a while before she wakes up again. Usually, she reads after her morning nap. She should be content until we get back,” Catherine assured her.

  Chapter 7

  The two women set off together down a well-trodden path lined with evergreen trees. The inspiring smell of pine helped to heighten Nadine’s sense of adventure. The scent reminded her of the woods that bordered Grandma Rose’s house, where she had embarked on countless flights of fancy as a child. She had always dreamed of traveling to far-off places. Books had been the medium that transported her there, and she loved the pictures and paintings of ancient cultures the most. In the Mississippi woods she had created her own imaginary world, using nature as her inspiration.

  Nadine felt content. She followed the path that opened onto a grass-tufted hill sprinkled with rocks and pebbles. In the distance she could see various shades of green.

  Seeing Nadine’s delighted expression, Catherine felt compelled to praise her homeland. “Those are the sugarcane fields. Barbados is known all over the world for its rum and its sugar. The ones you are looking at belong to the Sharpes. They own the largest sugarcane fields on Eros. Some of their fields are hundreds of years old. But it has not been all good for them, the Sharpes I mean.” She pulled her head wrap further down upon her forehead until it nearly covered her eyebrows. “Through the years they have been accused of stealing land from innocent people. Madame Deane says their entire northwest field used to belong to Sovereign.” She whispered conspiratorially, as if she could be overheard. “There have been similar stories passed between the workers from other estates as well.”

  “Do you believe it?” Nadine inquired, concerned.

  “It does not matter what I believe. People like me have no power here. I only feel sympathy for madame. Her word along with the word of a few field hands or house servants carries no weight.”

  “What does Ulysses think?” Nadine asked with contrived nonchalance.

  “Ulysses believes in evidence. He says there is no proof to back up the stories, but if he had proof there would be hell to pay.” Catherine raised her head haughtily. “But as it is they remain just that, stories.” Reaching the top of the knoll she pointed at the view below. “Ah. There are some of the workers headed for the still.”

  Several donkey carts filled with sugarcane were methodically making their way toward a large building. Bunches of men, women, and children followed on foot, some carrying bundles and baskets, others musical instruments. Unlike the carts filled with sugarcane, the workers and several other carts continued toward a clearing where a few islanders were busy near what Nadine assumed was the rum still. She took in the scene with appreciation.

  A magnificent azure sky framed the backdrop of countless blossoms of red, yellow, pink, and white. She could hear cheerful voices carried toward them on the wind. Nadine was bewildered by the apparent joy generated by the group. “Are they always so happy about going to work?”

  “Bajan people are merry by nature. But our emotions can run high no matter what the direction. Yet I believe happy music and dancing are our first love. See there,” Catherine pointed to a small group of men walking together, “some of them are carrying instruments. That is because we always look for a reason to have a festival. Running the still gives us a good reason.”

  Descending the hill, Nadine enjoyed the wind whipping through her hair. The weather was breathtaking, and she wondered how Catherine and some of the others kept their heads bundled up beneath the head wraps. But she did not ask.

  Greetings passed back and forth between Catherine and several of the workers as they merged with the crowd. They cast curious looks in Nadine’s direction, along with low welcomes. She met them all with an enthusiastic nod of her head and a smile. As they reached their destination the men and women began to split up. The women and children situated themselves near a group of trees growing close to the still. Nadine couldn’t help but notice the group that had gathered were all white people with hair that varied from straight to semi-wavy. Somehow they did not reflect the ethnic blend she had expected.

  The women went straight to work, transforming their bundles into blankets to sit on. Once done, they put out baskets and containers of food and drink, buffet-style. Several yards away pots over open fires were being tended.

  “Miss Nadine, do you like the black pudding?” a smiling Catherine inquired. She was helping another woman tie what looked like sections of intestines on both ends with string, then suspending them over waiting kettles of boiling water.

  Curious about the white cylinders that she recognized as stuffed pig intestines, Nadine felt squeamish when she realized the black in black pudding was blood. But she did not want to spoil Catherine’s obvious pleasure. Nadine hunched her shoulders and smiled as she thought, Oh, God, don’t tell me I’m going to end up eating cooked blood! Why couldn’t they be fond of turnip greens or sweet potatoes?

  “You will! We will boil it until it is cooked well. It is delicious with a glass of rum.”

  Nadine kept the smile in place as she walked toward the still. It fascinated her. She watched as several men with sleeves and trousers rolled high began to scrub their feet in a ne
arby stream. Others removed medium-sized barrels of molasses that hung along the sides of the carts, then carried the ponderous objects upon their heads while holding convenient handles. Soon a production line of sorts had formed. Some men, usually the older ones, removed the barrels while others transported the molasses. Still another set stood by to ensure the molasses tumbled directly into the openings of the still, and not on the ground. Large vats were placed at the end of tubular shoots, ready to catch the precious vapors that transformed into rum once the distilling process had begun.

  Conversation was at a minimum during this process. Nondescript grunts and sounds passed between the men, who knew the job as well as they knew themselves. Only the men working near the still talked and laughed as if pumping themselves up for a football game. Nadine smiled when an occasional lyric burst forth from an extremely motivated worker.

  As the men traded jobs, keeping the molasses supply high, the vapors filled the tubes, forcing brown rum downward into the colorful vats. As time passed Nadine wondered if more rum was flowing from the still or was being consumed by the men working there. The potent liquid flowed all around. The women drank more modestly than the men; the musicians imbibed the most.

  Catherine had been right. Nadine found black pudding delicious, and even the small glass of rum she drank along with it was beginning to taste pretty good.

  “You know what? This is the second glass of alcohol I have ever drank,” Nadine confided to Catherine. “The first time was about five years ago. Afterwards, I was a total mess. Everything was funny to me, and on top of that, I fell asleep while the party was still going on.”

  “Sometimes it is good to be free of control, Miss Nadine. Enjoy yourself, I will make sure no harm comes to you here,” Catherine encouraged, passing her another piece of pudding.

  Nadine took the pudding and Catherine at her word, but she also determined to make the one glass of rum last her until she returned to the house.

  A stirring melody from a flat string instrument rose above all the other sounds as the musicians’ festive mood heightened. The workers’ movements became dance-like. Amorous females even handed them an occasional blossom. The men laughed boisterously as they placed the flowers behind their ears with undaunted flair.