Daughters of Rebecca

by Iris Gower

  Llinos caught her breath. Dafydd had a compelling way of speaking and there was always a glint in his dark eyes. Was he an anarchist? But that was none of her concern.

  ‘How is the pottery doing?’ she asked. He put down his cup and there was a line of chocolate across his moustache. Without thinking, Llinos took up a napkin and moved closer to him, dabbing away the chocolate with a gentle touch.

  He caught her wrist and held it. Llinos felt as though his fingers were scorching her flesh. His face was close to hers and they stared into each other’s eyes. Llinos held her breath, wanting so badly to press her lips to his.

  A sudden loud chord from the piano broke the spell. Dafydd released her hand and she rubbed her wrist unconsciously.

  ‘Shanni is practising her music,’ she said, trying to gather her wits. ‘Isabelle is a good teacher but she must tell Shanni to use the soft pedal.’

  She returned to her seat, her legs trembling as if they had lost the strength to support her.

  Dafydd rose abruptly. ‘It’s high time I got back to work.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Don’t come to the door with me, it’s far too cold.’ He paused as he reached for the latch. ‘Just be ready for me tonight.’

  Llinos watched from the window as he rode away, wondering about his words. What was he really asking of her? She smiled as, at the end of the driveway, Dafydd lifted his hand in a farewell gesture. He was so conceited: he had known she would be watching him.

  When he was out of sight, she returned to her chair and leaned back, closing her eyes. Was she a fool to dine with Dafydd? Was she playing with fire?

  But she would go, of course she would. It was what she wanted, to be with a man who admired her, who found her beautiful and desirable. She felt hot suddenly. The chocolate had brought warmth with it, or was that the effect Dafydd’s presence had on her?

  She clasped her hands, unaware of the dreamy expression on her face. Tonight she would bathe, dress in her finest clothes, make sure her hair was brushed and silky. She would be at her best when she met Dafydd.

  She opened her eyes sharply. She was thinking like a woman enchanted, a woman about to embark on an affair. And, she decided, that was exactly what she was going to do.

  ‘So, you see, Shanni, you must never discuss what we talk about together with anyone else.’ Madame Isabelle was pulling on her gloves, preparing to leave. ‘The safety, even the lives, of the men could be in danger if the plans were leaked.’

  ‘I know when to remain silent,’ Shanni said. She smiled at Madame Isabelle and tucked the piece of paper into her pocket. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll be there.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, keep in the background. Young girls are not usually allowed to be present at the storming of a gate.’ She frowned. ‘And remember, it’s not a tea party, so don’t go thinking it’s excitement all along the way. Sometimes people get hurt and, though violence is not something I condone, unfortunately it occasionally happens.’

  In spite of her warnings, Shanni felt exhilarated at the thought of witnessing at first hand the rebellion of the farmers. Many of the ring-leaders were like Dafydd Buchan, businessmen, well-to-do but with a fire in the belly and the courage to stamp out injustice. Shanni admired Dafydd so much. She wished sometimes that she was older, more sophisticated. Then he might look at her as if she was a woman.

  ‘If there’s a challenge of any kind,’ Madame Isabelle said, ‘if constables arrive, or even if a landowner brings so much as a walking-stick to the scene just run for your life. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, I do understand, Madame.’

  ‘See that you do.’ Madame Isabelle moved to the door. ‘I shall collect my hat and coat and I shall be off home.’ She rang for the maid to see her out. ‘Dress warmly, mind. I don’t want you catching a chill.’

  After she had gone, Shanni sat staring at the piano. She was not thinking of the music but of the meeting to come, the burning of the toll-gate on the Swansea road. Excitement flared within her – she would be seeing Dafydd again. Even if she had no chance to speak to him or even approach him, she would be able to look at him from a distance. He was a hero, a strong man with a fighting spirit that was a joy to behold. He was determined to make the world a better place for the people who could not speak out for themselves.

  Shanni felt her face grow hot with anticipation. It was high time that women took a hand in the affairs that affected them deeply. If money was short it was the women who made ends meet. It was the housewife who boiled up bones to make broth, and dug potatoes out of the meagre soil in back gardens to feed the family. Often, it was the woman who went without. It might take a lifetime to bring about change but at least the revolution had begun and she, Shanni, was part of it.

  Llinos felt a flutter of nerves as the carriage drew to a halt outside the Grand. The new young footman jumped from the driving seat and opened the carriage door. She thanked him with a smile. She lifted her hand to Graves. He was a good driver but he was getting old now, and he was training Merfyn in the art of handling a coach and pair.

  ‘Stable the animals and get yourselves a hot toddy in one of the taverns,’ Llinos said. ‘I might be here a few hours.’ She paused outside the shining doors of the hotel, wondering just what she would do when the moment of decision came.

  The doorman doffed his hat and swung the door wide, and the warmth of the coal fires encompassed her. At least, that was how she accounted for the blush that seemed to spread over her from head to toe.

  He was waiting for her. Dafydd was elegantly dressed in a good coat and narrow, striped trwsus that came to the ankles of his good leather boots. He looked so handsome, so self-assured. Llinos smiled. That was one of the things she admired about Dafydd, his assurance that what he was doing was right. She had the feeling that this was going to be one of the most memorable nights of her life.

  He came towards her, his hands outstretched. ‘Llinos, I’ve found a nice quiet corner table where we can sit and talk to our hearts’ content.’ He kissed her fingertips, and Llinos caught her breath. She knew what she wanted and that was to be alone with Dafydd, to play with fire and get burned. She wanted him so badly she could scarcely contain her emotions.

  She did not know what she ate. She picked at her food, pushing it around her plate. It was undoubtedly delicious but she was too fascinated by Dafydd’s dark Welsh looks to pay any attention to it. She loved the way his brown eyes warmed as they looked into hers. Once, he covered her hand with his own and she looked away, suddenly shy.

  ‘Llinos, will you stay with me tonight?’ His voice was little more than a whisper. ‘I have booked a room here and, before you ask, yes, I know exactly what I’m doing.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I’ll stay.’ She swallowed hard, her heart fluttering like a thousand butterflies as Dafydd ordered wine to be taken upstairs.

  Llinos stared at the cut of his jaw, at the thick eyebrows marking a strong arch above those wonderful eyes. What was she thinking of? Was she prepared to betray her marriage vows and go to bed with a man she hardly knew?

  She almost panicked. Could she really betray Joe? But, then, where was Joe? He was far away in a foreign land with his mistress and his illegitimate son.

  Was this an act of revenge, then? No. She wanted Dafydd – she needed his warmth; his desire fed her faltering ego. She would lie with him and she would think of nothing but her lover, at least for tonight.

  The bedroom glowed with the light of many candles, and warmth emanated from the blazing fire in the hearth. The heavy drapes were drawn together and it was like a secret world, Llinos decided, a world removed from everyday life. This room would become her universe, just for a few hours.

  Dafydd took up the bottle of wine and abruptly put it down again. ‘I can’t wait any longer, Llinos, I must have you or I’ll die.’

  He took her in his arms and kissed her, and she was aflame with desire. He kissed her over and over again, then led her towards the bed. Llinos turned for him to undo the hook
s on her gown and as she felt his fingers against her skin all her doubts vanished.

  Dafydd was a skilful lover. He teased her breasts with his tongue, caressed her belly and all the time he murmured of his passion in sweet Welsh words.

  ‘Cariad, sweetheart, I love you.’ He took her with passion. She felt desire flood through her limbs, through her belly, through her senses. She clung to his broad shoulders, arching her body, feeling the strong thrust of him, anticipating the glorious moment of release.

  When it came, Llinos shuddered, her body taut, even her breathing still. The waves of pleasure encompassed her, her mind emptied of thought. All she could experience was a sense of rapture and fulfilment.

  Afterwards she lay quiescent in his arms. Over the curve of his shoulder she could see the bottle of wine reflecting red in the candlelight. It was unopened. They had needed nothing but each other. Llinos fell asleep in Dafydd’s arms.

  As the morning light crawled weakly into the bedroom, Llinos opened her eyes and saw Dafydd beside her, lying on his back, his broad chest rising and falling with the even breathing of the sleeper.

  The candles had burned out, the fire was grey ash in the grate, and she wondered if, when Dafydd woke and looked at her, she would feel that this was no more than a tawdry affair.

  Abruptly, as though sensing her thoughts, Dafydd opened his eyes. He moved swiftly and, in a moment, his body covered hers. Then he was within her, possessing her, making her feel alive and glorious. She forgot everything but the aching flame that only Dafydd could extinguish.

  CHAPTER TEN

  JOE SAT IN the lodge with his son lying limp in his arms, tears furrowing his cheeks. He had held Sho Ka this way a few days ago. He had sat with her for hours, moistening her fevered brow, murmuring words of endearment to her. The tribe doctor came and danced around them waving feathers, putting down pouches of dried herbs close to her fevered body, but she was fated to die and Joe knew it. He held her until the spirit of life left her, until he knew she had gone to her final rest.

  Their son would soon join her. The boy was still, his eyes closed, the lids almost transparent. He lay inert in Joe’s arms, his breathing shallow and his head lolling to one side.

  The lodge grew dark, and the flames faded from the fire. Moonlight silvered the doorway and still Joe kept vigil with his son. He sent up prayers to the Great Spirit and to the God Llinos worshipped in her grey stone church on the hills of Wales. But the boy was not destined to grow and thrive: his short span of life was almost at an end. The plague that had ravished the tribe had now claimed him.

  Joe was still holding the boy long after the breath had left the child’s body. He sent up wordless prayers for the soul of his child. When the dawn light crept into the lodge the women came and took Joe’s son from his arms. He sat still, his head bowed as his child, the son he scarcely knew, was borne away.

  With the sunrise, the burial ceremony took place. The small boy was laid to rest beside his mother near the flowing river. Long after the women and the braves had paid their respects, Joe remained beside the grave until the light died and the moon returned to spread silver over the river. He continued to pray for the souls of his son and Sho Ka to be taken into the Great Spirit.

  He sorrowed as he prayed. His life here with the tribe was gone, dust to dust, as the Welsh preached. So what of the great prophecy his mother had spoken of, that one day his son would rule the Mandan? Had it been merely the rantings of an hysterical old woman?

  He stayed in the lodge of mourning for another week, watching the sun rise and set, clearing his mind even though his heart remained heavy. And then as the sun rose on a new morning, Joe packed his possessions, took his leave and began the long ride to the coast.

  It was hot, even with the sun sinking beyond the horizon. Joe, seated on the porch of the elegant house, closed his eyes against the dying light. He was grateful to Binnie Dundee for allowing him to break his journey there and rest.

  In the past weeks Joe had scarcely closed his eyes. He had mourned and prayed, and now he felt the need to talk to people who were full of the joy and strength of life. He hoped he could put the past behind him and return to normality. He would still grieve for Sho Ka and the boy, perhaps he would grieve for the rest of his life, but for now he needed the comfort of the living, the comfort he had taken for granted for many years.

  Binnie Dundee was a generous host. He was a genial man and yet there was an air about him of success. He had once worked for Llinos at the pottery but had come to America a long time ago to make a new life. He owned huge tracts of land and was proprietor of several productive potteries. He was happily married with fine, growing sons and a wife who adored him. And he was happy to share his good fortune with Joe.

  But the time came, late one night as he lay in bed, hearing the sounds of creatures abroad in the dark, when Joe allowed himself to think of home. He let the picture of Llinos, his wife of many years’ standing, fill his mind. She was a good woman, a beautiful woman. Would she still want him?

  How would his wife feel when he told her that the prophecy had proved wrong, that Joe’s son would never rule the Mandan tribe? Unless, a startling thought entered his mind, it was Lloyd, his first-born, who was meant to rule the Mandan. Surely that was impossible.

  Thoughts whirled around in his head and he was relieved when the morning light came creeping into the house, filling the corners of the large rooms with warmth. Joe rose and washed, then stood naked at the window of his bedroom, staring out at the new day. A cloud of dust rose on the horizon and he shaded his eyes against the sun to see more clearly. Gradually, the dust gave way to the figure of a man on a horse. And as horse and rider drew closer, Joe saw Binnie lift his hat and wave it in the air.

  Joe dressed and made his way downstairs. The maid was cooking breakfast and the smell of food filled the room. Joe never ate breakfast so he took a glass of juice and sat with it on the porch.

  Binnie was already seated on the porch swing. He smelt of horses and fodder, and Joe knew he had been about since sun-up seeing to his animals. Binnie scarcely worked in the potteries these days: he left that to the men he employed. His stables were his interest, filled with thoroughbred horses for show and for stud.

  Joe glanced at Binnie. His skin was almost as bronzed as Joe’s and he looked well and healthy, a man content with his life. Binnie was the sort of man who would never take another woman to his bed: he loved his Hortense with a burning passion, and Joe envied him his uncomplicated life.

  ‘Joe, man, you’ve hardly slept a wink and you look dog tired. I know the death of your woman and your child is painful for you. Life can be hard sometimes.’ He leaned over and rested his hand on Joe’s shoulder. ‘Go home to Llinos and to your son. They need you.’

  How could Joe tell Binnie his inner thoughts? How could he explain that in the darkness of night he feared he had ruined his marriage and lost the love and respect of his wife? ‘I’ll pack up my belongings tonight and start back first thing in the morning,’ he said. ‘You’re right. It’s time I took charge of my life again and settled things at home. I’m grateful to you and Hortense for allowing me this resting time, peace to gather my wits and accept that the death of Sho Ka and the boy was meant to be.’

  ‘It’s been great to have a visitor from back home,’ Binnie said. ‘I love my life here in America but I still think of the old town of Swansea sometimes. And look, Joe, don’t think you’re obliged to leave. You can stay with us for as long as you like, you know that.’

  ‘Thanks, Binnie.’ Joe smiled. ‘But I have to get back, I’m longing to see Llinos. I need to see if I can make up for the unhappiness I’ve caused her. Do you think she’ll understand, Binnie?’

  Binnie rubbed his tanned cheek. ‘Some women need to know the truth.’ He spoke thoughtfully. ‘My wife is one of them. I was slow in realizing that I should have told her about my first marriage to Maura, how I ran away from my responsibilities.’ He shrugged his big shoulders. ‘I thought it b
est to keep quiet, but it nearly cost me my marriage to Hortense.’

  ‘And you think Llinos is a woman who needs to know the truth?’

  ‘Llinos is a brave lady, and I admire her with all my heart. Tell her you’re sorry you hurt her. Try to explain that the past is over and the future with her is all-important to you. I expect she will be angry, hurt, and perhaps unforgiving for a time, but Llinos would prefer the truth to any shilly-shallying, I do know that.’

  Joe sighed. ‘I expect you’re right.’ He stared up at the sky. ‘Perhaps I had better make a start early in case the weather changes.’

  ‘Well, if it rains you must wait. It’s no good to man or beast to ride out in a storm.’ Binnie got to his feet. ‘I’m going to wash the dust off me. See you later.’

  Joe nodded, but still he sat looking out into the bare plains dotted with dried brush. It would rain, he could feel it in his bones, and that meant a delay of another few days. All he could hope was that, once she saw him, Llinos would forgive him. But even he knew that it was a faint hope.

  Darkness was falling on the streets of Swansea. Low, heavy clouds threatened rain. Shanni shivered, edging close behind the crowd of men. A few other women straggled along, dressed as Shanni was in hooded cloaks. She felt her excitement mount: she was eager to see at first hand what Dafydd intended to do by way of protest. Madame had changed her mind at the last minute and forbidden Shanni to go out. ‘On second thoughts it’s far too dangerous for you and for me.’ Madame Isabelle had been frowning. ‘If you were seized by the police where would they come? To me, of course. No, better you stay in your bed this night.’

  That was where Isabelle thought she was now, safely in bed. Shanni smiled, remembering how she had climbed from the window of her bedroom and made her way to the place where the men were to meet.