by Jayla Jasso
“Faithless whore! I’ll shake some sense into you, by God!”
Her face held no fear, but simple hatred instead. This was not the same cowering Jolie he had raised on the plantation for the past eleven years. Frustrated by her detached manner, he shoved her onto the bunk and turned away, stalking out of the cabin and slamming the door behind him.
#
A loud click told Jolie he had re-bolted the door, and she curled into a ball on the bunk, eyes staring blankly ahead. She still wore Marcano’s beautiful amethyst ring. Thankfully Hauste hadn’t noticed it. She brought it to her pale lips, pressing a trembling kiss onto the cold little stone.
#
Two days later she stood on the upper deck of the sloop near the railing, watching as the Spanish pirates dropped anchor in the small harbor on the southern coast of Crab Island, a short distance from Hauste’s plantation. The familiar shoreline of the island she had spent more than half her life growing up on looked as bleak and hateful as hell itself to her listless eyes. She leaned against the balustrade, lightheaded from lack of nourishment; she had not had the will to eat since Hauste had captured her. At the water’s edge, a rowboat was setting out to meet them. Hauste stood nearby settling payment with the captain of the Spanish sloop, carrying the bundle of cloth containing the Corazón under his arm. Two of his guards stood behind him, brandishing pistols should anyone try to make a move for Hauste or the treasure.
When the rowboat pulled alongside the sloop, Jolie recognized Theodore Wilkerson’s narrow, pale face peering up at her from its stern. She returned his stare mutely.
Hauste handed the Corazón to one of his guards and turned to grasp her arm. “Come, Jolie.” He pulled her away from the railing toward the ladder, and she stumbled along behind him, numbly turning to descend to the rowboat. He and his guards followed.
“Great God, Jolie, what’s happened to you?” Theo’s nasal voice rang out over the sound of the lapping waves below as she stepped into the boat and sank weakly onto a seat. “You look like the walking dead. God be praised that we found you.”
Jolie stared over the side of the boat, which bobbed about in the choppy waves. It dipped heavily to one side as Hauste planted a booted foot on its deck, and then again when the two guards boarded. Once all were seated, the men began to row toward shore.
“I trust everything went smoothly, Ethan?” Theo asked his uncle.
Hauste grinned, his wide lips stretching out to reveal large white teeth. “Smooth as silk. The bastards didn’t know what hit them.”
Jolie winced internally. Intense hatred crawled up her spine and came to rest in her jaw.
Theo chuckled. “And little cousin Jolie appears unharmed, at least at first glance. Though she looks frightfully pallid.”
“Sea travel didn’t agree with her,” said Hauste. “Nothing that can’t be patched up in a couple of days. She’s a bit shook up right now, lad, but she’ll come around. Once she realizes how good it is to be home.”
Jolie felt like shouting at them both to shut their traps and stop talking about her as if she weren’t there. Devastated and utterly hopeless more aptly described her condition at the moment. But she was too drained to protest aloud. She wasn’t sure she even had a voice left.
“Jolie,” Theo said, “don’t you have anything to say to your fiancé? I know you’ve been through a terrible ordeal, but I am beginning to feel slighted.”
Jolie stared out over the waves in silence.
“For God’s sake,” he blustered, leaning forward to grasp her arm, “at least look at me!”
Jolie met his gaze. Strands of unkempt hair blew across her face, and she made no move to brush them aside. Theo’s astounded stare swept down the length of her, spying her left hand—and the amethyst ring.
“Bloody hell! What in blazes is that?” He grasped her wrist and jerked her arm high in the air. “Uncle, did you see this?”
Hauste and his two guards snapped to attention, peering across the rowboat to see what Theo was shouting about. Hauste blinked furiously, sighting the ring. Jolie snatched her arm away and balled her hand into a tight fist against her stomach.
Hauste clambered across the short deck space and landed heavily on the bench next to her. He tried to pull Jolie’s arm away from her midsection. “Here, now, let us see that piece of rubbish. That bastard gave it to you, didn’t he?”
“What bastard?” demanded his nephew. “The blue-eyed Spaniard?”
“Who else, you dolt! Here, hold her still.” Hauste struggled with Jolie to get at the ring while Theo’s long fingers encircled her upper arms, pinning her. She covered her balled fist with her right hand in a desperate attempt to protect it.
“Get her hands apart!” shouted Hauste, and Theo gave her elbows a jerk, forcing her to let go of her own fist. Hauste uncurled her fingers and tugged at the tiny ring, managing to free it. He held it aloft to inspect it.
Jolie found she did have a voice, and it tore from her throat in a mangled cry: “You’ve no right!”
Hauste eyed the ring in disgust. “This worthless bit of tinker’s junk is an insult. That Spanish whore’s son must have had no respect for her at all, to expect her to wear a piece of nothing such as this.”
A sob tore from Jolie’s chest.
Theo made an attempt to soothe her. “Jolie, sweetheart, you can hardly expect me to allow you to wear another man’s ring! I will buy you a ring that will outshine this trinket a thousand times over.”
Jolie jerked painfully against his grasp. “I wouldn’t wear a ring of yours if you pointed a pistol at my head.”
He gasped indignantly.
“I’ll settle this,” Hauste said, then flicked the tiny ring over the side of the rowboat. It disappeared soundlessly into the waves.
Jolie buried her face in her hands and sobbed. When Theo loosened his grip on her arms, she lurched forward with all her strength, attempting to throw herself over the side of the boat. Theo snatched her back, then pulled her against his chest and held her tightly in his embrace the rest of the way to shore.
#
“Jo got look of Death himself about her.” Vera worked the water pump, causing a stream of water to splash into the tin bucket Jolie held in place. “Child, you been back three days and you ain’t smile one time since.”
Jolie reached up to swipe at her brow with her sleeve. “Don’t have anything to smile about, Nana.”
Vera peered down at her. “Look at you, child. You skin and bone. When you gonna tell your Nana what happened to you out there at sea? When you gonna put off that sack of weight you carrying on your little shoulders, Jojo?”
Jolie heaved a sorrowful sigh, choking on a sob. “It’s not that I don’t want you to know, Nana. I just haven’t found the strength to tell about it yet.”
Vera saw her sway forward, then drop the bucket of water. It landed on the ground squarely on its base, sloshing water all around it. She quickly shut off the pump and grasped Jolie’s arms, pulling her to her feet and walking her quickly to the back porch. She sat the sobbing girl down on a cane-bottomed chair and rushed into the house, the screen door slapping against the facing behind her. A moment later she returned with a cup. She picked up one of Jolie’s hands and settled it in her palm.
“Drink this, Jo. Milk and scotch. It’ll calm your nerves. Been wanting to give you something strong to drink ever since they bring you back and I see your deadman stare.” She helped Jolie steady the cup against her lips, tipping it until she took a healthy swallow. “There now, Jo. There now.”
Tears streamed down Jolie’s face, sobs racking her shoulders.
Vera shook her head, rubbing the girl’s frail back. “You one sick little girl, Jojo. You more sick than body sick. You got sick heart.” She brought the cup to Jolie’s lips and made her drink again.
Jolie coughed a little, still crying in choking sobs. She held her arms across her stomach, her eyes tightly shut. A couple of the little slave children gathered near the back gate, peer
ing across the yard at her.
Vera pulled Jolie’s head against her shoulder and shushed her gently, shooing the children away with her free hand.
After a moment Jolie gained control of herself and sat back to peer at Vera’s face. “I don’t know how I can still cry. I thought I had cried all my tears out by now.”
“I know, child. I hear you in the night, crying in your bed. I pray Master don’t hear you. Afraid he gonna beat you for it.”
Jolie frowned. “For some reason he has kept quiet since we arrived on the plantation. Let me alone, for the most part.”
“Nana don’t trust that man, Jo.”
“I hate him. I wish he had killed me already.”
“Heavens!” Vera gasped. “God protect you from your own curses, child.”
“I’m sorry, Nana. God above knows how hopeless it is for me.”
“You wasting away, Jojo. We all worried about you. Can’t you tell your Nana a bit of your trouble? Just a bit. I don’t want to pry into your business, child. You just need to put off that sack of weight.” She waited for a moment to see if Jolie would speak. Then she prompted softly, “Is it the blue-eye Spaniard, Jo?”
New tears spilled over. Jolie nodded, then found her voice with some difficulty. “How do you know about him, Nana?”
“I hear Master Hauste curse his name every night you gone. Blue-eye humiliate him in town the night you get away. Master Hauste mention blue-eye Spaniard more than he mention you while you gone. When I hear one man defeat Master Hauste and his guards and dogs, I say he one smart Spaniard. Must be strong and healthy too. Then Hauste call him Blue-eye. I say, Lord, he must be good to look at as well. You spend time with him on his ship. I say my Jojo gonna fall for this blue-eye Spaniard. He save my Jojo’s life.”
Jolie swallowed. “Being with him was the most wonderful time of my life, Nana. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. He asked me to be his wife.” She dabbed at her eyes with her apron. “We made plans to marry in Spain. And now he’s gone. Dead. And the ring he gave me is gone too.”
“Are you sure he dead, child? You see him die?”
Jolie nodded. “They—they cut his belly open, and—and hit him in the head, hard. He was bleeding all over the place, and when they dragged me away I saw him lying there on the deck of his ship—and the ship was s-sinking... Oh, Lord help me. He’s gone, and little Joaquin, and Guillarte...”
“There now, Jo. There now.” Vera pulled her into her embrace and rocked her back and forth. Jolie’s shoulders felt fragile in her grasp. She knew the girl had not been eating or sleeping, wanting to die. The only thing that might save Jolie’s life now was some hope. Vera argued with herself for a moment about it, knowing the Spaniard by all accounts was probably dead, and knowing she would be giving the sick girl a false optimism...but even if Jolie never saw the Spaniard again, perhaps she would find strength to get better if she had a bit of hope that he might still be alive, and then eventually find a new reason for living.
Vera took a breath and chose her words carefully. “That blue-eye one smart Spaniard. Healthy and strong. Nana have a feeling he might not be dead.” She forced conviction into her voice. “Jojo didn’t see that ship go under, did she? Didn’t see the blue-eye take his last breath?”
Jolie’s sobs quieted a bit as she mulled this over. She sighed. “He’s gone, Nana. I don’t see how he could have survived.”
“Love is a mighty force, Jo. This man, he love you very much. Vera know it, because you the sweetest, prettiest little girl in the world. He fight to stay alive to see you again.”
Jolie was silent.
“He been through bad times. He been at sea many years, this man. He fought many battles.”
Jolie was still silent.
“Nana think maybe Blue-eye survive.” Vera stroked Jolie’s head slowly, then, sensing the girl’s momentary doubt of her foregone conclusion about his death, fired her final cannon: “How terrible it be if Blue-eye survive and come back to find his precious Jo wasted away to nothing, or resting in her grave?”
Jolie relaxed a bit in her embrace, and Vera began to hum a soothing African hymn, rocking her back and forth.
The scotch was finally taking effect; Vera could hear it when Jolie spoke again. “I’m pretty sure Gabriel is gone, Nana,” she murmured with much less conviction than before as Vera pulled her to her feet and helped her into the house. She guided Jolie’s exhausted body up the stairs and put her to bed.
#
In her dream, Gabriel Marcano was indeed alive, for she could see him standing in a small boat, looking through a spyglass toward the horizon, his tall, muscular body outlined against the morning sun. She tried to call out but there was some unseen barrier between them that her voice would not penetrate. There were others in the boat with him, including Guillarte and Velez.
“¿Señorita?” came a young voice at her elbow. She looked down and met Joaquin’s lucid, trusting gaze. He stood beside her, extending a small hand toward her. She clasped his hand in hers, smiling broadly down at him. Then she recognized that they were standing aboard the Amatista. The empty decks were swept and barren except for herself and Joaquin.
“Where is the captain, Joaquin? Where is everyone?” she asked, her voice sounding distant to her own ears.
The boy pointed solemnly out over the side of the brigantine, where the rowboat containing Marcano and his men bobbed along in a rising mist, heading away from the Amatista.
“Where are they going?” Jolie asked, bewildered.
No response from the boy. He continued to hold her hand and watch as the small boat drifted farther away.
She looked down at him. “Why did they leave you behind, sweetheart?”
“I was asleep when they left,” was the lad’s answer.
Jolie studied his serene face, and tried to draw him into her embrace. He smiled and gently pulled away. Jolie called out to him, but he disappeared into the mist. When she turned to gaze out over the waves again, Marcano’s boat was gone.
The mist closed in all around, and then everything went dark.
#
It was dusk when Jolie roused from deep sleep. She sat up on the edge of her bed, then padded over to peer out the window over her small desk as twilight descended and surrounded the trees of the orchard in shadow.
She felt rested for the first time since her recapture by Hauste. Spilling her troubles to Vera had done some good, though she still hurt inside as if her soul was split in two. She found the courage to get out her old journal, the one she’d left behind when she’d fled the plantation and Gabriel had saved her. It was buried under her mattress, and she drew it out carefully, placing the cloth-covered book of parchment on her desk. She seated herself in the chair and opened the pages.
…two more Slaves this week. I pray the Lord has Mercy on me for what I have done for them, my poor Heart can’t stand their Bondage and Suffering one Moment longer…
She turned a few more pages.
…will never marry poor Theo, I simply don’t possess a Shred of Love for him. Lord Hauste seems set that I marry his ambitious Nephew, but I desire a Husband who is brave and kind, who doesn’t spit or own Slaves.
Fearing she might start crying for Gabriel, she skimmed over some more entries.
I cannot understand why he persists in this vile Manner, trying to kiss me, pawing his huge Hands all over me. I am certain Guardians are not supposed to Behave themselves in this Way. But I managed to escape again last night.
Jolie skipped down the page.
Akila is very ill. I am crying as I write this. I fear he will not make it to the Morrow.
Her breath caught in her throat and she turned several pages before stopping to read her final entry. It was the one she had written the night she’d run away.
21st January, 1734. Lord Hauste is very late. Nana and I dined alone in the Kitchen. To-day I made Plans for Charlie and Ziba’s escape three nights from tonight. We will take a new route Eastward and the
n north toward town. El Vencedor is getting more and more clever, I daresay. More daring Accounts of the Mysterious Spaniard are heard each day in Town. I must go now, and see what the Ruckus in the Yard is. Lord Hauste must have arrived Home.
Jolie shuddered at the memory of that night. So much conflict and grief, yet she had always remained hopeful in her journal. She supposed her hopes had been based on the dream that one day some brave, handsome hero would appear to whisk her away from all this fear and agony. And just as she fantasized, he had appeared that very night in the form of a dashing Spaniard, not a moment too soon. Perhaps it was not too much to dream that he, or another like him, would come to her rescue once again. Perhaps she would one day find it within herself to believe in that dream.
“But not today.” She sighed. She closed the journal and sat peering out the window into the darkening orchard for several minutes, contemplating the blackness facing her from all sides, within and without.
There was a knock at the bedroom door.
Vera entered, carrying a tray with a cup of tea on it. “Lands, child, sitting in the dark! Tain’t healthy, Jo.” She set the tray on Jolie’s night table and lit a candle. “Master say he want you to dress for dinner. Mister Wilkerson visiting tonight. They still plan for Jojo to marry that crooked-eye snake.”
Jolie reached for the tea without having to be coaxed. She sipped from the cup quietly, then looked up at the concerned face of the slave woman.
“Why do you suppose they are so hell-bent that I should marry Theo? What possible value could I be to them? I’m surprised Hauste hasn’t murdered me in revenge or put me in the fields with the rest of the slaves.”
Vera shrugged, but her lowered gaze told Jolie there was something she wasn’t revealing.
“Nana, is there something I should know? Am I in danger?”
Vera shuffled over to Jolie’s armoire to search for a fresh gown. “You not in danger, Jo, as long as you don’t marry that crooked-eye snake.”
Jolie rose to her feet and crossed the room to grasp the older woman’s arm. “Why, Nana? What would happen if I married him?”