Rainbow Hammock

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “I am going to that ball, Kingdom!” She stood up and squared her shoulders determinedly. “And when I’m Mrs. Brandon Patrick, you’re going to have your freedom. I plan to ask for your papers as a wedding gift.”

  “Freedom’s a mighty fine word, Miss Lilah, and I thank you for the thought. But I couldn’t leave here without my Rhea. I saw my ma and pa split up—the old man sold off to the cane fields down to Louisiana. My ma, she just pined herself away after he left. Ain’t gonna be that way with me and my Rhea. Not if I has any say. I love that woman!” he answered fiercely. “I do!”

  Lilah turned a shining smile on him. “I understand, Kingdom. There are some things more important than freedom, and love is surely one of them. But I won’t forget all your kindness to me. And someday I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

  She turned and ran to the cabin.

  When she entered the house, her mother heard the door and called out, “Horace, is that you, dear?”

  The question never failed to pass Katy Fitzpatrick’s lips when anyone came in.

  Before Lilah could answer, her grandmother, who had a hearing problem only when she chose to, shouted from the back of the house, “For Lord’s sake, Katy, you know good and well it ain’t Horace! My boy’s dead! Been dead! Ain’t never comin’ back! Are you losin’ your grip, woman?”

  Lilah entered the main room of the house to find her mother sitting in her rocker, head down over her never-ending darning. She could see tears in her mother’s faded-blue eyes brought on by Granny’s scolding.

  Lilah took her hand gently and said, “Pa died of the fever, Mama. Remember? You were real sick, too, but Granny nursed you through it.”

  Katy Fitzpatrick, her mind dulled by the very fever Lilah spoke of, showed an instant of painful realization, then her face lost all expression.

  A small fire flickered on the hearth, making the room almost unbearable on the unseasonably warm day. But, unlike the big house, where the kitchen was set apart from the living quarters for comfort and safety, the overseer’s small cabin had no such conveniences. Winter and summer the cooking was done inside the house. Lilah noticed that no supper had been put on yet. She stirred the ashes and looked into the empty black pot.

  “What would you like to eat tonight?” she asked her mother solicitously.

  “Ain’t got much choice, have we?” Granny grumbled from the doorway. “That no-good Sim shot a rabbit ’fore he crawled in his jug today. You best go out and skin it, Lilah, so’s it’ll have time to simmer the wild out ‘fore we have to eat the critter. Your uncle don’t like cleaning, just killing and drinking!”

  Lilah ignored the friction in the room and went to the well for fresh water. It would take more than harsh words to dampen her spirits now that she knew she’d be with Brandon soon again.

  Simpson Grady didn’t show up for supper that night. He usually didn’t when he was on one of his binges. His drinking wasn’t an unusual occurrence. He’d been a decent enough man once. But since the deaths of his wife and son in a wagon accident several years before, he’d changed. First, Lilah remembered, her uncle had sat around for weeks as if he were an unburied corpse. Then he had taken to the Bible and the bottle. While the former had long been discarded, his penchant for the latter intensified daily.

  Sim’s absence and the reason for it accounted in no small measure for Granny’s foul humor. If Sim lost his job as the overseer on Rainbow Hammock because of his drinking and neglect, they would all be out in the cold. They would have to accept Ames Patrick’s offer for their few acres of the island and leave Rainbow Hammock forever.

  All through the meager evening meal Lilah tried to think of a way to bring up the subject of the ball. But neither of the other two women seemed inclined to talk.

  At last, Lilah asked, “Mama, do you still have your wedding gown in the cedar chest?”

  Granny shot Lilah a warning glance, not sure what subject she was about to broach.

  Katy Fitzpatnck looked surprised to be addressed on any subject. For several moments she cast a vacant gaze on her daughter. “My wedding gown?” she asked at length. Her eyes focused suddenly, and she broke into a smile. “Why, yes. I’d never part with it. It’s the only pretty thing I have left. White lace and ashes of roses crepe de Paris.” She touched her breast and then her shoulders. “With little blue bows here and here.”

  “Could we take it out and look at it after supper?” Lilah asked.

  “For what?” Granny grumbled, afraid Lilah’s mention of the wedding dress might bring on another of Katy’s spells.

  Lilah took a deep breath before she answered. Her whole future hung on her grandmother’s acceptance of the idea.

  “Granny, I’ve been invited to the All Hallows’ Eve ball at Fortune’s Fancy. Brandon Patrick will be home from Savannah by then. I mean to go!” she said, all in one breath.

  Lilah clenched her fists under the table, waiting for the explosion. Granny had never shown any liking for the Patricks, and she seemed to disapprove of Lilah’s association with Brandon, Jeremy, and Amalee. But to her utter amazement, Granny smiled at her.

  “Well, bless my soul! I should hope to say you’ll go! It’s about time them highfalutin Patricks was introducin’ you to society. We’ll get your ma’s dress out right now and take a look at it.”

  Katy Fitzpatrick’s eyes took on a faraway look again. “A ball,” she murmured. “I love to dance and wear pretty gowns.”

  To Lilah’s surprise, Granny patted her daughter-in-law’s hand and said sympathetically, “I know, Katy dear, but you and me are too old for such things now. It’s our Lilah’s turn.”

  The dress looked sadly out of style. Lilah explained to her grandmother that the neckline would have to be lowered and the sleeves shortened. Since Katy Fitzpatrick had not lost her talent as a seamstress, she went to work.

  After hours spent on alterations, Lilah tried on the gown. She didn’t own any proper undergarments—stays, corsets, or the like. But the tight waist contained her figure perfectly. Her proud breasts thrust boldly up in the low cups to nestle in a froth of creamy rosepoint lace. She stared appreciatively at her image in the black-stained mirror over the washstand.

  “Oh, dear! Maybe I made it too low. I don’t think your papa would approve of you showing so much bosom, Lilah,” her mother said, biting her lower lip.

  “Don’t act addlepated, Katy!” Granny fussed back, but with an admiring smile on her face. “Lilah says that’s the style nowadays. A lady wasn’t ashamed to show off what the good Lord give her in my day. High time girls was gettin’ over bein’ so all-fired timid, if you ask me!”

  “Oh, Granny, there’s one more thing. I need a hoop. If only we’d saved that broken one Mrs. Patrick threw out. Maybe we could have mended it.”

  Granny laughed toothlessly. “What you think my cucumbers been runnin’ on all summer, child?”

  The two women fell into each other’s arms laughing—Lilah because she was as happy as she’d ever been in her life—Granny because the idea of a Fitzpatrick wearing a cucumber frame to a ball at Fortune’s Fancy seemed most appropriate to her!

  Two days later Lilah was sweeping the porch when Uncle Custer, the Patricks’ antiquated butler, rode up in the buggy.

  “Mornin’, Miss Lilah.” He nodded his fuzzy, wool-capped head.

  “Uncle Custer,” Lilah called back, “what brings you over this way?”

  “I brung a package from the big house. Massa Ames say I’s to deliver it to you, personal,” he answered with an air of self-importance.

  Lilah went down the steps and took the brown-wrapped parcel from the old man. Turning it over in her hands, she looked at him quizzically and asked, “What’s in it?”

  “Don’t rightly know, Miss Lilah.” He smiled and shrugged, then clucked to the horse. “Got to be gettin’ back now. You have a nice day, ya’ hear!”

  Lilah waved Uncle Custer away with a grin. He, Kingdom, and Rhea, among all
the Patricks’ slaves, were the only ones who didn’t hold their noses in the air when she was around. She knew the others called her “white trash” behind her back. But she wasn’t! She refused to be! And the All Hallows’ Eve ball was the very place to show them what she was made of.

  Hurrying into the house, Lilah ran to the bedroom to open the package. Perhaps Ames Patrick had sent over one of Amalee’s cast-off gowns for her to wear, thinking that the overseer’s niece would not possess the proper attire for such an elegant occasion.

  She laughed. How surprised they would be when she showed up wearing the beautiful creation made from her mother’s wedding gown! It looked every bit as stylish as anything Mrs. Patrick had made for her own wardrobe at the new House of Worth in Paris.

  Lilah’s eyes widened as she tore at the paper. Inside, she found a garish orange sateen blouse with a daringly low neck and full sleeves, a black skirt, a wide blue sash and matching tignon, and most startling, a long wig of jet-black hair. Several coins rolled out of a folded piece of paper. She opened it up and read the note silently.

  Dear Lilah,

  I promised that you should come to the All Hallows’ Eve ball, and so you shall!

  It has come to my wife’s attention that fortune tellers are much the vogue at soirees in Savannah now. I would like you to appear as such at our ball next week. I plan to pass you off as an authentic gypsy, imported especially for the occasion. This is the reason for the secrecy I urged upon you. Not even my wife is to know until that night. This will be a special surprise for her.

  I know you will have no difficulty manufacturing tidbits to astound and amuse our guests, since you know most of them well. This should be a grand party, and your presence will enhance our guests’ enjoyment even more… my own as well!

  Ever respectfully,

  Ames Patrick

  Lilah reread the note three times before the full impact sank in. When it did, she tore the paper into tiny bits. The nerve of the man! To invite her to the ball and then expect her to come as a hireling. She would go as a guest or not at all.

  Furious, she threw the wig across the room. Then, suddenly, an idea struck her. She picked up the mass of raven curls and fitted it on her head, carefully tucking her own hair out of sight. She stared, amazed, at her image in the mirror—or more properly stated, the image of a total stranger. The dark halo gave her skin the look of carved ivory. Her indigo eyes became more intense. Her own mama wouldn’t recognize her, she thought. In fact, she hardly recognized herself.

  Taking the white demimask she’d fashioned from an odd scrap of satin, she tied it over her eyes. She smoothed the wig down and smiled at the captivating stranger before her. No names were announced on the arrival of guests on All Hallows’ Eve, and real names were not used until after the unmasking at midnight. By then, she would be long-gone from the ball, a mystery woman vanishing into the night. That would give those old gossips something to whisper about behind their fans.

  A sudden thrill of anticipation ran through her blood at the thought. She grasped the iron bedpost for support.

  She spoke aloud to the ebony-haired stranger in the mirror. “I’ll tell only one person my true identity. Brandon Patrick! But first, this gypsy created by his own father will cast her spell over him.” She whirled around in joyous abandon and sang out, “Lilah Fitzpatrick, you’ll be a bride by Christmas!”

  Chapter 3

  The mansion glowed on All Hallows’ Eve as if it were some enchanted spot, singled out from the rest of the world for a sprinkling of fairy dust. Flambeaux lined the curving drive and candlelit crystal glittered through every window. Beyond the big house, bonfires blazed festively in the slave quarters.

  Lilah, gowned in iridescent rose crepe de Paris, which shaded to silver-blue in the dancing light, slipped around the side of Fortune’s Fancy so that she could arrive at the door from the direction of Rainbow Landing, as if she’d come in on a late boat.

  She stopped to catch her breath before she approached the broad stairs leading to the veranda. Touching the jet wig to make sure it was properly in place, she thought again of Brandon Patrick. A thrill of excitement ran through her. He was so near now—just beyond those windows on the second floor. Kingdom had told her of Brandon’s arrival that afternoon.

  Straightening her back and taking a deep breath, Lilah mounted the steps. Her first test, Uncle Custer, stood at the door, looking uncomfortable in his formal livery of green velvet and gold.

  She turned her masked face slightly to one side when he bowed and said, “Good evenin’, ma’am. Welcome to Fortune’s Fancy.”

  She swept past the geriatric butler with only a nod and a murmur. The wide entrance hall lay deserted. From the ballroom above, music drifted down to fill the mansion. Lilah glanced at the wide staircase, which seemed to float upward in a gracious curve.

  Good! she thought. The ball’s well underway. I can slip in unnoticed.

  She touched the carved balustrade and let her hand slide along the polished oak as she started her ascent.

  “Well, hello there!”

  Lilah froze on the third step when she heard Jeremy’s voice behind her. She knew he’d been drinking by the soft slur of his words, but he had not reached the ugly stage yet. He took her hand and kissed it. She could see his jade-green eyes twinkling with delight behind his domino. For several moments her heart danced a frantic jig. Would her own demimask disguise her? Would the wig fool him?

  “I don’t believe I know your name, ma’am.”

  Lilah offered him a flirtatious smile, then answered with a toss of her black curls, “And so you shan’t until midnight, sir.”

  “Such a tiresome custom,” he sighed. “But you will allow me a waltz, I hope.”

  She nodded and took his arm. She could tell from his puzzled half smile that he couldn’t quite place her voice. If she could delude Jeremy and Uncle Custer, she would have no problem with the others.

  As soon as they entered the ballroom, Jeremy swept her onto the floor, which gleamed with hand-rubbed waxing. All conversation hushed momentarily, then a twitter of curiosity rose from the guests.

  Lilah remained oblivious. She was conscious only of the walls whirling around them. She knew the painted mural well—a stylized fantasy version of Rainbow Hammock done in soft pastels and gold leaf.

  They moved smoothly past the low stage where slave-musicians played behind a golden rope held up by two ivory unicorns matching those that frolicked beneath rainbows in the forests of the island painting.

  Lilah caught sight of Brandon. Her heart beat faster. She tossed him a dazzling smile over Jeremy’s shoulder, but it missed him. It fell instead on a tall, handsome stranger standing at Brandon’s side. His rugged features were ruddy from exposure to the sun. His thick hair was as dark and curly as her own wig, and his eyes as smoky gray as swamp mists just before the dawn. He wore a pirate’s costume, complete with saber, headcloth, and one gold earring.

  He came forward and swept her out of Jeremy’s arms and into his own so quickly that Lilah found herself speechless in his grasp.

  “Our hostess has informed me that we’re not permitted to reveal our true identities before midnight, so you may call me Captain Blood,” the man said in a strangely accented voice. “And you are?”

  Lilah cast about for what she might answer.

  “Why, sir, don’t you recognize me?” she stalled.

  “You’re surely a queen, my dear lady, but which one?” he asked, leaning down to brush his lips daringly close to her flushed cheek.

  Lilah pulled slightly away from him and gave him a reproving look. “Why, the legendary Queen Delilah, captain. I keep bold pirates like yourself as pets,” she answered with a charming laugh. “Until they displease me, of course.”

  “And then what, may I ask?” he countered with a wicked tightening of his arm about her waist. At the same time, his eyes shifted downward from her face to the inviting softness
of the valley between her breasts.

  “Then,” she replied slowly and evenly, “they are strung from the towers of my castle to die a slow and painful death under my watchful eye. Queen Delilah would as soon cast off a tiresome lover as a wrinkled gown!” she teased, feeling somewhat shocked by her own boldness.

  “I’ll remember your warning, Queen Delilah.” His eyes seemed to smolder behind his mask. “And when we become lovers, I promise never to disappoint you.”

  Lilah gasped at his audacity, but he only tightened his hold on her and whirled her around the floor.

  Elizabeth Patrick, dressed in the height of All Hallows’ Eve fashion, a gown of black satin with bat wings extending from the hem to her wrists, and tiny, diamond-eyed bats in her hair, caught Brandon’s arm.

  “Who is that woman dancing with Steele Denegal, Brandon?” she asked, annoyed at being unable to recognize a guest in her own home.

  “I really couldn’t say, Mother,” Brandon replied. “But Steele certainly seems to be enjoying her company. And from the way she’s blushing, I’d guess that he’s plying her with all the Yankee charm he can muster. She’s really a lovely creature, though. Can’t say as I blame him.” He smiled down at the wisp of a girl beside him. “Your cousin’s taste is almost as good as my own, Saralyn.”

  Saralyn Habersham locked him for an instant in the adoring gaze of her great, golden eyes, fringed generously with lashes as soft brown as her hair.

  “Oh, Brandon,” she sighed. “How you do go on!”

  “Enough of that, you two,” Elizabeth said impatiently. “I must know who she is. That’s a hostess’s duty. Go and ask her to dance, Brandon. See if you can find out her name.”

  Brandon reluctantly relinquished his hold on Saralyn’s arm, and went to do his mother’s bidding.

  Elizabeth took Saralyn by the hand. “Come along, my dear. I’m sure Jeremy is dying for a round with you.”

  The petite Saralyn, gowned in white velvet set off with peach-blush ribbons the color of her cheeks, followed her hostess submissively.