Chapter 5
Georgia’s late heat wave continued from October into the first of November. The sun rose like a searing, white eye the morning after the ball. In the early hours after dawn, steam hovered over the salt marshes and the island’s semitropical forests. Nothing moved within the torpid miasma.
The slaves’ work song drifted in from the fields with a languorous tone. Even the mosquitoes, blown into the cabin by November’s unexplainably hot breath, went about their morning feast drowsily.
Lilah swatted at one on her arm, but missed. It hummed its annoying tune in her ear until she awoke hilly. She sprawled across the bed, feeling her thin nightgown clinging to her sweltering body.
Time to get up, she thought, to draw the water, poke the fire, and get some breakfast. Then her head cleared completely. She mulled over the events of the night before.
How could so many hurtful things have happened in such a few short hours? Her hopes dashed by Brandon’s engagement to Saralyn… Elizabeth Patrick’s outraged fury…her own background revealed to her in startling detail… Uncle Sim’s depraved attack.
But one memory didn’t cause her pain. Only blissful warmth accompanied her thoughts of Steele Denegal. She closed her eyes and smiled, picturing his face clearly His slate-gray eyes seemed to mingle laughter and sadness in their depths. She mentally traced his strong brow, his aquiline nose, his sensual mouth. The thought of those lips smiling, kissing hers, sent quivers of delight through her.
She sighed aloud and hugged her pillow.
Could this be the kind of love Granny had spoken of? “Yes,” Lilah whispered, “it has to be!”
Steele Denegal, a morning person by nature, had risen before dawn to ride with Ames Patrick over the island’s fertile acreage. While Lilah still lolled in bed, the men finished their tour of the cotton, indigo, and com fields. They rode on to inspect the slave quarters.
“I’m very proud of my little empire, Steele. Though I have to give credit where it’s due,” Ames Patrick admitted. “My Granddaddy Simon is the one who set this island up as a profitable plantation. My father carried on his father’s work until I inherited the whole shootin’ match a few years back.”
Steele Denegal nodded respectfully. “You have a right to be proud, Ames. This is one of the finest plantations I’ve seen.”
The two men sat their sturdy Morgans well as they rode down the lane between the neat tabby slave cabins. Steele’s eyes wandered from the houses with their blue-painted doors for keeping evil spirits out to the people in the cleanly swept dooryards. At this hour of the day only the very young and extremely old remained in the village. Everyone else was in the fields. A feeling of guilt came over him suddenly.
“How many Africans do you hold in bondage, Ames?”
The question, phrased in this manner, set the master of Fortune’s Fancy on edge. “See here, young fellow,” Ames Patrick drew up, ready to do battle, “you aren’t one of those Yankee extremists, are you? I provide for two hundred and thirty-six people at last count, most of them born and raised right here on Rainbow Hammock. They’re all well cared for, and as happy as they’d be anywhere on earth! This is their home as much as it is mine!”
Steele Denegal’s laugh held little humor. “No, I’m not an abolitionist, though I’ve read their literature and some of it makes damn good sense. But I can hardly fault you or any other plantation owner in the South. You see, my father made his fortune by the first filthy link in the chain.”
Ames Patrick reined in his mount and looked at Denegal with undisguised distaste. “A slaver!” He gave a low whistle. “Good God, man! You can trust me to keep your secret. I was in Charleston once when one of those stinking ships made port. I had to cross the city to get away from the smell!” He shook his head, remembering. “If you’ve been that closely connected to the dirty business, you can see why I feel no guilt at giving these people a home and honest work to do.”
“Don’t get me wrong, sir. I had no part in the trade. I saw my mother die young—the stigma of her husband’s dealings killed her as surely as if he’d plunged a knife into her heart. The old man’s on his way to drinking himself to death. The business will see an end to him eventually, as it has to so many others. But is it right to hold these people in bondage? Your honest opinion, sir, not as an owner, but as a human being.”
Ames Patrick took a long time considering the question. No one had ever put it to him so directly before.
“Is it right? I honestly can’t answer that with a simple yes or no. They’re here now. I inherited most of them, as my father did before me. What would they do? Where would they go, if I freed them? The plantation is the only home they’ve ever known. We’re forbidden by law to teach them to read and write. Though I suspect my wife has taught some of the brighter ones a few Bible passages. What they do with that knowledge is their concern as long as it doesn’t interfere with their work. But grand as this island is and as productive as the soil is, I live on credit from year to year. I could never come up with enough ready cash to pay wages to the number of hands I provide for. Damn good question, Steele! Damn good!”
“But like many of your slaves, it’s neither black nor white, eh?” Steele commented, nodding toward a small boy, his skin barely tan in color and his hair coppery red.
The master of Fortune’s Fancy frowned at his guest. “There you have it all wrong, Steele. A drop of African blood makes a body all black! That’s the way it is, always has been, always will be!”
They rode on beyond the cabins, leaving the shell road to skirt the oaks through a thick growth of scrub palmetto. An uneasy silence settled between the two men.
At last, Steele asked seriously, “What are your feelings about war, Ames?”
“War?” Ames laughed. “What makes you think there’s going to be a war? I’ll admit, my boys have been marching around the parade grounds in Savannah a few times with the other young dandies of the Home Guard, as they style themselves. They like to show off in front of the ladies, you know. But war? I can’t imagine the North being so foolish as to try to threaten our rights and property. Our way of life is none of their business. After all, this is a democracy.”
A worried flicker passed over Steele’s features. “I hate to destroy your illusions, Ames, but it’s more than idle talk, I’m afraid. I travel a good deal for the shipping firm, as you know. I happened to be out in the Kansas Territory last year when real trouble broke out between the pro-slavery element and a gang of cutthroats led by a madman named John Brown. Brown was captured a few days ago on a raid at Harpers Ferry. He’ll stand trial soon and probably get off by pleading insanity. But his followers are still out there, stirring up trouble wherever they can. Mark my words, they’re a dangerous lot! And, too, there’s the election coming up next year. If Lincoln gets in, the South won’t be happy with his policies.”
“I’m not much for politics, Steele. Oh, I dabble in local affairs, but what happens in Kansas or Virginia is none of my concern. The country can take care of herself. Besides,” he laughed out loud, “an upstart Republican in Washington City? Bah! But even if your worst predictions come to pass, what will it mean to my family? We have our own little empire set apart. Who’d care what goes on on Rainbow Hammock? And my boys would no doubt welcome their chance at playing soldier for a few weeks. Come on now! Enough of this depressing talk. I’ll race you to the beach!”
Ames Patrick spurred his horse with Steele following, abruptly putting an end to the uncomfortable conversation.
Just before they reached the beach, Steele noticed a blue and white octagonal building partially hidden in a grove of sea myrtle. A lovely woman with long, blue-black hair and light copper skin stood in the doorway waving.
Steele’s pulse quickened. “Queen Delilah in her midnight disguise again,” he said aloud, feeling heat rise in his loins.
Then he shook his head in disappointment. The scarlet wrapper was far too revealing and her lips and eyes t
oo exaggerated with paint for this to be Ulah.
When Ames Patrick turned his horse and pulled up next to Steele, the woman disappeared back inside.
“Who was that?” Steele asked with obvious interest.
Ames Patrick threw back his head and laughed. Then he leaned over and slapped Steele on the back.
“Ah, my lad, you’ve discovered my secret—my own little playhouse! Since I’m kept on the island so much of the time and can’t avail myself of the pleasures of Savannah’s fine sporting houses, I maintain my own. Old family tradition, actually. Simon started it. For as long as anyone can remember, two comely women, always named Rainbow and Fancy, have made their master and his guests welcome here. They have no other duties—bred and taught to please a man! That was young Fancy at the door. Come on. I’ll introduce you. I’m sure that bevy of females at the house, though they’ve been falling all over one another to attract your attention, will grow a bit tiresome before the week’s out. A man of your worldliness might long for more heady sport.”
Steele found the opening he’d been hoping for to ask his host about Lilah.
“Speaking of women on the island, Ames, what is the connection between Lilah Fitzpatrick and your family?”
Ames Patrick turned a knowing grin on Steele. “I noticed your noble defense of Lilah last night. Not unbecoming a gentleman. But, believe me, Steele, she’s not for you. She’s a sweet thing, and Lord knows I’m fond of her. But Lilah’s the overseer’s niece. Not quality!”
“By quality I take it you mean bloodlines. Her physical attributes certainly leave nothing to be desired.”
Ames laughed heartily. “Really tempted you, eh? I’m afraid she’s had the same effect on my boys. Brandon’s safely engaged now, but Jeremy still has a hankering for her. But he’ll get over it. He’s young yet, still got some wild oats to sow. Better with Lilah Fitzpatrick than some genteel young lady from one of the mainland plantations. He’ll have to choose a bride from among them soon.”
“Patrick and Fitzpatrick,” Steele mused. “Odd that the names are so similar.”
“Nothin’ odd about it, son. Lilah’s great-great-grandfather and my grandfather were half brothers.”
Ames Patrick went on to tell his own version of Fitzgerald Patrick’s death—a gentlemanly duel, which Fitz lost to Simon.
“At any rate,” he continued, “Simon tried to make it up to Fitzgerald’s son by giving him a portion of Rainbow Hammock, free and clear. The Fitzpatricks have been here ever since. Lilah’s the last of them, though. I plan to buy her out as soon as she’ll sell. To tell the truth, I’ll be glad to see the whole passel of them gone. I’m going to have to do something about her uncle soon. His drinking’s causing me real problems. But overseers these days are hard to find as hen’s teeth. Still, it’ll feel mighty good to own the whole island for the first time.”
Steele had disbelief in his eyes by the time Ames Patrick finished talking.
“You mean Lilah Fitzpatrick is actually a member of your family, yet she’s not allowed to live at Fortune’s Fancy?”
“Live under my roof? A Fitzpatrick?” Ames sputtered. “You Yankees certainly have some queer notions!”
“But, literally, she is a part of your family…. You share common ancestors,” Steele insisted.
“Be that as it may, the blood’s so thin between us after all these generations, Lilah could marry one of my boys without any fear of their children tumin’ out odd. Not that I’d permit such a thing, mind you, but just for the sake of making my point.”
Steele had all but forgotten his curiosity about the octagonal house and its two sporting occupants by the time Ames rapped at the door. His mind was on Lilah—her blue-violet eyes, her spun silver hair, her comely figure. He rubbed his mouth, remembering the honey taste of her lips warm against his.
Suddenly, a strange woman stood before him. A more mature beauty than the girl Steele had seen before, she wore a many-hued wrapper embroidered with gold threads. Her voluptuous body seemed to beckon to Ames Patrick. Her arms stole around his neck, and she kissed him deeply.
Still clinging to her, Ames Patrick motioned Steele into the house. “This is my woman, Rainbow. Welcome to our guest cottage, Steele!”
Steele cast a quick glance about the main room. Lavishly furnished, it seemed a miniature Fortune’s Fancy, with its carved rosewood furniture and lush velvets and brocades. He gave a low whistle of approval.
Fancy, in her scarlet gown, entered the room carrying a silver tray with a decanter of port and four glasses. She set it down, poured the rich brown liquid, then ushered Steele to a couch and divested him of his riding jacket.
“And that’s Fancy,” Ames said in belated introduction. “As you can see, Steele, she’s not shy with strangers.”
Fancy dropped a curtsy. “At your service, sir.”
The dusky beauty took her place beside Steele on the wide divan and snuggled close, making purring sounds in his ear.
Ames Patrick, who had lounged down into a deep chair, leaned back and placed one foot firmly on Rainbow’s well-turned backside while she straddled his leg and tugged hard to remove his riding boots.
“Relax, Steele!” Ames laughed. “A man needs his recreation from time to time. That’s what my girls are here for. Enjoy!”
Rainbow sat in Ames’s lap, seeking his lips once more. Steele Denegal twisted uncomfortably on the couch, feeling guilty at the thought of Fancy giving herself to him. His mind remained on Lilah. But why should an intimate interlude with a slave-plaything prick his conscience? He had visited numerous pleasure palaces, and was on pet name terms with many a madam. He resented the fact that thoughts of a woman he barely knew could make him squirm guiltily.
Steele tried to shake off the feeling. He was acting like a green youth. Besides, he understood enough about Southerners to know that to refuse their wine or their women was an insult serious enough to evoke the Code Duello.
Ames Patrick swept Rainbow up in his arms and carried her off to another room. Steele was left alone, defenseless against his own desires and Fancy’s charms. As she placed a slender hand on the bulge in his trousers, he knew he lacked the will to resist. But even as he took Fancy’s supple body in his arms, he continued to think of Lilah.
The sun stood at its highest point in the sky when Ames Patrick and Steele Denegal returned to the stable. Steele was still trying to shake off the feeling that he’d betrayed Lilah in some way. But his guilt refused to be banished. Thunderstruck, he realized the reason. He had to see Lilah and tell her.
“After a morning like this one, I’m hungry enough to eat saddle leather,” the sandy-haired Ames laughed, winking at his coconspirator. “What do you say, Steele? Shall we head up to the house now and see what miracle Maum Tassie’s performed in her old, black cookpot?”
“If it’s all the same to you, Ames, I’ll look over your stock and meet you at the house later,” Steele replied, pretending a great interest in the slave-blacksmith’s work.
“Suit yourself, son.” Ames slapped Steele on the back and headed alone toward the mansion.
Steele hadn’t wanted to ask Ames for the information he sought. Glancing about the stable, Steele recognized the young giant who headed the Patrick boat crew. He remembered his unusual name.
“Kingdom, I need some directions.”
The man kept at the oar he was waxing and only nodded in response.
“Can you tell me where the overseer lives?” Steele asked.
Kingdom raised his head slowly and studied Steele without speaking for several minutes.
“What business you got with that man?” His question sounded accusing in tone.
“None with him, actually,” Steele answered, frowning, and feeling oddly defensive. “It’s his niece I want to see.”
Kingdom’s smooth brown face broke into a wide smile, showing even white teeth.
“Miss Lilah?” he said with obvious affection for her. “Why, sure, Mr
. Denegal. I’ll show you the way. I was just about to head over there my own self to help with some chores.”
Steele and Kingdom set off in the general direction of the swamp. Although the white man tried to lure the slave into casual conversation, it soon became obvious to Steele that Kingdom was a man of action and few words. When they came in sight of the clearing, Kingdom slipped away, leaving Steele to go the rest of the way alone.
He felt some uncertainty as he neared the Fitzpatrick cabin. How would Lilah receive him? Would she be angry at his presuming to seek her out? They hardly knew each other. But that was a situation he planned to remedy as soon as possible.
When he approached the front porch, a heavyset man with a gray mane of hair and a three-day stubble of beard staggered out of the door, looking angry.
“Who’re you an’ what you want here?” Sim Grady growled. ‘The party’s up to the big house.”
“My name’s Steele Denegal. I’m a friend of Lilah’s.”
“My niece ain’t got no friends. Now git on outta here!”
“Uncle Sim,” Lilah’s voice cut through the old man’s threatening tone. “Mr. Denegal is a friend of mine, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, I do mind.” Sim glared at his niece in the doorway. “A heap!” Turning back toward Steele, he shouted, “Now you get your carcass away from my house and my gal ‘fore I take a whip to you!”
Steele Denegal didn’t fear for his own safety, but he could imagine the old reprobate beating his niece. He turned to leave.
“Don’t you move a goddamn inch, young feller!” a female voice croaked. “This here ain’t Sim’s house, it’s mine, and Lilah can have a caller come iffen she wants!”
Steele watched, controlling his urge to laugh, as a frail-looking old woman stood Sim Grady off, waving a stick of firewood in the air threateningly at him.
“You git, Sim!” she hissed. “I’m wamin’ you!”
“If you wasn’t such a old coot, Granny, I’d whup the sass outta you!” Sim snarled.
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