Rainbow Hammock

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Jeremy’s blood pounded in his ears. Providence had provided him a way of getting even with both of them. His smile broadened as he reached for the crisp, white paper.

  “No trouble at all, Mr. Denegal. I’ll see she gets it right away.” The two men shook hands. “You all have a good trip now.”

  “Thank you, Jeremy.” The bell at the landing sounded. Steele hurried down the stairs. “Tell Lilah I hope to be back very soon.”

  “I just bet you do,” Jeremy answered under his breath.

  For a long time after Steele Denegal disappeared down the lane Jeremy stood on the veranda fingering the letter—savoring his feeling of triumph. Ideas whirled in his brain. When he heard the bell sound to signal the departure of the boat, he unfolded the paper and read:

  My darling Lilah,

  By the time you read this, I will be in Savannah, my heart aching for you. But there was no time to say goodbye in person. Please forgive me, sweetheart. I received word this afternoon that my father is ill. No, dammit! I can’t even tell you a little white lie for the sake of family honor! He’s in jail for slaving, and I have to go to Key West to see if I can obtain his release.

  Please believe me, Lilah, when I say that I love you with all my heart, and I’ll return as soon as possible to make you my wife. I know I’ve sprung all this on you suddenly, but I’ve always been a man of action once my mind is made up. I beg you to accept me as your own.

  I’ll be thinking of you tonight, and wishing we were together in that covered buggy I promised, riding to the beach. But, at least, I have our time together this morning to cherish in my memory until I can return and hold you close again. You will never be out of my heart!

  Your humble and loving servant,

  Steele Denegal

  “Now ain’t that just sweet enough to make a grown man puke!” Jeremy howled.

  He crumpled the sheet of paper, stuffed it into his pocket, and strode off the veranda, whistling.

  Chapter 7

  Lilah, dressed and ready, but not wanting to appear overanxious, sat by the front window of the cabin, staring out through the frayed lace curtains. She watched the setting sun turn the shell road into a ribbon of pearlized pink.

  A heavily pregnant, tortoiseshell cat jumped into her lap and circled lazily, trying to make a comfortable bed for herself. She purred loudly and looked curiously up at her mistress’s face.

  “No, Gypsy, you can’t come. The beach at night is no place for an expectant mother.”

  Gypsy, so named for her constant wanderings and questionable liaisons among the island’s feline populace, hopped down, as if she understood Lilah’s words.

  At the sound of a carriage on the road, Lilah stood and smoothed her skirt. She held herself erect, breathing deeply to calm her nerves. Would her feelings for Steele and his for her be the same tonight? He had to love her. She’d given herself to him physically and emotionally. Her heart seemed to be turning somersaults in her breast when she heard the vehicle draw up outside the front door. The moment had arrived at last.

  To her surprise, she watched Blue alight from the driver’s seat and approach the door. She’d thought she and Steele would be completely alone.

  Granny came bustling from the back of the house to answer his knock.

  He bowed low and intoned, “Is come for Miss Lilah.”

  Lilah hesitated, wondering why Steele had sent the slave to the door instead of coining himself. She dismissed her sudden feeling of apprehension. Probably, he didn’t want to run afoul of Uncle Sim again.

  She kissed Granny and then her mother, and followed Blue to the waiting coach, one of the Patricks’ finest. As the servant handed her in, another male hand took hers. She couldn’t see in the gloom, but her heart thrilled at the prospect of being with Steele again.

  She wondered why he didn’t speak, but perhaps he felt as overwhelmed as she did. There seemed no need for words as the carriage swayed down the dark road toward the beach.

  “Lilah, I’m so glad we’ll be together tonight,” he said at last.

  For a moment she couldn’t find her voice. Then she rasped in disbelief, “Jeremy? But where’s Steele? What are you doing here?”

  Jeremy Patrick faked indignant surprise as he asked, “You mean Mr. Denegal didn’t tell you he was leaving? That he’d asked me to escort you to the maroon in his place?”

  “Steele’s…gone?” she whispered, shocked. “When? Where?”

  “Why, earlier today, Lilah. He got word his father’s in jail. Embarrassing for everyone.” He took her hands in his. “Look here, this is dastardly of the man! I had no idea. He said he was going to tell you… talk to you before he left and explain things. Oh, Lilah, I’m so sorry,” Jeremy feigned outrage. “What a cad the man is!”

  Lilah felt numb all over. Jeremy slipped his arm around her shoulders and murmured to her soothingly. She couldn’t see his broad smile in the darkness.

  “But why did he have to leave so suddenly, Jeremy? Was it that urgent?” Lilah shook her head in disbelief. “He shouldn’t have left me…not after…”

  Jeremy forced more indignation into his tone. “So he even made promises to you, did he? I assumed the things he told me were lies. I couldn’t imagine that you, Lilah, of all people, would fall for his slick, Yankee line. His story of what happened between the two of you at the pond…”

  At Lilah’s sharp intake of breath, Jeremy hesitated, then went on, “I’ve said too much. I’m sorry, Lilah. Believe me, his tales about you will go no further. I had the urge to call the man out when he was telling me. No gentleman reveals such intimate details to another. But he’d had a few drinks and I thought he made the whole thing up.”

  A dry sob shook Lilah’s body. She made no attempt to stop him when Jeremy moved his lips from her forehead to her mouth. Indeed, she hardly felt his advances through the pain raging within her.

  “Your secret is safe with me, Lilah, darling. And to think he made up that story about his own father being at death’s door and lied even to Mama. No honor at all among thieves… and Yankees’”

  Lilah could feel tears stinging just behind her eyelids, but that seemed nothing compared to the ache in her heart. How could Steele have done this to her?

  “Jeremy, take me home, please.”

  “Oh, no, Lilah! I won’t let that miserable bastard ruin the evening for you. He’s not worth it. You look so lovely. Besides, I have something special to show you—not with the others, but just the two of us. Please, Lilah. If you go back to that cabin, you’ll only brood over what’s happened. I feel terrible about the way he used me in this situation. At least let me try to make it up to you.”

  He kissed her so gently that Lilah was shocked. This certainly wasn’t the same Jeremy Patrick she’d known for so many years. She hardly knew how to react to him.

  “If it means that much to you, Jeremy, I’ll go,” she said finally, but without enthusiasm.

  He kissed her fingertips, then said, “That’s wonderful of you, Lilah. And you must believe me, no one will ever hear from my lips that you gave yourself to the son of a Yankee slave trader, who then deserted you.”

  Lilah winced as if he’d thrust some sharp-pointed instrument into her flesh. Although he spoke with all the genuine concern of a true Southern gentleman, his words seemed almost threatening.

  While Jeremy and Lilah drove slowly to the deserted north beach, Amalee and her friends finished their open-air feast of boiled blue crabs, roasted oysters, and spicy steamed shrimp, served up with corn-on-the-cob and followed by luscious hunks of warm pound cake.

  Amalee gestured prettily, refusing a second slice of cake. “La, me, Darcie, you’ll never be able to lace your stays tomorrow with all you’ve eaten,” she crooned.

  Darcie Metcalf turned a vicious eye on her young hostess and cooed back, “Jeremy told me he likes women with plenty of flesh. He’s meeting me later, you know. I think he plans to ask me to marry
him. So we’ll soon be sisters, Amalee dear!”

  What passed as reflected firelight in Amalee Patrick’s eyes was, in truth, pure hatred for this uppity girl who threatened to steal her brother. And apparently Jeremy Patrick was aiding and abetting the theft!

  Unable to speak the epithets that leaped into her mind and still retain any semblance of being ladylike, Amalee flounced to her feet and stomped off toward where several of the boys were sitting together.

  How dare he! she thought. He doesn’t want me having boyfriends, but it’s fine for him to make offers to that little tramp, Darcie! I’ll show him!

  It took little effort on Amalee’s part to lure Henri Dupree away from the others. She’d learned well her lessons on eyelash fluttering, skirt swishing, and anguished sighs—the tools all Southern belles possessed and all Southern men found irresistible.

  Alone behind a high sand dune, they would have the privacy they needed for Henri to make his declaration, Amalee reasoned. But Henri proved an impatient suitor of few words.

  Amalee squirmed uncomfortably, the sharp crystals of sand biting into her bare back.

  “Henri, no!” she protested quietly, hoping she wouldn’t draw the attention of the others to their actions.

  “Amalee, my sweet Amalee, let me kiss you again—let me have all of you!” the ardent Frenchman panted into her ear. “I will make you so happy, chérie!”

  “Henri,” she gasped, “you can’t do this!”

  But he was doing it, in spite of her protests and petticoats. Now her future lay in his hands—his clammy, groping, demanding hands.

  Amalee had no more delusions about Mr. Dupree’s honor, discrimination, or respect for the fairer sex. His one concern was sex, period!

  She lay rigid, praying for him to finish his deed. More than anything, she wanted to be away from him, have him out of her sight—out of her life!

  With a final spasm, Henri gave an animallike grunt and went limp atop her, his weight crushing the breath out of her body.

  “So sweet, so wonderful,” he murmured, still kneading her bare breasts.

  Amalee, with a strength she didn’t know she possessed, pushed him away and jumped up in time to escape his view before she vomited.

  Crying violently, she said over and over, “It isn’t anything like they said. It hurt! I hate it! I hate Henri! I don’t ever want a man to touch me again!”

  After a few minutes, she got herself under control. She buttoned her dress with some effort and pulled her hair back after shaking the sand out of it.

  “Darling, are you all right?” Henri’s voice startled her.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she answered curtly. “Please take me back to the house now.”

  He tried to kiss her, but she turned away.

  “We’ll be married, of course,” Henri said.

  “Of course,” Amalee answered coldly.

  What other choice do I have now? she thought miserably.

  Lilah leaned back against the plush seat of the carriage and watched the first stars appear. She forced her mind away from painful thoughts of Steele Denegal and his betrayal.

  Before Lilah had time to measure her feelings, however, Jeremy was helping her from the carriage. He took her arm and escorted her toward the high, dark dunes.

  At first, she thought her own heart was pounding faster, echoing in the stillness. Then the torches appeared, dotting the beach like fireflies, and she recognized the throbbing in the night as voodoo drums.

  She stopped, the hair prickling down her neck and along her spine, and turned to face Jeremy.

  “Is this what you brought me to see? Your special surprise?” she accused. “I thought the black arts had been banned on Rainbow Hammock.”

  Jeremy chuckled softly and closed his arm more tightly about her waist. “Black Mambo took refuge on Blackbeard Island when Papa drove her off the place. She comes back once or twice a year to make sure all of her followers are keeping up her bad work.”

  “Jeremy, you’re not one of her coven?” Lilah asked, a new fear clutching at her.

  He laughed softly. “No, Lilah. I wouldn’t be allowed to join even if I wanted to. But I find their ceremonies amusing.” He let his hand stray up from her waist to brush the side of her breast lightly—whether by accident or by design, Lilah couldn’t be certain. “And quite titilating as well,” he added in a husky voice.

  “What do they do… exactly?” Lilah asked, feeling a shiver of dread at what he might answer.

  “Oh, there’s a lot of chanting and dancing. Usually a loa, one of their gods, takes possession of some of the group. Then things really get exciting!” Lilah heard the edge of nervous agitation in his voice. “And, of course, there’s always a blood offering.”

  “A blood offering!” Lilah gasped, ready to retreat to the buggy.

  “Oh, not what you’re thinking! Heavens, no, Lilah! Not a human sacrifice! Sometimes they offer a goat or a chicken—some small animal.”

  Lilah felt a chill run through her.

  “Maybe you’d better just take me home, Jeremy. I’m not sure I want to see this.”

  Jeremy’s voice turned serious. “Lilah, please stay…for me. This is one of the most exciting things that happens on Rainbow Hammock. Let me share it with you… please.”

  She considered a moment. She’d always been curious about Black Mambo, the cast-out slave woman, who read futures in the throw of bones and could strike another slave dead by merely telling him he was going to die. Even her own granny used conjure bags, black magic, against her enemies, although only to cause illness, never to kill.

  “All right, Jeremy,” she acquiesced at last.

  They settled in the midst of the dunes, their perfect view of the coven marred only by a clump of tall sea oats, which also served to screen their hiding place.

  Amalee Patrick lay immobile in her bed, the mosquito netting closed tightly. Behind it, she felt safe from the world, from Henri Dupree, for the moment.

  She moaned softly, reliving the nightmarish scene on the beach only an hour before. Her whole body ached. She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the memory, but it refused to

  “So, you got even with Jeremy!” she said to herself with bitter accusation.

  For a long time she lay crying into her pillows. She thought about the carefree afternoon when she and her friends had joked about the night to come. She’d actually made light of the terrible things Henri had done to her—said she wanted it that way. Wanted him to kiss her, at least. She hadn’t realized that a kiss could go so far—end so horribly!

  Why hadn’t her mother warned her about men? Now everything was ruined. She was ruined! From what little she knew about such things, she could be pregnant even now.

  She felt her stomach. It was as flat as ever. Then she remembered that the slave women took some time before they grew all out of shape. But how much time? A month? Two? Or was it only a few days? She couldn’t remember… couldn’t think. Perhaps Lilah could tell her. She sometimes helped with birthings on the place.

  Zalou opened the door. “You awake, Miss Amalee?” she asked softly.

  Amalee didn’t answer.

  “I brung you some warm milk, honeylamb.”

  “I don’t want any. Just bring up more hot water—lots of it!”

  Zalou backed out of the room, carrying the tray with her. She shook her head. “Ain’t healthy, all this bathing. That chile gonna scrub herself plumb away. Two tubs full of hot water already, and now she want another one. Jest ain’t good for a body!”

  Amalee knew it wouldn’t help. She’d used the roughest brushes on her skin already, but she still felt dirty. The sand washed out of her hair, but the filth seemed to be on the inside. Would she ever feel clean again?

  She turned back to sob into her pillow.

  The sky above them spread like an endless mantle of black silk studded with diamonds. Torches on the beach below seemed to be mirrored reflections from
overhead. In the distance, Lilah could see a silver streak where the edge of the ocean lapped its way up the beach. The moon rose late that night… full… blood-red.. out of the sea.

  “It’s so painfully beautiful,” Lilah sighed.

  Jeremy took her hand in his, squeezing it, then kissing her fingers. “So are you,” he whispered.

  The next instant, Lilah froze, gooseflesh rising all over her body as an unholy scream split the silence. A circle of thirteen formed—Black Mambo and six slave couples, their faces and bodies painted to conceal their identities. Mambo, a seven-pointed blue tignon crown on her head and an evil-looking black snake in her hands, stepped inside the slowly moving ring of swaying bodies. She began a chant that the others immediately picked up. Somewhere in the dark, beyond a pile of driftwood Mambo had torched, a drum thudded a hollow tattoo.

  Faster and faster the dancers whirled, until they seemed a continuous blur to Lilah. She moaned slightly as their reeling and the pungent, drifting smoke set her head spinning.

  Jeremy put his arm around her and pulled her closer, saying, “Look away for a moment if the motion makes you dizzy. Close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

  She did as Jeremy instructed, letting her head rest on his shoulder. His lips brushed her hair, close to her ear. Was it the full moon rising or the strange sounds and sights? Perhaps the odd odor of the blue-white smoke. Whatever the cause, Lilah felt transformed into another dimension. She recognized her passions rising as they had when Steele touched her. She tried to fight the sensation, but it refused to leave her.

  Jeremy cupped his hand to her cheek and turned her to face him. Her lips parted. Her eyes glazed. He kissed her slowly—deeply. She found she couldn’t resist.

  Jeremy gave a heavy sigh, pulled away, then said, “Look at them now, Lilah.”

  She turned her head like one hypnotized, answering his verbal command. Below them now the couples paired off around Black Mambo. They touched and parted, rubbed and rotated, erotically obeying the will of their loa.