Rainbow Hammock

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Maggie faked a gargantuan yawn, then said, “I really could be usin’ some shut-eye, Uncle Steele. Couldn’t we just go to the hotel right off?”

  “You poor child!” Caroline consoled, patting Maggie’s shoulder. “She must be exhausted. Why don’t we take her to the Russell House and let her get settled in a nice, soft bed? Then you can come along with us, Steele.”

  Maggie bristled at being called a child. She shrugged away from Caroline’s hand.

  “I guess I’m not so sleepy after all.” She stabbed the beautiful Miss Mallory with a look intended to kill, and took her “uncle’s” arm. “I’ll go along with you, Steele.”

  After their late supper of conch chowder, delicate langosta broiled in white wine and butter and topped by thin slices of Spanish lime, followed by a great silver trencher piled high with mangoes, West Indian cherries, sugar apples, and brown sapodilla fruit, Stephen Mallory brought out a ship’s decanter of brandy.

  Steele smiled at Angela Mallory, a petite beauty with black hair and lively blue eyes. “This was a feast, Mrs. Mallory. Not the ‘light supper’ your husband invited us to share.”

  Angela accepted Steele’s compliment with a lovely smile. “Actually, Mr. Denegal, this was Christmas dinner. We’d expected Caroline to be with us for the holidays. But then one never knows when the Isabel will make port.”

  “Christmas was a bit devoid of merriment for all of us this year,” Steele replied. “As I remember, we were being battered by twenty-foot waves and winds that I thought surely would drive us to Africa!”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not be reminded of my mal de mer,” Caroline begged.

  Angela rose from the table, a signal to the others that they should do likewise. “Ladies, will you join me in the parlor? I’m sure Stephen and Mr. Denegal would enjoy their coffee and Havanas more in the privacy of the library.”

  Stephen Mallory kissed his wife’s cheek lightly, and said, “That’s a foolish custom, if you want my opinion. I think it’s you ladies who want to be alone to discuss fashions and such. But Steele and I will allow you a few minutes alone. Then I demand you permit us entry to your sanctuary. It’s been a long time since I had three such beauties under my roof. I won’t be denied my opportunity to ogle them thoroughly!”

  “Stephen Mallory, you haven’t changed a whit since you were out disturbing all of Key West, playing your flute under my window at all hours of the night and caterwauling like a lovesick hound,” Angela scolded lovingly.

  Maggie looked at the senator with new admiration in her gray-green eyes. “Did he really sing to you, ma’am?”

  Angela laughed. “Not only did he serenade me every night, but he brought along old Roberts, his manservant, to accompany him on the fiddle. My mama and papa said I had to marry him so they could get some sleep!”

  “Not true!” Stephen Mallory rebutted. “You simply couldn’t resist my lilting, Irish tenor…one among my many charms.” He winked at Maggie and she giggled, caught up in the good-natured feel of this family.

  “Go smoke your cigars, Stephen Mallory!” Angela ordered. “I’ll have your flute in the parlor when you come. We’ll let our company judge your dubious talents for themselves.”

  While Caroline and Angela discussed the newest designs from Paris, Caroline’s trip to visit relatives in Charleston, and the latest Key West gossip, and Maggie sat wide-eyed and silent, taking it all in, Steele and the senator turned to more serious and pressing matters.

  “Denegal,” Stephen Mallory said. “I should have made the connection.” He frowned. “That’s a nasty business, slaving.”

  Steele felt again the guilt imposed on him by his father’s illegal dealings.

  “I’ve had no part in it. I want that to be perfectly clear. I work for a legitimate shipping firm out of New York. But he is my father. I felt obligated to come down here and see what I could do. I’m prepared to put up bail and hire a lawyer. I assume he’s still incarcerated.”

  Stephen Mallory frowned and chewed thoughtfully on the stub of his cigar before he answered, “He’s not here, Steele.”

  “Not here? But his letter said…”

  “The letter must have been written back in September when his ship was taken. You’ve seen our unreliable mail service.”

  “But where is he, then?”

  The Dry Tortugas… Fort Jefferson prison. It’s a hell hole, but he was really sent there for his own protection. You see, those five hundred Africans he had on his ship are still in Key West. We had to put up wooden barracks to shelter them. And supplying enough food and drinking water for all of them has put a real strain on the local economy. We’ve received no aid from the federal government, and no one has yet come up with a plan as to what we ought to do with them. A few of the strong males are working on the construction of Fort Taylor, but most of them are too sick to work. They arrived here with every kind of disease you could imagine. We don’t have any use for slaves down here, no big plantations like in the rest of the South. Most of the more prominent families have a few house servants. But five hundred slaves, Steele, on an island this size! Well, you can see why the authorities thought it safer to ship Captain Denegal farther south.”

  “How soon can I arrange passage out to the fort?”

  “There’s a supply boat going down in a few days. I’ll make the necessary arrangements for you.”

  Steele offered his hand. “I appreciate your help, Senator.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Roberts, the butler, knocked on the library door.

  “Yes?” Mallory called.

  “It’s Mr. Peter Crusoe here to see you, Senator.”

  “Show him in, Roberts, immediately,” Stephen ordered, then turning to Steele, he said, “You’ll like Crusoe! A big, blustering fellow from Gibraltar. Most of us here are exiles from somewhere else. My family started out in New Orleans. But Peter’s special. He has a heart as big as his family or his boot size!”

  At that moment, a heavyset man with a Mediterranean complexion and twinkling black eyes burst into the room.

  “Stephen, you crooked politician, I heard you got visitors here and didn’t even send old Roberts over to invite me!” He slapped Mallory on the back so hard that Steele wondered how the man stood up under the blow.

  “And since when do you need an invitation? Come on in and help yourself to the brandy. First things first, then I’ll introduce you.”

  As Peter Crusoe and Steele were shaking hands, Angela Mallory appeared at the door, Stephen’s flute under her arm. “The ladies are getting restless, dear. Will you join us now?”

  The first glints of dawn crept through the high jalousied windows of the Mallory parlor as the senator placed his silver flute to his lips and began a repertoire that ran from paean to threnody.

  Steele looked about him. Angela Mallory’s face glowed with love for her talented husband. Maggie’s eyes closed for long moments, her senses lulled by the sweet trills of music. Peter Crusoe sat near her, his large frame dwarfing Maggie. Steele could feel Caroline’s intense gaze on him, without looking. She sat next to him on a pale green brocade loveseat. When Stephen announced that his last piece would be Mozart, Caroline shifted on the seat and her hand brushed his…. Accidentally? She looked up at him through soft lashes, her doe eyes sleepy, but happy. Steele felt a thrill of emotion run through him.

  Maggie, jolted awake by Stephen Mallory’s voice, missed none of the silent exchange of glances between the couple on the loveseat. Fury boiled her Irish blood. But soon they would go to the hotel where she would have Steele all to herself again.

  Stephen ended the Mozart solo with a flourish, making his audience sigh with appreciation.

  Steele rose, and thanked his host and hostess.

  “Won’t you stay the night with us, Steele?” Angela asked.

  “Night? What night?” Stephen laughed. “The birds are already awake.”

  “Your husband’s right, M
rs. Mallory. Maggie and I had best be on our way to the Russell House.”

  “I’ll have Roberts drive you over, Steele,” Stephen Mallory offered.

  As the closed carriage rocked down the marl street to the hotel on Duval, Maggie sat beside Steele, rigid and silent.

  He reached over to tilt her head to his shoulder, but she pulled away.

  “What’s the matter with you, Maggie? I was only trying to make you more comfortable.”

  She gave him a hard look. “You’ll be making me more comfortable when you stop givin’ that Mallory wench your cow eyes. Then, and only then!”

  Steele laughed. “Why, Maggie, you’re jealous!”

  “Damned right I am, and with plenty of cause! You didn’t see me struttin’ and preenin’ in front of the gentlemen, did you?”

  “Maggie, you’re acting like a silly child!” He looked at the pout on her full lips. “In fact, that’s what you are.”

  “Oh, so I’m a child, am 1, Mr. Steele Denegal? We’ll just see about that!”

  Maggie suddenly jumped out of the slowly moving carriage, and approached a group of sailors loitering on the corner of Duval and Greene Streets. Steele, too shocked at her actions to move at first, watched her switch her behind alluringly as she neared the drunken men.

  Her words came clearly to Steele on the fragrant morning air “Any of you boys care to have a bit of sport with the new girl in town?”

  The four sailors hooted and whistled. One grabbed Maggie in his arms and planted a wet, smacking kiss squarely on her lips. Another lifted the back of her skirt as if he intended to view what she was selling before he paid.

  Steele raged out of the carriage and stormed the four men. Fists swinging, he decked two of them before a right cross caught him on the jaw. He staggered back, striking his head against a stone wall. Bright lights went off in his brain as pain shot through his whole body from repeated blows.

  Steele awoke in a strange bed with a strange body next to his. Vaguely he recalled Roberts and a stranger loading his limp body into the carriage, but nothing after that. The foggy aftermath of his street brawl wouldn’t allow him to speak or move. He lay perfectly still for some time, knowing that he was naked, that a woman’s hands were touching him, caressing and arousing him. He felt a cool cloth on his forehead and hot lips pressed to his.

  Visions swirled through his addled brain. He saw Lilah’s silver hair, but the face belonged to Caroline Mallory, the body was that of a dusky slave. A delicious shudder ran through him when a moist tongue trailed down his chest and on to his belly. Following the warm moistness down his torso, he felt the gentle pressure of ripe breasts against his flesh.

  Suddenly, he could take it no longer. He’d denied himself all carnal pleasures since being with Lilah. And he was not a man to go without. His eyes still closed, he reached out and brought the lips to his once more. For a long time, he held the woman, exploring her mouth hungrily, tasting her breasts, stroking her silky skin.

  “No! No, Steele, not yet!” He heard the words as if they came from far away. He ignored the half-hearted plea.

  In one swift motion, he pinned the woman to the bed and shoved his way into her. Her moves soon matched his and her cries turned to moans of pleasure.

  Only with the release of climax did he open his eyes. There beneath him lay Maggie, a smile of triumph on her bruised lips.

  “Guess you won’t be callin’ me a child from now on, will you, Uncle Steele? I’m as much woman as any man could be wantin’.” She threw her arms around his neck and rubbed her breasts against his chest. “But you’re my man… my only man, Steele. I’ll never want any other,” she crooned.

  Steele tore away from her, groaning her name. He towered, in his awesome nakedness, over her reclining form, and growled, “Maggie, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She stretched her arms above her head and spread her legs apart. “What I was born to do, Steele, honey.”

  “I ought to give you a good spanking, Margaret Annie O’Connell!” he said sternly, guilt at his own response to her making him cringe inside.

  “And if it had been Miss High ’n’ Mighty Caroline Mallory you’d found in your bed, would you be so mad?” She sat up now, angry at his rejection, wanting to deal out hurt for hurt. “No! You would have taken what she offered and loved every minute of it, the same as you did with me, only you think you’re too good for me so you won’t admit you liked it! She and her pretty talk and flirtin’ eyes, she would of laid here like a sack of scratch feed and not felt a thing! Real ladies don’t…. Isn’t that what you think, Steele?”

  “You foulmouthed little tramp!” In a sudden, blinding rage, Steele caught Maggie’s wrists and pulled her off the bed. She struggled against him, but Steele had a hundred-pound advantage. In moments she lay across his knees, crying for mercy. Only when his own hand began to sting from its contact with her bare buttocks did he leave off spanking her.

  Maggie remained where she lay, sobbing. Gently, Steele massaged her flaming flesh.

  “I’m sorry, Maggie, but you drove me to it. Don’t ever try to sell yourself again, and don’t expect me to make love to you ever again. My private life is my own, and you’re not to interfere. Is that understood?”

  She got up slowly, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her demeanor showed nothing but total submissiveness.

  “Yes, sir,” was all Steele heard from her before she pulled on her dress and left for her own room. He couldn’t hear the scheming in her brain or the triumphant song of her heart.

  Steele sat on the edge of his bed, holding his aching head between his hands.

  “Lilah,” he whispered softly, “Lilah, darling.”

  He managed to conjure up her face in his mind, but she was frowning at him.

  Chapter 12

  Steele sat in the boat piloted by Captain Watlington and loaded with hogsheads of fresh water, fruits and vegetables, and sides of salted pork and beef for the men. black and white, who lived on the coral islet where Fort Jefferson was still under construction.

  “Hasn’t been an easy task, Denegal,” the captain explained as he steered his craft expertly among the sharp reefs. “Ten waterless acres, no local supplies for building. Have to send ships to Pensacola for brick and lumber… all the way to New York for cement and stone. No, it’ll be years before this fort’s finished and useful for anything other than housing undesirables.”

  “Like my father, you mean?”

  “No offense meant, but we both know it’s the truth.” Watlington shook his gray mane and squinted into the sun. “Might as well sit back and make yourself at ease, son. Water’s calm as a pond today, but it’ll take us till sunset to get out there.”

  “How far is it, captain?” Steele asked, watching six dark shapes below them in the crystalline water. Sharks, he thought with an uneasy feeling.

  “A good eighty miles, give or take.”

  Steele leaned back and enjoyed the feel of the sea beneath him and the warm, tropic sun on his face. He watched the clear water turn from creamy turquoise to sapphire blue as cloud cover shifted, transforming the view from horizon to horizon. The changing colors reminded him of Lilah’s eyes… the way they had of deepening in intensity with her altering moods.

  “Look at the ray off the starboard!” Captain Watlington called.

  Steele focused his eyes on the undulating shape in the water. The strange creature moved lazily, its shadow following it on the reef below. Swarms of smaller, brighter fish swam in its wake. They flitted through a lazy drift of seagrass, the color of moss agate.

  The gulf had turned scarlet, gold, and heliotrope by the time they sighted the imposing brick battlements of Fort Jefferson. Torchlight flickered on the dock, where a sentry paced back and forth, his rifle at the ready.

  “Hallo!” Watlington called out.

  The soldier stopped, turned, and came to secure the boat’s lines.

  “Bit late,
ain’t you, capt’n?” the man called down.

  “Not so’s you’d notice,” Watlington answered. “Got all the supplies and a visitor, too.”

  The man stared at Steele for several minutes, then asked, “Visitin’ by choice or come to work?”

  “By choice,” Steele answered.

  “Don’t get many comes here under their own steam,” the guard answered.

  “He’s Captain Denegal’s son, come to see to his old dad,” Watlington supplied.

  The sentry’s expression registered his surprise. “That one could use some seein’ to! He’s tried twice to get off this rock. Lucky for him we caught him before he got out to sea! He’d of been shark bait in no time.”

  Hearing a plaintive cry overhead, Steele looked up to see a frigate bird sliding gracefully along on the wind. He thought of the men imprisoned within Fort Jefferson’s ominous walls. These great, black and white soaring creatures must remind them constantly of their own lack of freedom, he thought.

  “Coming?” Captain Watlington called.

  Steele knew he had delayed the confrontation with his father as long as possible. He had no good news for him. “These things take time. Until his crew has been sentenced, his bail won’t be set,” Stephen Mallory had told him before he left Key West.

  Steele Denegal was unprepared for what he found when he entered his father’s cell. The low-ceilinged cubicle was dark and musty. There were no bars at the windows because there were no windows. Only a two-inch slit in the eight-foot-thick brick wall and a small air shaft allowed any circulation. A sturdy wood door closed this cell off from a long corridor of arched gun placements.

  Steele was allowed to carry an oil lamp into the otherwise lightless cell. The flame reflected in the old man’s eyes when he entered. Captain Denegal put his hand to his face to shield himself from the pain of sudden light.