Caroline sponged his forehead and tried soothing words on him. He thrashed about within his bonds, sobbing, “Lilah, I’m so cold. Hold me, dearest, please.”
Caroline put her arms around his burning body and let her cheek touch his. He sighed and said, “I knew you’d wait for me.”
Then his words were choked off. Caroline, alert to the signs of his progressing illness, reached for a basin. The contents when he finished retching sickened her, though she’d seen the black vomit many times before. He was losing ground fast. She felt as helpless as she always had with yellow fever victims. Still, Ellen Mallory and many of the other ladies of Key West had pulled a good number of their patients through. She had to hope… to pray.
Before Maggie took her shift, Caroline gave Steele a good dose of laudanum, and ordered Maggie, “Call me if he seems to be getting worse.”
“You mean he’s no better?” Maggie asked, surprised. She’d expected Caroline Mallory to perform some sort of miracle.
“We’ve a long way to go yet, Maggie. He’ll be worse before he’s better, I’m afraid.”
For the next four days the two women followed a regular routine of sponging Steele’s burning body, changing soiled bedclothes several times a day, trying to get water into Steele’s dehydrated body, watching helplessly as the black vomit became mixed with blood.
To Maggie it seemed that time alternately stood still or rushed toward eternity. She was amazed at Caroline’s strength, both physical and emotional.
Once, while Caroline held the basin and Steele seemed to be retching his existence away, Maggie lost all control. She new at Caroline and knocked the pan away screaming, “Let him die! At least then he’ll be out of this awful misery!”
Caroline turned from Steele, her face impassive, and slapped Maggie sharply across the mouth.
“He’s over the worst of it. Are you willing to let go now? He is the father of the child you’re carrying, after all. Don’t you want him to see his son?” She paused to control the trembling in her voice. “Perhaps you don’t care. But he s a human being. I refuse to give up. If all you can supply is hysteria, then get out! I’ll tend him alone.”
Maggie was too shocked by the slap and the determination in Caroline’s voice to confess the lies she’d told or beg for forgiveness. She went to her room for a time to compose herself. After a half hour she returned to apologize to Caroline for her behavior and admit to her falsehoods, but again the turn of events swept all else from her mind.
She reentered Steele’s bedchamber to find his restraints removed. Caroline cradled his head in one arm while she spooned broth to his lips with her other hand.
She looked up and smiled at Maggie. “His fever broke. He’s going to be all right.” Maggie noticed that for the first time during their long ordeal, Caroline had allowed herself the luxury of tears.
Steele managed a weak smile for both women, then lay back on his pillow and fell into a deep, but peaceful, sleep.
Caroline smoothed the covers on the bed, deposited the last of the soiled linens in a hamper, then turned to Maggie. “He’ll be weak for some time. See that he stays in bed and gets as much nourishment as he’ll take. After a week or two, encourage him to go out and get some sun and fresh air, but not too soon.”
Maggie stared at Caroline Mallory, shocked by her businesslike tone and detached air.
“But he’ll be wanting to see you when he wakes up, Miss Caroline.”
Caroline tried to brush aside her feelings for Steele. She had no claim on him. He was only another patient who’d needed her for a time. Besides, she’d heard the women’s names he spoke during his delirious hours… his cries of need for them. Perhaps she knew more about the man than even Maggie, who was carrying his child.
The thoughts hurt. She quickly turned them off. She didn’t feel anything for him—she couldn’t!
“I’m tired, Maggie. I’m going home now. He’ll be safe in your care. The two of you don’t need anyone else here.”
She turned abruptly toward the door. Maggie put a hand on her arm and said, “Miss Caroline…”
“Yes, Maggie.”
The girl couldn’t bring herself to tell Caroline Mallory the truths she owed her. Instead, she substituted a simple “Thank you.”
Chapter 14
RAINBOW HAMMOCK
September 30, 1860
Thunder and lightning crashed about the island that night like two armies in pitched battle. Rain fell so heavily, driven by the howling winds, that its drumming on the tall window panes at Fortune’s Fancy sounded like booming cannon fire.
Saralyn, who had excused herself from the supper table before anyone else, got to the head of the stairs in time to clutch at the newel post just as a severe pain cramped her abdomen.
She took several deep breaths as Lilah had advised her to do, then called down in an almost steady voice, “Brandon, could you come up here, please?”
Before her words finished echoing in the hall below, he was at her side, lending support. His face contorted when he saw her pain.
“Dear, what is it?”
Saralyn offered him a brave smile and answered, “It seems the storm has brought our little one into action, darling. Would you please go for Lilah? She promised she’d be with me.”
“Of course! Immediately!” Brandon paused and embraced his wife. “Oh, Saralyn, if anything ever happened to you, I wouldn’t want to live. I love you so.”
She bit her lower lip to hold back a cry of pain, then relaxed in Brandon’s arms.
“Darling, don’t be morbid. Nothing’s going to happen to me. Soon you’ll be a father, and I’ll have my girlish figure back, that’s all. Now run along and fetch Lilah.”
Brandon hesitated only a moment longer to watch Zalou usher Saralyn into the smaller chamber next to their bedroom for the duration of her accouchement.
Not bothering with hat or coat, Brandon raced bare-headed through the storm to the Fitzpatrick cabin. He pounded on the door with urgency.
When she opened the front door and saw the anguished look on Brandon’s face, Lilah said quietly, “It’s Saralyn, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and we’ve got to hurry, Lilah. She’s asking for you. She’s in such pain. She didn’t say a word, but I could see it in her eyes.” His voice shook with emotion.
“Don’t worry, Brandon. That’s only natural. Every mother goes through it. And, I imagine, every father feels the pain as much as his wife.” She patted his arm reassuringly. “I’ll be right out. Just let me get my cape.”
Elizabeth Patrick, being more practical and less impulsive than her son, sent Uncle Custer along to the overseer’s cabin in the closed buggy. He rode up as Lilah came out of the house. In moments, they were making their way toward the big house.
Brandon broke the tense silence. “It won’t be easy for her, Lilah. She’s so delicate. She’s never been well, you know.”
“It’s never easy for any woman the first time, Brandon. But by the time she’s giving you your sixth, you’ll both take it calmly in your stride,” she answered reassuringly.
“Never! I don’t ever intend to put her through this hell again!”
Lilah patted his hand. ‘Try to stay calm, Brandon. You’ll be able to help Saralyn if she knows she doesn’t have to worry about you.”
They passed the rest of the short drive to Fortune’s Fancy in silence, but Lilah could feel tension radiating from the man next to her. The storm, which had grown even more violent, and her empathy for Brandon set Lilah’s nerves on edge. She tried to go over the steps she would take in delivering Saralyn’s baby in order to compose herself. It helped, but only a little.
All through the night Saralyn struggled to give birth. At first she tried to stifle her cries of pain, but then they came regularly and became more intense with each passing hour. Although Lilah encouraged Saralyn not to hold back, she silently thanked God that the booming thunder masked the screams coining from
the room. Brandon would be spared that agony.
Near dawn Saralyn’s labor stopped. She lay on the bed, her light linen nightshift soaked with perspiration, her face drawn and colorless.
Zalou shook her tignoned head and muttered, “This chile ain’t built for birthin’ and that’s the Lord’s own truth. She a prime lady with them narrow hips and her tender feelings. I got a bad notion things ain’t right.” She rolled her eyes and looked at Lilah. “I heared that there cock crow at midnight spite of the storm. Means death and we both know it.”
“Shut your mouth, Zalou!” Lilah snapped. “Miss Saralyn might hear you. Besides, that old fable has nothing to do with truth. Now take that basin and sponge her off. We need to make her as comfortable as we can while she’s quiet.”
“Yessum,” Zalou answered, then mumbled something under her breath, which Lilah couldn’t quite catch.
The eye of the hurricane passed directly over Rainbow Hammock so that the storm’s deceptive calm coincided with Saralyn’s peaceful hour. But as the wind shifted and the second onslaught hammered the island, Saralyn’s labor began again, more intense than ever.
“Lilah,” she screamed, clutching the bedposts so tightly that her knuckles turned white, “help me!”
“Breathe deeply, Saralyn, and when I tell you, push as hard as you can.” Her hand on Saralyn’s stomach, Lilah waited for the exact moment, then ordered, “Push, Saralyn, push!”
“I can’t! I can’t!” she sobbed.
The scene repeated itself all through the day—a half-day with gray clouds shrouding the sun and wind continuously howling down the chimneys. Still, the baby refused to come.
Below, in the parlor, Brandon had spent a night filled with horrors, not the least of which was his guilt. He had done this to Saralyn! No one else could be blamed.
Elizabeth divided her time between trying to soothe her son and lending any assistance she could upstairs.
Around midnight, Ames Patrick decided that some of his best whiskey would be in order under the circumstances. Brandon took one glass and nursed it for over an hour, while Jeremy and Henri returned to the decanter time and time again.
“I remember the night you were born, Brandon,” Ames expounded. “Damned if I didn’t think you’d kill your poor mother! Felt like slittin’ my own throat for what I’d done to her. But I’ve found out since that all her difficulty was only a sign that she was a true lady. And next time will be easier for your Saralyn. Right, Tassie?”
Maum Tassie had entered the room to deliver a silver tray of cold sliced beef and fresh-baked bread. She beamed a broad smile at her master, her own daughter’s father.
“Sure will be that, Massa Ames. But then I never had no troubles a-tall with my babies.”
Ames’s voice took on a tone of nostalgia. “You sure were some looker back in the old days, Tassie. Why, I remember you had the slimmest waist and the roundest hips of any gal on the place.”
“Why, I thank you, Massa Ames,” she giggled.
“Passed those looks right along to Rainbow, too. Lordy! How many years ago was that, Tassie?”
“Why, I wam’t no more than a girl-child then. Picked up my Rainbow the first try. I swan, I don’t know where the years go to!” She left the room shaking her head and chuckling.
“Papa!” Amalee replied reprovingly. “You’re lucky Mama wasn’t in here, and you talking so familiar with Maum Tassie!”
“Keep quiet, Amalee!” Henri cautioned in a voice thick with liquor. “This is none of your affair!”
“No,” she answered sarcastically. “It’s only one in Papa’s long and colorful string!”
Ames sat sipping his good whiskey, letting his mind travel old familiar trails. He heard none of the exchange between his daughter and son-in-law. Brandon and Jeremy had left the room, and missed the brewing storm as well.
“Is that all you have on you, Amalee, a mouth?” Henri glared at his wife. “If you’ve got anything else, I haven’t seen it since our wedding night. You lied to me! That ought to be you up there giving your papa his first grandson. You shamed me, Amalee. You’re not pregnant!”
“Henri!” Amalee replied, shocked at his words. “How dare you talk to me that way?”
He stood up, looming over her. “I dare because I’m your husband, whether you like it or not. And now, we’re going to say goodnight. We’re going up to our bed and make an honest woman of you!”
He took her arm less than gently, but she pulled away. “Papa,” she pleaded, “don’t you want me to stay here with you?”
“What?” he asked absently. “Oh, no, dear. You and Henri go along. I’ll just wait here until your mother comes back down.”
Henri, with a firm grip on Amalee’s arm, led her out of the room and up the stairs. She struggled against him, but there was no escape this time.
“You’re going to fulfill your marital duties tonight, my dear. I’ve been very patient with you, but no more!” He stopped outside the room where Saralyn lay suffering long enough for Amalee to hear her cries of pain. “And nine months from tonight, that’s going to be you giving birth to our son.” He gave her a cruel, determined smile.
Amalee whimpered and tried again to pull away from Henri. He lashed out with the back of his free hand and slapped her across the mouth, then brought his open palm back to punish the same area again. Her cry blended with one from Saralyn.
To silence her, Henri crushed Amalee close and bruised her lips further with his. When he drew away he whispered, “And now, my dear wife, we’re going to make that son you told me you were carrying already!”
Henri dragged the struggling Amalee to their bedroom down the hall and bolted the door after they entered.
“You unlock that door this minute!” Amalee screamed, pounding his chest with clenched fists.
“What? And let you run to Mama for protection again? Not this time, my sweet, or ever again. I’ve bought a house in Savannah, and we’re going to live there alone!”
Amalee uttered a startled cry and edged away from Henri. Since the horrorof their wedding night she’d managed to avoid his advances, but a sinking feeling inside her told her that tonight—and ever after—she would be at his mercy.
“Have some brandy, Henri,” she offered sweetly. “It always makes you sleep better.”
He dashed the decanter from her hand and leered at her. “I don’t intend to sleep tonight!”
With a swift motion of one hand, Henri ripped the lace bertha from her shoulders, then tore at her bodice. She tried to escape, but he backed her against the armoire and held her there. The buttons on his shirt bit into the bare flesh of her breasts. When she sobbed, he smothered the sound with his mouth.
Embarrassment flooded through her, mingling with her fear and outrage. Henri had never seen her naked. Even on their wedding night she had managed to retain possession of her nightgown while he defiled her helpless body. Now, inch by inch, he uncovered her. Tears formed as she felt the last of her undergarments stripped away. She closed her eyes to block out his lusting gaze. His hands were all over her, stroking her where she had never been touched before.
“Please, Henri, let me go,” she begged.
With a cruel laugh, he turned her so that her back was to him. She felt his hot bulge pressed firmly against her buttocks. He was still clothed, yet she must suffer the indignity of standing naked before him.
“Open your eyes, Amalee,” he ordered sternly.
She did and gasped. Before her the armoire mirror reflected every detail of her body to Henri’s eyes as well as her own startled and humiliated gaze.
He tightened his hold around her waist, and nipped at her shoulder with his teeth. Slowly, he moved his hands up to cup her breasts and raise them. He pressed his body more closely to her back. His fingers traced her hard nipples, making them throb and ache.
“No!” Amalee wailed. “Just leave me alone. Please! I can’t watch!”
Henri gave a low, s
adistic laugh. “Oh, but you are going to watch, my dearest. I’ve caught you eyeing the hounds at this. How much more interesting you’ll find an exhibition of your own talents, limited as they may be.”
He brought his knee up between her legs, lifting her off the floor to balance precariously there, afraid to move. His lips brushed her ear and teased the soft flesh inside.
“Now, my wife,” he whispered, “you’re going to do exactly as I say—to the last detail.”
When she shook her head negatively, he withdrew his leg, letting her fall to the floor at his feet. She lay there terrified. Henri quickly shed his clothes and fell on top of her. The rough carpet bit into her belly and breasts.
“Now, Amalee, I’ll show you how your beloved hounds do it. You should find this fascinating.”
Pulling her knees up so that she was in a half crouch, Henri rammed her from behind. The shock stunned her with burning pain. Fighting to tear away from him, she only aroused him more. He battered her incessantly while she clawed at the rug until her nails were broken and bleeding. For an instant she opened her eyes and saw the awful sight reflected in the mirror.
“No!” she screamed.
Henri withdrew, turned her over, and slapped her several times.
“You’re my wife,” he spat at her. “You will not tell me no ever again!”
Prying her quivering legs apart, he penetrated again, pounding her flesh with a vengeance. She had no idea how long his punishment of her lasted. She felt faint. She prayed for oblivion, but it refused to come. Far off in the distance, she heard a woman’s screams. It seemed to Amalee that they were her own, but she couldn’t be sure.
Rainbow Hammock Page 17