Rainbow Hammock

by Becky Lee Weyrich

At last she felt the hot plume of stickiness gush through her insides—that same feeling of filth invading her body that she’d endured the first night on the beach with Henri and then again on their wedding night.

  He climbed off her and looked down, gloating, “There. That was more like it. Now, get to bed,” he ordered.

  In one last, feeble attempt to defy him, Amalee answered weakly, “No. I won’t sleep in the same bed with an animal!”

  “Very well! Sleep where you are. I don’t give a damn anyway. I got what I wanted… for tonight.”

  Henri flopped into the great four-poster bed and was snoring within minuted Amalee lay huddled on the floor, too angry and degraded to move, even to cover her tainted body. She sobbed until no more tears would come. As the gray of dawn slipped through the shutters, she rose and went to the basin. Carefully, she cleaned the stickiness from her legs. She jumped when a scream punctuated the silence; Saralyn again.

  “Will this horrible night never end?” she said aloud.

  Slave crews moved over the island clearing away storm debris, disposing of animal carcasses, and burying their dead, some twenty-odd slaves, who had drowned when they were caught unawares by the storm. They gave up their task when night fell.

  Back at Fortune’s Fancy, Saralyn grew weaker by the minute. Lilah leaned her head wearily against the bedpost.

  “It will soon be over now, Saralyn,” she soothed.

  Zalou moved about the bedchamber like a dark shadow of doom, shaking her head and muttering dire predictions.

  “I don’t know why it’s taking so long. I’m sorry. This has been a terrible ordeal for you, Saralyn,” Lilah said softly.

  Saralyn raised one hand toward Lilah. “You’ve done everything you could, dear. I’m not going to make it. I know that now. I only hope the baby…”

  Lilah took Saralyn’s hand and held it in a fierce grip. “Don’t say such a thing,” Lilah said brusquely.

  Saralyn smiled faintly, her golden eyes looking enormous in her tired face. “Remember your promise to me, Lilah. I plan to hold you to it. You’ll have to look after the baby too. Brandon will need help.”

  “I’m not going to listen to this!” Lilah said, desperate now. “When I say the word, you push.”

  Saralyn’s face contorted again. She gave only a weak cry, her voice hoarse from overuse.

  “Now, push!” Lilah ordered frantically. “Push, Saralyn, with everything you’ve got! Push, for God’s sake!”

  Slowly, the baby emerged. “Keep it up, Saralyn! He’s coming! Don’t give up now!” Lilah continued her encouraging words, not realizing that Saralyn was beyond hearing.

  Downstairs, Brandon heard the first faint cry. His face, shadowed by a day’s growth of beard, brightened, and the cold hands that had been clutching his heart for so many hours released their grasp.

  He dashed up the stairs two at a time, calling out, “Saralyn! Saralyn, darling, you did it!”

  While Lilah and Zalou still worked over the baby boy, Elizabeth Patrick barred her son’s entrance to the room. The expression on her face belied the happy sound of the baby’s wails.

  “What is it, Mother?” he asked, dreading her answer.

  She took his arm and led him back down the stairs. “Let’s wait a bit until Zalou and Lilah make your son presentable.”

  “But I want to see Saralyn… to tell her how proud I am of her… how much I love her.”

  In the parlor Ames Patrick’s demeanor matched his wife’s somber countenance.

  “Sit down, son. Have a brandy. It will steady you,” Ames ordered.

  “Steady me for what?” Brandon asked. “What’s wrong with the baby? For God’s sake, somebody tell me what’s happened!”

  “The baby is fine and healthy, dear,” his mother answered. She went to her favorite son and put her arms around him, making new fears rise in his heart.

  He pushed her away and started for the stairs. “I’ve got to see Saralyn!”

  His father stopped him. “No, son,” he whispered, tears in his voice. “She’s gone.”

  Brandon Patrick tore away from his father and raced up the stairs screaming, “No! You’re lying!”

  He threw open the door to the bedroom he and his wife had shared for less than a year. Already Zalou and Lilah had moved Saralyn’s body from the room next door. She lay on their wide bed, her face composed, showing none of the pain she’d experienced for the past days. Her dainty hands were folded over her breast, as if she were sleeping. Only the pallor of her cheeks gave any hint that her spirit had departed her delicate body.

  Brandon threw himself onto the bed next to her and cradled her in his arms.

  “No,” he sobbed, “I won’t let you go. I love you too much. Saralyn, darling, speak to me!”

  Cold realization gripped him. Quickly, Brandon got up and locked the two doors to the room. Then he lay back down and took Saralyn’s cold hand in his.

  “There,” he whispered to his dead wife. “They won’t disturb us now. We’ll be together—just the two of us.”

  He took his love in his arms and let her head rest on his shoulder. He smoothed her long hair, and brushed her lips with his. For hours, Brandon ignored the pounding on the door, the pleading of his family, the cries of his new son.

  When, after much discussion of alternatives, Ames Patrick finally had Kingdom and Sam batter down the sturdy door, a pitched battle ensued. The two slaves struggled Brandon to the floor and held him while Saralyn’s body was removed to be prepared for burial in the family plot.

  As suddenly as he had become violent, Brandon Patrick gave way to total apathy. He drifted off into a world all his own, contained within the walls of the room he and Saralyn had shared. He refused to see his son or to speak to anyone. Saralyn’s funeral was held without her husband’s presence. As her coffin was lowered into the sandy earth, her husband lay on their bed, her wedding gown clutched to his heart.

  The halls of Fortune’s Fancy grew ominously silent, with only an occasional cry from Scottie Patrick to disturb the gloom.

  Lilah found herself suddenly welcome again at Fortune’s Fancy. No one there seemed to hold her responsible for Saralyn’s death, a blame she knew she would carry for the rest of her life in her own heart, even though she’d done all she could to save Saralyn. Still… couldn’t there have been some way…?

  Indeed, the Patricks, except for poor Brandon, hardly seemed upset by Saralyn’s death. “Women die in childbirth, Lilah. It’s a sad fact, but too often true,” Elizabeth Patrick told her matter-of-factly. “Yes, poor child,” Ames Patrick added. “We always knew she was delicate. Why, it’s amazing that she lived this long…. The fever and all.” While the two conversed so nonchalantly about their late daughter-in-law, they took turns cooing at and cuddling their grandson. “A healthy boy,” Ames remarked, beaming proudly. ‘Takes after the Patricks, not those sickly Habershams.”

  Lilah had been called to Fortune’s Fancy that day, but as yet neither of the Patricks had given her any clue to what they expected of her.

  After listening for a polite time, she asked, “Mrs. Patrick, what was it you wanted?”

  “Oh,” she looked surprised. “That’s right. I did send for you. It’s Brandon, Lilah. We thought, perhaps, you might try talking to him. I’m at my wits’ end as to what to do with him. He can’t spend the rest of his life locked away in that shuttered room. It’s not natural or healthy. Would you see what you can do?”

  Lilah, remembering her promises to Saralyn, replied, “I’ll try. Shall I go up now?”

  “By all means,” Ames Patrick answered, handing his grandson over to the wet nurse, Meranda. “The sooner that boy gets back on the track, the better for everyone. Scottie needs his father.”

  Lilah approached the bedroom door with some trepidation. Did Brandon blame her for Saralyn’s death as much as she blamed herself? How would he react to her coming?

  She knocked softly. “Brandon? Are you sl
eeping?”

  No answer.

  She gave the door a sound rap and shouted, “Brandon, open up. I want to talk to you.”

  With her ear pressed against the wood, she could hearI a shuffling noise inside. She was still gripping the door knob. She’d tried it and found it locked. Suddenly, it turned in her hand. A moment later the door opened a crack.

  “Go away,” Brandon ordered huskily. “I want to be alone with my wife.”

  “Just let me in for a moment,” Lilah pleaded, wedging her shoe in the opening so that he couldn’t lock her out again.

  Brandon, his face darkly bearded, turned from the door toward the bed and said, “It’s Lilah, darling. Should I let her in?”

  There followed a silent pause. Lilah felt her skin prickle. Then Brandon opened the door and motioned for her to enter.

  “Saralyn says she’d like to see you.”

  Lilah shivered as she looked around the room. The drapes were all closed. Only one small lamp flickered beside the bed. Every piece of clothing that Saralyn had worn at Fortune’s Fancy was displayed about the room—her ball gown with the peach satin bows stood in a corner over a hoop, her other dresses were arranged on chairs, bureaus, or hanging on the open door of the armoire. Her favorite scent, rose water, pervaded the air. But the “Saralyn” that Brandon spoke to as if it were, in truth, his wife, was her wedding gown, stuffed with a pillow, and shaped to simulate Saralyn’s form, reclining on the bed. Propped against the headboard was Saralyn’s wedding portrait. Her great, golden eyes seemed to follow Lilah as she entered the bedroom.

  “We’ve missed seeing Lilah, haven’t we, dear?” Brandon asked lovingly of the portrait and wedding gown.

  Lilah hesitated before she spoke. “And I’ve missed seeing both of you.”

  “Well, that can’t be helped for the moment. Saralyn hasn’t been feeling well,” Brandon replied. He took his place beside “her” on the bed and patted the pearl-embroidered sleeve of the satin gown. “But you’re much better now, aren’t you, darling?” He smiled and nodded at the portrait.

  Lilah’s discomfort was increasing. She had to do something—get Brandon away from this mausoleum he had created.

  “Gypsy has a new litter, Saralyn,” she said brightly. “Would you like one of the kittens? There’s a red tabby with fur just the color of your eyes.” Lilah paused as if waiting for a reply from Saralyn, then answered the imaginary voice. “You would? That’s wonderful. Yes. Brandon can come to the house with me right now and get it. I’m sure it will make you feel better to have a new pet.”

  Brandon frowned at Lilah. “No. I couldn’t possibly leave Saralyn alone. She’s too ill. Out of the question.”

  Lilah looked back at the portrait and pretended once more to be listening. “Oh, Saralyn, don’t get yourself in a fret. Of course, Brandon will come with me. Won’t you, Brandon?”

  His frown deepened, and he looked from Lilah to the wedding gown on the bed, then back to Lilah, as if she were mad.

  So, she thought, this is all a charade. He hasn’t lost his mind. But he’ll have to go with me or admit that Saralyn’s dead.

  “It won’t take long, Brandon, and I’ll get Rhea to come stay with Saralyn while we’re gone,” Lilah urged. “She’s going to cry, if you don’t get it for her.”

  “Oh, very well!” he consented at last. “I’ll never understand women. Why must everything be done this instant?”

  Lilah pulled the bell cord near the door. When Zalou appeared, Lilah whispered, “Mr. Brandon and I are going out for a while. Please send Rhea up to stay here while we’re gone.”

  Zalou frowned her disapproval of the overseer’s niece being in the young master’s bedroom. “What for ya’ll need that uppity Rhea to sit in the room?” she grumbled.

  Lilah gave her a sharp look. “Don’t be difficult, Zalou, and don’t ask questions. Just do as I say!”

  The old negress shuffled off, grumbling and shaking her head. Rhea appeared within minutes, her soft skin coppery by the lamplight.

  “We’ll be back shortly, Rhea,” Lilah said. “Stay here until Mister Brandon and I return.”

  Kingdom’s wife asked no questions. She merely nodded.

  Everyone stared, but no one said anything as Lilah tugged the reluctant Brandon out of the house.

  “Before we get the kitten, Brandon, I’m going to take you somewhere and show you something. It’s time you saw it,” Lilah said.

  As if sensing her intent, Brandon stopped and half turned back toward the house. “I’d better go see about Saralyn.”

  “Saralyn’s fine,” she replied, taking a firmer grip on his

  arm. “Scottie’s fine too,” she ventured.

  “I don’t know any Scottie,” he said. “Oh, is that the kitten’s name? Odd name for a cat.”

  Lilah propelled him past the edge of the swamp and into the deeper shade of the oak forest as she answered, “Scottie’s your son … Yours and Saralyn’s.”

  “I don’t have a son,” he said simply.

  Lilah let the subject drop.

  Around a bend in the path they came abruptly to the Patrick graveyard. Brandon stopped in his tracks. Lilah pulled him forward.

  “Come along, Brandon. It’s time.”

  “No,” he whined. “No, I don’t want to go there!”

  He pushed at Lilah, but she kept her hold on him.

  “Brandon Patrick, you’re a grown man. You have to face facts. Saralyn was brave—much braver than you are. What must she think of you now? Saralyn would want you to visit her.”

  He gave in at her words and let her lead him into the enclosure dominated by the statue of Simon Patrick. A new, white marble angel, her features resembling Saralyn’s, guarded the plot, where new grass had already begun to push its way up through the soft earth.

  Brandon stopped before Saralyn’s grave and bowed his head. His shoulders shook, and Lilah watched silent tears run down his cheeks.

  “She asked before … she asked that her stone be carved with the same sentiment you had engraved in her wedding ring,” Lilah said softly.

  Brandon’s lips moved, but Lilah could hardly hear him as he read: “Love is Eternal.”

  He turned suddenly and crushed Lilah to his chest, burying his face in her hair. “Oh, God, Lilah, I loved her so much!” he sobbed.

  “I know, Brandon, and she loved you too,” Lilah soothed. “That’s why you have to accept the fact that she’s gone. Your son needs you. He’s the part of Saralyn that still lives. Let him know how much you loved his mother…. How much you love him.”

  “Yes, yes, I will!” He almost smiled. “Scottie, you called the lad?”

  Lilah nodded. “Saralyn wanted him named for her grandfather.”

  She felt a great load lifted from her. Brandon would be all right now. Or would he? Before they left, he reached up and gave the marble angel, which looked so much like Saralyn, a lingering kiss on its cold lips.

  Chapter 15

  Jeremy Patrick watched with curiosity and jealousy as Lilah led his bleak-faced brother from his room. Was there something between Brandon and Lilah even now?

  He’d kept his distance from Lilah since the day of her knife attack. Not that he believed she carried a weapon on her person as she’d threatened, but still…. His wound had been painful, and there were other women on the island who treated him with the respect he deserved.

  “Let Brandon have her!” he muttered scornfully, knowing full well he didn’t really mean it.

  Jeremy turned to go back into his bedroom. But something stopped him. He felt gooseflesh rise, imagining Saralyn’s ghost moving about her familiar chamber. Slowly, he edged down the hall toward the door. The drapes still closed out the light, and only a small lamp dispelled the gloom.

  He peered cautiously in, and caught his breath. A woman with long, burnished hair stood next to the bed, her fingers caressing the lace of Saralyn’s wedding gown. She turned to face him w
hen he made an involuntary sound at the door.

  “Rhea!” he gasped. “You scared the pure-tee-hell out of me, woman! I thought I was seeing… by this light you looked like… oh, never mind. What are you doing here?”

  She didn’t cast her gaze down as any other Patrick slave would have when speaking to the young master. Instead, she met Jeremy’s quasi-smile with the intenseness of brown eyes shot through with golden lights.

  “Miss Lilah told me to stay here ‘til she come back with Master Brandon,” she answered, still fingering the satin and lace sleeve.

  Jeremy felt a familiar heat rising in his lower regions. Kingdom’s comely wife was one of the few women on Rainbow Hammock whose wares he hadn’t sampled. He appraised her thoroughly—noticing for the first time how closely she resembled his late sister-in-law in stature and build. Although, while Saralyn had carried her petite elegance with the air of a truly aristocratic lady, Rhea’s beauty radiated all the sensuality of a stalking catamount.

  He moved close enough to breathe in her arousing, musky scent, and whispered, “And do you always do exactly as Miss Lilah tells you?” He let one finger trail up her arm as he spoke, but she remained calm, unshaken.

  “A slave’s born to follow orders from the master and his kin,” she answered defiantly.

  Her show of arrogance and the intimation that she knew all the Patrick family history and chose to cast her lot with the Fitzpatricks galled Jeremy. His temper already dangerously near the surface from seeing Lilah’s tender ministrations to his brother, Jeremy now felt full fury rage up. He held it in check and smiled at Rhea, thinking how he might get even with the lot of them.

  “They’ll be gone for a while. I’ll stay and keep you company.” He went to the bedroom door and closed it quietly.

  “I don’t need no company, Mister Jeremy,” Rhea answered.

  Jeremy thought he detected a slight quiver of fear in her tone. Good! he thought.

  “But you see, Rhea, I’d like someone to talk to,” he said softly, moving closer to her again—so close this time that she shrank away from him.