Keturah

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Chapter Fifteen

  After their meal and baths, Keturah and her sisters mounted their newly purchased mares—all of them young, strong-willed animals—and rode toward the fields along with Bennabe. The sun was dropping low in the sky, but Keturah knew she would not be able to sleep if she hadn’t ventured to the end of her property and back or seen the terraces her father had been intent on building high above. She had to know if his plan had been born of madness or genius. After seeing it for herself, she intended to pore over his journals and determine if she could discern which it was.

  They left the house clearing behind them and soon passed the group of old cottages intended for slaves. The door of the last cabin stood open, banging with a hollow thump in the breeze, and the shadows within sent a shiver down Ket’s back. She knew she would have to fill every one of those cottages. And it would have to be soon if they were to get new cane plantings in. But in all her musings and dreams of coming to Nevis, she’d never truly thought about the cost of it all … the inhumanity involved. The price every slave paid. The lack of choice.

  “Bennabe,” she said, pulling alongside the man. He was struggling a bit in the saddle, yet he was managing. “May I ask how you lost your arm?”

  He shot her such a wide grin, she saw that he was missing several bottom teeth. “Now, mum, I didn’t right lose my arm.”

  She could feel herself color. “Of course,” she said, laughing lightly.

  Then his smile faded. “My first master was Lord Ellis over at the Camel Hill Plantation.” His eyes narrowed. “His overseer was a cruel man named Bennett. He caught me stealing an apple from the larder, and then took my hand for it.”

  Keturah sucked in a breath.

  “You see, mum, I was only but twelve and it was a famine year. Most of us got a bowl of porridge for the day and that was it. And hoooeeee, mum, that barrel of apples, well, we could smell them from our cabins. Some were rotting in the bottom. And I just couldn’t resist the chance to eat one before it rotted out too. I knew what would come after I was caught. But Mr. Bennett, well, he was right drunk when he took the ax to my wrist. He didn’t make a clean cut, and soon it got thick with rot. They had to take it to the elbow. Still the rot was coming for me, leaving me to the shakes and the sweats all through the days and nights, until they cut me again just beneath my shoulder.”

  Keturah felt ill. “Bennabe. That is … reprehensible.”

  He shrugged, and his eyes softened as they moved to her hand hovering over her stomach. “Mine is just one story on this island, mum,” he said quietly. “Some be far worse. Best prepare yourself.”

  She took a deep breath and steeled herself. There was no way around it. She would simply have to find a decent overseer, and he could see to the purchase of the slaves who would work their land. Keturah took solace in knowing that the men and women who arrived would find Tabletop more welcoming a home than other plantations. She would be a gentle but firm mistress; at Tabletop they would work hard, but they would also find themselves well cared for. Much like the slaves at Hartwick had found themselves a home, becoming friends to the family through service and mutual dedication.

  Somewhat mollified, she rode on ahead of her sisters and Bennabe, past the scraggly shoots of cane emerging here and there, bordered by towering bamboo and dark shadowy jungle. They climbed the steep slope, Nevis Peak high above them. Just over the ridge to her right was Red Rock Plantation, and just over the next ridge to her left lay Teller’s Landing. She learned from Bennabe that Tabletop extended from the sea to halfway up the mountain and consisted of more than fifty acres of land. Their plantation was blessed with gentle trade winds, a break from the hot afternoon sun, as well as by the clouds that descended around the peak, often releasing rain showers as they dissipated.

  “Still, your papa built an aqueduct,” Bennabe went on, waving toward a stone-lined channel beside them, “to make sure his fields would flow with water whether there be drought or ample rain. It feeds all the way down to the slaves’ quarters and main house, bringing us fresh water, then down yonder to the sea. It was right clever, that plan,” he added in admiration. “Some struggle with dry rot in their cane, ’specially down south. Never here.”

  They paused at the millworks, with the same conical, gray volcanic-stone structure of fifty others Ket had seen on the way to Tabletop. Two of the giant windmill blades, each covered in sailcloth, were in tatters. “How difficult will those be to repair?” she asked.

  “Not difficult at all, mum,” he replied. “If we fetch a length of cloth in Charlestown, we could have it fixed in a day or two.” As they rode and talked, Keturah thought the man seemed a bit livelier than he had yesterday, as if her attention sparked more of that interest and hope she’d glimpsed in his eyes the day before.

  “Bennabe, we are weeks behind the others in planting. Are we too late?”

  “No, mum. This island will bring you a bounty most any time of the year, except for hurricane season …” He hesitated.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  “There are but two problems. If your harvest is done and the sugar ready too late, then you may not be able to ship for months, not until the ships begin running again.”

  “Ahh,” she said. That was true. From what she knew, few ships sailed in the winter. “And the other problem?”

  “Getting ships to carry your sugar to England. The other plantations will be there first, filling the ships with the biggest holds. You will likely have to ship fewer hogsheads on more ships. But tha’ not all bad either. Your papa thought it best to break up the shipment. That way, if a ship went down or a captain stole more than his fair share, the loss wouldn’t be so great.”

  She stared at him, amazed by the breadth of his knowledge. Beyond him, she saw Verity’s brows raised in appreciation too.

  “What do you mean by a captain stealing more than his ‘fair share’?” Verity asked.

  Bennabe gave her a shy smile. “Well, mum, the cap’ns always take a portion for themselves. Time and again we shipped, say, ten hogsheads on a ship, and the buyer in Liverpool registered seven. Now, did the captain take those three missing hogsheads? Did the crew? Or the dockhands? Or did the hogshead itself fall into the water or rot or the rats get to it? Can’t right say, mum. Most wouldn’t see it as a problem, not until a plantation ships ten and only five get all the way to where they’re goin’.”

  Ket felt her mouth drop in outrage. And yet the man seemed to think it common practice. “Did my father not press to find out what transpired with our own missing hogsheads? The captains are paid for the cargo’s passage, correct? They have no right to take more!”

  “No right, mum,” he said, then shrugged. “Just the way ’tis. We can plant the cane and press it. Put it in hogsheads and ship it. After that, it’s outta our hands.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “How long have you been at Tabletop, Bennabe?”

  “Your gran’papa bought me from my first master when he tired of having a one-armed slave. He was right kind, as was your papa, mum, and found me things to do. He liked to explain things to me, taught me my numbers and letters even. But mostly I think he told me things because he was putting them in proper order in his own mind.”

  “That sounds like Father,” Verity said. “He was always going on and on to Mother while she did her needlework, seeming not to mind if she was listening or not. Thinking aloud.”

  “But she did,” Keturah said, feeling a flash of defensiveness. “Time and time again I saw her respond.”

  “Well, of course she did,” Verity said, tucking her head and frowning at Ket. “I’m simply saying she needed not, not always. She knew that Father needed someone to listen to him think, which is exactly what Bennabe is saying.”

  Keturah nodded quickly, eager to be done with their awkward exchange. Why did she feel defensive of their mother? Because of Mitilda? Had Mother suspected? She shook her head and then scanned the first terraced field as they reached it.

&nbs
p; Bennabe leaned forward in the saddle and pointed. “This one took the longest. After this we had a rhythm, you see. But this field here took all of a year, and the one above a good nine months.”

  “And the top?” Selah said, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked high above.

  “That there is what your plantation was named after, mum. A natural butte. Up there was where we always grew the finest cane and what got your papa to thinkin’.” He glanced back at them, then down toward the sea. “It was a good plan, but it took longer than your papa thought. He thought we’d be out one harvest, not two. We planted cane down below, sure, but up here is where the truly fertile ground can be found. And when we could not plant it all that second season, and we came against the blight, and the overseer died …” Bennabe shook his head and turned sad eyes toward Ket. “There was no food, mum. None for the slaves. Not even any food for your father and …”

  His words trailed off and he looked away, but Keturah knew what he had been about to say. Not even any food for your father and his woman and child.

  “And then when the fever came through and up and took so many of us …” Bennabe shrugged and looked sorrowfully to the empty fields, with nothing but straggling sugarcane sprouts and weeds. At the edges, Keturah could see the jungle beginning to encroach, as if hungry to reclaim what had once been hers.

  “By the time the last fever came, well, we’d done had enough,” he continued. “Every one of us. I tell you, jus’ last week I found myself wonderin’ when the next fever would end our misery—then here you three come, arrivin’ like rays of sunshine on the darkest day. Did you see that, mum, on your long voyage to Nevis? Was there ever a sky covered in clouds, but then it just broke loose enough to allow a ray through, lightin’ up the ocean below?”

  Keturah knew what he meant. “Of course.”

  He held her gaze as if making sure she understood. “Do you remember how it made you feel, mum, when you saw that ray?”

  Her mare pranced beneath her, eager to move on. “Surprised, I suppose. Hopeful.”

  “Yes,” Bennabe said, gesturing to her. “That’s it. You girls,” he said, looking at all three of them, “have surprised us. Given me—all of us left here—hope. Now, I won’ say this will be easy, but I feel hope deep in these old bones. Hope for Tabletop again.”

  She smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Bennabe. I’m glad you didn’t run or that anyone else claimed you.”

  “Me too, mum. Me too.”

  They began to ride back to the house, each lost in their own thoughts. Keturah looked up into the trees. There were red-breasted blackbirds and tiny green companions flitting about, chirping, as if flaunting their beautiful feathers. And there … “Is that a monkey?” she asked in excitement. “There’s another!”

  “Where?” Verity gasped, leaning forward. “There—I see one!”

  “Well, sure, mum. There be more monkeys than people about Nevis.”

  Keturah laughed and wondered how long it would be until Verity had a pet monkey to taunt Brutus. She eyed her sister. “Do not even think of it, Ver. ’Twill never be a consideration,” she said firmly.

  Verity flashed her a smile. “Never say never.”

  Selah caught her eye, and together they both grinned and shook their heads in resignation. Had they remained in England, Keturah knew that Verity would have driven the new French veterinarian mad with all her questions. Were she a man, Ket understood her sister would have become a veterinarian or a farrier or a falconer, just as Selah would likely have become a doctor or pastor with her compassion and care for the welfare of others. Ket considered that a moment. What career might she have pursued if she’d been born male?

  With a slow smile, she looked about the plantation and down the slope of the island to the brilliant blue sea. An adventurer, she thought. Or an explorer. Or a master gardener.

  Or a plantation owner.

  Exactly what I am, she thought with a thrill of revelation. All along, of course, she’d known that she was walking a man’s path. But being here, on-island, she knew she was walking her own path of destiny too. She didn’t know what was ahead, but she knew that today—knew it deep in her bones, as Bennabe would say—she was right where she was supposed to be.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next morning, Keturah, Verity, and Selah went to meet with the banker in Charlestown. At first, Mr. Jobel seemed most kind, but it did not take long to discover he looked upon them with disapproval. She understood that he had little hard currency to lend them—cash was notoriously challenging to obtain on the island—but even after reviewing her letters from her London banker and attorney, as well as their father’s and Edward’s wills, he still was reluctant to set up a line of credit for them. Unfortunately they needed what only he could provide. For without an endless stream of English sterling or Spanish pieces of eight, it was through a line of credit or bartering that every plantation owner on Nevis saw to his—or her—business.

  Keturah remained seated and still, patiently smiling at the banker, even as her sisters kept shifting in their seats and looking at her, clearly wanting to excuse themselves. He blustered and droned on about the complexities of running a plantation and how every man he knew found it challenging. He spent nearly an hour talking about the history of the island, of plantations built to respectable, even enviable stature, then demolished in a hurricane or cane blight. Something that many men could not even bear.

  Even so, Keturah stayed where she was, nodding, listening, smiling. And she dared not meet her sisters’ urgent looks.

  At last the aged banker realized she did not intend to leave until she received what she expected. He sighed, gave her one last look over the rim of his spectacles, and reluctantly drew out a piece of paper. He dipped his pen in the inkwell and then let it hover over the page while he gave her yet another long look, as if hoping she had thought better of her ways in the seconds in between. “Very well,” he finally said. “Out of respect for your late father …”

  And with an eye on the sum due to me in Edward’s estate, Keturah thought. The old dog would not lose in this deal, regardless of whether the girls made the plantation a success or not. But he played his game well. She’d have to watch him at every step, because there was something about the banker that told her he wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of her or her situation, regardless of how much he “respected” her late father.

  A date, a few words, a signature, a thorough sanding to dry the ink, and Keturah and her sisters had what felt like their entire future on paper, as well as a heavy sack of coin.

  “’Tis late in the season, Lady Tomlinson,” Mr. Jobel said as they reached the doorway. “You’d do well to plant in haste.”

  “So I hear, Mr. Jobel,” she said, and with a quick bob of her head Keturah and her sisters left the hot, humid building and entered the marketplace again.

  With her line of credit in hand, Ket was ready to purchase everything else Tabletop needed. She would need to hire an overseer, secure more field hands, and refurbish the mill and house. The girls drew close together and shared a small, hidden squeal at their success.

  “Oh, Keturah, I thought he would refuse you outright,” Selah said. “However did you manage to keep so calm, so stalwart?”

  “It’s simple,” she said as they strode past carts and tents laden with luscious mangoes and bananas and pineapple, piles of bright-colored spices, and casks of hard cider. “Observe any man in negotiation and he shall do as Mr. Jobel did. If you do not like what is transpiring, wait it out. If you are in the midst of negotiation, speak last. The one with the most fortitude—”

  “Fortitude,” Verity interrupted, “or stubbornness?”

  “The one with the most fortitude, or patience,” she allowed, “will certainly emerge the victor. And given that I am a lady,” she said in her most prim and proper way, “a man becomes most discombobulated when I exhibit such behavior. You, my dear sisters, made it all the more apparent with your fidgeting and
wringing of hands.”

  “Can you blame us?” Selah asked as they walked arm in arm. “The man appeared as if he might never budge. He was making me as nervous as a mouse caught in a cat’s corner!”

  “I wondered how we might even secure enough coin for passage home, if necessary,” Verity said.

  “Nonsense,” Keturah said. “He merely believed it beneath him to deal with such matters on the behalf of women, but his financial nose told him he would be foolish to turn me away. I simply made it impossible for him to choose anything but what I wanted.”

  Verity and Selah laughed, each squeezing one of her arms, and they made their way to the slaver to retrieve Selah’s ring, and then to the tailor to pick up their gowns. Bennabe awaited them there, while Primus and Gideon followed them everywhere, serving as their silent guardians. They visibly suffered in their formal livery, sweat pouring down their cheeks as they helped the women back into the old carriage.

  “Honestly, Primus,” Selah said, “we shall have to see about different clothing for you. It is far too hot here for any man to have to endure full livery. Do you not agree, Keturah?”

  “I do,” she said, looking the sweating men over, “but I’ve seen other servants in similar dress. Let us see what we discover tonight at the soiree, shall we?” As they drove off, she noted many gentlemen in full waistcoats and powdered wigs, despite the heat.

  An hour later, they were home and hurriedly began the task of dressing for the Welands’ soiree that night. For it was there, Keturah thought, that she might find a reference for an overseer as well as other vital information she needed to proceed with what she must. But she admitted to herself that one other thought excited her.

  Seeing Gray.

  No, she told herself, even as a shiver ran down her spine. It was merely friendship, a spirit of camaraderie that made her so eagerly anticipate crossing paths with him. Nothing more.