Keturah

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Keturah’s skin crawled. Is he intimating … ? How dare he!

  Then she realized the truth of the matter. He held the power. Just like Edward had.

  Here on Nevis he had the ability to do exactly what he threatened to do. How could she fight it? How had she fought Edward?

  She had not.

  She never found a way.

  Only the means to seal herself away. Make her heart as stone.

  Just as she began to do now.

  Feeling her acquiesce, Shubert released her, abruptly dropping his arms. She stumbled, narrowly keeping herself from falling, and looked at him in a daze.

  “Go home, Lady Tomlinson,” he sneered. “And consider how you best fit in here. Find a man to marry and look over your plantation. If push comes to shove, come to me, and I’ll marry you and look after you all myself.”

  “Never,” she managed to say. But she no longer sounded strong, defiant. She sounded beaten. Like she had after particularly hard nights with Edward.

  “So you say now,” he said with a half smile. “We shall see how long it takes this island to make you say otherwise. You can give in easy. Or you can give in hard. But either way, you shall give in, Lady Ket.” He tipped his head and added, “Best get home now and see to that Negro who needed a reminder of his proper place. We’ll keep an ear to the ground to try and figure out who did it.” He laughed under his breath, as did his companion.

  Numbly, Keturah watched them ride away.

  She did not know how she managed to get back to Tabletop.

  She did not remember the ride.

  The road.

  Anyone she saw.

  Just a terrible darkening tunnel from which she could not escape …

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Keturah woke in the deep watches of the night, starting when she thought she felt Mr. Shubert’s hand on her belly again. Or was it … Edward’s?

  She cried out and pulled away, stumbling across the wide, smooth wooden planks of her bedroom floor.

  My bedroom. Here in Nevis, she told herself, willing herself to cease this madness. Not at Clymore Castle, Ket. Not for a long time.

  Still, she stood there, trembling, staring at the dark form in her bed, hand to her mouth, wondering. But then that person rose up, and no, it wasn’t big enough for Mr. Shubert. Not even Edward … Who? What? She lifted a hand to her mouth, narrowly stifling a scream.

  “Ket?” the girl asked.

  Dimly, Keturah recognized the voice.

  Selah. It was Selah in her bed. Another body stirred in the armchair by the window, and Ket whirled. Verity, she decided quickly—who was more visible in the half-moon’s light streaming through her open window. My sisters … only my sisters!

  “Ket, are you quite all right?” Selah asked.

  Verity was beside her then too, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. At her touch, Keturah flinched, gasped and then choked on a sob.

  “Oh, Keturah,” Verity said, grabbing her more firmly and pulling her around to face her as Selah turned up the lamplight. “What is it? What happened to you? You came home in such a state. Sobbing …”

  Ket searched her sisters’ eyes and could plainly see she’d given them a terrible fright. She wanted to deny anything had happened—that there was nothing to fear. But she knew that was senseless. Her sisters had plainly seen to her in her hysteria—in whatever dark fugue that had engulfed her—and undressed her and put her to bed. Ket’s eyes moved to the bedside table and saw the bottle of laudanum. Perhaps that was why she could remember so little.

  But she knew it was more. There had been many nights at Clymore that she could not remember come morn. Nights when she remembered Edward raging, herself running, hiding, and little more. Only darkness. Like a blank slate.

  “Keturah,” Verity said, taking her hands in hers, “you are trembling again! What is it? What has happened?”

  Tears welled in Ket’s eyes. She had to tell them, her dear sisters. Tell what she had told no one.

  “Come, sit,” Selah said, pulling her to the edge of the bed.

  Obediently, she went. Selah wrapped a blanket around her shoulders while Verity sank to her knees beside Ket’s legs, waiting expectantly.

  “After I found Mr. Rollins beaten in the field …” she began, hot tears drifting down her cheeks. She started, remembering. “Mr. Rollins. How is he?” she asked, heart beating in fear.

  Verity squeezed her legs. “He fares decently enough, Ket. He says himself he’ll be up and about in a few days.”

  Keturah breathed a prayer of thanks. “I … I went to speak to Lord Reynolds. To gain his assistance in confronting Mr. Shubert about his unspeakable act. But …” She paused and swallowed hard. “Lord Reynolds is away. And I met Mr. Shubert and his men on the road.”

  Selah sucked in the tiniest of breaths. So she had recognized him as a menace too. That was good, since the man had taken such notice of her … Keturah paused. How much did she dare say? Verity was a woman grown. Selah too, but only barely. To speak of such things would strip away precious innocence. And she didn’t want that for her little sister. She wanted to protect both of them … wished that they may never know anything in life but peace and prosperity.

  But few enjoy only peace and prosperity in this world, she thought. They lived in a fallen world, with depraved men and women alike. Sin was bound to impact them, just as it had Ket. And it was best that they be prepared to battle it, alongside her. There was no protecting them. Not in total. Not here. Perhaps not anywhere.

  Again, she swallowed hard and wiped her cheeks. “My sisters, I must tell you something quite difficult.”

  Both were silent, waiting. She looked from one to the other. So beautiful. So caring.

  “My marriage to Edward was not as we all wished it would be.”

  “So you have said,” Verity said gently, taking her hand. “Was he a … brute?”

  A brute. Keturah had never stopped to think of calling him that. She’d dismissed his behavior as frustration for some time. Blamed herself for not doing things exactly as he’d asked. And for her waist never growing thick with the promise of a child …

  A brute.

  Brutal.

  Brutalized.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes,” she said again, claiming the word more thoroughly the second time. “Edward was a brute,” she whispered, looking to the open window, then back to her sisters. “And so when I returned to Hartwick, I knew I never wished to marry again. Then when Father died, I knew I wanted each of you to marry, only when and to whom you wished. I knew I would never ever force you into a union or even encourage it. I wished for you both to make your own choice.”

  “Which made saving Hartwick, and making Tabletop a success, all the more important,” Verity said, taking her hand. “You wanted us not to choose a man purely because of financial need, social or stature.”

  “Never,” Keturah said with a slow shake of her head. “For judging from my own experience, that led to nothing but heartache.”

  “Oh, Ket,” Selah said, wrapping her arms around Keturah. “I am so sorry that happened to you.”

  “Me too,” Verity said.

  It was their loving, soothing words and presence that undid Ket. She wept then for several long moments.

  When she had gathered herself, Verity asked carefully, “So what exactly transpired at Red Rock?”

  “Lord Reynolds was away, as I said.” Ket sniffed. “I encountered Mr. Shubert and his men.” She paused to consider her words. “They … made it quite clear that no judge would agree to hear our slaves’ testimony of Mr. Rollins’s abuse in court. They made up a story that they were merely out for an afternoon ride and had never been at Tabletop.”

  Verity’s eyes narrowed. “That is infuriating. But there must be more. To bring you home in such a state …”

  “They pulled me from my saddle. Threatened me.” She couldn’t bear to tell them they threatened Selah too.

  Both girls gasped. Verity lea
ned back, fingers covering her lips. “How did they dare? We must go to the authorities!”

  Keturah shook her head. “Perhaps if we were in England, we could do so. But here on Nevis … No, sisters, we must find a way to beat the horrors at their own game.”

  Both girls were silent. Then Selah said, “Not all men are horrors, Ket.”

  “All men have some dark, hidden sin within, Selah,” she said, her righteous anger rising, feeling more welcome than her sorrow and fear. “’Tis best for you to know this now.”

  “It is as you say,” Selah returned carefully, turning to sit beside her on the bed. “But Ket, do not women have the same dark, hidden sins too? Does not Verity, or I, or you?”

  “Look at Father,” Verity said with a sigh. “We adored him. He was good to us. He loved Mother. And yet …” Her eyes went to the window. “Here we find Mitilda. And Abraham.”

  “And yet there are good men out there,” Selah said, taking her hand in both of hers. “Consider Mr. Covington!”

  “And Mr. Philip,” Verity added quickly, seeing her bristle. “And Captain McKintrick!”

  “Oh, and dear cousin Cecil,” Selah said.

  “Mr. Kruger,” Verity said triumphantly, naming Keturah’s favorite gardener, who had been with the family since before they were born.

  “Mr. Yates!” Selah added, recalling a kindly neighbor. “And Mr. Eckley!” The local fishmonger, who had always made them laugh.

  Keturah gave them both a small smile. “All right, dear ones. All right. Clearly all men are not monsters.”

  “No,” Verity said darkly. “Only one of our neighbors.”

  “While another is a saint,” Selah said dreamily.

  Keturah scoffed at her little sister’s overly romantic view of Gray Covington. But then could she truly see Gray doing anything as despicable as Mr. Shubert had done yesterday? No, if she was honest, she knew the worst Gray had likely ever done was steal kisses from every girl he could.

  Except her.

  She rose from the bed and went to the window. Dawn was close now, the eastern horizon growing warm with the approaching sun. With it came warmth for Keturah, comfort, even though she did not yet feel its rays.

  If she were to beat those who rose against her at their own game, she would need a strategic partner in order to do so. This chessboard—here on Nevis—was unlike any she had encountered. Things were different here, as Mr. Shubert had so clearly laid out.

  So she would adapt. Utilize the mind and heart her Lord had given her. And dare to trust one of the good men again.

  “Send Cuffee to Teller’s Landing,” she said to Selah over her shoulder. “Tell him to tell Mr. Covington …” She paused, wondering if she really dared do what she thought she must. Yes. Yes, I must.

  “Tell Mr. Covington I have need of his aid.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Gray stepped out of Mitilda’s home, where Mr. Rollins was convalescing in his sister’s small bedroom. He began pacing the front porch. Philip stood on the ground, one foot perched atop the aging, rotting wood of the porch. Keturah stood to one side, arms crossed, looking alarmed at his obvious fury. He immediately willed himself to calm.

  Taking a long, deep breath, he looked to Mitilda on the other side. “Tell me what happened to your brother, please. From start to finish.”

  The woman’s pretty brown eyes shifted over him, as if trying to decide if she trusted him or not. After she sent a questioning look to Keturah, and Ket nodded, she told him. They’d been working in the field. The three men from Red Rock had come riding in—right through their freshly planted cane, the woman added indignantly—and insisted Matthew be on his way “to his side of the island.” They’d said that no black man would ever be overseer, not while they lived on Nevis, and with him gone, maybe Lady Tomlinson would see the “error of her ways too.”

  Keturah blanched at that, then flushed with anger, as did Gray. He found his hands balled into fists and carefully flexed them, even as he longed to go over and do to Shubert what the men had done to poor Rollins.

  “But your brother stood up to them.”

  “Ye’sir,” she said. “Told them that as a freed man, he should be able to work where he wanted. Told them he wasn’t going anywhere until Lady Ket sent him on his way. And then …” She broke off, shook her head, and looked to the waves in the distance.

  Gray shook his head. “I am sorry you had to watch such brutality,” he said gently.

  “Not the first time I’ve seen it. Likely not the last,” Mitilda said.

  “It shall be the last if I have anything to say about it,” Keturah said.

  But now Gray could see why Keturah had summoned him. By the look on her face, she had no idea as to how she would prevent it from happening again … or worse. He furiously wished he were in the financial position to offer more to Ket, to bring her and her sisters under the shelter of his wing. And yet as soon as he had that thought, he knew she would not welcome it anyway.

  Not yet came the thought from deep within.

  For the first time, he counted it a blessing—that he was not yet prepared to ask Keturah to marry him. No, she had finally asked for help, and he counted that as no small victory. Now he had to respond in such a manner that preserved her pride and independence. Things he so appreciated in her.

  “I propose that we become partners,” he said to her, eyes shifting over the swaying deep-green palms that lined the ridge between their land. “I am in need of additional field hands, as are you. You are in need of a man to back your overseer so he endures no further harm. I wouldn’t mind if that overseer watched over both our plantations.” He dared to look Keturah in the eye.

  She and her sisters stared at him as if they had not heard him right. “Think of it,” he pressed on. “We shall alternate our planting work—first a portion of your fields, then mine, then yours again. Both of our crops will be planted as quickly as they would be on our own, because we’ll have twice the number of field hands. We shall use my furrow plough on as much of your land as you wish. Then we shall share a certain percentage of our own profits with our partner.”

  Keturah’s eyes shifted back and forth over his, contemplating his offer. It was a good one, he knew. Fair. Advantageous to them both.

  Keturah blinked slowly, obviously thinking it over. He became distracted with how her golden-brown lashes seemed to glow in the reflected sun. A hint of a mischievous smile tugged at her beautiful lips, even as she tried to look at him with warning. “The other planters might frown upon this plan. A Negro overseer in charge of not one plantation but two.”

  “Then they shall have to take it up with me,” he said.

  “Their overseers shall like it even less,” Mitilda put in, joining Ket with the first smile he’d ever seen from her.

  “Undoubtedly,” he said, smiling with them.

  “We shall each retain our own properties,” Ket said, quickly sobering. “We shall not mingle our profits, as you suggested. Only our methods of getting to said profits.”

  Drawing back to her defense lines again, he thought. With a would-be enemy threatening to encroach … But he was no enemy. How could he convince her? “Whatever you wish,” he said easily.

  “Then we are partners,” she said, extending her hand to him.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Gray took it and, with a grin, shook it. Because any sort of partnership he could form with Keturah Tomlinson was a partnership he would celebrate.

  ———

  Within a week they had Tabletop’s second field planted. Mr. Rollins was back on his feet, and although one eye remained terribly bruised, the swelling reluctant to recede, his cuts had healed. After some consideration, with Gray’s backing, he assumed his role as overseer of both plantations, now giving his advice to both Gray and Keturah as to how he would modify their fields and placement of the tender cane. At first, he was terribly skeptical about Gray’s plough and furrows, rather than the traditional mounds planters had used for centur
ies on-island. But after the first solid rain, and seeing how the furrows held the water for just the right length of time rather than letting it slide away, he suggested they use the plough for the remainder of Tabletop’s fields.

  Keturah and her sisters insisted on continuing to help with the planting—even on Teller’s Landing—but in turn he insisted on sending them home during the hottest part of the day. Gray noticed they did not don their father’s old clothing at his plantation as they had at first at Tabletop, perhaps reluctant to be too audacious in the company of a gentleman. Truth be told, he thought Keturah fetching in any clothing, even perspiring and red-faced in the late-morning heat as she was.

  Or was her choice to wear the sensible day dress due to how Shubert had taken to peering down at them from each of their plantation’s borders? Gray had spotted the man and his cohorts at Red Rock, when they were at Tabletop, and from Gray’s southern neighbor’s plantation, Chandler’s Point. Out of habit, he glanced over his shoulder. He despised the man, watching them as he did—like a hungry vulture simply waiting for his prey to drop in the oppressive summer heat. As soon as Gray brought in his first harvest and had the money in hand—as soon as Lord Reynolds could look at him with some respect—he would speak to him about his loathsome overseer, and see Shubert driven from Nevis’s shores.

  That afternoon, though, Shubert did not hover. Gray’s eyes moved to Keturah, tipping back her wide-brimmed hat to wipe her forehead of sweat. Then over to Verity, keeping pace with Absalom in dropping cane pieces and covering them—exchanging sly smiles as they raced down neighboring furrows. Selah was with the wary girl named Hope and her brooding man, Tolmus, teaching them one English word after another as they worked together to fertilize each cane stalk. What would the sugar baron have thought of his daughters, working here in the fields of Nevis like common indentured servants, rather than living as noblewomen? He’d already heard many tongues agog in Charlestown—everyone, it seemed, anxious to speak about the unspeakable ways of the Banning sisters—until he came around. Then they would abruptly hush, recognizing Gray as him—the Bannings’ neighbor.