Keturah

by Lisa T. Bergren

  Yesterday in the market, he’d heard two women at a mango stand yammering on about calling upon Mr. Thompson, thinking that the priest might be able to speak some sense into the women. Remind them of their place and their station. He knew others surmised that the Bannings were nearly destitute, unable to buy enough slaves to do what they ought, and working themselves to the bone to try to save what surely would be lost. Clearly, none of them knew Keturah. Or her sisters. And he rather liked that. Because it was as if out of all ten thousand souls on Nevis, Gray was the only one in on their secret.

  Will they not be surprised in time? he wondered, sneaking another glance at Ket. Why, yes, he thought with a grin. Yes, they would.

  She caught him, just as he was turning away, and straightened, casting him a curious, sly look. “What is it?”

  “Ah, nothing,” he lied, allowing his grin to widen. He turned back to his mule and tightened a strap.

  “Gray Covington, you tell me this instant,” she demanded.

  “No,” he said, still smiling as she trudged through the deep furrows to come closer.

  “You stand there smiling at me like a fat tabby cat who has just swallowed a mouse, and you will not tell me why?”

  “Do you truly think me fat?” He frowned and rubbed a hand over his flat belly.

  She reached out to swat his arm. “You know what I mean. Tell me.”

  He laughed under his breath and gave her a little bow. “Respectfully, no. Despite the fact that we are now partners, Keturah, I am still allowed to keep my own counsel at times.”

  “Even if ’tis considered rude to do so?” she asked, hands on her hips. A blush hovered on her cheeks, as if she had some idea that he remained quiet because he had been caught admiring her.

  “Even if,” he said, with another brief bow. “Now, I must beg your pardon. I aim to be done with this quarter of the field before sundown.”

  Reluctantly, she allowed him to part. He didn’t look back, but he hoped that he felt the heat of her gaze on his broad, shirtless back. That she was noting the muscles that had hardened after weeks of work, even if the island sun had left his skin far darker than was fashionable. He hoped she saw how the slaves and even Mr. Rollins looked to him with respect and admiration.

  Was that pride, vanity, that made him think such unscrupulous thoughts?

  No, he told himself with another smile. ’Tis merely strategy.

  ———

  In another week’s time, they had planted an additional portion of his land. Mr. Rollins had to depart then, agreeing to return the following week, after he saw to his own crop of cane. Gray knew he had to be concerned that other planters had done damage to his little plot of land as angry retribution; Shubert was not the only overseer or planter up in arms over their decision to employ him. He hoped they had not taken such rash action. Thankfully, between what he and Keturah promised to pay him, once their crops came in, would surely make him the richest black man on the island, regardless of what his own crop yielded.

  They had just begun planting Tabletop’s lowest field one sultry Saturday morning when Mr. Shubert boldly crossed the property line and rode directly toward Keturah, his men slightly behind him on their own horses. Gray saw him first and immediately strolled toward his mare, lolling in the shade of a banyan tree, and withdrew his sword. The sound of the blade against the metal sheath brought Philip’s head around. Gray went back to Keturah, who had edged near Selah, just as Shubert pulled up.

  “You are not welcome here,” Keturah said, fists clenching at her side.

  Mr. Shubert’s eyes shifted lazily from one to the next of them. “Now that is impolite, Lady Tomlinson,” he said. “Hardly genteel, if I do say so myself.”

  He reached beneath his jacket, and Gray raised his sword. “Mind yourself, man.”

  “’Tis you who must mind himself,” Mr. Shubert said, pulling out a note. “We are here solely to present you with an invitation from Red Rock’s mistress. The lord and lady returned the night before last, and there is to be a soiree Saturday next. The mistress seems intent upon your acceptance to her invitation, Lady Tomlinson.” He reached down, offering the invitation, but Keturah didn’t move.

  He was testing her, taunting her. Telling her that the Reynoldses had returned. Would she attempt to reach them again with her account of Matthew’s beating? Would she risk retribution from him?

  Gray glanced at her, narrowing his gaze when he saw the woman appeared wan. Was it the heat? Or this man’s presence? He knew she despised the man, but … He stepped forward and took the card from the man’s meaty fist himself. “Be on your way, Shubert,” he said tightly.

  “For now,” Mr. Shubert said, his face dissolving into lines of satisfaction. He laughed lightly and tipped his hat, then wheeled his horse around. “See to it that you send word as to your plans of attendance,” he called over his shoulder. “The mistress requires such niceties.”

  Gray ignored him. His eyes returned to Keturah, who held Selah’s hand as if the girl were helping her make it across a tightrope. Her breaths came in shallow pants. “Keturah?” he asked softly, stepping closer. When neither woman looked at him, he said, “Ket, what is it?”

  She didn’t answer. But Selah looked at him, then to the three men now on the far side of the field, then back at her sister. Alarm swept through Gray.

  “What has happened?” he asked, willing himself not to allow his fear and fury to seep into his tone, but only doing so with modest success.

  Keturah mumbled something about heading to the house to see to their noon meal and started walking away, Selah at her side.

  “Keturah!” he called, more sharply than he intended. But she did not stop. He stood there, stymied, aware that the field hands all stared at them. Then he went after her, knowing he could not sleep this night if he didn’t discover what had upset her so.

  He caught up to them just as they cleared the field and reached the road. “Keturah,” he repeated.

  She reluctantly stopped, but only partially turned toward him. She could not look him in the eye. “Let it be, Gray,” she said.

  “I cannot. You must tell me. Those men have been hovering over our shoulder for weeks. I thought your agitation was only because you feared for Rollins. But has he threatened you too?”

  “’Tis none of your concern,” she said, turning to go again.

  He caught her wrist, gently, then eased her back around. “Please, Ket,” he said, “tell me.”

  Selah took a few steps away, turning to look to the sea and give them a bit of privacy.

  “I … cannot,” she said, glancing nervously behind his shoulder at the field hands, all pretending to work again.

  “Elsewhere then. Later?”

  “No,” she said, her voice hardening. “As I said, it is not your concern.” She strode swiftly away, down the road toward the house, not seeming to even remember that she’d left her sister behind.

  Selah edged closer. Once Ket was out of earshot, she said, “After they attacked Mr. Rollins, Keturah went after them.”

  Gray felt the blood drain from his face. What was this?

  “She meant to speak to Lord Reynolds, you see,” Selah rushed on, wringing her hands and glancing back to make sure Keturah would not overhear. “To inform him of his overseer’s foul behavior.”

  “But Lord Reynolds was away,” he finished for her.

  She nodded eagerly, her big, brown eyes round with worry.

  “And then?” he forced himself to ask, wishing he need not know, as Keturah insisted.

  “They dragged her from her horse, Gray,” she said softly. “Manhandled and threatened her. Made it clear that she had no voice, no authority on-island.”

  He studied her but could only see Shubert’s jeering face. The pig. The big lout. He would strangle him with his bare hands… .

  “That was when they told Ket that things were different here,” Selah went on. “They said white men rule. Women were clearly to be subservient. And Negroes …
” She paused and looked again toward the sea. “They made it clear that any assurances we had as gentlewomen in England did not apply here. That was when she decided she couldn’t do this alone. Not if she was to protect Matthew and the slaves. And so she sent for you.”

  Gray nodded, forcing himself to remember to breathe, to find something reassuring to say to the girl. “’Tis good that she did,” he finally replied. “So that I might be the friend to you all I’ve always longed to be.”

  “You’re more than a friend,” Selah said tenderly, putting her small hand on his forearm. “You’re a brother to Ver and me.” She glanced back at her sister, now growing small in the distance.

  “What of her?” he dared in a whisper. “What does Ket think of me, Selah?”

  He felt terrible in that moment, for prying, pressing the younger woman. She was guileless and he knew it. But just as he had needed to know what happened with Angus Shubert, now he needed to know the truth of what Keturah thought of him.

  “Oh!” Selah said, lifting filthy hands to her pink cheeks. “You mustn’t ask me to betray such intimacies, Gray!”

  “I see,” he said slowly, surmising what that meant. He tried to hold back a smile. For there could not be intimacies if no intimacy was felt in the first place. “So your sister might … favor me?” he dared.

  “She has granted you more favor than any other man in her life since Edward passed.”

  “Because of necessity? Or is it something more?” he pressed.

  “I have already disclosed far too much,” Selah said, moving away from him now.

  “Forgive me,” he managed to say. But in his heart he knew he desired no such forgiveness. Selah’s odd reaction, her wording … it told him that Keturah did feel something for him.

  Whether she recognized it yet or not.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  At Gray’s insistence, he came to collect the Banning women at seven o’clock for the party at Red Rock. Keturah had wanted to decline the invitation, but Selah insisted they go. “Will it not further prove to them that they cannot cow you,” she said, “if you enter that drawing room in your fine bronze gown, with your head held high?”

  “And with hands that resemble our field hands’?” Ket said, wiggling her palms at her sister.

  “We shall wear gloves,” Selah had said, “and then we shall face Angus Shubert together.”

  The thought of it made Ket’s stomach turn. But she had to find a way to separate Shubert’s brutality from the memory of her husband’s. Edward was not here. He could no longer reach her. Touch her. And next time Angus tried, she’d be certain her small Scottish dagger was in hand.

  In fact, she’d insisted both her sisters wear theirs too. “If that man dares to come near any of us, I want you to have your knife ready. And if he dares to manhandle you, you have my permission to stab him!”

  “Oh, Ket!” Selah had said, eyes round. “He wouldn’t dare such a thing, would he?”

  “Not at his master’s party,” Verity soothed, putting an arm around the girl’s shoulder. “But Ket’s right. If he tries, he shall not find a Banning girl without a sharp little surprise for him. I’m putting mine in my sleeve!”

  Gray arrived, resembling what she remembered of him in England, given his clean coat, white shirt, fancy cravat, and breeches above new stockings and freshly shined buckled shoes. He also wore a powdered wig, which she hadn’t seen on him since they’d embarked upon the Restoration. Aboard ship and working in the fields, it wasn’t practical. But after several social gatherings, Keturah knew that society here still preferred their gentlemen in wigs. Given her fight for respect and her quiet partnership with Gray, she was glad to see he intended to try to fit in with the others. Perhaps if he could gain a foothold, it would assist them both were future troubles to arise.

  Yet, as he helped Selah into the double-seated wagon, then Verity, Ket knew it was to her that his eyes strayed, again and again. She hadn’t worn this gown since that very first dinner aboard the ship when he had so obviously wished to rise to her defense with Mr. Burr. And now here he was again, rising to her aid. Insisting he escort them to the party, a party where Angus Shubert might appear. Shepherding them, she told herself. Yet the way he looked at her was not purely as a shepherd, she mused. His blue eyes lingered on her bare shoulders, the pearls at her neck … and the warmth of his gaze sent shivers down her back. She accepted his gloved hand, glad for the task and distraction of lifting her skirt and climbing in beside Verity.

  Primus helped tuck the end of her skirt in beside her feet, then joined Philip on the bench seat in front of them. It was not as fancy as the old carriage they’d found on Tabletop, but it would do, Ket thought. There was something especially apropos about it, something representative of them here, straddling two worlds. All dressed up in their finery and yet utilizing Gray’s very sensible wagon. She knew that others would be arriving in fine carriages, imported from England and America, and she shoved away a twinge of embarrassment. What falderal was that?

  As if reading her mind, Selah said, “What do you suppose our compatriots say of us, traveling in such a fashion? I wish Father’s carriage did not have a broken wheel.”

  “They shall think us sensible and stalwart,” Verity said firmly, “because they are English too.”

  “Well, some are,” Keturah said. “Some are Danes or Scotsmen.”

  “Scotsmen,” Selah mused, giving her sister a playful nudge. “Hmm.”

  “All I know,” Gray said from the front seat, “is that I thank God every day for a certain Scotsman getting us safely to this island.”

  “Do you believe he will truly return?” Verity asked tentatively. “Some say that men such as him have a girl in every port.”

  “But not every girl is Verity Banning,” Ket said. “Do you wish for him to return, Ver?” As much as she did not like the idea of a sailor courting her sister, if it was what Verity wanted …

  “I … know not. Leave it be now. All of you.”

  Keturah’s heart began to pound as they came down the lane of Red Rock Plantation. Ver reached out and covered her hands with hers, holding her as if willing her to remain strong. Selah cuddled closer to her. Ket fought to concentrate on all the blessings in her life rather than her old fears. She whispered a prayer of thanksgiving for her sisters, enough people to work their plantations, her three fields now nearly planted, and the Lord’s protection so far. It helped to see Lord and Lady Reynolds waiting to greet them as they pulled up before the grand house—with no Mr. Shubert in sight.

  Ket had not decided how she might approach Lord Reynolds about Mr. Shubert’s attack on Matthew, nor his manhandling of her. She would have to pick her time carefully, but first the man needed to know she was a woman of consequence. She must gain his respect. So she summoned her finest manners, wrought at Hartwick Manor and honed at Clymore Castle, to greet both Lord and Lady Reynolds, then introduce them to Gray and her sisters.

  The Reynoldses were polite, but Keturah could sense their cold assessment. She caught a meaningful glance from lady to lord as Selah’s silk gloves slipped down to her wrists and they saw her tanned skin. But she ignored it, all with the hope of forging a friendship with these people who would have once known her father.

  Her father. Was that part of their suspicious reception of the Bannings? Because he had taken up with Mitilda and fathered a child? By now Keturah had learned that he was one of many who had dalliances with a slave. A number of plantations had a fair number of mixed offspring. Not that it made it right. Yet why were she and her sisters to bear the stain of her father’s sin if they did not hold other planters’ feet to the fire?

  Stop it, Ket. Assuming another’s thoughts was something her mother always took her to task over. She accepted Gray’s proffered arm and busied herself with trying to name every person she’d previously met in the room before they were directly encountered. It was with some relief that she saw nearly every gentleman wore a wig, and none of those without had th
e blond hair of Mr. Shubert. It was silly, really, fearing that he would be present. It wasn’t the place for an overseer to be at his master’s soiree.

  Gray, picking up on her agitation, pulled her hand higher on his arm and covered it with his own. He seemed to forget it was there—his warm hand on her icy fingers—and she knew she would be wise to shift her grip to subtly remind him. But she couldn’t help it. She liked the feel of his hand on hers—the quiet reassurance, the steady pulse. How the intimacy of it sent delicious shivers up her arm to her shoulder and neck.

  Ket noticed several ladies giving him lingering glances, undoubtedly taken with his visage, as she herself had always been. There was something about him that was so frightfully handsome that she felt somewhat like the ostrich beside the peacock. And yet there was nothing about Gray—particularly in these last months—that spoke of a peacock’s ways. Not like he’d been as a younger man … no, there was something changed about him now. More settled. More directed.

  Not that he’d become an ostrich like her. Perhaps more like a solid … turkey, with a grand array of tail feathers. That was it, she thought with a giggle. A handsome turkey.

  He eyed her and smiled too. “What amuses you?”

  “Oh!” she said, coloring at being caught in her reverie. “I fear I cannot share,” she said, giving into another giggle.

  “Well,” he said, laughing under his breath. “I welcome it, regardless of what it might be. Because you, Ket,” he whispered, leaning closer, “are quite captivating. Especially when you smile.”

  It was her turn to blush, not from embarrassment but from pleasure. He seemed true in his speech, not giving in to flirtation. No, what was in his eyes was genuine.

  He thinks me captivating, she thought, trying to pretend as if her heart had not begun to race wildly. But surely he was simply trying to reinforce her confidence, here where she felt ill at ease. That was it, she decided. He was merely continuing to be a good friend to her, encouraging her every which way he might.