Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  "I never pay any attention to what women say. You also told me once that whatever you were, you weren't an adulteress."

  "I remember. Do you always get what you want?"

  "Yes, because I'm a patient man. I'm willing to wait."

  "It's not fair," I pouted.

  "Yes, it is. You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

  I didn't answer him, I just moved closer to him and hid my face against his shoulder.

  "I'm leaving for Washington tomorrow," he said.

  "How long will you be gone?" I asked casually, as though it didn't matter.

  "It's hard to say. It's a long trip, and I don't really have anything to come home to."

  Drops of rain fell down the chimney and sizzled on the glowing logs. I got up and started to put on my damp clothing. He lay back on our makeshift bed and watched me. The cool, cynical smile hovered on his lips. I was waiting for him to ask me to come away with him, and I knew he wouldn't. And I wouldn't beg him. I hadn't sunk that low.

  "Elise, come here tomorrow," he said in a silky, seductive voice that made me weak all over again. "I want to see you again. I must."

  I didn't trust myself to speak. I shook my head. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. I opened the door, and the wind caught my skirts and whipped them around my legs. I went out of the cabin without looking back.

  Beelzebub cast me a look of deep misery when I approached him. I patted his nose and mounted him. When we passed in front of the cottage I saw Garth standing in the open door.

  "I'll be waiting, Elise," he called. "Tomorrow morning."

  He was so confident that I would come, so sure of me. I pulled Beelzebub up sharply, but the impatient horse had had his fill of standing in the rain and he wheeled sharply and reared. I brought my whip down hard in his flank and dug my heels into his sides. We galloped off towards home.

  James, the butler, opened the door for me.

  "It's mighty wet out there, Ma'am," he said. "Did you get caught?"

  "I certainly did, James. Where is everyone?"

  "The ladies is in the drawin' room, Ma'am, and the gentlemen—"

  I heard a burst of raucous laughter. Looking around, I saw Jacques and Arnold coming down the grand staircase together.

  "Ah, she returns!" Jacques cried jubilantly. "Elise, give me an advance on my allowance, will you? I need some new clothes." He and Arnold giggled like two schoolgirls.

  "Why, are your old ones worn out with too much sitting?" I asked him.

  "Oh, naughty Elise," clucked Jacques. "Isn't she naughty, Arnold? To scold poor Jacques for not working hard to save this wretched swamp? You have a temper, Elise. I didn't know you had a temper when I married you."

  "The extent of your ignorance when you married me does not astonish me, Jacques," I said crossly. I started up the stairs and met them halfway. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to get to my room and get out of these wet garments."

  "No." Jacques was drunk and surly. Brandy had given him courage to stand up to me. "I won't get out of your way, Elise." He swayed unsteadily and clutched at Arnold for support. "If you want to go upstairs, you may use the servants' stairs at the back of the house. These are my stairs. This is my house, not yours." He and Arnold linked arms, barring my way.

  I stood on the step below them and said angrily, "Stop being childish, Jacques. I am tired and wet and cold and I want to go to my room."

  "It's not your room," Jacques said assertively. "It's my room, in my house. You can go sleep in the stables, whore—"

  I lifted my riding crop and struck him across the face. He gasped, then raised his foot to my midriff and shoved with all his might. I fell backwards down the stairs and landed heavily at the bottom. I could hear them sniggering nervously. I heard a woman's scream, and James saying, "Lordy!" Garth's face filled my vision for one sweet, agonizing moment, and then I fainted.

  I heard whispering. "Good God, Jacques, I hope you haven't killed her."

  "Of course I haven't! It was an accident, you saw what happened."

  I opened my eyes. James was bending over me, holding a glass of brandy to my lips. Arnold and Jacques were standing a short distance away. Colette was holding my hand, patting it nervously.

  "Oh, Elise, please wake up. Say you aren't dead!"

  I managed a weak smile. "No, I'm not dead." My voice sounded like it was coming from a long distance. I looked at Jacques and said, "I—I could kill you for that, Jacques."

  Arnold grinned and said, "What are you talking about, Elise? You tripped over your skirts and fell down the stairs. That wasn't Jacques' fault."

  "Nobody would believe that," I said. "James, you saw what happened, didn't you?"

  The black man was shamefaced. "No, Ma'am, I didn't see anything. I was in the dinin' room, polishin' the silver."

  Old loyalties are stronger than new, I thought. He knew Jacques as an infant, and Jacques was master of La Rêve. I was the stranger, the interloper.

  "James, help me up," I said weakly.

  "Ma'am, you've been hurt," he said in a frightened voice. "We ought to send for the doctor."

  "He'd never get here," I said firmly. "The roads are mud. Help me up. I'm all right. Colette, help me, please."

  "Are you sure she should be moved?" It was Maman's voice, shrill and imperious. So she, too, was witness to my downfall.

  Colette and James helped me to my feet. I reeled and covered my eyes with my hand. The room was spinning and I felt sick. James supported me while I breathed deeply a few times, and then we started towards the stairs. I pushed him away.

  "I'm fine, thank you, James. I want to go up by myself, please." I walked slowly and regally across the hall. I paused in front of Jacques and Arnold. Jacques gulped. He was frightened, and trying not too successfully to conceal it. Arnold wore his hatred of me like a badge, proudly and defiantly. I wished I had my swords and pistols. I could cheerfully have slaughtered them both. I mounted the first few steps and turned around to look at them. Three old women dressed in black regarded me hostilely from the drawing room door. Their expressions held only dislike and disgust. Two young men, perverted lovers, watched me silently, their expression barely concealing their hatred of me, one because I had nearly ruined his affair, the other because I had emerged as the stronger, dominant partner in a farcical marriage. The face of the young girl reflected only love and concern. She stood on the threshold of adulthood, unsure of herself and her heart. Had I been like Colette when I was sixteen, frightened and eager and passionate? Of course I had been; I was still like that, even though I felt as though I were a hundred years old. And the third man, the slave, who had to depend on people he must hate for his very life, dropped his eyes when they met mine. Poor James. He was a prisoner, too, as I was. Only he could never escape.

  They watched me: cautiously, fearfully, worriedly, gleefully. I turned my back on them again. I couldn't bear to look at them anymore. Clinging to the bannister, I managed to get up the stairs to my room. Then I collapsed on the floor and wept silently. I hated them, I hated them all.

  Savannah found me and crooned over me while she undressed me and put me to bed.

  "Oh, Missy, we got to leave this place. This place is evil, and these folks is evil. We got to get out of here."

  After Savannah left me I fell into a deep sleep. The house was dark and silent when I awoke. I had a headache and a slight chill, and I felt jittery and frightened. I needed something to calm my nerves, and I decided to go down to the library for a glass of brandy. Perhaps I could even find a soothing book that would distract me enough so that I could get back to sleep.

  I went silently down the stairs on slippered feet, taking no special pains to be quiet but not wanting to draw the attention of the whole house to my nocturnal wanderings. I had my hand on the door of the library and was about to enter when the sound of voices inside stopped me.

  "Don't be a fool, Jacques, it's the only way." I recognized Arnold's voice, clear, sober and intense.

  "No,
no, it's—it's unthinkable, Arnold," Jacques moaned. "There must be a better way. Violence—"

  "It's the only way. What are you afraid of? It's a good plan, the only reasonable plan. She doesn't deserve to live, not after what she's done to you."

  "I don't want to talk about it any more!" Jacques was almost sobbing. "It's horrible, frightening! You've got to stop talking like a madman, Arnold. You—you frighten me. Here, have some more brandy—"

  "Will you be quiet and listen to me?" Arnold sounded angry and impatient. "That slut has brought you nothing but trouble and unhappiness. And your family, too. They hate her, you know they do. They would be grateful to you—"

  "No! No one must ever know we even discussed it, Arnold. Arnold!"

  I heard a sound like a slap and Jacques began to whimper. I could picture him, eyes wide and imploring, hands fluttering, his beautiful face twisted with the agony of making a decision. I knew he would never make a decision for himself. He would waver and whine and complain until Arnold forced his own will upon him.

  "You're a yellow coward," Arnold snarled. "I don't know why I bother with you. I'm leaving, Jacques, and I'm not coming back."

  I ducked into the shadows as his footsteps approached the door. The door opened a crack and an arrow of light cut through the darkness of the hallway.

  "Arnold, please, don't leave me. I couldn't bear it if you left me. Please, I'll do anything you say, only—"

  The door closed again. I didn't wait to hear any more. I ran back up to my room and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to stop my violent trembling. Think. I had to think. Their hatred of me went much deeper than I thought. Arnold—Arnold wanted me dead, and Jacques did, too, although he had been too weak and frightened to admit it. I was convinced they were plotting my death, and I didn't know what to do. I could hardly carry my pistols with me everywhere I went. It could happen any time. Tomorrow—or a year from tomorrow. Arnold was shrewd. He would choose his time wisely. Accidents were so easy to arrange.

  I knew I had to get away, as soon as possible. Garth. I would meet Garth at the cottage in the morning and tell him I was going with him. He wouldn't refuse me. He would be pleased and flattered. I wouldn't have to tell him I was running for my life, only that I wanted him and needed to be near him. That part would be true enough.

  I slept no more that night, but sat awake planning and thinking until a few hours before dawn. Than I dressed in traveling clothes and packed a small valise with the things I would need. I couldn't take Savannah. I hoped she would understand.

  I wrote a note to Jacques, telling him that I could no longer continue in a loveless marriage and that it would be better for both of us if I went away. I left the note on my dresser with all the cash I had in my room. Savannah would find the note and take it to the family and keep the money for herself. She would need it to get back to New Orleans.

  Before I left the house I went into the study on the first floor that I had used as an office. I opened the safe on the wall and took out all the money that was there, about five hundred dollars. I put a hundred in my valise and the rest into a small sack. Then I walked through the house and out the back door. The sun was barely showing itself in the eastern sky. I had no time to lose.

  I ran to the stables and saddled Beelzebub. I led him away from the plantation buildings and stopped at the last cabin in the row of slave dwellings behind the barns. I thumped the door lightly. It swung open and Amos emerged, fully dressed and wide awake.

  "Miz Elise, what you doin—"

  "There isn't time to explain, Amos," I said quickly. "I—I have to go away. I won't be coming back, ever. Here." I put the sack with the money into his hands. "This is for you to give to the others. I'm sorry my plans didn't work out for all of you. Maybe you can have shoes for the winter, or—or weapons." His nostrils widened and he jerked his head up. "I'll ask Mr. McClelland to buy you all when Jacques sells the plantation. He'll do that for me, I know he will, and perhaps then I can think of some way to free you. I have to do it this way. If I stayed someone would be hurt, I can feel it. Good-bye, Amos."

  I extended my hand. He took it and held onto it for a moment. "Good-bye, Missy. Good luck to you, and God bless you."

  I mounted Beelzebub and rode away from La Rêve to freedom, to Garth. As we skirted the low knoll I saw again the cane cutter's shack. It looked different in the pale light of early morning, bleak and uninviting. Nevertheless the memory of the previous day made me quiver with delight. I longed to see Garth again, to hold him.

  A soft wind was blowing over the fields. As we drew near the cottage, Beelzebub began to prance nervously, and when I tied him to the porch railing he tossed his head and pawed the ground. I patted his flank reassuringly and told myself that he must sense my own apprehension.

  I picked my way over the rotten boards on the porch. The wind sighed mournfully in the pines, and somewhere in the distance a lonely dove called to its mate. It really was a lonely, desolate spot. I felt afraid, and told myself sternly not to be a fool. There was no danger here. I had left the danger behind me.

  The door was ajar, still hanging from its single hinge. I slipped into the cabin. A musty, unpleasant smell greeted my nostrils and I wrinkled my nose. A dismal enough place for a lovers' rendezvous, I thought. But at least no one would find us here. A little daylight seeped through the cracks in the walls and the torn greased paper on the windows. I could see particles of dust floating in the shaft of light that came through the open door.

  And then I saw the body lying on the floor in the center of the room.

  My stomach turned over and I screamed. The echoes of my terror rattled the walls. I forced myself to approach it, to see if it was Garth. I bent over him, peering at the face in the gloom to see if it might still be breathing. The twisted features seemed to glow in the shadowy room. I imagined it was leering at me, mocking me. Then I turned away from the gaze of the dead eyes and retched at the stench that drifted up from him. It was Jacques.

  I saw the wound in his head, in the temple over his right ear. I steeled myself to feel for his pulse, even though his awful stillness and grotesquely staring eyes told me he couldn't possibly be alive. I lifted the hand and let it fall back again. I have never gotten used to the feel of dead flesh. Death has no resilience, no warmth. A dead limb feels extraordinarily heavy and leaden. The presence of death in that small room sickened me and made me feel limp and lifeless myself. I sat back on my heels and stared stupidly at the corpse.

  Jacques. Had he come here to kill himself? Why here? He must have known about Garth and me. The cottage was airless, suffocating. I ran out into the dazzling morning brightness and clung to the shaky porch railing. Beelzebub snorted unhappily. He had known what we would find here. The wind had carried the smell of death to his nostrils, and he had been justifiably afraid. I looked around helplessly. The cane fields flowed away from the cottage in an unbroken vista of greens and browns. There was not another house in sight, not another living being. And Garth might not arrive for hours yet.

  What was I to do? Clearly I would have to ride for help. The McClellands' plantation was the closest, but I didn't want to go there. No, I would have to go back to La Rêve now. It suddenly occurred to me that there was no longer any reason for me to leave.

  I went back into the cabin. I searched the room, and then the body, for a pistol and I didn't find one. I felt shaken to my very core, and afraid. Jacques couldn't have committed suicide, or I would have found the gun. He had been shot by someone else.

  The evil of the place overwhelmed me. I closed his eyes and bid him a brief, silent farewell.

  I heard a step on the porch and a figure blocked out the light that came in through the door. I uttered a strangled, fearful cry and stood up quickly. My heart was thumping so loudly that I could hardly think. Then I gave a relieved sigh. With the light at her back I couldn't see her face, but I knew from her size and stance that it was Georgette.

  "Paying your respects, Elise?" she asked. />
  "Oh, thank God you've come, Georgette," I babbled. "Jacques has been killed, murdered. We have to do something, quickly."

  She stepped into the room. "And just what do you suggest we do?"

  "Why, ride for help immediately," I said. She didn't move. I stared at her. What had she said when she came in? Something about paying my respects? "You—you knew he was here! You knew before you even came in!"

  She stood over the body and prodded it with her foot. "Yes, I knew. Arnold told me. Poor stupid Jacques. Well, his worries are over now, aren't they?"

  "I don't understand you," I said impatiently. "How did Arnold know?"

  "Why, he was here when Jacques—killed himself."

  "And I suppose he took the pistol with him? There is no gun in the room. I looked."

  "Did you? My, you're alert. Garth would be so proud of you. Always the little heroine." She coughed delicately. "Let's get out of here, shall we? The air is rather close."

  We went out. Arnold was standing on the ground with the horses. He grinned up at me.

  "Hello, Elise," he said easily. "You're up early, aren't you?"

  "Tell me what happened," I said. "Why did he do it? Did you quarrel?"

  "He was so excitable," Arnold shrugged. "And so fond of brandishing weapons about. It was an accident."

  My mouth felt dry. "It was no accident. You killed him, didn't you?"

  Arnold laughed. His imperturbability was more terrifying than any energetic display of violence could have been. "And you'd like to see me hang for it, wouldn't you, Elise? I don't think I want to do that, though. I have too much to live for."

  "You're mad, Arnold," I said."He never harmed you in his life. He—he loved you, and you don't even seem to care that he's dead."

  I didn't see Georgette's upraised arm until it was too late to block her attack. She brought a heavy rock down on the side of my head. The last thing I saw was her beautiful, evil, grinning face.

  My head throbbed painfully. I lifted my hand to my forehead and rubbed the ache, but it didn't go away. When I opened my eyes I felt sick, and I vomited.