Once and Always

by Alyssa Deane

  “That's my girl. No indecisiveness, no wavering. Once you have set your mind to something, the rest of the world be damned. It's one of the many things I love about you."

  Roxane drew back, frowning up at his smiling countenance.

  “Do you tease me?” she asked.

  “Not at all,” he answered.

  Roxane made a face, uncertain of the truth of the matter, but soon forgot it entirely as his hands moved to the buttons of her blouse at her back, unfastening them one by one.

  “In the middle of the day? What if someone should come in?"

  Collier nodded in the direction of the window. “That bowl,” he said, “guarantees no interruptions."

  He continued in his exercise to disrobe her, freeing every button, then sliding the blouse from her arms so that it hung like an apron at her waist.

  “Collier..."

  “Shh,” he warned again, touching his finger to her lips. He loosened the ties of her undergarment, then the stays, pushing it down to follow the first.

  “This, too, is what I love about you,” he murmured, leaning forward, “the way your body responds, so immediately and with such sweet demand, to my touch."

  There, in the full light of the sun, with nothing of night to provide anonymity, he took her breasts into his hands. She gasped at the feel of his mouth, the very tip of his tongue, as he explored that which seemed to hold him in utter fascination: the weight of her flesh, the taste of it, the texture of each nipple as it stiffened in unbearable delight. Somehow, she had to make him stop; there was much she needed to speak with him about, now that he was here, and she could not leave Sera and Ahmed out in the garden forever.

  But he did not stop, but continued to touch, and taste, and caress, while with one hand he managed to divest her of the remainder of her clothing, urging her naked onto the rug. When he entered her, it was with a strange urgency driving him; Roxane could feel it, as surely as if it ran in her own blood, hot and forceful, a mingling of fear and haste and desire. At one point, he sat up, pulling her up with him, and pressed deep in that position, whispering, nearly sobbing against her breast, that there was no time, no more time, as his arms convulsed around her, and he drove deeper still, until she was no longer aware of what he said, nor of the salt of tears that dropped onto her skin.

  * * * *

  Roxane set the knitting down in her lap, listening to the uneasy quiet pervading the house. The usual soft chatter of the servants was absent, as were the playful sounds of Sera and Courage with the gardener outside. Pushing the knitting aside in the chair, Roxane rose and headed out the door onto the verandah. The midday sun was bright. Dust coated leaves and flowers and the broken shells of the garden walks. Footprints scuffed the dusty surface of the drive to the gate, which stood wide and unattended. Merely annoyed at first, Roxane grew quickly agitated as a curious presentiment of disaster began to sing, like malarial fever, in her head. Lifting her skirts, she ran for the gate and the road beyond.

  “Sera!"

  Though there was no direct answer to her call, Roxane could hear the girl's voice in the roadway.

  “How could you? How could you? Bad, bad dog!"

  Rounding the corner, Roxane spotted a bizarre parade, being led by Sera, holding the puppy close against her narrow breast. Behind her came the gardener, the cook, the dhobi, and the boy who cleaned the dead animals from the garden. Courage, for once, was quiet, shaking in his mistress's arms, his lead trailing to the ground so that Sera was made, perforce, to kick it aside every few steps, lest she trip over the strap.

  “What has happened?” Roxane demanded, stopping the line before it reentered the gate.

  Sera looked up at Roxane, anger blazing in her eyes, which swiftly faded to tears.

  “He ran through the gate. I had to chase him, Roxane, I had to."

  “What was the gate doing open?” she asked, looking first to Govind, then in general interview among those standing behind her sister. Glances were exchanged, but no one replied. At last, the gardener shrugged his shoulders.

  “The gate was closed when last I checked, memsahib. The dog, it pulled away from the baba, and ran out, and we gave chase. It ran down the road, there,” he said, turning about and pointing, “where there was a pariah dog in the bush."

  “Was he bitten?” Roxane cried, taking the dog from Sera to examine its fur for marks of blood. Though she found none, her heart sank.

  “Courage will have to be kept in seclusion for two weeks, until we can be certain he was not infected. Do you understand what that means?"

  The gardener nodded his head woefully. Sera began to cry, but Roxane encouraged her to stop. “There is no blood, so most likely he was not bitten, Sera. But we cannot take chances, and will keep him quarantined. During that time, you must not touch him, do you hear me? You may talk to him, if you wish, but you cannot go near enough that he can reach you."

  “Courage will be lonely,” whimpered Sera.

  “No doubt,” responded Roxane, “but your voice will give him heart. And two weeks is not such a very long time.” She handed the leash to Govind, with a firm command to have a pen built immediately from which he could not escape, and which no other animal might enter. “Then give him fresh water, for goodness’ sake. His tongue is nearly to the ground."

  Silently, the procession filed through the gate. However, the gardener turned to Roxane, lowering his voice.

  “Please, get word to the sahib. There was something in the bush which interested the pariah. I did not get a good look, but I think he must know about it, and very soon."

  Roxane felt a slow shiver paw her spine, despite the heat of the sun on her back.

  “Where?” she asked.

  The gardener shook his head, wide-eyed. “No! The memsahib stay here and not look. Very unpleasant! Colonel Max will come."

  “Where?” Roxane persisted, more firmly. “Show me. You have only to point."

  The man hesitated a minute longer, his mouth working uncertainly, and then he nodded. “Only to point, yes. When you are near, you will know. The smell is very bad."

  Having dispatched someone to run with a message for her father, Roxane started off down the road, to the bend at some distance which Govind had indicated. She dashed a hand across her eyes to clear them of sweat. Before she had even come close to the place, she began to smell a perversely foul odor. She wondered that no one had reported it before, except that there was always a stench as this animal or that decayed in the heat on the side of the road. Drawing nearer, bile rose in her throat, as much from the smell as from the fear which suddenly struck her to the heart.

  Hefting a large stone, she sent it flying at a pair of pariah dogs snuffling and snarling along the edge of the road. There were no vultures or kites, but this did not surprise her, as the cover was so dense at that point, they would not have been able to get at whatever was lying beneath. Covering her face with her handkerchief, she used a stick to poke at the bushes, lifting the heavy branches aside. The drone of flies sounded like a hive of angry bees, and she had to scrape a thick, shining layer of them aside, to view what was underneath. Suddenly, she spun away, bent double and vomiting loudly into the dust.

  Human bone, and what remained of putrid, maggot-ridden flesh; long, oily-black hair, dried now, without life. The wound was not immediately apparent, but the slack jaw, like a silent scream, and the wide, staring eyes in a skull to which the flesh still clung so that she knew the eyes were open, evidence of the violence of death. Around the throat, gleaming even in the depth of shadow and the living cowl of blow flies crawling over each other in an attempt to procreate their masses, was the gold chain and crucifix the dead woman had been given, more than eight years earlier, by the man who had fathered her half-caste child.

  * * * *

  Two days later, Max Sheffield's concubine was laid to rest in a Christian burial. The means of her death was not delved into too extensively, as the condition of the body precluded any concrete determination, Roxane
was told, and any evidence produced would be insubstantial at best. A knife wound to the throat was most likely. Who was it the woman had been afraid would kill her? Roxane didn't know. Who had seen her last, and when? Where had she been going? Roxane wasn't certain of that either, except it had seemed perhaps Cesya was returning at the time she had been killed. For surely, Roxane explained, if she had died at the time of her departure, there would have been little left of the poor woman's remains? Was that not so? In Roxane's mind, it had to be so, for if she had been murdered that very night Roxane had watched her leave the compound, it would have had to have been within moments of Roxane turning away from that bobbing lantern. Indeed, Roxane thought with a shudder, Cesya would have been lying dead at the time she and Collier were together, in the woman's home....

  Who was her family? In this, Sera had been far more helpful than either Roxane or her father, and notification was made. The questions were minimal, by no means a true investigation, and were soon concluded. Cesya was given over into consecrated earth, with a service that only Sera, Roxane, and their father attended.

  Once home, Roxane watched Sera trail restlessly around the house. She had not wept, but it was clear that her mind was on her mother, and her mother's death. She started at small noises, and went often to the window to look out toward the little cottage. In the afternoon, Roxane read from a book for her while she lay in her bed, hoping the tale would distract her and she would sleep. Unlike her usual antics, Sera did not badger Roxane with a multitude of questions while she read, but stared at the ceiling through the folded mosquito netting around her bed. After a time, Sera's charcoal lashes lowered, and Roxane closed the book quietly between the palms of her hands, leaning forward with the barest whisper of her skirt to rise.

  “No bad dream made her afraid, Roxane."

  Roxane sat back down, looking into the child's wide-awake green gaze.

  “But she is with the Christ now."

  Unable to speak, Roxane nodded. She felt tears start to her eyes, at the eight-year-old's quiet acceptance. Getting up, she perched on the edge of the mattress, stroking Sera's black, silky hair back from her forehead.

  “Roxane..."

  “Yes, sweetheart?"

  Sera moved her head in a distressed manner, away from Roxane's fingers. Roxane withdrew her hand, allowing it to rest in her lap. Sera wriggled up onto her elbows, her lost expression suddenly beleaguered with doubt and worry.

  “Will the budmash kill me, too?"

  For the briefest interval, Roxane gazed at Sera with uncertainty, for it seemed, in the space of an eye blink, a thought spinning, a breath begun, that the world was not safe enough, nor sane enough, to offer any promises to a child whose mother had been taken in such vile circumstance. And then Roxane cried out, gathering Sera into her arms. “No, Sera, no. The bad men will not kill you. Hush, sweet poppy, hush!"

  Sera began to cry then, out of fear perhaps more than grief not yet comprehended, clinging to her sister as Roxane rocked her back and forth. In time, the girl drifted into uneasy sleep, and Roxane left her with the ayah seated nearby, should she awaken. Downstairs, Roxane sat at the escritoire. Pen in hand, she wrote a brief message to Ahmed, sanded it, and sealed it in an envelope for delivery.

  I need him, now, was all it said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The two-week quarantine passed, and Courage was given a clean bill of health, a fact for which Roxane was sincerely grateful. It would have been too much for Sera to be deprived of the puppy after the dreadful loss of her mother. A new man was placed on the gate to keep it secure and to announce visitors in advance of their appearing at the door. Unbeknownst to her father, Roxane questioned the servants one at a time regarding their allegiance and intentions, should trouble arise. She spoke firmly, quietly, giving them all certain assurances and immediately releasing with a small severance those who wavered in the slightest. Few departed. She questioned their replacements as well, and provided her father, when he noticed the unrecognized face, a plausible excuse for each.

  When Roxane next saw Ahmed, she looked at him expectantly, but he merely moved his head in a negative fashion and said:

  “I have neither heard, nor seen."

  This both worried Roxane and, in her frustration at not being able to determine Collier's well-being, angered her, causing her to forget that it was her need of him, when she had felt frightened and vulnerable, which had prompted her to ask for his return. In the actions she was taking, her strength had been restored, and her thoughts now were only of his safety.

  Driving the pony-cart through the regimental lines, Roxane noted that only a few of the men, who normally would salute politely a European lady in passing, did so, while the others turned away or merely stared. Recognizing a group of them, Roxane stopped the cart, calling one of the men over. He came sullenly, pausing beside the cart. His comrades followed, at a small distance.

  “How is your mother?” she asked the sepoy. “When last we spoke, you told me she was ill."

  The man shuffled his bare feet in the dust, making small clouds, before looking up.

  “Better,” he said, reluctantly.

  “And is your daughter wed now?"

  “Oh, yes,” he answered, with a little more animation. “They have a son."

  “You must be very happy,” Roxane said, making certain that the man was now looking her in the eye.

  “I am blessed,” he said.

  “And I am most happy for you,” Roxane told him, before excusing herself to move on. He turned, trotting for a short distance beside the carriage.

  “Is the memsahib not frightened to be traveling alone?"

  Roxane stopped the cart again.

  “I am not alone,” she said. “I have my sister with me, as you can see. And I have you beside me, do I not?"

  After a short pause, the sepoy smiled. “You do,” he said, and took the pony's bridle in his brown hand, leading the cart through the camp of mud huts to the main road. Before he departed, Roxane thanked him. He turned to her, several feet away, and saluted.

  “I have not forgot your kindnesses to me in the past."

  “Nor I yours,” she told him.

  He nodded and strode away, back to where his companions stood watching. After a small hesitation, they also saluted Roxane before turning aside. Roxane continued toward home, knowing that a reminder of allegiance could be but a fleeting reprieve.

  Upon returning, Roxane determined to speak with her father concerning the disrespect, if only to make him more cognizant of the possibility of disaffection among his troops. Hearing a murmur of voices from inside her father's office, Roxane sat down a short distance down the hall, to wait. She sorted through the post in the meantime, setting aside her own.

  Tearing the stiff parchment envelope, Roxane read the letter from Unity. In it, she announced the marriage of Harry Grovsner to Rose Peabody, in a quiet ceremony to which few were invited. Already, Unity stated, with such blunt recounting that Roxane could only believe her mother would be shocked, the reason for the precipitancy was apparent in the mounting form of Rose's profile. Reading this, Roxane's hand wandered, almost of its own accord, to her abdomen, and rested there. Her face grew slightly paler as she counted off the days in her mind. With all that had been occurring lately, she had lost track of the cycle of her menses, but she did not believe she had missed. Surely she was not due for several days, at least? She tried to attach certain events of significance to the calendar, in an attempt to secure a date in her mind, but decided pragmatically that this exercise would have to wait for a more composed moment.

  Respiring with deliberate uniformity, she returned her attention to the letter in her hand, running her finger over the page for the place where she had left off.

  Still, Unity went on, he had taken the honorable course, in marrying her, for he could hardly deny that they had knowledge of each other. Roxane could only shake her head over this bold declaration, true as it happened to be. As a married officer, Harr
y was also entitled to an additional stipend in his pay, though Roxane wondered if he would use this to procure larger quarters for the two of them, or spend it on opium and horses. She could not envision Rose content in Harry's squalid bungalow.

  The following pages contained detailed descriptions of Unity's days and nights, with the girl's romantic embellishments, and conversely matter-of-fact insights. She concluded the letter with what should have been the most important news of all, tossed in at the end in an offhand manner.

  “We will not be traveling to the hills this year. Father thinks it best we stay in Calcutta, what with all the dark rumors of trouble. This is as well, for Corporal Lewis, my Donald, has arranged for a meeting with Father. I think, mayhap, he will seek my hand. I will, of course, write further to let you know...."

  Smiling, Roxane folded the letter, returning it to the envelope. Dear, dear Unity, she thought, please be safe.

  The cloth over her father's office door was swept aside, and she heard the colonel's voice clearly. Roxane stood up, clutching his letters in her hand.

  “Welcome, then, to Delhi, Captain Harrison. It is a pleasure and an honor to have you here."

  Roxane started. The letters fluttered without warning to the floor. Quickly, she crouched, gathering the missives into a pile. She was joined by another pair of hands, strong and large and capable, which she had cause now to know more intimately than she had before.

  “Allow me to help you."

  The timbre of his voice was rich, rumbling not far from her ear. There was a hint to it of laughter. She looked up, to meet dancing, storm-gray eyes, and nearly cried out in her relief.

  “I came,” he whispered, “as soon as your message reached me."

  “You—you are in uniform—"

  “Why, so I am,” he teased, glancing down at his uniform as if in surprise, still smiling.

  “Captain Harrison."

  Her father spoke, standing behind Collier's bent shoulder.

  “Captain, allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Roxane Sheffield. Roxane, Captain Collier Harrison, who is recently come, by way of transfer, to Delhi cantonment."