The Merchant's Yield

by Lorri Dudley

  “Calm down, Percival.” Mr. Tallant grabbed the man’s shoulders to still him. “Let me have a look.”

  “S-s-skòpyon!”

  Lottie stopped a few feet away from Mr. Tallant and the flailing man. “What’s the matter with him?”

  “He’s been stung.”

  Lottie’s shoulders relaxed. “By a bee?” She’d been stung several times before. It hurt like the dickens, but wasn’t life-threatening.

  “Not a bee. A scorpion.”

  As if to prove the point, the man shook his arm, and out of his sleeve flew a small yellow insect. It landed at Lottie’s feet and angled toward her with its pinchers held high. Its segmented tail curled back, ready to strike. She recoiled with a gasp.

  Mr. Tallant’s boot slammed down on the disgusting creature, crunching it beneath.

  A shiver ran through her at the nauseating sight of the crumpled spider-like critter. She’d never seen anything like it, but the thought of it crawling up her skin caused Lottie to scan the area for any of its friends.

  Percival held his arm as if it burned, but his screams turned to groans.

  “Is he going to be all right?”

  “Scorpions are poisonous, but usually not fatal.” Mr. Tallant waved to Adana, who rushed over. “Make him a poultice.”

  She nodded and ushered Percival off, still clutching his arm.

  “Are scorpions common around here?” Lottie forced herself to breathe.

  “There are a few of them.” He pointed to the stone wall upon which Percival had been sitting. “They like to hide in rock crevices and dark places. Best to shake out your shoes before you slip your foot into them.”

  Lottie’s stomach twisted.

  “Blast.” Mr. Tallant pursed his lips. “Percival could be laid up for a week, and we need every hand.”

  Lottie fumbled for a response, but had none.

  Silence fell between them until Mr. Tallant said, “Shall we finish our meal?”

  With a light hand at her back, he escorted her to her seat and once again held out her chair. The rest of dinner proceeded better, with Mr. Tallant explaining the process of harvesting cane and how it was made into molasses at the boiling houses. His descriptions fascinated her, but the slightest movement drew her attention. Her gaze frequently panned for any creepy crawlies. Did she have the fortitude for plantation life? Did she have the resolve? If she wasn’t cut out for living on a plantation, did it mean she wasn’t cut out for a life with Nathan?

  Lord, help me stay strong.

  She excused herself after dinner and retired to her room for the night, but it was several hours before she climbed into bed. She and Franny scoured every inch of Nathan’s room for unwelcome guests before even thinking about sleeping.

  The next morning, Lottie arose early after a fitful night. She’d dreamt of a scorpion infestation at Calico Manor that poisoned the crops and crippled Mr. Tallant and the workers.

  She washed her face in the basin, still trying to shake the impact of her dream, and felt for the small Bible inside the pocket of her gown for solace. She must return it to Julia on her next trip into town. She’d grown so accustomed to carrying it with her, she’d forgotten to take it from her pocket before leaving.

  The light of the sun rising over Mt. Misery drew her to the window.

  The door to Adana’s hut swung open, but instead of the surly woman, Mr. Tallant exited. His hair stuck out on one side, and his shirt hung half tucked. He snuck back to his cottage, but paused at the side door, where he glanced toward her window. He stiffened.

  Lottie stepped back. Had he seen her? She ventured another peek, but Mr. Tallant had already disappeared inside. A few seconds later, Adana emerged from her hut. She tied her apron behind her back as she strode to the house.

  What was going on under her husband’s nose? The few times she’d caught Mr. Tallant’s arm touching the cook, the long looks he’d given her now made perfect sense. Should Lottie confront them about their indiscretions? Adana already didn’t like her. Dare Lottie stir up more hatred? She despised the idea as much as standing against her own mother. Adana made for a similar foe.

  Heaviness weighed her down, the same heaviness that had fallen on her in her dream.

  God, I need wisdom.

  She pulled out the Bible and cracked it open to Deuteronomy. She skimmed to the passage she’d glazed over yesterday, chapter thirty, verse nineteen. “I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you, life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live.”

  Blessing and cursing. Choose life.

  Lottie rested her head in her hands and prayed. Lord, help me choose life. Help me be bold to do Your work and live as You would have me live. Please return Nathan safely to me. I ask for Your wisdom to be a good wife and a proper sugar baroness to the staff and slaves. Infuse me with Your strength for whatever lies ahead.

  As she prayed, the heaviness lightened.

  Franny entered, helped her dress for the day, and pulled her hair back into a tight chignon. Lottie grabbed her gloves, then hesitated. They were too hot for this climate, but they kept her from biting her nails. If she was going to be bold and courageous, she couldn’t continue to chew on her manicure. She wavered, rubbing the satin material with her thumb. She had to face Adana, Mr. Tallant, and a staff who all believed an evil curse would drop her dead at any moment.

  Her hand raised to her mouth at the mere thought. No. She lowered her fingers and draped the gloves over the back of her chair. She would trust God.

  Silverware clinked and voices murmured from the porch as Lottie descended the stairs.

  “Curses aren’t catchable.” Mr. Tallant’s voice floated through the open window.

  Lottie paused at the foot of the staircase and peeked around the curtain.

  “So, yer now da expert on dis?” Adana dished rice and beans onto his plate. “I’m tellin’ you. She married him, and it’s in her now too. Look at Percival, and den last night, Hawley burned hisself in da boiling house.”

  “It was a minor burn.” Mr. Tallant put down his fork.

  “On his face. He be scarred da rest of his life.”

  He shrugged. “You may be right, but what can we do? She’s our mistress, and we will serve her.”

  “I don’t have ta like it.”

  Franny peered over the railing. “Do you need something, my lady?”

  Lottie let the curtain drop and turned to Franny. “I was merely checking the weather before I stepped out.” She opened the front door and strode onto the porch.

  Adana stepped back from the table.

  Mr. Tallant rose. “Good morning, Lady Winthrop.”

  “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

  He blanched and flicked his gaze to Adana, then pulled out a chair for Lottie.

  She sat. “Please.” She gestured to his chair. “I think it’s best to talk about these things openly.”

  He sank into his seat.

  Adana scooped some rice and beans onto Lottie’s plate.

  “I’d like you to hear this as well,” Lottie said to Adana. “I realize that some incidents have happened.” She pulled her Bible from her pocket and laid it on the table. “The Bible says that in this world, we will have trouble. Not might or may, but will have trouble. But we are to take heart because Jesus has overcome the world.”

  She met both Mr. Tallant’s nervous gaze and Adana’s defiant one. “I know there are rumors about my husband being cursed, and I overheard you arguing about whether I am cursed as well. I want you to know that it doesn’t matter if you believe in a curse or not. My God is greater than any curse or any obeah woman’s powers, and He will prove it. Just you wait. Woe to the person who attempts to thwart His plans.”

  Adana’s eyes widened, and Mr. Tallant cleared his throat.

  “I don’t want to hear any more talk of curses. Instead, we will focus on how God has delivered us and provided for
us. We are going to choose blessing. Am I understood?”

  They both nodded.

  “Splendid.” Lottie unfolded her napkin and slid it across her lap. “Also, I wrote Rev. Kirkland and asked him to send us a chaplain this morning so we can worship together. Mr. Sanders should be arriving anytime now.”

  “But the workers are needed in the boiling houses.” Mr. Tallant’s brows pushed together. “We can’t afford to lose a day.”

  “It’s the Lord’s day. I’m certain you will find the workers even more efficient on Monday after a day of rest.”

  Mr. Tallant frowned and scratched the back of his head.

  Lord, show them Your faithfulness in this matter. Squash their doubts.

  Mr. Sanders arrived an hour later and preached under the shade of the Saman tree. The workers sat on blankets or stood under the palm trees. The distant ocean shimmering in the sun, combined with the words from Second Corinthians chapter four, gave Lottie hope.

  “‘We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed,’” read Mr. Sanders. “‘We are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed.’” He peered up at the congregants. “And why don’t we despair? Why don’t we lose hope and give up?” His gaze shifted among the small crowd. “Because God knows what we do not. God sees what we cannot. Verse eighteen says, ‘While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.’”

  Afterward, Mr. Sanders joined Lottie and Mr. Tallant for lunch. He congratulated Lottie on her marriage and spoke well of the people of St. Kitts. Before he climbed into his carriage, he offered to return the following Sunday.

  Adana washed the plates, and Lottie carried a handful of glasses to her.

  “Ya don’t need ta dirty yerself. Lu will get da rest.”

  “I don’t mind. Besides, she’s retrieving more water.” Lottie set the glasses in the wash bucket. “I’d like for you to collect mending from the workers. I may not be able to help in the fields, but I can mend clothes.”

  Adana paused in washing the dishes, but didn’t look at Lottie. “Do you believe what Mr. Sanders preached today?”

  “I do.”

  Adana didn’t say anything else, merely continued scrubbing the plates.

  Lottie inhaled a steadying breath. “I know about Mr. Tallant’s visits to your hut.”

  Adana twisted around. Water dripped from her fingertips, and she eyed Lottie with wariness etched in her taut features.

  She silently prayed for courage and wisdom. “I can’t condone these actions when you are my responsibility.” Was this a taste of the burden Nathan felt for his workers?

  “Are you gonna have me whipped?” Adana’s mouth remained partially open.

  “Of course not, but I want you to understand that you are deserving of God’s best. When you have a relationship with a man who is not your husband, you intentionally walk out from under the shield of God’s protection.”

  “Dis is not England. Yer God doesn’t care ‘bout us islanders.”

  “Yes, He does.” Lottie smiled. “You are His daughter, and He cares for you.”

  Adana turned back around and stared into the bucket water.

  Lottie’s hands shook, so she hid them in the folds of her gown. Would Adana understand Lottie's intention was to help her, and not judge her?

  She left Adana to her thoughts and meandered near the garden. A breeze tugged at her bonnet strings. This time of day, the house would be stifling. She wandered up the same path the workers traveled. As she did, she held out her hands over the growing cane and prayed for God’s provision. She hummed the hymn they’d sung earlier. A couple of the slaves heading to the river to wash glanced up when they heard her. She smiled at them and encouraged them to sing along. Many were hesitant at first, but slowly they joined in, mumbling through the lyrics they didn’t know while they walked.

  Over the next days, the prayer walks became a daily ritual for Lottie. By the end of the week, the workers knew all the words to several hymns and bellowed the verses in harmony. The young slave children followed Lottie, mimicking how she held out her hands and moving their lips in prayer. She stopped to help the youngest ones over any big rocks or up sharp inclines. Due to the steepness of the path that led to the north field, she wasn’t able to walk the full extent of Nathan’s lands, but a sense of satisfaction filled her each time she returned to the house.

  Adana presented her with baskets full of mending, and Lottie started sewing. The slaves thanked her, and Mr. Tallant confessed that with Sundays off, the slaves were more productive, and their output hadn’t slipped in the least.

  A few days after Mr. Sanders’ visit, Lottie stopped at a large rock overlooking the ocean. It had become her favorite spot to sit and soak in God’s presence while she prayed for Nathan’s land and for his safe return.

  A loud ruckus erupted from the boiling house about a hundred yards up the path leading to the south field. She stood and squinted in that direction. The rock allowed her extra leverage to see above the cane to where three men carried a screaming worker toward the sick house. Lottie jumped off the rock, hitched up her skirts, and scrambled to see what was amiss. She caught up with the men, one of them being Mr. Tallant, before they reached the sick house.

  The slave’s face contorted with pain, and he wailed in agony. The scent of molasses emanated from his body. His pants dripped with the sticky liquid.

  “What happened?” Lottie caught her breath and yanked open the door to the hut.

  “He slipped into one of the vats and was burned from the waist down.” Mr. Tallant grunted as they carried the man inside and laid him on a cot. “We got him out quickly, but it’s not the burn we have to worry about as much as the infection.”

  The men left with their hats in their hands and shaking their heads.

  Adana’s footfalls sounded behind them. “I heard da commotion and came runnin’.” Her chest heaved, and she stopped beside them. She swallowed hard as she glimpsed the man’s injuries. The taut cords of Adana’s neck told Lottie the woman struggled to keep her face emotionless as she dug through a basket of bandages and ointments. “Excuse us, Lady Winthrop. Dis is not a sight fer a lady.” Adana removed the shears from her basket and bent down to cut away the man’s pant leg.

  Lottie stepped outside and tore off the ragged edge of her index fingernail with her teeth. She stopped herself and folded her hands in prayer as she paced outside the hut. Eventually, the man’s cries stopped, and Adana stepped out.

  “He’s restin’ now. I gave him something for da pain and ta mek him sleep.”

  “Is there anything else we can do for him?”

  Adana shook her head. “Pray.” She spit out the word as if it were a curse. “Pray to yer God. Nuthin’ else can be done.”

  She regarded Lottie for a minute before striding back to the house. Lottie followed in her wake, the heaviness in her heart growing with every step.

  Despite Adana’s best efforts and Lottie’s diligent prayers, the slave died three days later. His body was buried on the hill, and a small memorial was held. As the workers departed, returning to their work in the fields and boiling houses, Adana paused in front of Lottie.

  “Where is your powerful God now?” Grief shadowed the woman’s eyes.

  Lord, what do I say? Lottie ached to comfort her, but she had no words.

  Adana lowered her head and stalked back to the main house.

  The next morning, Lottie arose early to do her prayer walk. As she walked, she gave voice to her ache. “Why God? Why would You allow him to die when it would only cause them to doubt You?” Her shoulders drooped and tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Sanders’ preaching resurged in her memory.

  God knows what we do not. He sees what we cannot. His ways are higher than our ways… We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not for
saken; cast down, but not destroyed.

  On her way back up the path near the slave quarters, the door to Adana’s hut opened and Mr. Tallant inched out. Lottie’s steps slowed.

  “Are you a coward?” Adana’s voice hissed from inside. “You fear her wrath more den mine?”

  The man paused in the doorway, still looking inside. “Lady Winthrop is right. We can’t continue to meet in secret. It doesn’t feel right having to hide all the time. Winthrop being at sea made it easy, but with our mistress living here, it’s opened my eyes. Having to sneak around and hide all the time. I’ve met with Mr. Sanders, and he’s set me straight. God does not approve of this.” Mr. Tallant stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry.”

  “Git!” Adana pushed him out the door. “Ya blackheartman!” She slammed the door behind him.

  Mr. Tallant hung his head and trudged back to his abode.

  Lottie froze and wished she could blend in with the sugar cane. Adana would be riled by Mr. Tallant’s stance, but it was for the best. Their actions would only rob them of blessings. God, please help her to understand.

  Adana opened her door and strode to the main house, her expression as angry as the clouds rolling in over Mt. Misery. She paused, as if feeling Lottie’s eyes on her, and turned. Their gazes met. Adana inched up her chin and glared, before spinning back around and marching to the house.

  Chapter 28

  Captain Fielding requests a rendezvous at the Cockleshell upon his return.

  ~From Mrs. Julia Fielding to Captain Phelps of the Amory

  Nathan hobbled toward the helm. He could still feel the burn of the needle where Charlie stitched his thigh. He kept his pace slow because he couldn’t afford to pull any threads loose and re-open his wound. Charlie may have the nimblest fingers, but Nathan had witnessed how well Charlie’s sewing of the main sail had held.

  Salt stood with the spyglass pressed to his eye. “We have another problem, Capt’n.” He scanned the horizon. “A blow is forming in the west. The clouds are black as night.”