Bride in Barbados (16 page)

Even then she immediately pushed the thought away,
refusing to deal with it—yet hardly able to think of anything
else. Other things could cause nausea, she told herself. Perhaps
something she had eaten at Jonathan's the night before had disagreed
with her. Perhaps she was coming down with a virus.

But when she suffered from morning queasiness for the next
three days in a row, she could no longer hang on to even a remote doubt
that she was pregnant.

Again, she stopped having dinner with Travis, telling Mala
that she preferred eating earlier, that she became too hungry if she
waited until eight. In fact, she was avoiding being in the same room
with her husband even more assiduously than before. She had a desperate
fear that Travis would see a change in her and guess the cause. If that
happened, she would be lost. He would never allow her to leave him
while she was carrying his child.

After several days of this, her nerves were in shreds.
When Jonathan came to take her out for an early dinner one evening, she
practically ran out of the house, so eager was she to be free of its
heavy oppression.

When they were seated in the little Bridgetown restaurant
where they had dined several times before, Jonathan's concerned gaze
moved slowly over her.

"Well, I'm going to say it, and you can tell me to mind my
own business if you wish. You look wretched, my dear. You're as
beautiful as ever, but those dark circles under your eyes weren't there
the last time I saw you. And your face has a drawn look. I hope you
aren't on one of those silly crash diets that women always seem to
punish themselves with. You don't have an extra ounce of weight on you
that I can see."

Susan reached for her water glass and lifted it to her
mouth. Her hand trembled. She set the glass down and shook her head.
"I'm not dieting. I haven't been feeling well."

He reached across the table and took her cold fingers in
his. "I haven't wanted to say anything, Susan, but it's been evident
for some time that you're unhappy. Is there anything I can do to help?"

The sweet kindness in his silver-gray eyes undid her.
Tears sprang into her eyes and she had to blink repeatedly to keep them
from spilling down her face. She pulled her hand away and dabbed at her
eyes with her napkin. "You— you're the only friend I have,
Jonathan. I—I don't know what I'd do without you."

He waited, his compassionate gaze urging her to confide in
him. She drew an uneven breath. "My marriage is a mess," she finally
said, the words tumbling past the knot of tears in her throat. "Travis
only married me because of his grandfather's will."

"I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm sure you
must have misjudged Travis. He and I don't always see eye to eye, but
he'd have to be a fool not to love you."

Susan saw the irony in Jonathan's defending Travis, when Travis had nothing but cutting sarcasm for
Jonathan. She smiled shakily. "No, you're wrong. Harris Sennett
attached a condition to Travis's continued ownership of the plantation
and the bank. He must have a legitimate heir by the time he's
thirty-five or lose everything."

For once, she thought she had truly shocked the
sophisticated Jonathan. "But—that's preposterous." He was
shaking his head. "Harris wouldn't do a thing like that. He had that
air of superiority that always seems to mark members of the old
families. He would have wanted his holdings to remain in Sennett hands,
Travis's hands. The thought of anyone else acquiring anything that had
been in the family so long would have been totally unacceptable to him."

Susan shrugged helplessly. "I don't know the details, but
evidently, if there is no heir, Travis's cousins will come into
part—or all—of the Barbados holdings."

He was frowning. "Forgive me, Susan, but why did you marry
him, knowing this?"

She swallowed convulsively. "I didn't know
it—until afterward. I'm sure Travis would have kept me in
ignorance from now on but… other people let things slip."

He sighed. "Ah, the cousins. I haven't met them, but I've
heard they're staying in town."

"Travis threw them out of the house."

His laugh was humorless. "No doubt he feared just what
happened—that they would give him away." He held her gaze for
a long moment. "My dear Susan, why don't you leave him?"

She shook her head, unable to speak for a moment, not
willing to reveal, even to Jonathan, what Travis had threatened to do
should she try to leave. Finally, she said, "I… I can't
leave— yet. At first, I held onto the belief that I would get
away from him and find a job. But now, everything has changed." Fresh
tears blurred her vision. "Oh, Jonathan, I'm pregnant and I—I
don't know what I'm going to do."

He took both her hands in an effort to comfort her. "You
poor child. Does Travis know?"

"No! And he mustn't, at least, not until I decide what I
am to do."

"Abortion?" The word was low.

She stared at him. "I've thought of it. But what doctor
here would do it without notifying Travis first? He's too influential
for any of them to consider performing an abortion without his
knowledge. Besides, no matter how much I despise Travis, I don't think
I could do that to his child—my child, too."

"I suspect," he said sadly, "that you're still in love
with him."

"No," she said emphatically. "I'm not—I won't
be. All I need is time to recover from him. Please, promise me that
you'll tell no one about my pregnancy."

He smiled. "I swear it. And—" he made a small
dismissive gesture with one hand—"if you change your mind
about an abortion, there are ways to accomplish it in secrecy. I have
contacts of my own here. One can always find a doctor who has something
to hide—or who needs money very badly. Provided you don't
wait too long."

She shivered, thinking of dark and dirty back rooms.
"Thank you, but I won't change my mind. I'll have to find another way
out of the mess I've made of my life."

"You're a brave woman," he said earnestly. The waiter came
then and took their order, and Jonathan, with a sensitivity to her
feelings, turned the conversation deftly to other things.

Later, when they left the restaurant, they walked along
the narrow side street to where Jonathan's car and driver waited. Even
with Jonathan beside her, Susan couldn't help feeling a little uneasy
about their surroundings. Once one left the main thoroughfares of
Bridgetown, the streets and alleyways quickly deteriorated into slums
where rickety shacks crowded against the street and each other, their
inhabitants spilling out of them to sit or lie in front or mill
aimlessly about the street.

"These people," she remarked in a low tone, "seem so
restless and unhappy."

"What you see is desperation," he told her. "Most of them
have no jobs and little hope of finding one. There isn't even room for
a vegetable garden here, which would help put food on the table. These
are the people who suffer from the unequal division of our precious
land."

Susan remained quiet during the drive home, brooding over
the poor people she had seen, wondering how they could continue to live
without hope or purpose.

She was in a depressed mood when she entered the house,
wanting only to crawl into bed and drown the memory of the slum in
sleep. But Travis was waiting for her and, over her feeble protests,
steered her into the living room, where he poured a glass of wine and
handed it to her.

"Drink this. You look pale," he said tersely. "I suppose
dear friend Jonathan is beginning to grate on your nerves. How you've
managed to endure him this long, I can't think."

She didn't deny it, preferring that he blame Jonathan for
her paleness rather than guess the true reason. She sank into a chair
and sipped the wine, feeling its slow warmth creeping along her veins.

He stood over her, looking stern and uncompromising. "Have
you been to Wicksham's house again?"

She wasn't up to playing devious games. "No, we went to a
restaurant."

"It's obvious you're in poor spirits. What happened? If he
hurt you—"

She cut in scathingly. "Stop playing the outraged husband,
Travis. Jonathan was the soul of consideration, as usual. If my spirits
seem low, perhaps it's because I got a good look at the people who live
in one of your Bridgetown slums." She shuddered and took a swallow of
wine. "There must be thousands of people like that, rotting on
Barbados, without jobs, stripped of whatever dignity they may once have
had. Jonathan says there's no hope for them as long as people like you
hoard all the wealth."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, Lord, that's
rich! But I can't believe you're naive enough to fall for that old
line. You've seen Wicksham's house. Have you any idea how much wealth
it took to restore it and furnish it? He has other houses, too, on other islands. He's one of
the richest men in the West Indies. What is
he
doing to help the poor?"

"I don't know," she retorted, suddenly too tired to pursue
an argument with him. "More than you, I'm sure. At least, he doesn't
own acres and acres of land."

"You couldn't be more wrong," he grated.

She finished her wine and got to her feet with a great
effort of will; all she wanted to do was to put her head back and go to
sleep on the spot. Did pregnancy sap the energy from all women, or only
those who were caught in unhappy marriages? "I don't think so, Travis,
but we aren't going to solve this particular disagreement tonight. I'm
going to bed."

He stood in front of her, blocking her way. "Not just yet.
I have something to tell you first."

She was immediately on the alert, tensely anticipating a
sudden movement from him. If he touched her now, enfolded her in the
strength and warmth of his arms, she wasn't sure she could fight him.
She felt too helpless and vulnerable.

"What is it?"

"The work here is caught up temporarily. We're going to
have a few slow days before anymore of the cane will be ready for
harvest. I want us to go away together for a week." He was watching her
intently. "Call it the honeymoon we never had."

It was too much, on top of everything else, for him to
stand there with that implacable stubbornness stiffening every muscle
in his body and talk to her about a honeymoon—as if they had
a real marriage, as if he were the least bit concerned about her and
her happiness. She almost choked on her resentment. "Is this your idea
of a joke? Do you think I could stand being alone with you for a full
week? Dear heaven, Travis! Must you make my life more miserable at
every turn?"

"That wasn't my intention," he stated curtly. "You're
looking too tense lately. It will do us both good to get away from the
plantation."

"The only way I want to leave the plantation is alone and
bound for the States."

"I have the use of a beach cottage on the other side of
the island," he went on, as if she hadn't spoken. "We'll leave in the
morning."

What little blood was left in her face drained out of it
and she staggered slightly. He caught her arm, frowning. "Are you all
right?"

She gritted her teeth and drew in several gulps of air to
clear her swimming head. "No, I am not all right. And I will not be all
right until I'm free of you. If you imagine for one minute that we can
have a honeymoon—in the true sense of that
word—you're insane. You can keep me imprisoned in a beach
cottage for the rest of our natural lives, and I'll still feel nothing
but disgust when you touch me." She twisted away from him and walked
out of the room on unsteady legs. He did not try to stop her.

But he didn't change his mind about going away, either.
When she came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, he was idling
at the table over a cup of coffee, the remains of scrambled eggs on his
plate.

"Good morning, Susan. I trust you rested well. You're looking better than you did last night, at any
rate."

She helped herself to eggs and a biscuit from a warming
tray, and he finished his coffee before he said, "Can you be ready to
leave in an hour?"

She looked into his dark eyes and knew that he had made up
his mind to take her to that detestable beach cottage no matter what
she said. She sighed, thinking that she would take an armload of books
so that she could spend the days reading. Let him swim and walk along
the beach to his heart's content, as long as he left her alone. "Yes,"
she said shortly.

There was a noticeable relaxing of the muscles in his
face. "Good. You won't need anything but swimwear and shorts. We won't
be going out or seeing anybody."

She merely nodded and began to eat her breakfast. For the
past few mornings, the sickness had not been so bad, and as she thought
of this, she told herself glumly:
Be grateful for small
favors since you're not likely to receive any large ones
.

After breakfast, she threw a few things into a small
suitcase and followed Travis to the car. His face was set, as if her
clear lack of enthusiasm was beginning to strain his patience. She
hoped so. Maybe he would be bored enough to come back home before the
week was over.

They drove south, the opposite direction from Bridgetown.
Travis turned on the car radio, picking up the island's only station,
and plaintive Polynesian music thrummed about them. He spoke only
occasionally, to point out something of interest, but did not seem to
expect any answers from her. Soon, in spite of her resistance to the
trip, Susan began to feel less resentful, more relaxed. It
was
good to get away from the house for a few days, even in the company of
Travis.

"This is Ragged Point," Travis said as they came around a
sharp curve, the road overlooking a sheer cliff and turbulent waters
below. A lighthouse perched on a jutting prominence. "There's a very
dangerous reef here known as The Cobblers," Travis went on.
"Supposedly, this is the spot where a notorious pirate named Sam Lord
lured sailors onto the rocks with lanterns."