Decision and Destiny (17 page)

“Oh, you crude, dirty-minded—”

Unexpected thunder muted her barrage of insults, and the
amusement faded from John’s face. He had dismissed the episode, his eyes on the inky sky, leaving Charmaine to fume all the more. But the next rumbling report caught her attention, too. The gathering clouds had darkened considerably.

“Pack up the food while I fetch the horses,” he directed as he turned toward the woods. “This storm is moving in rapidly. The sky was clear a half-hour ago.”

“What about the girls?”

“They hear it, too,” he called over his shoulder, “they’ll be back shortly.”

“But Yvette’s not frightened by thunder!”

“I’ll lay money down she’s running faster than Jeannette when they come out of the woods.”

Charmaine hurried back to Pierre, who continued to play contentedly in the sand. She dusted him off, carried him over to the blanket, and quickly slipped on his stockings and shoes. She did the same for herself, then gathered up the remnants of their picnic.

Just as predicted, the girls appeared, racing up the beach. Another shudder shook the heavy air. Yvette turned a worried eye to the sky. “I think it’s going to be a bad one,” she whispered.

John returned with all four animals, and they quickly mounted and headed back the way they had come. Although they took the same route, everything was silent and menacingly still. Not a leaf rustled, nor a branch bowed.

On the main road, the skies to the southeast were black, dense and churning. The winds picked up, buffeting them with gusts that caught at their hair and unfurled the horses’ manes. Day was ahead of them, behind them, a vision of night. Thunder shook the air again, and the twins squealed in delight. The horses were agitated, flicking back their ears and neighing loudly. Pierre squeezed his eyes closed. In growing trepidation, Charmaine’s regard shifted to John, whose attention was on the sky, often looking over his shoulder. Her apprehension heightened when he shook his head.

Two riders approached at full gallop, and in a matter of seconds, Paul and George were reining in their steeds. Paul leaned forward to speak to John, his eyes cutting away from Charmaine and her disheveled appearance, her windswept hair. “I’m glad you’re on your way back. It’s a hurricane, and by the look of it, a bad one.”

“I just got in from town,” George said, “the
Raven
laid anchor not two hours ago. Jonah Wilkinson outraced the storm by forty leagues or so. We had trouble mooring her. The ocean is very rough.”

“George is going to the mill,” Paul continued, “and I’m headed into town to batten down the smaller ships and secure the quay. Can you come along?”

Charmaine braced herself for John’s response. “What of the house?”

“Travis and Gerald are seeing to it. I need your help more than they do.”

“Very well,” John replied.

Another shaft of lightning and the horses neighed again, pawing at the dirt, a crack of thunder and they shook their heads, prancing in place.

“What about the children and me?” Charmaine protested.

“You’re to go back to the house,” Paul directed.

“Just follow the road,” John added gently.

“
What if the horses panic?
”

John read the fear in her eyes and turned to George. “Can you go with them before you head to the mill? That way I can help Paul.”

George nodded and took Pierre from John’s lap. Then they were off: John and Paul at a breakneck gallop for town; Charmaine, George, and the children at a quickened pace for home.

They reached the safety of the portico none too soon, pelted by pebbles and twigs hurled on high winds. Even the branches of the great oaks bent to nature’s will, their boughs dipping close to the
ground. At the far end of the colonnade, two stable-hands labored to nail the shutters closed.

Travis Thornfield greeted them in the foyer. He stood erect like some sentry guarding his post. His normally stoic face was set in lines of concern. “We have six men securing the windows,” he said. “Once they’re finished, the very heavens may break open, and we will be prepared for it.”

“Good,” George nodded.

“Is it truly a hurricane?” Yvette asked, eyes dilated with fearless excitement.

“By all outward signs, yes, it is a hurricane,” George confirmed soberly.

“Oh, good!” she piped with pleasure. “The house is sure to rumble tonight, and Cookie will be telling her stories!” She recounted the superstitious tales and severe damage sustained during the last hurricane, which had hit Charmantes a year prior to Charmaine’s arrival.

“Are such storms really that destructive?” Charmaine asked, disquieted by Yvette’s disturbing description. “Surely this one won’t cause injury?”

“Charmaine,” George said bracingly, “they can be very bad, but not always. All we can do is wait and pray it doesn’t hit us directly.”

“But Paul—and John—they’re still out there!”

“They have plenty of time to secure the island before the worst of it arrives. Remember, they were born and raised here. They know how to deal with a hurricane. Now, I have to get to the mill. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Despite George’s reassurance, Charmaine remained worried. It was best to focus on other things, so she ushered the children upstairs for baths and fresh attire. The bedchamber was so dark she had to light the lamps.

She bathed Pierre first. He was very nervous and reached for her each time the wind howled or the thunder rumbled. “Let us talk
about our day,” she cajoled, certain if she could take his mind off the storm, he’d relax. “What was the best part of our picnic?”

“Ridin’ on Johnny’s horse,” he said with a timid smile, allowing her to strip off his clothing. His gaze traveled up from the floor, his cheeks puffed up in the widest of grins. She smiled in return. Her ploy was working. “Now I know what that’s called, Mainie,” he declared, pointing to his crotch. “Johnny told me. It’s a penis.” Charmaine’s smile vanished.

“What did he say?” Yvette asked.

“Nothing,” Charmaine scolded. “He said nothing.”

She quickly turned back to the boy. “That word is private, Pierre. You mustn’t say it again.”

“Why?”

“Because it is impolite to talk about. Do you understand?”

“What did he say?” Yvette persisted.

“He is not repeating it. Are you, Pierre?”

He obediently shook his head “no,” and the matter was put to rest. The girls had just finished their baths and were brushing out their wet hair when Travis Thornfield appeared at their door. “Your father would like to see you in his chambers,” he told them.

Charmaine’s face paled, but Jeannette hugged her with a happy smile. “Papa probably has a present for us.” Charmaine wasn’t so sure. She hadn’t even thought of Frederic this morning and felt ashamed that, without a word, she had whisked his children away for the day. Last year, he had specifically set aside time for them. Memories of that first encounter still disturbed her, but that was no excuse for not bringing them to his chambers for a visit. Would he be angry they had spent the entire day with their older brother—that their governess had agreed to the excursion without his permission?

A short while later, they were sitting in the man’s antechamber, and to Charmaine’s chagrin, the girls immediately dove into a
recounting of their most adventurous of birthdays. “We even learned to swim!” Yvette finished.

Frederic nodded, his eyes intense. “I gather you had a nice time then?”

“It was fun!” Pierre replied blithely. “I got to ride on a great big horse!”

Frederic smiled down at the boy who sat in his lap, and Charmaine breathed easier. It was the first sign he wasn’t upset. “And you weren’t frightened?”

“Oh no, Johnny was holdin’ me tight.”

“Johnny?”

“Uh-huh,” Pierre nodded. “I love him, Papa,” he went on in earnest, hugging the man to emphasize his simple declaration. “I’m glad he came home.”

Frederic’s eyes turned sad and distant.

Yvette spoke across his thoughts. “Those ponies are the best presents we’ve ever gotten!”

“Yes, I suppose they are,” he replied. He smiled again, a mechanical smile by Charmaine’s estimation, and she wondered over his sudden melancholy. “I’ve something for you as well, but I’m afraid it is nothing as grand as your ponies.”

“What is it?” Jeannette asked.

“If you look over there in that basket,” he answered, nodding toward a corner of the room, “you’ll see.”

The two girls quickly crossed the chamber, and finding the furry bundles snuggled together, they began to “ooh” and “aah” over them. Pierre quickly jumped from his father’s lap and scampered over to his sisters. In the next moment, the kittens were lifted from the basket and tucked under each girl’s arm. “Look, Pierre,” Jeannette said as she sat on the floor, “a kitten.”

“He’s so soft!” Pierre observed once he’d stroked the marmalade fur.

The small animal began to purr, and Pierre’s eyes grew wide in wonderment. “What’s that noise?”

“He’s purring,” his sister explained. “It means he likes you.”

“It means
she
likes you,” her father corrected. “Millie says they are female.”

Jeannette smiled brightly. “Sit down, Pierre, and I’ll let you hold her.”

He complied, and she placed the kitten in his lap. He giggled uncontrollably as the orange tabby circled once and twice, then jumped from his embrace. It was time to play, and Yvette’s kitten also struggled to be free. In the next moment, the two balls of fur were scooting across the room, wiggling their bottoms and hunching their backs before pouncing upon each other. Then they were wrestling and tumbling, swiftly springing apart to begin the fray all over again, eliciting everyone’s laughter. The children drew their happiness from the kittens, Charmaine and Frederic, from their carefree glee, the storm forgotten.

Yvette crossed to her father and threw an arm around his shoulders. “You’re right, Papa, they’re not as good as the ponies, but they are a lot better than the dolls you gave us last year.”

Frederic gave her a fierce hug. “You are a wonder, Yvette.”

She moved away, and Jeannette took her place. “I love them just as much as the ponies,” she offered sincerely, bestowing a kiss. “Thank you, Papa.”

Pierre said nothing. He was mesmerized by the feline’s antics and giggled each time they darted from behind a chair and scurried across the floor.

They returned to the nursery, the kittens sound asleep in their basket. Pierre took heed; no sooner had he settled on his bed and his heavy eyes closed, oblivious to the howling hurricane.

With nothing to do, the girls insisted on resuming their treasure hunt. Charmaine agreed—Pierre slept blissfully—and so, they
headed downstairs, the girls in search of their remaining gifts, Charmaine, a cup of tea.

As they reached the foyer, George dashed inside, drenched. “The mill’s secured,” he said with a shiver. “How are you faring?”

“Glad I’m not out there,” Charmaine replied. “Is the storm very bad?”

“It’s bad, but the worst is yet to come.”

“Surely it can’t be any worse than what we’ve already heard?”

“This is only the edge of it. It
will
get worse and last the whole night. I’m soaked and need a good hot cup of tea.”

“I was just going to get a cup myself.”

“Let me join you then, as soon as I change into dry clothing.”

George returned just as she was pouring hot water from the teakettle Fatima had set on the dining room table.

“Still nervous?” he asked, taking the chair across from her.

“Yes. I hate these storms. They were never like this in Virginia. When I see how unaffected the twins are, I feel like a ninny. Will I ever get used to them?”

“No one gets used to them, Charmaine. I’ve lived here all my life, and even I get the jitters.”

She smiled gratefully. “How long does it take to secure the harbor?”

“That depends. But if you’re still worried about Paul, you needn’t be. With such a lovely lady here to fret over him, he’ll be eager to return safe and sound.”

She bowed her head with his compliment.

“Besides,” he went on, “John is there to lend a hand.”

“Will he—lend a hand?” Charmaine asked dubiously.

“Of course, he will,” George said, brow knitted. “Don’t you believe me?”

She only shrugged, belatedly realizing she had offended him.

“That’s hardly an answer, Charmaine.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve seen them together. You can’t deny there’s little love lost there. Surely you can understand my reservations.”

George put his teacup down. “There has always been a rivalry between them. It goes back a long way, even to when we were boys.”

“Yes, and John never misses an opportunity to make Paul angry.”

“It works both ways,” he replied gruffly.

“What do you mean?”

“Paul does his share of provoking, only it’s harder to see.”

“Don’t tell me John has won you over to his side?” she rejoined.

“There are no sides, Charmaine. I’ve known them for as long as I can remember. They are brothers to me. I also know what motivates them.” He read the confusion on her face, and expounded.

“When we were growing up, they vied for their father’s approval, but that approval always weighed in on Paul’s side.”

Charmaine was not swayed. “And I can understand why a father would favor a son who is well behaved over one who is bad mannered.”

George shook his head. “Frederic was downright mean to John. So, imagine how John felt when he watched his father’s adopted son claim that man’s love, while day after day, week after week, year after year, he, the legitimate son, came up empty-handed. Perhaps then you can understand his cynicism.”

Perturbed by the revelation, Charmaine had no rebuttal.

“Even so, I know John does not hate Paul for it, and I
know
he would come to Paul’s aid if Paul were in jeopardy. And Paul would do the same for John. You might not believe this, but there was a time when they were close, all three of us, we were very close.”

“So why the fighting now?”

“Most of it is not as serious as you think. You’ve seen enough of John to know he’s a mischief-maker, and Paul is his favorite target because he takes everything so seriously, always rising to the bait. Most of their quibbling doesn’t go any deeper than that.”