Love's Fiery Jewel (46 page)

His eyes devouring her beautiful face, Damien
whispered in return, "This magic between us is too
strong.. .too beautiful to be denied, darling." Gently
sliding himself within her, Damien heard her soft gasp, a
familiar glory shooting through him at the moment of
complete possession. Moving inside her with increasing
impetus, Damien mumbled hoarsely against Amethyst's
ear, "I want to love you, darling.. .to keep on loving
you.. .never to stop... never..."

With a brief, lightning gasp of rapture, Damien was
brought to the culmination of his quest, Amethyst's body
joining him in his final, ultimate glimpse of brilliant
glory.

His body finally still, Damien moved to lay beside her,
slipping his arms around her to hold her in the circle of
his intimate embrace. Raising his head, Damien looked
into Amethyst's face. Her eyes were closed, her
expression relaxed and motionless, and he knew a
moment of bittersweet joy. He had overcome her
resistance once again.. .he had proved his mastery over
her body. But he longed desperately for her spirit, her love freely given as he gave his to her. His unspoken love
a heavy weight inside his chest, he bent to press a tender
kiss against her lips.

"But for now," he thought silently, "...but for now,
my darling, my dear love, for now this will be
enough..."

Insects buzzing noisily around her head, Tillie moved
leisurely along the forest trail, grateful to the heavy
foliage that filtered the burning rays of afternoon sun.
Midway into March, the Jamaican weather had turned
warmer, coupling with the humidity to preclude haste as
she made her way toward Conway Plantation. Her former
secrecy a thing of the past, Tillie walked slowly,
appreciative of the beauty surrounding her. Giant ferns
abounded on either side of the narrow path with lichens
in different sizes and shapes spotting the trees in
haphazard patterns, a filmy curtain of hanging moss
draped across an outstretched branch completing a scene
decorated with nature's matchless artistry. The fairytale
quality of the secluded area did not go unnoticed by her
dark, almond-shaped eyes as Tillie slowed her step in rapt
appreciation.

A far different figure than she had presented only
three months before, Tillie's stature was still straight and
proud, her impressive height and grace of movement
setting her apart from the average, but her full-breasted
figure was now slender as a girl's, her brilliant mulatto
beauty accented by the narrowed planes of her face
where her large, heavily fringed dark eyes and full
expressive lips appeared too lushly beautiful to be real.
Smiling, she following the quick, darting flight of the
doctor bird as it hovered momentarily before a brilliant
hibiscus, finally settling to puncture the base of the
flower with its long, slender, black-tipped vermillion bill,
the irridescent green of its breast and black of its head, wings and long scissor-like tail fading into the vegetation
as it drew the honey in pleasant obscurity. Finally
satisfied, it withdrew, sounding a rather belligerent
fftuss-tuss-tuss" before taking flight and darting away.
Shaking her head at its sassy call, Tillie continued
forward, absentmindedly humming an old song from her
childhood as she walked:

Shrugging away a sharp pang of loneliness, Tillie
pressed forward again, eager to put from her mind the
sadness that had fostered her heightened appreciation of
the value of love. A mother who had lost her child to
uncertainty, Tillie suffered the pain of Amethyst's loss
each and every waking moment, but Raymond.. .her
man...his presence had filled the aching void in her
heart, making life bearable, relieving the anxieties that
tortured her vivid imagination.

Her smooth forehead wrinkling into a small frown,
Tillie raised her hand to her temple to smooth back a wisp
of hair that had escaped her chignon, and forcing her
thoughts away from the endless circle of sorrow in which
all thoughts of Amethyst seemed to revolve, she
concentrated on her great, handsome man. Having come
to realize how extremely precious and fragile was love,
which could be snatched away in a fleeting moment by
the same fickle fate that had granted its inception, Tillie
had decided in the three months that had passed to
indulge the love between Raymond and herself, to spend
as much time with him as she was able, ignoring the
whisperings behind black hands as she walked the
Kingston streets. Her hand tightening on the small
basket she carried, a small spark of warmth moved through her as she anticipated Raymond's delight when
she produced the honey cake she had baked for him this
morning.

Finally reaching the small clearing used by the
witchdoctor for his supplication to Pucku, Tillie turned
onto the trail leading to Raymond's hut. It was still
daylight, and Raymond would not return from the fields
until dark, but Tillie already felt a sense of inner peace,
knowing she would soon be in the simple dwelling
Raymond had constructed, "...fraish 'n clean, jes' like
Tillie want." Far better she waited there than in the
lonesome house on John's Lane which held nothing more
for her than memories. Yes, far better that she wait
where only happy memories would fill her...

But what was that? Stopping still in her tracks, Tillie
listened to the low mourning wail as it sounded again, her
flesh crawling with fright while her ears strained to
determine the location of the now familiar cry. The
Mountain Witch! Tillie remembered many stories of the
radiant bird whose calls were often heard while its beauty
was seldom seen, and had just taken a step forward when
a brilliant flash of bronze, cinnamon, and irridescent
purple and black flashed before her eyes, the bird with its
shaggy gray crest dipping and swooping in front of her in
wild, darting dives, to flash out of sight in the space of an
instant, leaving only a lonesome mourning wail behind in
remembrance of its glory. Trembling wildly, Tillie
clutched the handle of her basket in fear. It was a bad
omen! Why had Pucku sent this brilliant bird to tease her
with its beauty, giving her only a brief glimpse of its
dazzling wonder, while the lonesome wail lingered on?
Covering her lips with her slender, long-fingered hand,
Tillie's eyes snapped wide with apprehension. What was
the meaning of this omen?

Springing suddenly into motion, Tillie ran wildly along
the trail, arriving at the small clearing on which Raymond's hut stood, a low moan issuing from her throat
at the sight of destruction that met her eyes. With
obvious determination some malicious hand had painstakingly knocked each board from the wooden structure, trampling the straw roof into the ground until only
a pile of rubble remained. And what of Raymond? Had he
been inside the hut when this destruction had been
practiced? Or was he perhaps safe and unaware of the
maliciousness that had passed here? Tillie was trembling,
her tall, imposing frame shaking wildly, one part of her
refusing to accept the scene that met her eyes, while
another part of her already mourned the loss she feared.

But what could she do? Where could she turn? She
had no recourse, no one to turn to, a free woman of color
in a slave community where she was despised for her
white blood. Her breath coming in low, heaving sobs,
Tillie covered her face with her hands, her strong, proud
body sinking to its knees in the abject fear and misery
overwhelming her. What could she do? She could do
nothing... nothing more than sit and wait until
darkness when maybe.. .maybe Raymond would return
to her.

Darkness had fallen. Lantern beside her, Tillie still sat
on the pallet she had rescued from the ravished hut, her
face dry of the tears that had flowed so freely for the past
three hours. Raymond had not come. It was long past
dark... long past the hour of release from the fields, and
he had still not returned. A heaving sickness churning
in her stomach, she fought the fears inundating her
mind, as she clung to the last remnants of hope left to
her. Perhaps there had been an accident and Raymond
was late...

So obsessed was she with her thoughts that she
failed to hear a sound behind her the second before a
small voice whispered softly, "Tillie Swann? Be dat Tillie Swann?"

Turning swiftly toward the voice, Tillie strained to see
into the darkness surrounding her, her eyes finally
perceiving the figure of a small boy, black frightened eyes
wide as he peered speculatively from the bushes.

Her heart pounding in her breast, Tillie turned the full
strength of her gaze on the child. "This be Tillie Swann,
boy. Who ask fe Tillie Swann?"

"Cudjoe bring Tillie Swann message frem Raymond,"
the boy hissed, his bright eyes darting back and forth as
he strained to see if anyone else was within hearing
distance.

Quickly moving to his side, Tillie dropped to her knees
beside him as she demanded breathlessly, "Tell Tillie
what happened to Raymond, Cudjoe. Tell Tillie what
Raymond say."

"Massa lock Raymond up `n knock Raymond's house
t' de ground. Him tell Raymond him gowan stay locked
up `till him do what Massa say!"

"What Massa want from Raymond, Cudjoe? Raymond
be best worker Massa have! Massa happy with him good
blacks.. .him always say Raymond..."

"Massa want Raymond tek Quasheba fe him woman,
but Raymond say him got woman. Quasheba young.
Massa want more boys lek Cudjoe." His small face
lighting with a small hint of pride, the boy continued.
"Massa say Cudjoe gowan be good field hand when him
growed."

"Why Massa want Raymond for this Quasheba,
Cudjoe? There be plenty young bucks on this plantation
that make strong children for Massa."

"But none dat Quasheba want. Quasheba want
Raymond."

Her heart beating wildly, Tillie was suddenly filled
with a blinding anger. "Who this Quasheba be that she
tell Massa who she take for him man, Cudjoe? She be slave like other blacks here."

"Quasheba sleep with Massa, `n now Massa tek new
woman. Massa give Quasheba Raymond fe him man
'cause Quasheba choose Raymond, `n nethin' gowan
change Quasheba's mind!"

Shaking with frustrated anger, Tillie controlled the
urge to scream her fury, turning to the child who stirred
restlessly.

"And what did Raymond send you to tell me, Cudjoe?"

"Raymond say Tillie Swann leave dis place `n nevah
come back. Massa rygin at Raymond, `n Massa know
'bout Tillie. If him And Tillie here, him gowan hurt
Tillie, `n sell Raymond off." His large black eyes
suddenly lowering shyly, Cudjoe continued in a low
voice, "Raymond, him tell Cudjoe t' tell Tillie him love
Tillie Swann. Raymond say Tillie Swann him woman `n
Quasheba nethin' but black streggah. Raymond not
gowan put him seed in black streggah... not nevah!"

Unable to do else, Tillie nodded her understanding of
the message Cudjoe carried, her throat tight with unshed
tears as she took the small black hand.

"Tenky, Cudjoe. Tillie Swann say tenky for bringing
Raymond's message to him, and Tillie Swann ask one
more thing for Cudjoe to do. Cudjoe tell Raymond that
Tillie Swann love Raymond, and never stop. Raymond be
Tillie's man, and Tillie do what Raymond say. You tell
Raymond that, yaw?"

"Cudjoe hear Tillie Swann."

Within the space of a moment, the small black form
had disappeared into the darkness, leaving Tillie alone
with her boundless sorrow.

The brilliant glory of the Mountain Witch had been
short and fleeting, and only the mournful wail lingered
on...

Her eyes intent on the small garment on which she worked, Amethyst's mind roamed far from the narrow
seam. The early sun shone through the large window of
the morning room, warming her as she lay propped on the
chaise Damien had instructed be moved into the corner
so she might reap the benefits of its southern exposure.
Not of a mood to dress her hair formally, she had pulled
the brilliant raven curls back simply from her face with a
center part upon dressing, securing the riotous curls
behind her ears with two combs. No longer impressed
with the endless row of dresses in her wardrobe, she had
reached in absentmindedly to pull out one of Madame's
newer creations, a soft white muslin, sprigged with
clusters of purple and lavender flowers. It was a
comfortable gown, as were all those recently designed by
Madame expressly for Amethyst's use. This particular
garment was cut in a high, round neckline that circled
her graceful neck with narrow white lace, the slender
arms extending tightly to the elbow to puff out in a wide
ruffle trimmed in the same delicate lace. A series of small
purple bows moved from the center of the high neckline
to the slightly raised waistline of the garment, from
which the full skirt fell gracefully to feet encased in soft,
purple slippers. It was an ingenious design which allowed
for her ever-broadening waist and the slight rounding of
stomach discernible in her fifth month of pregnancy.
Small amethysts gleamed in the lobes of her ears, another
gift from Damien, whose complaint that she lacked
sufficient jewelry to accessorize her gowns seemed to
provide him with an adequate excuse for adding sparkling
additions to her jewel box with annoying consistency.