Patricia Hagan (27 page)

He threw the whiskey down his throat, wincing at the sudden burning. Why couldn’t he forget her?

During the day, he seemed drunk and withdrawn from everything around him, but it was different at night. Nighttimes, the clarity he really felt, drunk or not, made itself apparent to Scott and his thoughts focused on one thing—Holly and her power over him. Oh, he could tell himself that he’d get over her in a while, but he knew better than to try fooling his own heart like that. The sprite was different, damn her to hell. He loved her as he hadn’t loved in a long, long time, maybe ever. Worse was the fact that
he
knew what Holly didn’t know. He knew they were good together, fine together, and probably would always be happy. But until she saw that for herself, he could do nothing but let her dangle him on a string. Or stay away from her. Neither held any appeal.

And who knew how long it’d be before she came to her senses? Who knew whether she ever would, in fact, find her heart?

Neil Davis walked in and scanned the dark room, squinting, then made his way to Scott’s table and sat down. “Doing what you do best these days?”

Scott shot him a hard look. “No lectures. I’m not in the mood.”

“Thought I’d come to give you the good news right away,” Neil said.

Scott grunted, waiting.

Neil leaned back in his chair. He felt good. For the first time in ages he felt good. They were going to see some action. “I just got the word. We’ve got the chance to go to Jamaica, if you want to.”

“Who the hell wants to go to Jamaica?” Scott’s voice cracked. “I want to head back to Mississippi and finish what we started.”

Neil gestured for him to calm down. “That comes later. Just listen.” He then explained that he’d just come from a secret meeting with the person most concerned about the gold theft. “He hasn’t given up. We’ve still got to keep it quiet, ’cause so far, nobody knows it’s missing.”

Scott was suddenly sober, alert. “What’s it got to do with Jamaica?”

“Roger Bonham is in Jamaica.”

Now Neil had Scott’s full attention, and he went on cautiously. “Scott, you’ve been sort of out of things lately. Brooding. Drinking too much. We’ve gone on without you. And, to tell the truth, we’ve kept some things from
you till you got yourself together.”

Scott frowned. “Go on. You did right.”

“Jarvis Bonham died right after we left. Shortly after that, Roger left Mississippi. We only just found out he’s in Jamaica. There’s been no word of activity from the Night Hawks, so we can only assume they got their share of the gold and split up. Naturally, the biggest horde will be Roger’s, so that’s what we’ve got to try to get back.

“We go to Jamaica as emissaries of the United States government, to see how things are going now that England is establishing a colony there. Since the uprising of former slaves at Morant Bay, things’ve needed smoothing over. It’s a good cover for us.”

Scott was fired up for the first time in weeks. He was not, by God, going to sit behind a desk and turn into an old man before his time. He grinned, delighted. It was a damn good feeling. “When do we leave?”

Neil laughed, cuffing him on the shoulder good-naturedly. “Great to have you back, Colonel Colter.”

They drank in celebration now, not in sorrow.

“After Jamaica,” Scott said cheerfully, “we go back to Mississippi.”

Neil nodded slowly.
He
was not going to be the one to tell him. Let Scott find out for himself. What Scott was seeking wasn’t in Mississippi, not any more. She was in Jamaica. And she was Roger Bonham’s wife.

No, Neil vowed. Hell, no. No way on earth was he going to be the one to break the news to Scott Colter.

Two months had passed since Holly and her mother had arrived in Jamaica. Roger had left them no choice about it.

Holly sat beneath a banana tree, staring pensively out at the clear blue waters of the lagoon, deeply grateful for this respite, a little time alone. She could see all the way to the bottom of the water to the white, sparkling sand, the myriad darting fish, like fleeting tiny rainbows.

She now knew the true depth of despair.

The only consolation was that her mother seemed better. Beneath the warm Caribbean sun, she had regained some of her strength. There were even times when Holly found it difficult to believe the doctor’s grim diagnosis.

Marveling at the beauty around her, she prayed for time to stand still. Here, knowing her mother was taking her nap under the watchful eye of a native servant girl, and that Roger was making his rounds on the plantation, Holly was allowed a little peace, a brief escape.

Jamaica was beautiful. There were tall, lofty mountains that rose straight up from the white beaches, a contrast to the rolling lands around them. There were forbidding wild areas, with giant forests, strange-shaped rocks, and dangerous, bottomless sinkholes.

Fertile valleys, swamps, hot springs, over a hundred rivers, the island was rich in variety and the crops were abundant—bananas, cacao, coconuts, coffee, sugarcane, and so many fruits Holly couldn’t name them all.

Sunshine was perpetual, and cool breezes blew in from the hills at night.

High upon a bluff overlooking crashing, foaming waters, was the pink stucco mansion she lived in—the place she could never call home. Large, airy rooms, lavishly decorated, it was beautiful. But she hated it, hated everything within its walls, especially the bedroom she shared with her tormentor…her husband.

At first, Roger had been gentle, vowing he would make her love him. She tried to, with all her heart she had tried. But all too soon came the nights when he drank too much rum, forced her to submit to unspeakable depravities. To refuse always meant a beating.

She clenched and unclenched her fists, letting the sand trickle through her fingers like the days of her life. The only consolation in all the horror her existence had become was Claudia. Claudia didn’t suspect the truth about Roger, and the one decent thing about Roger was his promise not to hurt Claudia as long as Holly obeyed in him in every way. He had even kept his word not to tell Claudia the nature of her illness or the seriousness of it.

So Claudia was happy, or as happy as she could be, considering the emptiness Jarvis had left. She missed him, talked about him often when she and Holly were alone. It was all Holly could do not to reveal her terrible secrets as she listened to her mother talk about Jarvis’s kindness, his thoughtful manner.

At least my mother doesn’t know she is dying, Holly thought a hundred times a day. It was her hold on sanity, that realization. Claudia knew nothing. Claudia would die in peace. For this, Holly had sacrificed herself in every way, waking each day to more pain and despair, knowing she might have to live this way for years.

She’d been forced into this sacrifice by Jarvis’s death, and by Roger’s grip on his father’s finances. Oh, he’d explained after Jarvis’s funeral, she and Holly were free to leave; but where could they go where Claudia would get the medical care she needed? Did Holly wish, Roger asked, to build another shack on the ruins of Grandpa’s old one, and drag Claudia there to live…for the short time she
would
live? Or did Holly wish to think once more about marrying him? Because those two options were her only ones. Claudia had Bright’s disease, explained the doctor Roger had summoned from New Orleans. She would weaken, her kidneys would stop working, and she would die. She would never get better, he was firm on that point. But the time it would take her to die, and the suffering she would endure, that was all in the hands of Roger, their benefactor, who could provide the life Claudia needed—or refuse to give them a cent. If he turned them out, what would happen?

And so, Holly said yes to Roger—and turned her back on any hope for herself.

Always, in times of deepest anguish, her thoughts went to the one man she had ever loved. The worst of it was, she didn’t even know where Scott was. Was he all right? Dear God, it was all so cruel, and her heart hurt so deeply. Scott was all she had, except for her mother.

A crashing sound in the nearby brush made her jump to her feet. Lilda, the young native girl who sat with her mother, was hurrying toward her, brown eyes wide with fear. Holly ran to meet her. “Is it Mother? Is she sick?”

Lilda shook her head, kinky black curls dancing. “No’m. It’s Master Roger. He’s back and he’s looking for you. Sending men to look for you. Hurry.”

Holly quelled the impulse to be frightened. Damn him, anyway. Damn Roger.

Lifting her chin defiantly, she followed Lilda toward the house, understanding when the girl darted away just before they got there. She didn’t dare let the master know she had warned Holly, had known where she was. Roger could be brutal with servants.

She entered the house, appearing calm before Roger’s icy glare. He was standing just inside the front door, arms folded across his chest. He held a leather riding crop.

“Holly, where have you been?” His voice rolled like thunder through the huge foyer. She started by him, toward the curving stairs, but he grabbed her and spun her around. “I asked you a question. I expect an answer.” He towered over her, slapping the leather crop against an open palm. “Or would you rather go in to see your mother and have to explain why there’s a welt across your face?”

“I went for a walk on the beach,” Holly said. “Surely my lord and master can have no objection to that.”

He stepped closer, squeezing her breast painfully. “I’ll tolerate spirit from you only in my bed. I have forbidden you to leave this house. Tomorrow you will find yourself locked in your room. Now go on and see your mother. I’ll have trays sent in for the two of you, and you can eat your dinner in there. When you have finished, go straight to our room and take off your clothes and lie down on the bed and wait for me. Tonight, I shall give you another lesson in wifely obedience.”

She writhed as he continued to squeeze her breast, struggling against him, but the more she fought, the harder he clenched her, and finally she was forced to yield and stand helpless before him, tears streaming down her cheeks as the white-hot pain shot through her chest.

Abruptly, he released her. “Go now. Do as I say. Whether you believe me or not, I do not like having to treat you this way, but you leave me no choice.”

She gathered her skirt and ran up the steps, but did not go to her mother’s room yet. She couldn’t face her like this. She went to her own room to wash her face and dry the tears, and when she managed not to look so tormented, she went to Claudia.

She found her mother sitting near the open window, the gentle tropical breeze causing her hair to blow wistfully about her face. “There’s my darling,” Claudia cried, holding her arms open to Holly, who went to her eagerly, biting back tears as she sank to her knees before her.

They gazed out the window to blue water stretching endlessly toward the horizon. “Isn’t it beautiful here? Back home, it’s getting on toward time for winter. Here it’s eternal summer. I know Jarvis must have loved it when he lived here. Funny, but I feel so close to him these days. I still think of this as his house, not Roger’s house.”

Holly saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes and squeezed her hands. “Don’t torture yourself, Mother. Jarvis wouldn’t want you to grieve so.”

Claudia stared down at her thoughtfully, a woeful smile touching her lips. “What else is there for me to do but brood? I…don’t mean to sound ungrateful, dear. It was kind of Roger to insist on bringing me along, but this is your honeymoon.” Holly abruptly dropped her gaze. “And I find myself growing restless…missing my friends, familiar surroundings. I don’t dare say anything to hurt Roger, but I can’t help wondering when we’ll go home.”

Holly hoped the smile she gave her was bright and convincing. “I don’t know, Mother. I can talk to Roger—”

“No, no,” Claudia was quick to counter. “Don’t say anything, please. The last thing I want Roger to think is that I’m ungrateful. I’ll stay as long as he wants to. I want you to be happy, my darling,” she added wistfully, “and if you’re content here…” Her voice trailed off.

Holly simply could not speak.

Claudia searched her face. “You
are
happy, aren’t you, Holly? There are times when I think you’re hiding something. After all, I know you better than anyone else ever can. There are times when I have a feeling there’s something I don’t know…that I
should
know. Am I right?”

Holly had been fearing this moment all along. She swallowed hard, praying she wouldn’t burst into tears. “It takes time to get to know someone, Mother, and you never really know them before you marry them. Roger and I have our difficult moments, but we manage to handle them. Don’t worry about me, please.”

“I do worry. It’s in your eyes. That faraway look I’ve seen so many times before, when you’re in pain.” When Holly didn’t respond, her mother realized she mustn’t pry. If Holly didn’t want to talk, she didn’t.

Lilda brought supper trays in then, and Claudia confessed, “I do miss the food back home.” There was pepper pot soup, made from Indian kale and okra and finely chopped meat. There were vegetables, papaws and granadillas. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of the hard-boiled booby eggs, small and with a pink yolk and a gamy taste. “I manage to swallow most of it but I’d love some fried chicken and hominy grits.”

Holly agreed, reaching for a bowl of cassava pudding and some roasted breadfruit. They shared an after-dinner drink of “sour-sweet,” a blend of the crushed pulp of the soursop fruit mixed with pineapple milk, and then Lilda appeared to announce that Mr. Bonham was waiting for his wife.