Tell Me I'm Dreamin' (15 page)

As Ulysses looked around Nadine's room, her only visible possession was a comb lying on top of the dressing table. He sat on the bed, bewildered. He was not able to say good-bye, but he was reluctant to let her go. In deep thought, he began to systematically open each drawer of the dressing table. The first two were empty, but in the third drawer, he saw Nadine's fanny pack stuffed inside. Compelled by a desire to know the truth about her he took hold of the bag, but found it was snared upon an even heavier object. A mixture of shock, disappointment, and distrust erupted within him as he removed the onyx slab.

For a while Ulysses stared at the smooth, black object as it lay inside the drawer, his feelings volleying between anger and betrayal.

The manuscript pages had been stolen over two months ago. Why would Nadine still have this one in her possession if she was the original thief? She would have had plenty of time to sell it, if that had been her objective. And why would she return with the object to Sovereign, the place from which it had been stolen? Did she intend to secretly return it? Why? And why hadn't she carried out her task if that had been her goal? Did Nadine know about the manuscript hidden within the carved stone?

Ulysses' first instinct was to confront her, but something else persuaded him to wait. Maybe she had come upon it by accident. If she were innocent, when she found out it was missing she would simply report it to Catherine or his aunt. So Ulysses decided to give Nadine that chance. For whatever reason, he needed to prove to himself she was innocent. But she never reported it. That morning Nadine left without saying a single word.

“Do you find me so undesirable that you would not marry me, even if it meant saving Sovereign?” Melanie pushed her point further, a harshness descending upon her usually serene features.

Stern, dark eyes regarded her. “Sovereign is my affair, Melanie. And it's not such a desperate situation that it needs saving, at least not yet. Or do you know more about the group of workers who have refused to harvest my sugarcane than you are letting on?” Ulysses looked at her suspiciously. “Thank God the cliff dwellers haven't gone into seclusion for the spiritual ceremony they hold every year around this time.” He ran an exasperated hand through the tangle of black curls on his head. “I am fortunate that most of the sugarcane crop was cut and sent to the mill before this rebellion got started. Things were bad enough, and now all this. What do you know about this, Melanie?” He watched for a change in her expression. “Is your brother Basil behind it? He has always disliked me and would not hesitate to pull something that would put all the sugarcane fields of Eros under his control.”

“I do not know what to say.” Melanie looked down. “I never thought the day would come when you would not trust me.” Two injured obsidian eyes accused him. “I am the one who has always defended you, Ulysses. In the village, and even against my own brother. But ever since your aunt's accident you have changed . . . toward my family . . . and me. I knew you never looked at me the way I wanted. The way a woman who wants a man she loves to look at her.” Melanie let go an ironic laugh. “You treated me like your sister. The way Rodney treats me. I hated that, but after Madame Deane was injured you even took that away.”

“What did you expect?” Ulysses looked at Melanie, needing her to understand. “There were so many questions left unanswered, and the accident did happen on your estate. If Clarence hadn't been trying to see that cook of yours, Aunt Helen would have died at the bottom of your well. To this day, Melanie, my aunt swears she received a letter from Sharpe Hall with your family seal on it, telling her if she met with the sender secretly, they could piece together all the things that had been kept secret about our family's histories.”

“And you believe her?” Melanie asked derisively. “One minute that woman is hissing like a serpent and the next she's as calm and composed as a dove,” she retorted. Ulysses' countenance hardened against Melanie's harsh words. She acknowledged it and softened her approach. “All I am saying is, there are obvious reasons why you should not believe some of the far-fetched things your aunt says.”

Ulysses began to walk away in offended silence.

“Let us just forget about it,” Melanie offered, trying to make amends.

“You know that is not possible,” Ulysses declared, turning abruptly. “After all these years the stories still have not died down about your father, Henry, and Aunt Helen. How he wooed her, although he was still married to your mother. Wooed her when she was at her weakest. When she was grieving over the death of my father, her only brother.” Ulysses stopped himself before he said what he really felt. That Henry Sharpe had been like a spider devouring an immobilized prey, taking total advantage of his aunt's distressful condition after his parents died.

“I remember how he called on her at least twice a day,” he continued. “She was so relieved there was someone to help her through the difficult time. Aunt Helen totally relied on him, and your father began to direct the workers and keep up the paperwork at Sovereign. She was grateful for his presence and his companionship.” Cynicism rose in his eyes. “Eventually, he took over running Sovereign's affairs, and he ran them for seven years until he died. After that Clarence took charge of the workers and Aunt Helen looked after the records.” Ulysses paused. “Until this day she has never admitted they were having an affair, but after he died she never married, or pursued any other relationships,” he stated pointedly.

“It was not until I was eighteen and was truly master of Sovereign that we discovered the discrepancies over the borders between Sovereign's sugarcane fields and Sharpe Hall's. I went straight to Basil and we had words over the matter. I told him it was mighty strange that the oldest of the documents clearly stated that the northwest fields between our properties belonged to Sovereign, and the ones your father had handled said they belonged to Sharpe Hall. He would not even listen.” Ulysses' dark eyes burned passionately. “You see, there were three sets of records. Two at Sovereign, and one at Sharpe Hall. The one that stated the sugarcane fields belonged to Sovereign had been hidden in my father's personal belongings for years. The other document had been filed away with Sovereign's records by your father. Needless to say, the latter agreed with the papers at Sharpe Hall.” Ulysses began to look out over the fields of Sharpe Hall. “Well, I wasn't about to give up, so I took the matter to the authorities on Barbados. They looked at the documents and decided the situation was a common one. They said that discrepancies were often found between old records; therefore they declared the two sets which agreed on the property lines had the most weight.”

“None of that is my fault, Ulysses,” Melanie insisted. “And I would think if you accepted my marriage proposal it would make up for all of that.”

Ulysses looked back at the picture Melanie made, standing between the columns supporting the porch of her home. Her eyes were soft and compelling, but there was something else there he could not quite describe.

“No, it is not your fault. But it is something you alone could never make up for, Melanie. And you know with Basil being the oldest boy of the family, Sharpe Hall is his to do with as he pleases. Your marrying me would not change that.” He turned, making his way down the spacious stairway.

“Ulysses.”

He stopped and turned toward her.

“Please think about what I've said.”

Ulysses simply looked down at the stairs.

Melanie made one last attempt to solicit an acknowledgment. “If you need any help getting ready for the book sale, don't hesitate to ask me. It is two weeks away, is it not?”

Ulysses nodded his compliance, waved, and began to walk away. He took in the lay of his land as he traversed back to Sovereign. As he approached the hilltop he could see his home nestled between a forest of evergreens.

The exterior of the structure was deceiving. It did not reflect the riches that abided inside. Unlike Sharpe Hall, with its imposing columns and archways insinuating even more marvelous things to come, it was Sovereign which housed the treasures of Eros, and Ulysses intended to keep it that way.

He watched as a donkey cart driven by Clarence advanced steadily up one of the island paths. Upon reaching the house the elderly man got down and hobbled into the side entrance. Clarence, like Catherine, had been with his family for years. Never a man much for words, but a good man. Ulysses' handsome features contorted with anger as he thought of Clarence being assaulted during the last break-in at Sovereign.

The intruder had waited to do his dirty work until the one night Ulysses was out of town. He had come across an unsuspecting Clarence when making his escape. The criminal struck him down, then kicked him repeatedly to ensure he would not get up and follow. It made Ulysses apprehensive about his next visit to Barbados, but he simply had no choice, he would have to go again for his business.

He remembered arriving back from his trip and finding that the lock on the collection room bore marks of an attempted forced entry. His own room had been searched thoroughly, and so had the library. What puzzled him was that some of the valuables that could have been taken remained intact. Catherine and Aunt Helen had slept on the main floor and heard nothing.

Ulysses was sure the would-be thief was looking for the Five Pieces of Gaia, but he did not understand why. There were many objects strewn idly about within Sovereign that were much more valuable. But for him and his family, the collection was priceless for sentimental reasons. Could someone else have similar reasons for wanting to possess them? Would the inscription on the bronze lid, if it could be deciphered, answer all of these questions? Against his will, Ulysses wondered if Nadine could have been an accomplice in the latest attempt. It happened one week to the day after her departure.

Chapter
12

The old guard looked at her suspiciously as she advanced up the side stairwell. It was 10:30
P.M.,
and she knew he wondered why a young woman would choose to return to work in a small, cramped room filled with old papers and artifacts.

Nadine was asking herself the same question, although in the back of her mind she knew why. She was having problems sleeping ever since her return from Eros. Her nights had been an accumulation of snatches of sleep, mixed with strange dreams that left her uneasy. But when she tried to remember them, she could not. That was bad enough. But the thoughts of Ulysses that kept her awake for long, endless hours deep into the night were the worst.

She would find her nipples tightening, and a demanding yearning building inside her abdomen as she lay alone in her twin-size bed. The sensations were always the same, varying in intensity, as her mind replayed the last meeting she had with him. The feel of his arms about her as he pressed his body against hers. His kiss was urgent, hungry. It was as if she had been seared, branded by the passion that poured from him that night. Nadine knew she had done the right thing by not giving herself to this man who remained a puzzling stranger. She believed his ability to be cruel was just as potent as his ability to make love. Lovemaking of a kind he promised she would never receive from any other man. Just as she was accepting the pain of knowing she would never experience Ulysses' lovemaking, the guilt would set in. Guilt from wanting him. Over her body's reaction to just the thought of his touch. She would feel the weight of the years of her Pentecostal upbringing, which taught her she had no right as a single female to any of the things she was feeling or thinking. All her life she had tried so hard to be the epitome of righteousness, combating the endless rumors about her parents.

Listlessly, Nadine unlocked the office door and turned on the wall switch. She found the quiet of the musty room comforting, and its clutter reminded her of Grandma Rose.

Nadine walked over to one of several bookshelves. Many of the books were studies of ancient art, and writings compiled by various scholars over vast periods of time. She found reading the yellowing, torn pages relaxing.

During the past two weeks she routinely returned to the office during the late-night hours to read. If it wasn't for the unbendable rule, “None of the books or paperwork are to be removed under any circumstances,” she would have saved herself the trip by taking a few of them back to her room. But it really wasn't so bad. Dr. Steward had found them housing in a building a couple of blocks down from the library. Of course, for many of the locals and tourists, 10:30
P.M.
was the time to be out and about in St. Phillip, the largest parish on Barbados.

With the desk light on, Nadine settled down with a book in the secretarial chair. An open window let in a tiny breeze, but soon beads of perspiration formed on Nadine's face. She realized how warm the office had become. Nadine fumbled with the knot of the scarf she had tied around her neck after buying it earlier at a boutique at Sam Lord's Castle. Moments later the knot was undone, but the scarf had become entangled with the cliff dwellers' necklace beneath it. Nadine put the book down, and removed both the scarf and the necklace. The objects slid apart as she placed them on the desk.

The light from the desk lamp beamed on the diminutive tablets, playing up the craftsmanship of the distinctly carved figures on each stone. Nadine studied the characters, noting the repetition of some. Others were unique, and like many times before, she wondered what meaning they held.

A short gust of wind rushed through the window, causing several papers to take flight and the pages of her book to flutter in its path. Nadine held down the ones that she could as she waited for the strong breeze to subside. As she picked the papers up from the floor, Nadine noticed a thin collection of onionskin writings floating down from the highest point of the wooden shelves. She waited for it to complete its descent, fearing the pages might crumble if she attempted to grasp them too quickly. The paperwork opened like a fan as it made contact with the tiled floor, revealing the symbol of the cliff dwellers on the bottom of one of the pages.