The Fancy

The Fancy

Written by Mercedes Keyes

Proofed & Edited by Lawrence James

© Copyright 2010 Mercedes Keyes. All Rights Reserved

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® All Rights Reserved

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Published by Amber Swann Publishing Inc.

Country of origin, England – United Kingdom.

Amber Swann Publishing Inc.

Email: [email protected]

http://amberswann.com

Dedicated to…

Toni Harper-Dunlap

There are some people that you cross paths with in your life

at just the right moment in time. That moment and time happened

for me at Renderosity encountering one of the greatest ladies I’ll

ever meet. She has become my closest friend, sister and at times,

yes – even my mother – and those times she was right on target!

LOL – I dedicate the Fancy to her, because like this story, she

conjures up all the things that makes me smile. There are times

when I don’t think I could have gotten through 2009 & 2010 without

her. This one is for you babe! After it’s all done, I’m going to put on

some of your records, and read the Fancy to your legendary voice!

We love you…

James & Keyes

Author’s Note…

Okay readers – this note will be short and sweet – I give

you, my version of a period, historical romance, light, sweet and

lovely – I hope you agree.

Genre:
Historical romance

Rated:
R

Category:
Fiction historical y based

Classification:
Interracial - BW/WM

The Fancy,
is an original story written by

Mercedes Keyes - exclusive to Amber Swann

Publishing Inc. Any names, story situations, content

therein if similar to any other is purely coincidental.

Weaver Port, Connecticut, 1830

For once, he was glad that he'd chosen to walk

to those needing his care instead of taking his

carriage; that day, he needed to breathe, reminding

himself why he'd chosen his direction in life, the strol

was to help clear his head, and now concluding his

day, the much sought after surgeon, Doctor Quinton

Thaddeus Caine, took a deep breath to steel

himself; reaching up, he firmly applied the door

knocker, giving it three precise raps against the

weather worn brass plate. The day could not end

soon enough for him; it had started out dreadful y,

where bad dreams awoke him; now, coming to the

end of it, he wished to put it behind him; al the

negatives within him seemed to be reflected in the

weather. Grey, dreary, misty, wet and cool - in fact,

he hadn't seen the sun al week.

Shaking his head, he blew air from his nostrils

as if to clear it, there was stil the odor of unwashed

bodies, excrement and blood hanging in his sinuses

- such putrid, vile odors; the stench from il nesses

was bad enough
but, was it compounded by those

who seemed to have an aversion to soap and water.

For such a strong portion of his young life, his

dream had been to make a difference in the physical

wel being of his fel ow man.

Having endured the death of his younger sister

as she wasted away to nothing, the life ebbing from

her - he'd prayed long into the night that God would

send an angel to save her. Standing at her grave

proved his prayer unanswered; so many questions

plagued his mind, the one that lingered, why? Why

would The Creator bring forth humans to live in such

an ugly world for a relatively short time only for them

to suffer for most of it and then - die? Why bring them

forth to be adored by family, admired by

acquaintances - only to have their bodies invaded by

mysterious plagues that sometimes took them

quickly or caused them to suffer day and night until

final y, the grim reaper snatched them away?

So much life, equal y matched, by so much

death.

Why?

The door opened.

He sighed, concluding his thoughts.

"Come in sir, al have been awaiting you."

Quinton nodded with a wan smile, he had a

mere few seconds to change his mood into that of

someone looking forward to the dinner party given in

his honor.

"Your cloak, sir, your hat."

He fol owed protocol handing his garments

over, "Dreary day sir, the Lord, is showing his

gloom."

"Em, so it appears." Quinton responded in his

proper English accent. He noted the servant was

wel spoken for a bondsman. Quinton wondered

what crimes he'd committed back in England to be

sent over and lowered to such a status, fil ing such a

position? He reflected on the servant’s comment,

final y answering from deeper thought, "Perhaps he

sees the things that I see; men - their activities - are

certain to bring any father gloom. Is it any wonder he

has not scrapped us al to begin anew."

"One can wonder sir..." the white, male servant

murmured, as if his words sent him into thoughts of

that possibility and then, "This way sir."

Their steps took them a short way into the

candle lit parlor where voices of men conversed

about the laws that froze and took over those of the

Cherokee nation, gleeful y discussing how it wouldn't

be long before they were removed from Georgia –

freeing the land for more “civilized settlers.”

His welcomed presence interrupted their topic,

for which he was glad, with the host relieved that he'd

final y arrived.

Smiling enthusiastical y the slave trader and

auctioneer, Henry J. Bancmen greeted him, "Ahhh,

he's here, the good Dr. Quinton Caine, come in,

come in." - Shaking Quinton's hand and patting him

on the back, he turned him towards his guests, "I'm

sure you've met most here."

"Yes, I have," Quinton nodded, shaking one

man's hand and moving on to another; the banker,

Lawrence Carter, whose wife Janet sat in the corner

sipping tea with the other wives - a couple of

daughters were present as wel , smiling at him

coquettishly, one or two hoping to gain his attention,

perhaps, his admiration. There was also the town

merchant, James Armfield and his wife Paulette, and

last the livery owner, Richard McKinney and his wife,

Grace with their daughter. Quinton was the youngest

of al the men present, in his early thirties - the

perfect age for a man to marry - the others were in

their forties to sixties. Coming from a prestigious

family back in England, he'd deserted al that that

represented to travel and increase his means of

healing, moving extensively from one continent to

another, Africa, the Orients, the jungles of Southern

continents - learning much as a physician until he

settled on the new lands of America. Having arrived

on the shores of the South, Quinton had been

immediately put off the idea of settling in such a

barbaric place - where men of his ilk wal owed in the

sinful pleasures of peddling human flesh, giving way

to their heinous perversions, forcing upon

fel ow

humans their twisted fetishes - simply

because there were no laws established to say, that,

they could not.

Thus, as if there was no God they must answer

to, they purged themselves upon those with extra

pigmentation and coarse hair - declaring them less

than human and therefore exploitable as they saw fit.

Not long after witnessing a slave auction, where the

men as wel the women were stripped bare for al to

gawk at and to be bid upon - did he conclude such a

place was not for him. In the end, he’d settled in

much further North, a place cal ed, Connecticut. The

deciding factor to settle there happened just as

quickly as the decision not to settle in the South.

He’d visited the local universities and to his

pleasure, saw two Negro men walking along freely,

smartly dressed. Later he discovered that they were

attending the universities among other Negroes and

Indians from various tribes. He then knew, he was

where he hoped to remain. Moving further into

Connecticut, he’d accepted a place among the

people in a smal town cal ed Weaver Port which had

no physician so the town’s folk were overjoyed to

receive him.

Quinton had barely settled into the townhouse

provided for him before his skil was urgently cal ed

upon. One sort of plague after another, some simple,

some not so simple and already, three had died

before he could attempt to save them, one, a smal

child. That al happened within the first week of his

arrival, he realized that his choice of residence

would command a great deal of his time. A month in,

he found himself in attendance to the mother of

Henry J. Bancmen - who at the time, had been in the

South, bartering, trading, auctioning slaves. While

Quinton ful y disapproved, he was not God, nor

Christ, and for that matter, neither the law nor a

judge, his services were to aid in the healing of the

flesh
, not the morality nor the spirit.

Amidst the need to attend others, he was

summoned urgently by Francis Bancmen, he was

needed for her mother-in-law; and remained by the

side of Beatrice Bancmen which had been crucial to

her survival.

Thus... the dinner party.

Quinton was tired, what he most wanted was

time alone to rest. Yet, he smiled, answered

questions asked of him, such as the one asked by

Clarice, the daughter of Richard McKinney, “So, if I

may ask, from which hamlet of England have you

travel ed?” He smiled, politely, trying to enjoy his

meal, “My family owns coal mines and ironworks

there, and they have holdings bordering those of Sir

Fitzal an not far from the area of Riverham, in the

vil age – Stowles.” He informed her with a nod and

smile, however, he turned his attention away from

her immediately after answering, wishing to give no

hope of anything more. He also avoided getting in

too deeply with political topics that might bring about

hostilities, after al - he was new to the town. He

could already see who ran things, his host; he

supposed it was a good thing that he'd saved

Bancmen’s mother's life; his success put him in an

honorable state before Henry Bancmen. Quinton

considered that he could almost like the man,

almost, that is, if it weren't for his ideas and feelings