Keturah Page 29

  Gray nodded thoughtfully, grateful for that measure of hope. “So long as we can get the cane planted and mature enough to survive storm season.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gray took a long, deep breath. How would Keturah take the news? Another month behind everyone else’s crops on-island … she had so counted on this crop. So believed it was going to be a part of her family’s rescue, provision for the future.

  And now he would have to tell her that it was at risk.

  The two were nearly back to the house when Lord Reynolds and Angus Shubert met them on the road. Their horses’ legs were caked with mud, plain testimony that the men had made it through the slide area that now cut off Tabletop from Charlestown.

  “Lord Reynolds!” Gray called, moving alongside the man’s mount and reaching over to shake his hand. “Is all well at Red Rock?” he asked, giving Shubert nothing more than a cursory nod.

  “We are well,” the older man said, but his face was as wan as his gray wig. “And you and yours? What of the Ladies Banning?”

  “Well enough,” he said. “I lost a wagon, but the women, Philip, Primus, and I all escaped with our lives.”

  “Glad I am to hear of it.” But the man remained somber. “Mr. and Mrs. Malone perished in that slide.”

  Gray’s eyebrows shot upward. The indigo planters? From the southern side? “I thought … were they not going to spend the night at Red Rock?”

  Lord Reynolds winced and shook his head. “That was their intent.” His chin dropped to his chest. “But in the haste of preparation, the servants mistakenly set their wagon in the lineup. It was holding others from moving, so Malone must have decided to try to make it home. We found the remains of their wagon this morning … and Leo’s body. But not Jane’s yet.”

  His light eyes traced Gray’s, assessing him as if he wondered how they had escaped. “We feared some of you might have died too.” He sniffed. “How delightful to find that you were spared.”

  Gray nodded, but he was confused. How delightful? Were those the best words? Poor Mr. and Mrs. Malone …

  “We saw the remains of your wagon,” Shubert said, his mount prancing beneath him. “Halfway down the hill. But when we saw your tracks, we figured you’d made it out.”

  “Yes. The slide … it very nearly overtook us. We raced for the ridge, and nearly made it, when the mudslide struck.”

  “And no one was harmed?” Reynolds asked.

  “Most of us have a fair number of bruises, I expect, this morning,” Gray allowed. “And Lady Keturah has a broken leg.”

  “How ghastly!” Lord Reynolds exclaimed. “We shall send for the doctor right away.”

  “No need. We set it last night. She’s resting now.”

  “And your fields?” Shubert pressed, letting his eyes slide to Matthew as if he already knew. Was it Gray’s imagination or did the man look as if he held back a grin? Surely he wouldn’t dare. Not right in front of Lord Reynolds.

  To his credit, Matthew didn’t look away. “The fields have some damage,” he said calmly, as if it were just another trifling issue. “We’ll be setting that to rights, beginning today.”

  Shubert let out a scoffing breath, and Lord Reynolds frowned. “You mean to say you need to plant again? Is it not too late?” he inquired of Shubert, ignoring Matt and Gray.

  “Most would say so,” Shubert answered.

  “But it is not up to most,” Gray said. “Only us. Now we must bid you good day, Lord Reynolds, Mr. Shubert. We are grateful you came to check on our welfare, but we have much to see to.”

  “Quite,” Reynolds said. “Good day.”

  As they rode away and Gray started with Matthew back toward the house, he thought again of the finery at Red Rock. The crystal. The china. The chairs. The candles. Clearly, Reynolds was a wealthy man. And few wealthy men became so without being fairly ruthless.

  While he seemed genuinely caring this morning, had he truly come to check on their welfare? Or to see if Tabletop and Teller’s Landing had suddenly become land without living owners?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Despite the fact that Keturah’s body ached from neck to ankle and her leg throbbed, she couldn’t stop smiling when Gray visited her the next morning. It was as if with the knowledge of his love, and the memory of his kiss, she felt she could conquer anything. But his dark blue eyes—almost a reflection of the late-morning sky out her window—seemed to search every inch of her face as he soberly neared her bed.

  She frowned. “That is not the face of a man who faced a terrible storm and beat it,” she said. Nor the face of a man in love …

  “No,” he agreed, sinking to one knee and taking her hand. “’Tis the face of a man who has more hard news for you.”

  Her heart stuttered, twisted, then found its pace again. “What is it, Gray? Tell me quickly. As Philip did with setting my leg to rights.”

  “There was a slide on Tabletop last night too. Your middle and lower fields are buried.”

  She blinked slowly, wondering if she’d heard him right. “B-buried?”

  “Covered. Every last seedling is gone, Ket. The fields will have to be replanted.”

  She took a deep breath and then let it out. “I see.”

  “There’s more. Last night … well, last night the Malones were behind us in their wagon. They died, Ket.”

  Salty tears sprang to her eyes. The Malones, the young couple from the southern end of the island … gone?

  “How? I thought …”

  “I did too. They decided to try to make it home. And now they never will.” He let his chin fall to his chest a moment before looking at her again. “That could have easily been us, Ket. So while this is terribly hard news for you—about your fields—remember that, will you? That we were blessed to live through last night?”

  He reached out and cradled her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into it. He was right, of course. She fought to hold on to what he’d said … but two out of three fields gone? Needing replanting? It was late, so late in the season.

  “It will be all right,” Gray said, letting his thumb slide across her cheekbone as she looked to him again. “Somehow. We’ll find a way. Your sisters, you, me. We’ll find a way together.”

  She nodded slowly, not believing him but finding no more strength to discuss it further. If they lost this next crop, if it was torn out come storm season, if they harvested too late to make the last ships …

  “Today, Keturah. Think about what you must today,” he said gently. “Not beyond it. You are not alone. You have me,” he said, bringing her hand to his chest. “You have your sisters, Matthew and Mitilda, and many more.”

  She nodded again, although she still felt the weight of the burden squarely on her own shoulders. But he was right. She must remain focused on what was good, what was true, not the fears that threatened to overtake her. “Gray, thank you. For finding me last night. For …” The intimacy of the moment struck her, and she began to blush, glancing to the window a moment. “For saving all of us. If you had not been with us … if you had not driven so hard for the ridge …”

  She tried to pull her hand away but he gently held on, waiting for her to look him in the eye. “We have much to be thankful for,” he said solemnly. “Perhaps most of all, our new understanding.”

  Ket smiled, forcing herself not to look away. She knew she was blushing furiously now. But the way Gray looked upon her made her feel … enticing, rather than an invalid in bed.

  “I do love you, Keturah Banning Tomlinson. I want you to hear that from me now, in the light of day. Last night …” It was his turn to look away to the window and rub the back of his neck before turning back to her. “Well, I wondered if in the moment, and being in the throes of so much pain … might it have left you rather overwrought? Predisposed to say things you regret today?”

  Ket’s smile grew. Here was this man, her beautiful, wonderful friend, fretting that she was having second thoughts today? His doubt, his fear, his clear
need of reassurance moved her. “No, Gray. Morning light has not changed my mind … nor my heart. I love you too.”

  His brows lifted at the center, naked hope and joy mingling in his blue eyes. “Truly?” he breathed.

  “Truly,” she said.

  He looked as if he might burst, and then he became very intent. “Do you know how much I wish you were well? So that I could kiss you again? Not that it kept me from doing so last night.”

  Now she knew that her blush had overtaken her. “Gray …” she said with a nervous look toward the door. But his intensity made her realize he meant every word, and it set her skin to tingling.

  “We have much to discuss,” he said, sobering. “Clearly, I am not in a position to offer for your hand. But, Keturah, know that everything I do on Teller’s Landing—everything I have done and will do—is to pursue my heart’s desire. And what began as a desire to prove myself, to emerge from my brother’s shadow, has now solely become a desire to provide for a wife. You, Keturah. You.”

  She pulled her hand from his at last. His … wife?

  Hearing the word on his lips, faced with it now … set her heart to pounding. And not for good reasons.

  “Can we not … can we not simply enjoy this? A time of courtship without discussing that?” she asked, even as her own vows came back to her. I shall never marry again. No man shall ever lord over me.

  Gray’s brows knitted, and he lifted his chin and stared down his nose at her. “I know you fear it. Marriage. Your first was—”

  “Was something I do not wish to ponder.”

  He paused. “Right. But,” he said slowly, carefully, “our marriage would be something altogether different, Ket.”

  “Would it?” she asked tightly. Deep down, she knew she was being rash, unfair. “Let us not discuss it further now.”

  “As you say,” he said in reluctant agreement.

  “Tell me. Was there damage at Teller’s Landing?”

  “I know not. I assume Philip is there now. I must go to them as well.” He looked to the window again. “I wonder if all plantations suffered so? And how often it happens.”

  Ket shook her head, relieved to be back to a conversation that both could agree upon. “I’ve read through all of Father’s journals. He mentioned mudslides only once or twice.”

  “’Tis not surprising, really,” Gray said. “The planters have unearthed every bit of jungle they could to plant in cane. And sugarcane does not delve nearly as deep as the trees and brush the Almighty set here upon Nevis.”

  “Can you imagine it, Gray?” she mused. “As it once was? Beset with nothing but palm and banyan and coco plum, from beach to peak?”

  “It must have been a sight.” He placed his tricorn atop his head. “It still is.” Then he bent to kiss her hand and stood. “I’ve always heard that being a planter requires one to learn to make coconut pudding out of cracked coconuts. What do you say, Lady Partner? Shall we begin to replant your fields on the morrow?”

  She smiled. “What of today?”

  “Today, Matthew and I must get to Charlestown. Some of the slaves have come down with fever. And with this new, pressing need in your fields, we have no choice but to purchase more hands.”

  “Fever? Who?”

  “I know not. But I saw your sisters carrying baskets of food to the cabins. I am certain they will return to you with news of who it is. While they will likely make a recovery, time is of the essence—we must see to your fields.”

  “Oh dear. Might you locate a doctor in town while you’re there to see to them?”

  “We’ll do our best.” He turned to go but then paused, gesturing back toward her. “We shall table our conversation of marriage for a time, Keturah Banning,” he pledged solemnly.

  “Keturah Banning?” she asked. “Not Lady Tomlinson?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “I refuse to acknowledge that man’s claim on you any longer, even in uttering his name. You should never have been his, Keturah.” His jaw clenched. “Never. For it was he who set your mind against marriage, was it not?”

  “Perhaps,” she whispered back.

  A breath passed between them in the acknowledgment. An impish spark lit his blue eyes. “Then I shall endeavor to change your mind again, over time. Fair warning,” he said, lifting a finger, “as we court, and you heal, and I wait for you to decide a union such as ours could be an entirely different experience from what you shared with … him, I do mean to claim more kisses.” He bent to take her hand in his again and lifted it to his lips, staring at her all the while. “Might you agree to that? Even if we are not yet betrothed?”

  She laughed under her breath and shook her head. “We shall see, Gray. We shall see.”

  But as he turned to leave, she hoped he knew that she might be readily persuaded.

  Oh, how I hope he knows.

  Keturah caught Selah’s wrist that afternoon as the girl placed a fresh pitcher of water by her bed. “Selah, what is it?” When her sister turned back to her, her suspicions were confirmed. She’d been weeping. “Selah …”

  The girl sank to the edge of the bed beside her, new tears sliding down her face as she stared at the wall. “It is all … so much, Ket. Nearly losing you. Having to plant again. Seeing new slaves arrive—so frightened, so malnourished. And the sick slaves … Oh, Ket, what if one of them dies?”

  Keturah should have expected this. Selah had taken to watching over the slaves of Tabletop, intent on making their lives as comfortable as possible. She and Primus were the ones who told Ket what must be done to fix their cottages or what they needed to buy in clothing, bedding, and the like. She was the one who worked to teach the new ones English. And likely the one who had taken lead in tending the sick today.

  “Who is sick, Selah?”

  “Grace and Gideon are among them. And Bennabe and …” She dissolved into tears.

  Grace. That was why the girl wasn’t about. It had been her sisters who had taken care of her all day, and she’d only assumed they had sent the maid to do something else. And Gideon, usually so strong. She had heard that newcomers to the island were most susceptible to the fevers. She’d taken to thanking God over these last weeks when she heard of plantations battling a fever while Tabletop remained blessedly free of it. And Bennabe, the earnest one-armed slave, had he not enough to deal with without this too?

  “Gray promised to seek out a doctor,” Ket said.

  Selah nodded and wiped away her tears. “He did as he promised. The doctor should arrive tomorrow. And Gray did bring some cinchona bark to brew into a tea for those who are sick, which we pray will ease their symptoms. ’Tis so awful, Ket. They shiver so hard that their teeth chatter!”

  “You are a dear,” Ket said, stroking the girl’s back, “tending to them and me. I know Mother would be proud of you.” She sighed. “Today is a hard day. But we are alive, Selah. We will make it through, and tomorrow will be better.”

  Unless the slaves begin to die, she thought with a shiver of fear. But she kept the thought to herself.

  Selah nodded, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and noisily blew her nose. “I’ll go and find something for us to eat for supper.”

  “Thank you, dearest.” Ket turned, wincing at the movement, feeling both exhausted from the constant pain and agitated after an entire day abed. She fretted over every one of her slaves, even if she didn’t spend the time with them that Selah did. The cost of replacing any of them—emotionally and financially—made her fret more. Every time new slaves came to Tabletop or Teller’s Landing, it was like a physical blow. The infernal practice tore at her. Wearied her. Angered and frustrated her. Yet time and again, she and Gray could come up with no other solution. Few indentured servants voyaged to the Indies, not over the last hundred years anyway. Rumors of the death rates on-island had made the practice unfavorable in Europe. Africans, by comparison, were more resistant to the tropical diseases.

  Resistant … enough? And Gideon, Grace … why, they were
as British as she.

  One limb at a time, she told herself. She would not grieve potential losses of the morrow. Not when she had enough to cope with in facing the realized losses of today. And when it became too much, when tears threatened her own eyes, she returned to praising God for all that was well.

  That not all of the slaves were sick.

  That they all had been spared from the mudslide last night.

  And that she was not alone. She had Selah. And Verity. And Gray …

  Was it really true? Was Gray … hers?

  She thought back to his declaration at her bedside, in her doorway. Of love. Of anger toward Edward. Of hope for a future … of marriage. Could he truly make her believe in marriage again? Want it? Would she really be able to utter vows ever again?

  Do not worry over the morrow, Ket, she reminded herself. Only revel in the good you can find in today.

  And then she smiled. Because her first thought was of Gray again.

  She sank back against her pillow and stared at the empty doorway, remembering his smile and his pledge to claim more kisses. And that pledge, she decided, might keep her smiling, even through her dreams.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Over the next few days, Gray watched as more of Keturah’s thirty slaves took to their beds. The fever, nausea, and dizziness were the same as malaria. But people complained of severe headaches, and the sun itself seemed to bring them pain.

  In groups they succumbed to what Dr. McMillian—who had finally arrived—described as the “acute” phase of yellow fever until now eighteen were abed.

  “Bloodletting is a must,” Dr. McMillian slurred, and Gray wondered how he had ever made it between the tavern and Tabletop. Clearly, the short, gray-haired, red-faced man with ample jowls had had his share of rum. Or did he have a flask in his bag? “Best to do them all this evening,” he said, abstractly waving over the group of cabins before them as they conferred.

  “Even those who are in good health?” Selah cried, wringing her hands.