Day Dreamer (19 page)

Foster shifted behind him, pressing closer, eager for a look. The floorboards beneath their feet creaked in protest. Both men froze and held their breath. There was still no sound from within.

Edward gave the door a gentle push and opened it a crack.

“I can’t see anything.” Frustrated, Foster shifted so that he could see over Edward’s shoulder. “Oh, my.”

“What? Tell me.” Edward was shaking with anticipation.

“There, on the floor—”

“I see ’em. Cordero’s pants …”

“And a nightgown.”

Foster whipped the door closed, at the last moment, remembering to shut it without a sound. He hurried to the middle of the master suite, glanced back once at Celine’s door and tried to contain his joy.

“They did it, Eddie! They did it. There’s ’ope now, real ’ope that this marriage will take.”

Edward shook his head. “I was about to give up ’oping. It’s been weeks now and they ain’t so much as kissed, as far as I know. Oh, Fos, this is the best thing our Cordero ever done, ain’t it? Maybe things’ll be different for ’im now.”

“We can only ’ope, but the moat ’as been crossed an’ the fortress taken, so to speak.”

Edward patted Foster on the arm. “You’ve a real way with words, Fos. Sheer poetry.”

Celine had not expected to find Cord in bed with her when she awoke the next morning, but neither had she expected the sinking disappointment she experienced when she realized he was indeed already up and gone. She brushed aside the mosquito net and felt herself blush when she found her nightgown draped over a nearby chair. She picked it up and carried it over to the tall armoire in the far corner of the room.

All of the gowns that had belonged to Jemma were hanging there alongside two or three that had been Cordero’s mother’s. After choosing one of the old gowns and brushing her hair, Celine left the room, tempted by the delicious aroma of breakfast. Ill at ease with the thought of seeing Cord again, not knowing how to act after their intimate exchange, she decided to take her cue from him—if he was not already about his business.

She found him at the dining table, lounging with one arm draped over the back of the chair, staring into space. Ada was in the middle of what sounded like a recipe recitation.

“And then I take a little piece of toast—generally it’s good to use toast points, but not entirely necessary—and I evenly spread the glazed—” Catching sight of Celine in the doorway, Ada looked up, blinked and smiled. “Why, good morning, my dear. We were hoping you’d be down before Cordero has to be on his way. It’s such a thrill to have him take over for me. I don’t know what I would have done if I had to see to all of this much longer. Why, I recall one year, just after the hurricane … When was the hurricane, Gunnie?”

“Eight, mebbe nine year ago now,” Gunnie said without breaking stride as she brought out a plate for Celine. It was mounded high with enough food for three. The servant set the dish down at a place setting at the table and left the room.

When Ada paused to catch her breath, Cord stood up and held Celine’s chair while she gathered her skirt and sat down. She could not stop the rush of heat that scalded her cheeks.

She dared to glance up at him over her shoulder, and found him frowning down at her.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Is that my mother’s dress?”

Celine nodded. “Foster and Edward thought that some of your mother’s things would be cooler than the ones that I have.” She started to rise again. “If you don’t want me to wear them—”

He waved her back down. “Not at all. It’s just that I thought I had seen it before. It’s out of date,” he added.

“I don’t care about that. It’s a lovely gown.”

“Speaking of Alyce,” Ada interjected, “she said she is so very happy both of you are here. She’s glad I won’t have to be so lonely anymore.”

“Is this a jest, Aunt Ada?” Cord’s tone was forbidding.

“Why no, dear, it’s no jest. I thought you and Celine might have discussed this already.”

It was Celine’s turn to be the recipient of Cord’s demanding stare. She tried to smile.

“Discussed what?” He stood tensed, his hands fisted at his sides, his forehead creased with a frown.

“Your aunt believes she is in communication with your mother’s spirit,” Celine said softly.

“I don’t merely
believe
it,” Ada clarified. “I
do
hear her.”

Celine said gently, “I’m sure that you do, Aunt Ada.”

“I’m sure that you don’t.” Cord was scowling so fiercely at his aunt that Celine reached out and took his hand.

Whatever anger was brewing in him passed like a summer squall at her touch. When he glanced down at Celine again he concentrated on her beautiful face.

“She thinks she talks to my mother and you believe her?”

“Who’s to say it’s not true?” Celine countered.

Cord looked at the two women and then threw his hands in the air. “I’ve not been around women for extended periods. I’m beginning to believe you are all addlepated.” He walked back to his place at the head of the table.

“I don’t want to discuss this again, Aunt, if you don’t mind,” he said once he was again seated.

“Tell us about what you learned yesterday,” Celine encouraged him, as much to change the subject as to gratify her curiosity about the workings of the plantation.

As Celine ate, she listened to Cord give a detailed, businesslike account of all that he had seen and heard yesterday. He praised his aunt for her smooth management and gave equal credit to a slave named Bobo.

Celine watched him talk, intent upon the way his hands moved, the nonchalant way he shifted comfortably in his chair. She was reminded of the way his body had moved over and inside her last night. She could not help but recall everything he had done and made her feel. She felt her color slowly rise again when she recalled crying out in wild abandon as he’d brought her to a climax. She could almost hear the way his voice had sounded when he’d reached his own release.

How could he seem so unaffected now? He gave no sign whatsoever that he’d been touched by what had passed between them.

“Are you all right, Celine?”

Cord was leaning toward her, watching her closely. She couldn’t look away from the depths of his dark eyes. Nor could she find many words.

“I … why, I …”

“You’re red as fire.”

“I’m fine. Really.” She looked down at her plate and began to mobilize a pile of peppers into a straight line.

“Did you get any sleep, dear?” Ada leaned forward, her hands resting on the edge of the table.

Celine felt herself grow even hotter. “Yes, certainly.”

Cord, thankfully, did not comment, but when Celine glanced over at him, she saw a hint of a smile tickling his lips.

“What did you say you were going to do?” Celine asked, swiftly moving the topic away from herself.

Cord sobered. “I’m going to see how much more labor we’ll need in order to maintain the house as well as the crops. Perhaps you can oversee the garden and housework gangs for me?”

Celine nodded, thrilled she’d have a part in bringing the house to life again. “Do you want it exactly the way it was?”

“We have no plans to go by.”

It was more than apparent that he did care, but did not want to make it seem so. Celine was thankful she had the images from his memories to guide her.

“I can ask Alyce what the place looked like,” Ada volunteered.

Cord massaged a point above the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“I’m going down to the mill,” he told them. “I can’t waste any more time talking about consulting ghosts.” He pushed back his chair and stood up.

“Have I upset you, Cordero dear?” Ada was wringing her plump hands. There was a shimmer of tears in her eyes.

Cord had noticed, too, and rounded the corner of the table to hunker down beside his aunt’s chair. He reached out and covered both her hands with one of his. As he smiled up at Ada, Celine made a significant discovery: This man who tried so hard not to show his vulnerability to anyone had a smile that could charm the hide off a goat.

“Aunt Ada, I’m not upset.”

“But you don’t believe me about Alyce, do you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Ada sighed. “Your mother’s disappointed to hear that,” she said.

Cord stood up and found Celine watching him closely. A knowing smile teased the corners of her mouth, the most delectable one he had ever tasted. Backlit by the windows, she sat with sunlight shimmering through her long, unbound hair. There was a smudge of jam on her lower lip and as he watched, the tip of her tongue peeked out to lick it away, removing the temptation for him to do it for her.

When she had walked into the room earlier, he’d felt himself quicken. Had it not been for his aunt’s presence and his willpower, he would have pulled her up out of her chair and carried her back upstairs for another round in bed.

Having caught his stare, Celine studiously ignored him, her cheeks aflame and her head bowed over her plate as if she were more interested in food than anything else in the world. He walked around the table and stopped beside her chair and almost reached out for her hand the way he had his aunt’s, but he stopped himself, determined to keep whatever intimacy they shared behind closed doors. It would do no good to let himself become dependent upon her nearness.

“I’m not sure when I’ll return,” he said.

She looked up, her cheeks on fire, her eyes sparkling with life and promise. Despite his resolve to see to the estate, he was ready to haul her into his arms, carry her up the stairs and lock them in a room for the rest of the day.

But before he could move, the door flew open without warning and Gunnie burst in. She started to address Ada, remembered Cord and turned to him.

“Obeah man be here. Trouble at de door.” The fright in her eyes spoke volumes.

Celine set down her fork with a clatter. Ada stood and nervously began poking her fingers into her hair, trying to arrange it. Cord let Gunnie lead the way.

They found a group of nearly thirty slaves gathered at the back door between the building that housed the kitchen and the veranda. He had met many of them just yesterday. All of them had been curious; none of them had been as hostile as they appeared now.

The men were openly scowling, the women frightened. The children were ominously quiet, some clinging to their mother’s skirts. In the center of the group stood a toothless, stooped old slave. In hands knotted with arthritis, he clutched a walking staff—a rattle ornamented with cat’s teeth and shells. A goat hide was draped over his skeletal shoulders. Bobo, who towered over the old man, stood beside him.

Celine put her arm around Ada’s waist. Cord stepped away from them and walked to the edge of the veranda. Before he could say a word, Bobo addressed him.

“Some folks went to market yestiddy. Dey hear all about a witch. Folks say she de one come here with you. She make one ship go down. Obeah man he come see.”

Cord glanced over his shoulder at Celine. She had lost all color.

“Step up here beside me, Celine.” He tried to keep his voice calm and even, tried not to frighten her any more than she already was. He wanted to be beside her if she fainted.

When she moved to the edge of the veranda, a hushed whisper rippled through the gathered slaves. Cord slipped his hand around her waist and gave her a slight, encouraging squeeze.

The obeah man took a step forward, craned his neck to look at her and held his rattle extended before him in protection.

Cord took her hand and addressed the crowd. “This is my wife. She is a good witch. A very powerful good witch.” His voice was full of authority.

Celine gasped. “What are you saying?”

“Trust me,” he whispered.

Celine stared up at him in disbelief and then looked back at the crowd. Dark eyes filled with suspicion stared back. The obeah man’s eyes were the most fathomless of all. One look told her that he possessed otherworldly power, but whether he used it for good or evil, she could not be certain. The power she saw in his eyes did not extend to his body. He was bent and twisted with age, so much so that it pained Celine to watch him move. He stepped forward, his swollen, knobby knuckles protruding as he clutched the rattle tighter and fiercely shook it at her.

“I tro grabe durtty upon you!” he shouted.

“What is he saying?” Celine gripped Cord’s hand tighter.

“ ‘I’ll throw grave dirt on you.’ It’s a curse. If the guilty come in contact with grave dirt, they weaken and die. His obeah, or magic, can kill those who believe.”

Celine stiffened. No magician was going to frighten her with false accusations.

“I suspect this is a bid to show he has more power than you,” Cord whispered.

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t want to usurp his position,” she whispered back. “Tell them I’m no witch.”

“They have already heard otherwise and will never believe me. They need to know that you’ll do them no harm, and so they have gone to him for protection. Magic fills the void in their lives. Their beliefs run very deep.”

She nodded, let go of his hand and took a step toward the edge of the veranda so that she could speak directly to the slaves.

“You have been here much longer than I. This is your home as much as mine. I swear I will not harm any of you.” She glanced up at Cord. “Neither will my husband.”

Cord was proud of her courage in a situation where most other women would have swooned. Celine stood straight and proud as the trade winds lifted the ends of her hair and fanned it around her shoulders. She tried to make eye contact with each of the slaves in the throng.

When Cord stepped up beside her and took her hand again, she felt a rush of warmth and gratitude.

“I have come home to make this place better for all,” he began. “My wife will help me. She—”

Suddenly a soul-shattering scream rent the air. A frantic woman darted through an opening in the overgrown shrubbery that surrounded the yard. Celine watched in startled fascination as the slave ran up to Bobo, clutched his hand and babbled uncontrollably between sobs.

“What’s wrong? What is it?” Celine asked, tugging on Cord’s hand.

The crowd no longer concentrated on Celine, but on the hysterically sobbing woman. All attention had been diverted from the obeah man and his challenge.