Chapter Nine

“Where are you taking me?” Destiny half-protested, as she and James crossed the rickety foot bridge strung over the Old Pond.

“Not much farther.” James pulled her along.

She glanced at the murky, dank water just inches below her feet. When she was a child, she’d been drawn, as all children were in Key West, to this wild, swampy place, this no-man’s land of tangled underbrush and calla lilies skimming slimy water. Over the years, various owners had drained most of the swamp, but there were still parts left untouched.

And when she’d wanted to explore as a child, Tilly had warned her away, filling her head with stories of man-eating alligators and mosquitos big enough to carry a child off. Being the cautious type, she’d heeded Tilly’s warning and steered clear of the Old Pond.

Now, James Whitman, of all people, was leading her into its untamed depths. She wondered what could be so wonderful, hidden in this dismal place that he wanted to show her. They crossed a long footbridge where many of the boards were missing. Several times, James had to stop and swing her in his arms, lifting her across the empty space.

She enjoyed his strong arms around her, and she admired the bunch and slide of his powerful muscles beneath his proper frock coat. After her talk with Angelina, she saw men in a different light. First Nathan and now James.

Each time he lifted her, before putting her down, he’d steal several kisses, quick, light kisses, promising, like an appetizer before dinner, a sumptuous banquet to come.

At the end of the footbridge, they entered a deep copse of native trees, a rarity on the wind-swept Key. The cedars and live oaks formed a natural room, much like a high-vaulted cathedral, the trees arching overhead and blotting out the sky. Festooned with creepers and Spanish moss, they formed a barricade, closing around her.

In the heart of the copse, they discovered a small clearing of trampled and hard-packed earth. At the far end of the clearing was a break in the trees, and like looking through a telescope, she glimpsed the sea beyond. In the clearing were several rings of stones, embedded in the earth, interspersed with other, longer stones, laid out like benches.

A great deal of trash was also scattered about; the remnants of old fires held clumps of feathers and what looked like the bones of small animals, mingled indiscriminately with brightly colored tatters of cloth and glass beads. And there was a distinct stench to the place, of death overlaid with the tangy scent of strange spices.

She wrinkled her nose. “What is this place? Is this where you wanted to bring me?”

“Isn’t it exciting, Destiny?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you find exciting about it. It looks like a garbage dump.” She sniffed.

James faced her, his eyes alight with a strange fire in their depths. “Voodoo,” he whispered. “This is where the slaves come to practice voodoo.”

“James, there aren’t any slaves, only freed Negroes.”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Semantics, my dear, semantics. Since the first slaves were brought to Key West, this has been where they practice voodoo. The freed Negroes, as you say, still come here today. I have it on good authority. I’m sure your Tilly knows about this place.”

What a ridiculous thought! Hard-working, level-headed Tilly, dancing around a fire in some kind of voodoo ritual. She shook her head and crossed her arms. “Tilly was never our slave. Gramps freed her when he bought her, when she first came to Key West. And she’s a Christian woman. She faithfully attends the Baptist Colored Church every Sunday.”

“So maybe your Tilly is an exception,” he said. “But most Negroes come here at one time or another. They may attend church by day, but at night they revert to their primitive ways.” He paused, as if he wanted her to heed his next words. “I’ve heard stories that would curl your hair. Sacrificial offerings, feverish dancing, and…” He lifted his eyebrows. “Other unspeakable acts between men and women.”

He pulled her into his arms, and his voice was thick and hoarse. “Just thinking about it fires my blood. Don’t you feel it, Destiny? The raw magnetism of the place, the dark magic it weaves? Look around you. It’s like a cathedral, but a cathedral for the worship of man’s baser instincts.”

Gazing up at James’ handsome face, she couldn’t believe what he was saying. And what was the point of bringing her here? She did feel something in this place, a strange force emanating from the silent stones. But it didn’t excite her. Instead, she experienced a weird sort of dread or fear, just being here. And if what James said was true, now she understood why Tilly had warned her away from the Old Pond.

His mouth descended and covered hers. His tongue thrust against the seam of her lips, demanding immediate entrance. His fingers roved down her throat, trailing hot paths across her sensitive skin.

She’d worn another of Angelina’s dresses, and it was cut low in the front, not as daring as the ball gown but provocative enough. Too provocative, she realized, as his fingertips skimmed the tops of her breasts, flooding her cheeks with heated embarrassment. Pressed so close to him, she could hear the wild throbbing of his heart.

He groaned low in his throat, and his hands trailed downward, cupping her breasts through the thin fabric of her gown. His mouth and tongue were insistent, too, demanding she open to him. And when she did, his tongue thrust in and out of her mouth, imitating that most intimate act between a man and a woman. He ground his hips against her, and she felt his erection through her skirts.

She was awash in sensations, some pleasurable, some keenly embarrassing. A part of her told her they must stop because he was fast losing control. But another part of her counseled surrender. After all, this was her beloved James. She’d given herself to him, many times in her dreams, though not until last night had she understood what surrender would entail.

His hands left her breasts and strayed to the back of her gown. When she realized he was fumbling with the buttons to her bodice and opening them one by one, fear and a strange loathing penetrated her bemused senses.

Reaching up, she put her hands on his chest and pushed. He didn’t yield. His mouth ground into hers with renewed ferocity, and his fingers continued their course down the back of her gown. She felt the fabric parting and the cool, evening air on her half-naked back.

She glimpsed the setting sun through the break in the trees and knew it would be night soon. They would be marooned in this swamp. The thought gave her the shivers. Renewed fear streaked through her, lending her strength.

Wrenching her mouth from his, she pushed harder at his chest, thumping on it with all her might. Frantic, her voice sounded hysterical when she demanded, “James, stop. Stop now, I say! Let go of me! Night is falling, and I won’t stay here! Do you hear me?”

Her pleas and struggles must have finally gotten through because he released her and stepped back. His breath came out in raspy pants, and his gray eyes glittered in the waning light. His features appeared contorted, harshened by lust. He looked at her, but it was as if he didn’t see her; as if he looked straight through her.

Registering his look, she shuddered again and wrapped her arms around her waist. The chilly evening breeze whispered through the trees, making them bend and groan. Shivering, she knew the back of her bodice gaped open. To preserve her modesty, she turned her back to him and reached behind herself, trying to re-fasten her bodice. But her fingers shook, and she knew she was making a mess of it.

“Here, allow me,” he offered.

Half-facing him, she stole a glance at his face. His features were smooth again. He looked like the handsome gentleman she knew and loved. But she was embarrassed and felt awkward. Tilly usually helped her dress, or of late, Angelina.

She wished she were home in her cozy and safe bedroom. She’d had enough of men and their passion for today. First Nathan and now James.

“Destiny, please, let me help you. I apologize for my…my unwanted advances…and for my unseemly behavior. It’s this place,” he rationalized, “it does things to me. Makes me forget what I’m…that you’re…” He ran his hand through his hair and repeated, “Please, forgive me. And accept my abject apologies.”

When she heard his contrite words, she was touched. She stopped trembling. “I accept your apology, James. And I do need your help.”

With only the slightest trepidation, she turned her back to him. “I’ve made a mess of the buttons. If you would straighten them out quickly, so we can start for home. It’s getting dark, and I don’t want to be stranded here. Please,” she added for good measure, softening toward him, trying to understand what had driven him to bring her in the first place.

His capable hands moved over her gown’s buttons, closing the gaping fabric. She stood perfectly still, waiting for him to finish and speak, expecting him to speak.

She couldn’t help but compare him to Nathan. Every time Nathan became passionate with her, he apologized and then offered marriage. James had already apologized; the next step would be to offer marriage. She held her breath, hoping.

But the silence widened and a dark chasm opened between them, filled with the shrill calling of nightjars and the guttural croaking of frogs. Shadows covered the trees, making their shapes appear menacing, almost threatening. She released her breath with a rush and disappointment flooded her.

When he’d finished with the task, he took her arm. “I know another way back.” He inclined his head toward the break in the trees. “We can go through there to the seashore and circle the southern end of the key on the beach. It’s longer, but we won’t have to cross the swamp.”

She nodded, grateful for his solicitude but numbed by disillusionment. He hadn’t asked her to marry him after almost ravishing her in this strange place. With Nathan, it was different. Like James, Nathan wanted her; he’d admitted his desire this afternoon. But he wanted her in the right and proper way, as his wife.

What did James want? What did he expect? Did he care for her?

She followed him blindly, her mind whirling, spinning with questions and doubts.

When they reached the beach, she breathed a sigh of relief. They were in the open again, away from the forbidding swamp and its dark secrets. Here, with the surf pounding the shore and the sun slowly sinking into the horizon, she was herself again. Unfortunately, her internal relief didn’t alleviate the difficulty of their trek.

Key West was an ancient coral reef, ringed with boulders and sharp stones. There was precious little sand on the beach, mostly bits of coral, seashells, and rough rocks. With her thin slippers, she was at a distinct disadvantage.

When she stopped for the third time to shake stones and bits of coral from her shoes, James bent down and picked her up in his arms. She protested at first but he insisted, claiming she was as light as a feather, and it was his fault for taking her to the Old Pond.

She secretly agreed and acquiesced, lacing her arms around his neck and relishing the sensation of James carrying her.

Rounding the tip of the Key, the town came into sight. “Destiny, will you see me again? I haven’t destroyed your regard for me, have I?”

“What did you have in mind, James?”

His arms tightened around her. “I have a beautiful yacht—you’ve seen it in the harbor, the Gulf Wind. I’d like to take you sailing. We could have fresh oysters and champagne. You like champagne, don’t you?”

It wasn’t the answer she’d been hoping for. She’d hoped he would ask her to the church social. All of Key West would be at the social. Why didn’t he ask her?

Because he wants to be alone with you, not in a crowd of people.

Wanting to be alone was flattering, but not what she wanted, especially after tonight. They’d been alone enough, now it was time to make their appearance together as a couple.

“What about the Methodist Church social next Sunday?” She surprised herself by asking. “Would you take me?”

His body stiffened, and she sensed his discomfort. Grunting, he lowered her to the ground. “There’s mostly sand from here to the wharf. Do you think you can walk? Will you be all right?” He took her hand.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she murmured.

But her frustration mounted with each passing moment as they ploughed through the sand. He’d ignored her request. Bitter disappointment gripped her, burning her stomach and making her eyes water. She released his hand and dashed at the unwanted moisture on her face.

She pushed on, sloughing blindly through the deep sand.

His touch on her arm stopped her. “Wait, Destiny. Don’t be angry with me. I can’t take you to the social. I’m sorry, but Father has some business for me to transact in Tampa at the end of the week. I’ll be staying over Sunday with a business associate.”

“That’s all right. I understand.”

But she didn’t understand. If he wanted to see her, he would honor her request and postpone his business. Doubts flooded her, too, doubts about his veracity and feelings for her. Was he really going out of town, or was it a convenient excuse because he didn’t want to take her to a social gathering?

So far, all he’d offered were clandestine meetings at twilight, walks, and an outing on his yacht. Was she still a social pariah in his eyes?

“I’ll be back by the first of next week,” he said. “I’d be honored if you’d join me on my yacht.”

“I don’t know, James.” She surprised herself when she put him off. “Call on me at home, and then we’ll see.”

****

Angelina sloughed through the mud, muttering curses under her breath that would have made Malvado blush. This month was the beginning of the rainy season in Key West, and each afternoon the clouds opened up, showering the Key with passing storms and making her research that much harder. She lifted her skirts and tried to step on patches of ground that weren’t sandy mush.

She’d spent the past few days going to local cigar manufacturers, trying to understand their operations. She’d been delighted to speak her native tongue, as most cigar makers were Cuban, like herself. And being Cuban men, their reactions to her had been typical, ranging from open contempt to patronizing dismissal.

But she’d learned the most important lesson. The workers you employed were your gold mine. It was their nimble and skilled fingers that did the actual work, making the cigars. She wondered that she hadn’t learned that bit of wisdom at her father’s cigar factory but realized she’d taken his workers for granted. Most of them had been with her family for generations.

In Key West, obtaining good laborers was more difficult. Cubans emigrated here, looking for freedom and a better life. And to obtain decent jobs, they were willing to exaggerate their past experience. A cigar manufacturer must be wary and screen workers.

She wasn’t worried about selecting the right blends for fillers or the best wrappers. Those were skills she’d learned at her father’s knee. But finding skilled workers in Key West would be challenging.

Observing the cigar makers, she’d come to another conclusion. Fifteen skilled workers would be perfect for a start-up operation. With the right tobacco blends and careful quality control, she and fifteen workers could be successful. Fifteen employees without a foreman would be stretching it. But it would serve two purposes. First, it would keep quality control under her direct supervision. And second, fifteen employees would produce enough cigars, without a foreman to pay, to yield a tidy profit.

If she picked the most skilled workers. That was the key.

She’d saved the Silva factory until last, as it was considered the most successful in Key West. She wanted to take her time, going over its operation, trying to divine what made the Silva factory successful.

A frisson of ice touched her spine, and she glanced over her shoulder. She strained to see who was there. Her sixth sense told her someone had been following her from the first of the week when she’d started to tour the cigar factories. But she’d yet to catch a glimpse of who was shadowing her.

There were only two rational possibilities, Cortez or Alejandro. She could understand why Cortez would follow her because he’d want to know if she was doing her research.

Alejandro following her didn’t make sense. There was no reason for him to do so, and she hadn’t seen him since the ball. But she didn’t discount the possibility, either.

Whoever it was, she didn’t like being shadowed. She’d left Cuba and abandoned her family to be a free woman, not to be watched.

She sighed and turned her attention to the task at hand. The Silva factory was situated on one of the few hillocks dotting the Key, other than the high ridge where the town was located. A mule team and wagon passed her, straining up the rutted path to the factory. She followed in the wagon’s wake, planting her inadequate slippers on the slimy ground and wishing for boots like Destiny’s grandfather wore.

“Whoa, mule. Hey, mules! Hold up, whoa! Whoa, there. Dammit, stop!”

The earth shook beneath her feet, and a terrible rumbling filled the air. She glanced up to see the heavily laden wagon rushing backward at her.

Acting instinctively, she jumped to the left side of the track. But something hit her, bouncing off her shoulder and then striking her head. Black dots swam before her eyes, and she was falling down a long, dark tunnel into oblivion.

The next thing she remembered, someone was beating on her, thumping her cheek with uncommon zeal and shouting into her ear. Angelina cringed and tried to crawl away. She wished they’d leave her alone. Her head throbbed and her cheek ached. Why couldn’t they have the decency to leave her alone with her pain?

It must be a nightmare. A nightmare from hell. And her shoulder hurt, too. She breathed deeply, gulping air. She tried to open her eyes to see what had happened, but her thoughts were slippery. The light grew bright and then dimmed again.

Then the unmistakable stench of ammonia hit the back of her throat with a rush, gagging her and clearing her mind, while bringing tears to her eyes. She flailed her arms, wanting to push the awful stuff away. Her hand hit something, and the ammonia smell receded, leaving only a lingering, astringent scent.

She recognized Alejandro’s voice when he demanded, “Angelina, open your eyes! I know you’re awake. You just knocked the smelling salts from my hand. You must be awake.” His voice lowered, taking on a pleading note, “Por favor, look at me. Speak to me. You’ve been hurt. We’ve already sent for the doctor.”

What was Alejandro doing here? He must have been the one following her!

She ignored his pleas, keeping her eyes and mouth shut. Let him worry. If her attention hadn’t been compromised, wondering who was following her, she would have been paying closer attention and gotten out of the way of the wagon. Wouldn’t she?

But Alejandro wasn’t the reason she’d been hit. It had just been one of those things—wrong place, wrong time—fate or bad luck. And since she’d come to Key West, her luck had mostly been bad. Except for meeting Destiny and gaining a rare commodity, a true and loyal friend.

She opened her eyes, and Alejandro’s face swam into view. He was crouched beside her, hovering like a mother hen. He’d removed his wide Panama hat, and his features were creased with worry. Despite her conflicted feelings, his genuine concern touched her.

Bracing herself and ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she pushed herself to a sitting position. Unfortunately, her efforts were in vain because as soon as she was halfway up, Alejandro pushed her back down again. “Don’t try to move, Angelina. Not until the doctor gets here.”

He was trying to dominate her again, and he was making her head throb more. A moment before, she’d been touched by his solicitude. Now he was irritating her.

“Don’t touch me, Alejandro,” she said, “and don’t tell me what to do.” She shook her aching head and felt immediately worse. “Why are you here? You’ve been following me for the past few days. Haven’t you?”

“What if I have,” he countered. “As the Americaños are fond of saying, ‘it’s a free country.’”

“Sí, free for you men, but not for women, especially not with you spying on me.”

The throbbing in her head receded, and her back was up now. Upbraiding him felt good; blaming him for her fears and doubts. She mentally sharpened her tongue, thinking what she might say next.

He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Angelina, could we continue this discussion at another time. There are people listening.”

She lifted herself into a sitting position again. This time he didn’t try to stop her. She glimpsed a crush of people behind him, and then the crowd appeared to dip and sway, going in and out of focus. She shook her head again, only to bite back a groan as pain lanced through her skull.

Finally, her vision cleared, and she saw the ring of concerned faces. People from the Silva factory. She recognized a tall Cuban with a carefully trimmed goatee. He must be Señor Silva, based on the description she had of him.

She’d obviously interrupted his operations and caused a scene. And she had wanted to make a good impression. She’d wanted him to explain his operation to her. It was a lot to expect from a competitor, but she doubted he’d take her seriously.

Now she’d made the wrong kind of impression, lying in the mud, waiting for the doctor. She must look a mess. But Silva did owe her, she realized. After all, it was his wagon that had hit her. Maybe she hadn’t been paying perfect attention, but he couldn’t know that. By all rights, he should be more than willing to help her. Shouldn’t he?

With that thought in mind, she lurched to her feet and bent down to dust off her skirts. But when she did, bile rose to her throat and a churning nausea gripped her stomach. The world spun on its axis. Blinding lights danced before her eyes, competing with an angry black swarm of dots.

Alejandro was beside her. He put his arm around her waist and supported her. She tried to push him away. She didn’t want him holding her. His mere touch, despite slipping in and out of consciousness, gave her the shivers, raising gooseflesh on her arms.

Her head cleared for a moment and the black swarming dots diminished. Her head was still light and foggy. She held tightly to Alejandro’s comforting arm. What was the use of fighting her attraction? She needed him. She was hurt, and a strong shoulder to lean on was distinctly preferable to wallowing in the mud or being left to the charity of strangers.

She turned her face into his chest, and his arms enfolded her, comforting and lending her strength. Pressed against him, she heard the steady beat of his heart and smelled his familiar scent. He smelled like home, like the safety and security she’d once known and forsaken in this strange land.