Chapter Two
Month after dreary month passed with Sirena doing no more than making a daily pilgrimage to the burial site. Afterward she would sit in the garden until the rains came, then return to the house and apathetically work on embroidery. She grew thin and gaunt, the hollows in her cheeks more pronounced with each passing day. The once vibrant green eyes were now as dull and lifeless as her spirit.
Nearly five months had passed since Regan had left, and Frau Holtz was observing Sirena from the doorway. She would never forget that morning when Captain Dykstra had brought Sirena home from the wharf. Regan was gone. Over and over Sirena whispered the words, tears glittering in her eyes.
Regan’s leaving alone had taken the life from the Mevrouw. By nightfall Sirena had been put to bed with a raging fever, and it had been several weeks before she regained even a semblance of her former strength. The absence of those she cared for most was almost more than she could bear. Sirena had never again spoken of joining Regan. It was almost as though he, too, were dead and buried. Every so often Frau Holtz would encourage Sirena to talk about him, hoping that in doing so Sirena would be persuaded to leave Java and follow her husband. Always she would receive the same response.
“If Regan had loved me, he would have waited for me. It’s obvious he wanted no part of me. He knew I didn’t want to leave Mikel and he was counting on it to keep me here. No, I won’t chase him. I want nothing to do with a man who doesn’t want me.”
From her position near the door, Frau Holtz noticed a figure on horseback approaching the long drive leading to the house. She squinted into the bright sunlight and realized it was Peter Dykstra.
Wiping her hands on her apron, the housekeeper hurried out to meet him. It would be good for Sirena to have company.
“The Mevrouw is in the garden, Captain Dykstra. Come, I’ll take you to her. She will be happy to see you. Visitors don’t come very often.”
Captain Dykstra drew his breath in sharply at the appearance Sirena made. What in the name of God has happened to her? Alarmed because of the news he brought, he debated a second and then sat down beside her.
“Peter, how nice to see you,” she said, her voice a thin wail. He looked at her dull expression and flinched. Yet he knew he must tell her why he had made the call.
“How have you been, Peter? You look well.”
“Sirena, I’ve come to tell you something. I have some disturbing news.” She appeared so ill—no, that wasn’t it exactly; she appeared tired, exhausted, as though life had become too much for her.
Sirena tilted her head out of the sun’s direct glare. “Yes, Peter, I’m listening. Is something amiss at the office?”
“No, the Company is still doing well. I have information concerning the Spanish Lady, Regan’s ship.” Sirena waited patiently for him to continue. Her face was unreadable.
“The reports I received were ... incomplete, to say the least. What I’m trying to say, Sirena, is that the Lady was sunk off the coast of Spain. No one is certain if the hands were captured by a marauding ship or lost at sea. There was a violent storm and that’s all I know. I myself just arrived back from ports near Cathay and the Far East. One of the men returned to port only this noon hour and gave me the message. I’m sorry, Sirena. If there’s anything I can do, feel free to ask.”
Peter Dykstra’s brow was beaded with perspiration. It was unbelievable, she registered no emotion at all. He glanced at Frau Holtz and then back at Sirena.
“You must feel terrible about this, Peter. I know Regan was your friend.” She reached out and patted his hand in consolation. Her touch was ice cold, sending chills racing up his spine.
“Certainly I feel terrible, Sirena, but I must say you’re taking it rather well. He was my friend, but he was your husband!”
“You have just learned that Regan is lost to you today. He’s been lost to me for months. Ever since he sailed away from Java, leaving me behind. My grief is an old one, yours is fresh. Forgive me if I didn’t react the way you anticipated, Peter. But I can’t. I feel as though I died a year ago and no one has had the decency to bury me. Thank you for coming here to tell me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to be alone.”
Dykstra rose from the bench. She was right. Her sorrow was an old one. She was dead inside. He heard it in her voice and saw it in her eyes. Regan may be dead but he hadn’t left behind a widow. His wife was dead long before he was. He placed a tender hand on Sirena’s shoulder. “Remember, if there’s anything I can do—” He realized she wasn’t listening.
Frau Holtz watched Captain Dykstra as he rode toward the road leading back to Batavia. She stood closer to Sirena. The elderly woman was also puzzled by the Mevrouw’s lack of emotion.
Suddenly Sirena laughed. “It’s a trick! Can’t you see through it? This is Regan’s way of getting me to come to Spain. He must need my signature on some documents or something of the sort. He has no interest in me, only in my money. I never thought he would do anything so drastic! Imagine. Regan, one of the best seamen in the feet, allowing his ship to be sunk. Never. The Spanish Lady could ride out any storm no matter how violent.”
“Mevrouw, I know Captain Dykstra told you on the day Regan left that the ship was not fit to sail. And I, myself, heard them arguing two days before the Mynheer left. Captain Dykstra was telling the Mynheer that the six months that he had been filling himself with rum the vessel was unattended. Captain Dykstra warned the Mynheer and told him to have the Lady seen to. There was no time to do it; the Mynheer left before he could—”
“Poor Frau Holtz. I should have realized how Peter’s news would upset you. You’ve taken care of Regan since he was a small boy and you love him like your own.” Tenderly, she took the housekeeper into her arms and comforted her while the old woman shed tears for Regan.
Something crept into Sirena’s heart. “Frau Holtz, do you really think that something has happened to Regan?”
“I only tell you what I heard with my own ears. I woud not lie to you,” the old woman sobbed. “I raised that man from the time he was a boy. He would never trick you into believing he was dead. For what reason? For your name on a slip of paper? No, he would find his way around that. And it is not to pull you away from Java. If he wanted a woman, there is always someone beautiful ready to fall into his bed. No, Mevrouw, you may be his wife, but I know the Mynheer. Something terrible has happened. I can sense it!”
Sirena comforted the other woman and felt a sinking sensation in her own heart. Perhaps Frau Holtz was right. But then that would mean that Regan was dead! No, she couldn’t believe that. She would never believe that. Not Regan!
A week passed and then two without Sirena going to the small grave. From her position on the balcony, she watched the jungle creep closer to the shallow mound. At the end of the third week, the vines had already trailed over the little marker, and she was aware that within the next few days there would be no sign that a much-loved little body rested beneath the lush foliage.
Dry-eyed, she called for Frau Holtz and pointed to where Mikel rested. “It’s gone. I can leave now. I’m going to take the Rana and set out for Spain. Do you want to remain here or will you come with me?”
“Ja,” Frau Holtz said sternly, “I’ve been packed since the day Captain Dykstra came here. Your trunks are mostly ready also. Jacobus and your crew have already taken the ship out of dry dock and she is well stocked with provisions and ready to sail. We only wait for you.”
Sirena swallowed hard and looked at the housekeeper. “I still say it’s a trick! Yet my heart tells me otherwise. Dismiss the servants and give them ample wages. Close the house and we’ll leave.”
“Ja,” Frau Holtz said happily. “Ja. If anyone can discover what has become of the Mynheer, it is you, Mevrouw.”
“Ja,” Sirena teased, “it is me.”
The Rana’s crew greeted Sirena joyously, their faces filled with delight. It was old Jacobus who bowed low with a grand flourish and then impulsively gathered her close and swept her across the polished deck. Sirena giggled for the first time in months, her eyes sparkling. “Take me to my homeland, Jacobus. Take me to Spain.”
“Aye, Capitana, your homeland it will be. But it will be you who takes us there. There’s not one among us fit to captain this ship. If the boy Caleb were here, it would be a different matter. Have you heard any more news of the captain?”
“Why are we standing here?” Frau Holtz demanded. “The longer we stand here mooning around the less time we’ll have to search for the Mynheer.”
“This is my first mate,” Sirena said to the grinning seamen. “You heard the lady, hoist the anchor and raise the sail. Jacobus, take the wheel, and I’ll relieve you shortly.”
“Aye, Capitana,” Jacobus answered, using the name her crew had given her when they had ridden the seas on their vengeful mission to locate and destroy the man known as “the Hook.” He had been directly responsible for the death of Sirena’s sister, Isabella, and their search for him had led them through an adventure it would fill a book to tell. She had been Sirena Córdez then. Proud and beautiful, as she still was. She had been humiliated and badly used by a band of ruthless pirates. When she and the young boy, Caleb, plotted their escape, they had taken command of an elusive vessel and she had earned for herself the name “Sea Siren,” in her thirst for revenge.
It was to Regan van der Rhys that her sister Isabella had been betrothed. Sirena had taken her dead sister’s place and married the impassioned, sun-gilded master of the Dutch East Indies whose lusty tastes were stifled by his marriage to the seemingly demure Sirena. The Sea Siren and Regan clashed on land as man and wife and on the seas as enemies, before finding that they loved and desired each other more than either had ever thought possible.
Jacobus smiled. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to sail the seas with her again and discover what new exploits the future held.
Frau Holtz bustled around the cabin, unpacking the trunks and tidying, muttering something about sloppy seamen and the mildew that was fast taking hold between the floor planks.
Sirena chuckled as she tied her blouse in a knot beneath her full breasts. “I’ll leave you to your housekeeping duties and take the wheel from Jacobus.”
On deck, the wheel in her grip, Sirena felt as though she had taken a grip on life. She was at peace. A feeling which had eluded her for too many months. A feeling she relished and accepted.
Lashing rain beat against the tall, narrow windows of the expansive, gray stone building across the canal from The Hague. For once Caleb van der Rhys took no notice of the harsh weather which cursed Holland. Usually, his mood would blacken with the low, scudding clouds and his thoughts would invariably return to the sun-filled days of the East Indies. He detested this country, the school he attended, and the boredom of his existence. The regimentation of his days was a far cry from the excitement and danger he had experienced at sea when he served as cabin boy to Sirena van der Rhys, his stepmother. In those days she had been known as the Sea Siren and he had fought beside her as she wreaked her revenge on those who had made her life a living hell. He had been a badly misused cabin boy, indentured from ship to ship, when she had found him and had made him her friend.
Because of Sirena he had been reunited with his father, who had thought him dead for many years. Regan was everything a young man could hope for in a father and Sirena, who had met her lusty match in Regan and married him, was more than a young man could wish for in a stepmother.
Caleb stood before the tall looking glass, smoothed his dark hair and straightened his silky, white cravat. He nervously brushed minuscule specks of dust from the sleeve of his jacket and stood on one foot, rubbing the toe of a polished boot against the back of his other leg. Satisfied that the tips of his boots were dazzling and his cravat was properly tied, he brought himself to full height and purposely restrained himself from running headlong down the corridors to the austere front parlor to greet Regan.
Caleb had been wrestling with Latin when the dormitory messenger had interrupted his studies and relayed the information that Mynheer van der Rhys was awaiting him downstairs. In the midst of his excitement, Caleb held a single wish in his heart; that Regan had come to take him out of school and return with him to Java. Mingled with that hope was the certainty that Regan would view him as a full-grown man and accept him as such. Caleb glanced once again in the mirror and straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. There was no denying that he was no longer the boy Regan had left behind in Holland. Caleb’s features had matured. The soft, boyish roundness had disappeared from his jaw and he had been shaving regularly for more than six months now. His coat fit snugly around his broad shoulders and emphasized his muscular build. In a few months he would be eighteen, surely old enough to make his own way in the world and take his place as a man among men.
He bounded down the steps three at a time and only had a second to tighten his lips over an ebullient whoop of joy.
Caleb walked into the sparsely furnished parlor where visitors were admitted. His dark eyes lighted at the sight of his father, then immediately darkened to a scowl. “Sirena isn’t with you?” he asked accusingly.
“No,” Regan answered, his voice little more than a deep growl. “I told you in my letter not to expect her. Why do you torture yourself with the thought that she would come here? Look at you!” Regan said jovially, trying to distract Caleb from his thoughts, “I left a boy and now I return to find a man!”
Caleb stood next to his father at eye level, a replica of his father except for his dark hair. “I’m pleased you accept me as a man. Then you understand my feelings and have come to take me out of school.”
“No, Caleb, that is not my intention,” Regan answered with a deep sigh. Why did everything have to come to an opposition of wills? Caleb might be his own son, yet he was more like Sirena than Regan cared to admit. At times it seemed to him that Caleb had never had another mother; that Tita, the Javanese princess who had birthed the boy, had never existed. It was Sirena who had formed the boy’s spirit. And like Sirena, Caleb spoke his mind and was willing to fight to win his objective.
“Father, I gave you my word I would stay until the end of the term, but when it is over, I’m leaving. I’m through with this dark land that is Holland. Nor will I stay with you in Spain. I’m going back to Java.”
“You’re going back for Sirena, is that it? I always knew that if it came to a choice, you would choose her over me, your own father.”
“I just said I was going back to Java. I plan to sign on a ship with Captain Dykstra. I’ll look in on Sirena and see how she’s faring without a man in the house. You shouldn’t have left her alone on the island,” he said flatly.
“And you refuse to forget it or understand why! You’ll always hold it against me, is that what you’re saying?” Regan’s face deepened into an angry frown and he impatiently tossed back the fringe of white-blond hair which fell across his tanned brow.
“No, Father, that’s what you’re saying,” Caleb parried. “I have no mind for school and being a gentleman. I’m going back to sea where I can be what I want to be. And if my going where I belong means I lose my father... ” Caleb shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of pretended indifference. He loved Regan and Sirena and he rationalized that what they did with their own lives had little to do with him. But the pain was still there and now it rose in his throat like bitter gall. He hoped that Regan would not test him and refuse to understand his feelings.
“This is not what I came all the way to discuss with you,” Regan said quietly, settling himself upon a stiff, hard-backed chair and reaching in his pocket for a cheroot.
“When I saw Sirena wasn’t with you, I immediately surmised that,” Caleb lowered his voice. He searched the inside of his own jacket for a black cheroot which he lit with a glowing taper from the ever-present fire that had slight effect on the damp room. Offering Regan a light, he tossed the taper into the flames and sat opposite his father.
Regan had never seen Caleb smoke until now and was strangely rankled. Chalking it up to regret that his son was so close to manhood, Regan forced down his misgivings when he noticed how appropriate the thin, dark roll of tobacco seemed in Caleb’s large, capable hands.
“Why are you so hostile to me, Caleb? I thought I had explained the entire situation in my letter. If you are truly on the threshold of becoming a man, surely you must make an effort to understand and accept the fact that Sirena and I are a thing of the past.”
“Even a man can’t ignore cruelty, and that’s how you’re behaving. By now, word must have reached Sirena that the Spanish Lady was sunk off the coast of Spain. What torment Sirena must be going through believing you are dead! I can only hope my letter explaining that you are alive and well reaches her before she suffers overmuch. Even now, I’m puzzled as to why you’ve come here.” Caleb eyed Regan boldly, unnerving his father.
“There’s a matter we must discuss. I was hoping for a quiet hour alone with you so I could explain something to you.”
Caleb’s eyes were dark and cold as he looked at Regan, daring his father to say what he had come to say. Caleb, himself, was silent, his expression hostile. Under his father’s scrutiny, he stood and walked the few paces to the fireplace to flick his ashes onto the burning logs.
“Sit down, Caleb. We must talk.”
“I prefer to stand, thank you.”
Regan’s eyes were speculative as he looked at his son. The shock of seeing this tall, muscular youth was still something he could hardly come to terms with. His voice was hesitant and then gradually it quickened, gathering momentum as he watched the angry look in Caleb’s eyes turn to incredulity. “When I left the islands, I knew in my gut Sirena would never come with me. Don’t ask me how I knew, I just did. I was convinced she would never leave the island nor would she leave Mikel’s grave site. You must understand that I sincerely believed this. I still do. Our life together is over. From now on, it is only we two. When I was picked up by the ship that rescued us, I went to Spain and met the Córdez business manager in order to explain the circumstances of Sirena’s and my parting.”
Regan cleared his throat as though he were reluctant about continuing. “I have taken over the handling of all the Córdez holdings.” Suddenly, his voice thickened and his agate-blue eyes took on a faraway look. “I know I must make a new life for myself and that is what I intend to do. In fact, I’ve already begun. I’ve divorced Sirena,” he said huskily.
Caleb kept his silence but his eyes accused, judged, and found his father guilty. Without another glance in Regan’s direction, he turned and walked from the room.
“Caleb, come back here,” Regan shouted. “That part of our life is over! Finished! We have to make a new beginning here!” His eyes searched the long corridor, willing Caleb to return. He went back into the front parlor and sat down heavily, his heart hammering in his chest. Head reeling, he smacked one large, bronze fist into the other. Caleb was gone, just as Mikel was gone. Just as Sirena was gone.
Caleb would never forgive him, never come back to him. The same woman who had returned Caleb to him was taking his son away. What he had now was a divorce from a woman he loved dearly, and a young woman of excellent breeding who was demanding marriage in exchange for her wealth and virtue. God! What had he done?
His broad, muscular shoulders slumped as he looked toward the doorway where Caleb had taken his exit. Something churned in the pit of his stomach. Was this what Sirena had felt when he left her? Was this the damnable emptiness she lived with, this total loss?