Mamaí stood in my bedchamber making me dress in pink and red. My gown had a festive border of hibiscus flowers at the bodice.
“Hurry,” she said and fussed with my braids, the curls I wore that framed my face. “No more talk of business.”
Mamaí walked, swaying like a church bell. She’d finally started to wear the full petticoat, a sage-green dress with beige tunic puffed. This was the fashion of freewomen in Roseau. “Your legal man Thomas keeps reviewing your contracts. Funny the words sound like poems.”
Well, he did slip in a line or two. The man was sweet and attentive and looking for forever. I was good with today. “He’s away in Grenada. He’ll be gone for a while.”
Kitty came into the room. She was dressed in a light blue gown of stripes. The overdress was a solid satin of deep indigo. Did Mamaí get her ready to go out too?
“Sis, you look pretty.”
“Polk is here in Dominica. We might see him at church tonight.”
My Charlotte sat at the table where I signed the housekeeping contracts. She added up invoices. She had a head for numbers.
“Mama,” she said, “we’re doing well this month. We’ll need to hire two more girls.” She glanced at me with an approving nod. “Glad you’re going out.”
“Mamaí is sending us to church.”
Charlotte was shy, but she wasn’t stupid. It was Tuesday. There was no Tuesday service at Notre Dame du Bon Port.
My daughter shook her head and then brought her palms together, steepling her fingers. “I pray that your mood stays lifted.”
Kitty and I left the house. The night air was hot and sticky. We headed to the shore.
My sister’s locks had coiled tighter, frizzing in the humid air. Then I heard music. It was fancy, the sound of banjos, a flute, and drums.
The ground swayed with the rhythm. The sea roared in the distance.
The salt air smelled good, felt good. The heat felt good.
I was good.
“This is not Notre Dame du Bon Port, Dolly. I don’t think Polk will see us here.”
“When Mamaí made us go, I sent word to his ship. If he can, he’ll meet us here. This is a new church. It’s for the temple of the spirit.” I took my sister’s arm and we danced, danced until my hair fell, danced until my locks were as wild and as puffy as hers.
It felt good to twirl, to kick up dust beneath my slippers. I was free. Today was the first day I felt it.
We flopped onto the beach. Sand gathered in our fine skirts, rubbing into our hot skin. “See, we did have church. I found peace by the water.”
Kitty laughed and pinned up my braids. “This is wonderful. I like this, Dolly. I like you having fun and playing with me.”
I lifted my sister. The wind swirled about us like fairies cleansing us of sediment. I craved the healing of movement. “We’re not done praying, Kitty.”
Taking her arm, we headed to the ballrooms by the docks.
Sailors dressed in sharp red uniforms came in and out of one building. That had to be where the ball was tonight.
“Miss Dolly, Miss Kitty, is that you?”
Booming baritone. No one had a bigger voice than Polk. I cupped my eyes until I saw the tallest, blackest man in the world.
It was him. I waved.
Dressed in a slate-colored mantle and breeches, he ran to us. Kitty leapt into his embrace. He whirled her around like a rope swing. “Miss Dolly, Miss Kitty, you both look good. It’s been too long.”
“This is church, Dolly. Dreams come true. My damfo is here.”
Polk, sweet Polk looked down at my sister with such tenderness. Then he looked at me.
He knew.
He knew Kitty was delicate and younger than her years. He knew.
And Kitty was right. Polk was the best of men, befriending and loving a girl who didn’t have the mind to love him back. My heart hurt at her choice of safety, of keeping her mind young rather than aging and loving and risking, maybe losing.
Had I made that same choice by focusing only on my business and my family?
Yes.
Yes, I had. No more being afraid.
Grabbing Polk’s other hand, I led them. “Let’s go into the ballroom for a baptism in music.”
The air sizzled, awash in cologne and flowers and sweat. The place was packed with people, and I watched blue-eyed and brown-eyed men beam down upon us.
They backed up.
Polk’s height made them reconsider. I loved me some Polk. We could hear the music, dance, and not be bothered.
We planted in a corner. Hundreds of fishy-smelling tallow candles burned about the room’s perimeter like stars. Festoons of pink hibiscus paired with fragrant white lilies. Fish or heady perfume—wasn’t sure which would win.
Kitty nestled closer. She was here for me, my love of music, and Polk. My sister was a true hero, my soft heart. I leaned to her ear. “We can go anytime you want. I like the feel of the rhythm.”
She gazed at me with her soft eyes. Then with her finger painted a smile along my lips. “Every moment is borrowed time. Enjoy tonight. Dance. Dance for me.”
Her words stung with the weight of our truth. We were living borrowed lives.
“You’re my strength, Kitty. Know that.”
“So dance.” She tapped a man on the shoulder and pointed to me.
The fellow glanced at me. I thought he’d turn away, but he grinned and towed me to the center of the room.
I remembered every dance Cells had taught, flourishing my contredanse.
The hours passed and I went man to man—all faces, all shades of the rainbow.
Only a few headed to women whose skin was bright like my daughters. Didn’t bother me none. A dance or rejection didn’t last any longer than a song.
Patting the last fellow’s groping hands away, I started back toward my sister.
Before the music started again . . .
Before I caught my breath . . .
A tall man with sunshine hair who’d held court in the back of the room moved to me. “You’re an exceptional dancer. Many island girls don’t know the European steps let alone a successful allemande.”
He bowed a little. “I will dance with you. The minuet.”
“With such an invitation, how can I refuse?”
His laugh was hearty. Weaving his hand with mine, he returned me to the center of the floor.
As if he owned Roseau and everyone in Dominica, the crowds parted. Me and him were all that was left, that and the music.
The rhythm, the blessed rhythm took over me. His steps were perfect. Very skilled, not sloppy or grabby or drunk—the kind of touch that left one wanting more.
The banjo and drums could play forever.
The gold braiding on his coat looked as if coins had been melted to make it.
Except for a stare, his expression was blank.
The song ended and I moved toward Kitty and Polk, but he kept me close.
“Sir, the dance has been nice, but I should return to my party.”
“Of course. But your nose.”
I willed my fingers to stay at my side, to not check my face. “What of it?”
“It’s mine I dare say, same as mine and my mother’s, flat and wide with no flare. Even thin at the bridge.”
“It’s a nose, the blessed features of my mother. My father has a dreaded hook in his.”
He lifted his hand toward my face, and I stepped away. “No. No.”
“Sorry. You just have extraordinary features for a Negress.”
“Why, because my nose looks like yours? I would say we’re both blessed, then.”
He chuckled harder. “Dance with me again.”
That didn’t sound like an ask but a command.
Fool that I was, I gave him my hand. The music began when he looked at the musicians.
This time he stepped closer and every turn of the contredanse that required me to be near him, he made sure we touched.
It took great skill to dance and ogle in time to the rhythm. Great skill.
When the tune ended, I moved away, ignoring the whispers of the crowd. I checked my clothes, my hair; everything was in place.
“This is my second Tuesday here,” he said. “I’ll be leaving soon. My ship will sail to Grenada. I wish we’d met sooner.”
“Well, you’ve seen me now, but it’s time for you to go.”
“What’s your name? I heard your friend say Doll or Dolly.”
“It’s Dorothy Kirwan, but some call me Doll.”
“You’re a doll, but I shall call you Miss Kirwan, until we are more intimate.”
“You said you were leaving. No time for that.”
His lips ripped open and chuckles fell out. “But I do come back. My command sends my orders here.”
Seems all the fellows I liked went away, but this one promised to come back. That was new.
“Miss Kirwan, I’m William Henry. Captain of the Pegasus.”
Another captain too? No. Were they bees and I some sort of flower? “Captain Henry, you’re a fine dancer. But my sister is yawning.”
“That is a new excuse to not claim all my dances. Until we meet again.”
He bowed and I balanced in a perfect curtsy.
Kitty came and possessively locked arms with me.
She didn’t need to fret. No matter how wonderful it felt to spin in strong arms, you go home after church, cleansed of your sins. You don’t try to find new ones.