Shiny barrel, ebony handle, the gun had no smell of gunpowder. Coseveldt Cells lowered his weapon.
“What are you . . . Dolly?”
I didn’t answer. I needed to be an orange-bellied oriole that could flit around this man and leave before he again lifted his gun.
“It is you, Dolly.” The man put his gun into the pocket of his long dark coat that had pleats and flared from his waist to his knees. That was too fancy for everyday Montserrat. Didn’t look like Montserrat at all.
The crisp daylight and the years had aged him from the picture I had in my head. No longer lanky but filled out with muscles. The face that was smooth now bore a hint of stubble for a beard. The cleft in his chin, had it always been there?
“There’s nothing to steal. It’s picked through, even the sewing needles and the bone thimble Mrs. Ben loved.”
An image of the woman stitching in the corner talking about making ginger preserves filled my eyes, almost covering her death mask.
The memory of her dying hadn’t left. It haunted me whenever I saw smoke in the night or heard restless drums.
“Not here for anything, sir. Just waiting for the rain to slow.”
He rubbed at his face. His cheeks changed from pink to peach to white. “Your hut hasn’t flooded? Is that why you’re here?”
“No. Too many people in Pa’s owl . . . in Pa’s house. The rain slowed and I went for a walk.”
He pounded closer, his boots making the floorboards tremble. “Oh. Not smart, Dolly. This weather is unpredictable. Kirwan’s big house is sturdy.”
Mamaí told me about men and to avoid ’em. Yet I couldn’t cower or slink away, not with his hazel eyes judging me lacking. “Could ask the same of you? You’re out here when you have a perfectly good house fifty feet away.”
A half smirk formed. “I grew up running back and forth from here to the main house. I always did my best thinking then. Some habits are hard to stop.”
He was winsome and shifted his stance like he hunted for something long gone. “There should be a pot for coals and wood. A fire will take the chill away.”
“I left to be alone. Hard to do that with two.”
“Dolly. A sense of humor to go with your boldness. Nice.”
The man sat and put his hands to his knees. I had a sense he showed me his easy manner to calm me.
Yet those eyes with the tight crinkles in the corner said he wasn’t easy at all.
As slow as a one-legger worm, I inched to the door. “I’ll be going.”
“Dolly, I never thanked you. That night, I was pretty turned around. I wanted to help Merr Ben, but you helped me.”
Merr wasn’t Irish, at least I didn’t think so. “I didn’t do much.”
“You did more than most. It was brave. Thank you.”
The back of his head was to me with nothing but an indigo ribbon cinched about his thick black hair. The sorrow in his voice guided me. He wouldn’t hurt me.
“We still lost her, sir.”
“Yes. Yes, we did.”
The friendship I had with the old woman, Coseveldt Cells must’ve had one too.
“I’ve watched you sometimes from my study. Pretty little Negress walking past my plantation heading to town. It doesn’t frighten you, walking alone?”
“Frightens me you been watching.”
“Please come back. I won’t hurt you.”
I eased from the door and kept my eye on this man who talked to me like he saw me as human. “Most know I’m Kirwan’s. I’m not bothered. You’re not going to say I can’t come near your property?”
“That wouldn’t be neighborly.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
“So, Dolly Kirwan, what do you do sneaking to town?”
“I huckster . . . I do mercantilism.”
He fell back laughing. Sprawled on the floor, he looked more handsome and even young, chuckling like a fool. Sitting up he slapped at the shaft of his boot. “A business-minded lass. How exciting.”
“I have big dreams. I’m not meant to be living in a hut all my days. I want to earn enough to have a plantation of my own.”
“That is a big dream.” He leaned over and snatched up my wet scarf, making my hair fall. “This thing is sopping wet. You can catch cold.”
Before I uttered a complaint, he’d wrung out my gray-checked scarf. Near his boots sat puddles like the osnaburg had cried.
Fancy silks and fine needlepoint with a tricorn hat on his hip, I felt small next to his splendor, but I wouldn’t be cowed. I’d have fancy clothes, too, when I was free.
“What is it you want, Cells? Have you seen the pots or the blankets? Do you wish to buy? I see you fixing up things.”
More humor covered his face, shifting his lips, changing the way the light hit his dimples and the dent in his chin.
“Dolly, I’m trying to decide if I should make a go here. My father, he’d want me to.”
“But you don’t? Trying not to let him down.”
“Something like that. But I’m pushing uphill. The land’s not as good or stable. My manager Polk says it’s no good. No good.”
His tone flattened.
Cells was rich, one of those good praying Catholics. He shouldn’t have worries, but not succeeding here seemed to hurt.
“Ya pa would understand. He wouldn’t want you wasting money. Then there’d be nothing left in it for you.”
“Something in it for me. You’re a smart little girl.”
“Yes. That’s what my pa says. If you’ve done your best, no one can talk against you.”
“Someone always will.” He sighed and shifted his legs. “You save me the best blanket, but don’t give me a discount. A friend should expect to pay full price.”
Friend?
I didn’t have any besides Kitty. Not sure if a sister counted if I could order her around. “Yes, full price.”
My gaze met his and I accepted his attention fully. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was a businesswoman after all. Watching Pa all these years meant I could charge a fair price.
Yet, after an eternity of Cells staring and me looking back, I lowered my eyes to the floorboard and fixed my dripping braids. “Say what’s on your mind. I can’t read your thoughts.”
“I suppose you read some, though. Merr Ben could.”
He said my damfo’s name again with such affection. I imagined Cells coming to her as I did to ask advice, to eat a treat of hot sugared ginger.
“It’s better to ask and save my mind for important stuff, like charging goods. We haven’t settled on what colors you want.”
He craned his neck to the freshly thatched roof. “Do people ever question if you’re mulatto, that Kirwan is indeed your pa?”
Sitting, I yanked at my braid, thin and fine, straight as the day is long and of the deepest ebony, just like Pa’s. “Mamaí said I got this purely from the Kirwans. Her own pa’s Creole hair wasn’t this straight. I wish mine was thicker like hers.”
And if Cells had seen Pa’s face when Mamaí told him about Overseer Teller trying to visit, he’d know my pa wasn’t letting anyone near her. “Why do you ask?”
“Most children of such a union have light skin.”
I grasped my hands, folded them like I was about to shuck beans. I was darker than Mamaí or Kitty, but I never fretted about my coloring. “I’m luckier, I guess. My black is beautiful.”
His gaze remained steady. He even smiled though I doubted he believed the same. The planters believed that black was good for working the fields, nothing else.
I rose like Mamaí, slow, stately. “The rain has eased, Mr. Cells. I’ll be heading back.”
He popped up and went to the door and held it open. “You make sure I get one of those blankets. The finest one for me. I like blue.”
Taking my scarf from his fingers, I put it in my pocket. “Just have your coins ready. We still haven’t settled on a price. Blue may be trouble to get.”
“I’ll have a few waiting for you, Miss Kirwan. I will.”
His chuckles followed me, but I didn’t mind. I’d made a sale and maybe a friend.