Love's Fiery Jewel (6 page)

To Damien's descerning eye, the picture before him
was too inconceivable to be believed. The damned little
witch who only moments before was ready to scratch his
eyes out was suddenly purring... trying to charm
him... with the mark of his blow still burning hotly on
her cheek. That she still felt its sting there was no doubt,
but she obviously was ignoring the pain. Common sense
told him she longed to scratch his eyes out in retaliation.
She was up to something.

"A favor? What is it?" When she hesitated a moment,
he ordered sharply, "Hurry up! I've no time to waste with
you. What is it that brings you scurrying after me in the
dark? Do you realize that I might have killed you?"

"Since I did not think you were in the habit of
murdering children, Captain," Amethyst cooed acidly,
"I did not realize I would be in danger trying to speak
with you."

Raising his brow slightly at her words, Damien
muttered under his breath, "You wish to be considered a
child only when it suits your purpose. Now what do you
want?"

Closely watching the play of emotions over her small
face, Damien was suddenly struck by the brilliant beauty
beginning to blossom there. Obviously finding it hard to
put her thoughts into words, she stammered uncharacteristically and averted her face. Suspicion knawed
relentlessly and Damien demanded impatiently, "Well?"

"It's my mother, Captain." The words were mumbled,
her face still averted. "She's ill. She needs nourishing
food if she is to regain her strength, but... you must
realize that it's almost impossible to get what she needs."
Slowly the small face raised to his, but her eyes were still
lowered, unwilling to return his questioning gaze. He
waited in silence for her to continue, and slowly,
effectively, the heavy black lashes lifted from clear, ivory
cheeks, allowing the full power of wide, tear-filled
lavender eyes to glow into his. Momentarily startled with
the impact, Damien swallowed hard, shocked that the
glance of a child such as she could have such a dizzying
effect on him.

Angry with himself, he demanded harshly, "What do
you want from me?"

Obviously disconcerted by his harshness, Amethyst
stammered, "I.. .I would like some food.. .maybe a
few bags of flour or rice... anything I can trade for
milk... eggs..." Her small voice trailed off as she
stared into the captain's stony face.

"And I suppose you expect me to lead you to the
ship, show you our docking place.. .so you may go
directly to the authorities and turn me in for the
reward?"

"No, Captain! I wouldn't ...I mean, I had no
intention... please believe me..."

"You must think me a fool, Amethyst!" His face was
livid with anger: The girl had disliked him from the first
and probably considered this a good chance to line her
pockets and get back at him for his imagined slights at the
same time. Obviously it was a poorly contrived attempt to
trick him. He continued harshly, "Now go home, little
bitch, and try to think up a better story the next time you
attempt to betray someone. Your plan this time is too
childishly transparent to work on me!" With a rough
shove, he pushed her toward the alley way entrance. "Go home, little girl." As her expression slowly turned to
rage, he whispered menacingly, "And if you try to scream
the authorities down on me, I swear I'll snap your little
neck!"

Not doubting his words for a moment, Amethyst took
an involuntary step backwards, her small hands doubling
up into tight fists as burning fury suffused her. "You are
too stupid to know when a person is telling the truth!
Fool! Buffuto! You and your streggah make a good pair!
And I warn you now, Captain Straith," she hissed in
suppressed violence. "if Mama should die, I will tell
Tillie to turn her obeah against you! She is a puckoo
woman... her obeah is strong... she will set a duppy
on you and you will need no one to turn you in. You will
be caught and you will die... and... and...I will be
GLAD!"

Suddenly sobbing wildly, Amethyst turned and ran
down the street. Taking a few, hesitant steps forward,
Damien watched the small retreating figure, a heavy
scowl covering his face. The child was either an
extremely good actress or truly desperate. Suddenly
remembering Marian Straith's small, pale face and
Amethyst's obvious devotion to her, it seemed no longer
unlikely that Amethyst had attempted such a dangerous
mission merely in the hope of obtaining a few bags of rice.
A dozen conflicting thoughts seemed to rush through
Damien's mind as Amethyst's slim figure disappeared
around the corner of the lane, and suddenly unaware of
his own intentions, Damien started walking briskly in the
direction in which the sobbing girl had disappeared.

Slowly Amethyst approached the small frame house
that housed her mother, Tillie, and herself. A series of
identical four-room houses lined the street, one indistinguishable from the other, but the barren facade of her
own home seemed to glare at her, accusing her of inglorious defeat at the hands of the ignominious
captain.

Standing stiffly, Amethyst took deep, heavy breaths,
forcing herself into control, and carelessly wiping her
face dry with the sleeve of her shirt, she walked toward
the door. She would have to face Tillie sooner or later.
She would rather have faced her with her arms loaded
with rice and flour, but since that would not be the case,
she walked slowly up to the door and turned the knob.
One step into the room and Tillie's face glared angrily
into hers. Her sober expression suddenly crumbling into
tears, Amethyst ran forward to throw her arms around
the worried mulatto, sobbing heavily against her neck, "I
tried, Tillie.. .1 tried, but he wouldn't help me...he
wouldn't help me..."

All trace of anger fled in the face of the child's anguish,
and wrapping her arms around her comfortingly, Tillie
cooed softly in the child's ear. "That's alright, child.
Lord knows you tried."

So involved was Tillie in the child's grief that she did
not hear the slight noise at the door the second before it
suddenly burst open. Snapping back against the wall with
a loud thud, it revealed a huge, angry man standing in the
doorway.

Gasping audibly, Tillie cried in a hoarse voice, "It be
him.. .him be the obeah-man!" To the frightened
woman's horror, Amethyst pulled free of her protective
embrace to shout angrily, "What are you doing here? Get
out of my house!"

Damien frowned, slowly closing the door behind him.
Tillie's petrified gaze fastened on the specter's penetrating eyes. Commencing a low moaning chant, she
began rocking gently from side to side in a graceful
hypnotic motion. Before Damien could respond to the
child's vehement command a weak voice called warily
from the next room.

"Amethyst... Amethyst, dear. Is something wrong?"

Appearing to suddenly snap into movement, Damien
started for the room from which the voice had called, and
seeing his intent, Amethyst charged him violently,
kicking and punching him wildly as he continued to
advance. Abruptly flicking the furious child off like a fly
to send her bouncing against the far wall, he opened the
door and walked toward the bed. Startled, the woman
gasped and after a brief moment, said weakly, "It is
Captain Straith, is it not?"

His stern expression suddenly changing into a warm
smile, Damien advanced. His hand outstretched in
greeting, he gently took the hand lifted to his in return
and raised it to his lips. "Mrs. Greer! It's good to see you
again. I realize it is a bit early to call, but I happened to
run into Amethyst this morning, and she told me you
were unwell. Since I was so close to your home, I decided
to stop in to see you..."

Flushing with true pleasure, Marian Greer moved her
glance to the doorway where Amethyst stood watching
the captain warily. "Amethyst, dear, wasn't it nice of the
Captain to stop in? Would you please bring us some tea,
dear?"

Within the half hour the captain had left. Departing
the house with a friendly goodbye to Mrs. Greer, he
deliberately neglected to speak to Amethyst and the wideeyed Tillie.

A few hours later a heavy, insistent pounding at the
front door drew both Tillie and Amethyst. Upon opening
it they found four sacks, clearly labeled flour and rice,
and two more that smelled suspiciously like smoked fish.
Quickly stepping out into the street, they found it empty,
despite that fact that it was an hour when there were
normally many people abroad on the lanes.

Gasping audibly, Tillie turned anxious eyes on
Amethyst, whispering in a. shaken voice, "It be him... it be the obeah-man..."

Shooting her an exasperated look, Amethyst said,
"Oh, do be quiet, Tillie, and help me drag these sacks
inside."

Struggling with the weight of the heavy sacks,
Amethyst mumbled vehemently under her breath, her
small face flushed with emotion, "I don't care ...I don't
care ...I hate him! I hate him anyway!"

1780

Walking rapidly along the dusty road, Amethyst
stopped from time to time to shake her foot vigorously in an effort to rid her worn sandals of stones that
occasionally wedged inside and jabbed her small feet annoyingly. Vast, flat sugar fields stretched out on either
side of her, a familiar but ever changing landscape which
she viewed with interest only because the fields were
being prepared for planting, the beginning of the fifteenmonth cycle of creole cane. Black, naked backs glistened
with perspiration as huge work gangs of slaves labored
their way across the field in a system of cultivation that
had gone unchanged since its inception. Working in
pairs, the strongest slaves were "holing" the ground, the
muscles in their powerful arms bulging with the strain of
breaking two-foot holes in the soil with antiquated hoes,
as their partners assisted in making the trenches.
Walking behind, supporting huge baskets of ash and
dung on their heads, the female slaves were spreading
fertilizer in the trenches, while the work gangs following
implanted cuttings in the prepared beds. Black drivers
were keeping the gangs moving, while white overseers
guaranteed the ultimate was demanded and derived from
the exhausted gangs. It was not quite mid-morning, but
Amethyst knew the slaves had been awakened by the
sound of the conch at dawn, and would continue at the
unrelenting pace until they were unable to work any
longer. With a small sigh, she gave a silent word of thanks that she had not been born into slavery, and as happened
each time she saw those backs bent in endless labor, she
valued even more her own freedom, however meager its
circumstances.

Shaking off her dour thoughts, Amethyst hastened her
pace. She was accustomed to the long walk, having made
it every other day for well over a year, but she was always
happy to see the pitched, shingled roof of the great house
of Sheridan Plantation come into view. Although it was
similar to so many of the plantation great houses, huge
and square with great louvred windows and spacious
balconies adorned with graceful wrought ironwork, it
had a native Jamaican charm of its own. Her destination,
however, was not the great house, but rather the small,
detached outhouse and attached buttery in the rear, in
which all the cooking was done. Since her fateful meeting
with Captain Strait h, almost two years before, sacks of
rice and flour and other food staples arrived at her door
with regularity, apparently each time the Sally successfully eluded the gunboats to smuggle food ashore. With
an ample supply of foodstuffs available to her, she had
been able to strike a bargain with William Sheridan,
master of the plantation, to have the greatest part of the
food supply picked up by his wagon and taken to the
plantation for his use, saving a small but ample amount
for her own household. In return, she collected fresh
milk and eggs on alternating days until the next shipment
arrived and their bargain was renewed. It had worked out
well, despite the need for the hour-long walk each way to
collect the proceeds.

Her mother's health had improved with the change in
diet, and while still not healthy, she was at least able to
maintain her position with the troupe. Although not
quite up to the slapstick entertainment provided
between acts and at the conclusion of the performance,
they had worked out an agreement with Mr. Douglass that her mama would fulfill the acting commitments and
Amethyst in costume and heavy makeup would take care
of the more active entertainment that actually required
more physical dexterity than skill. Since between the two
of them they were merely fulfilling the commitment of
one member of the troupe, they were paid accordingly.
But it was of no matter to Amethyst as long as her mother
was reasonably well and they could live in a minimum of
comfort. In truth, she fully realized their lot was far more
fortunate than most on the island. All but destroyed by a
series of hurricanes, the food crop had been meager.
Many of the slaves were in desperate straits, but with Mr.
Sheridan a resident owner and concerned about the
welfare of his "black gold," the Sheridan Plantation
slaves were not so badly affected. Absentee owners living
comfortable lives in England unaware of the true reasons
for their slaves' deaths, and actually uncaring until it
affected their profits, usually accommodated their
overseers' requests for more slaves without question. As
a result, many of the large plantations were poorly run
and mortgaged to the hilt, with futures that were
exceedingly dim.