Love's Odyssey (18 page)

"All my friends," Hendrik said, "my charming Romell has made me the happiest man in Batavia, in Holland, in all the world. We will wed the last day of August, and everyone will come to the ceremony, yes?"

The clamor of agreement and congratulations from the guests made Romell’s head hurt. Or perhaps it was the Liquor, for she’d finished the lemonade drink and she was not used to gin. She smiled and nodded, feeling as if some other woman were standing beside Hendrik while she merely looked on.

Who was that other Romell in her white and silver dress? If only she could split in two so one of her could marry Hendrik and the other could—could do what? What else was there for her but this marriage?

What was the matter with her? Why didn’t she want this handsome man? Romell raised her chin. She did want to marry Hendrik. She would come to love him. But when she had the chance, she again slipped from the party to stand in a deserted corridor, holding her hands to her throbbing head. Romell didn't know how long she'd been standing there when the Javanese servant Hendrik had called Aritita spoke to her, making her jump.

"You come see," Aritita said softly. "By kampong. Come now." Before Romell could respond, the woman moved away, glancing back over her shoulder.

Curiosity piqued Romell's interest. What could the Javanese woman want with her? Surely it was safe to follow her to the kampong--she'd come to no harm in the Dutch compound, on Hendrik's property.

Aritita's bare feet stepped noiselessly along the covered walkway leading to the kampong. Behind her, Romell tried to be equally quiet. When they reached the long, low building, Aritita opened the door and bowed her head, indicating-that Romell should precede her into the dimly lit room.

Romell hesitated, then stepped through the doorway. A candle flame swayed in the draft and shadows leaped along the walls of the small room. On the floor, a child of about three slept naked on a thin pallet.

Aritita leaned down to pick him up. She rose and carried him close to the candle. "You see," she said softly. "Mine."

Romell moved closer. The boy was so sturdy that Aritita's arms looked too fragile to hold him. The Javanese woman turned his face toward Romell.

Romell gasped. She was looking at a miniature, darker version of Hendrik van der Pol!

Chapter 18

Romell ran back up the walkway, but slowed to a stop before reaching the house. The part had spilled out onto the back verandah and the loud laughter reminded her how freely the gin and wine were flowing.

Unable to face anyone, she stood in the shadows and tried to compose herself. Much as she would have liked to go straight to the Reijts’ house, Romell knew she must not run away. Hendrik wasn’t the first man to take a native mistress, and if the child’s age showed he’d fathered the boy while his wife was still alive, men did such things the world over.

She mustn’t judge him. Perhaps his wife had been sickly and unable to bear children. A man wanted a son. I’ll tell Hendrik I accept Arititas’ boy, she decided. We’ll raise him, see he gets schooling. If we have children--she shuddered and tears gathered in her eyes.

It was no use, no use at all. She didn’t want to lie with Hendrik, didn't want to bear his children—not because of Aritita and the boy but because she didn't love him. She would never love him in the way a woman should love a man.

Drying her eyes, Romell stepped from the shadows and onto the porch. She mustn't let Hendrik go on believing she'd marry him, she'd wait until the guests were gone and then confront him.

She felt that her face must be permanently frozen into a smile by the time the last of the guests decided to leave. Elysabet had nodded wisely when Romell told her Hendrik would see her back to the Reijts'.

"I understand," she said. "You want a few minutes alone with him." She sighed. "Ah, I remember being young."

I don't feel young, Romell thought. Too much has happened. It's best I tell Hendrik the truth about everything, so he'll know I'm not what he wants any more than he's what I want.

Romell gathered her courage as the door closed on the last guest. "We need to talk," she said to Hendrik.

He pulled a long face, then grinned at her. "You sound so serious." He started toward her, but she stepped aside so a chair was between them.

"You must listen," she said sharply.

He stopped, frowning, then his face cleared. "You've found out about the boy, haven't you. Well, I admit he's mine, but what does it matter? That has nothing to do with you and me."

"I understand about your son. But what I have to tell you is—"

"Women always claim to understand when they're upset." Hendrik reached around the chair and pulled her to him. "Don't be angry, Romellje. I'll send the boy and his mother away, she's not important to me."

"No, no," she protested, trying to break away from him. "He's your son, you ought to—"

"You don't think I'd marry a native woman!" Hendrik roared with laughter. "You are a strange girl. No doubt that's the English side of you. Make no mistake, you're what I want for a wife. Only half Dutch, true, but you're beautiful and a maiden." He yanked her closer, pressing his body to hers.

"Wait," Romell begged. "I didn't mean that you should marry Aritita, just that you must acknowledge the boy. And as for marrying me--"

His mouth covered hers, his tongue probing, and she struggled in vain to free herself. Just as she thought she could not bear his embrace another second, he raised his head.

"Ah, little one, I can't wait," he said, his voice husky, the words slurred. When his hands gripped her breasts, she realized he was drunker than she thought.

"No!" she cried. "Hendrik, no!"

"Don't fear my lovemaking, Romellje. I'll teach you to like it. Let me show you—"

"Get away!" she screamed, striking out at him with her fists. "Get your hands off me! I don't want your lovemaking—now or ever."

He held her away from him, his face puzzled as he stared at her. Romell took a deep breath, trying to think how best to tell him. She found no easy way.

"I'm not a maiden," she said finally. "Margitte lied to you about the castaway island and what happened there. You don't want me, Hendrik. Let me go."

He stared a moment longer, then smiled again. "So. But I still want you, and what's to prevent me now?"

Before she knew what he intended, his fingers slipped under the front of her gown and pulled it down, baring her breasts. He bent his head to run his tongue over first one, then the other nipple, his hands cupping her buttocks so she was lifted up and held against his hardness. He didn't seem to feel the blows she rained on his back, Romell shrieked in helpless rage and saw, for a brief second, Aritita's face in the doorway.

"Aritita!" she screamed. "Aritita, help me!"

But the Javanese woman didn't reappear.

Hendrik raised his head. Romell saw his flushed face, his half-closed eyes, heard the rasp of his breath. "I will have you in my bed this night," he told her, his voice thick. "If you suit me, I may marry you—or I may not." When he shifted his grip to pick her up, she bit him on the arm.

Hendrik howled in pain and let her go. Romell raced away from him toward the back of the house. Letting herself out the back way, she fled along the covered walk, thinking to hide in the darkness. She heard Hendrik's heavy tread behind her and darted toward the bushes, but he caught her skirt; she heard it tear as she jerked free.

Fear speeded her steps. She ducked around a hibiscus bush only to find an impenetrable mass of flame vines blocking her way. She heard Hendrik's harsh breathing as he searched for her. An instant later his huge bulk, outlined in the feeble light of the quarter moon, blocked her way.

Romell froze as he lunged for her, then, desperate, she threw herself to the right as though to dodge past him. When he grabbed at her, she reversed to the left quickly and darted by him, only to be jerked to a halt when he caught her gown again. She struggled, but he had her fast and pulled her out from the bushes, throwing her to the ground, his weight pinning her on her back.

"Little spitfire, I'll take you here in the dirt like I would a servant," he told her.

He held her head to one side with his elbow while his other hand pulled up her skirts. His thick fingers thrust between her legs, probing.

Frantically, her hand scrabbled along the ground, searching for a weapon. She touched a stone, but it wouldn't pull free no matter how she tugged. Hendrik raised up from her to open his breeches, and she managed to half turn toward the rock and pry at it. He shoved her onto her back again and she felt his hot, naked sex against her leg. At the same time the rock jerked free.

Romell used both hands to lift the heavy rock as high as she could. As Hendrik tried to force his way into her, she brought the rock smashing down on the back of his head. He grunted. She raised the rock and slammed it into his head again. With a groan, he sprawled limply on top of her.

Although almost smothered by his bulk, Romell managed to roll him off and scramble to her feet. Hendrik lay without moving. In the moon's fragile light, she couldn't see how badly he was hurt and knelt beside him, touching his head, feeling the warm and sticky wetness of blood on her fingers. He breathed heavily so she knew he was alive.

A sound made her look around. In the kampong to her right, she saw faces peering from two half-open doors.

"Help me!" she cried. "Tuan Besar is hurt. Come help!"

No one answered and, after a moment, both doors clicked shut. Yanking the top of her gown into place as best she could, Romell got to her feet again and hurried to the kampong. The doors she'd seen open were now locked against her, and the Javanese inside didn't respond to her banging. Surely they didn't want Hendrik dead! Why were they afraid to help?

The only door that opened to her touch led to the room Aritita had taken her to. The boy stirred restlessly on his sleeping mat, but Airtita wasn’t there.

Romell ran back to Hendrik. He hadn’t moved, but she could hear his snores. Should he be breathing so noisily? Why wouldn’t any of the Javanese servants help her? Where was Aritita? She glanced helplessly about. What now?

At last she hurried up the path to the house. But though she called and searched, she could find no one inside, biting her lip, she stood in the living room, futilely trying to wipe the blood from her hands with a napkin. The lanterns were guttering out. As she watched, a night flier, one of the huge brown moths, dived into the dwindling flame of the last flickering candle on the chandelier, sizzling to a crisp and putting out the light.

Rommel gasped and fled from the house through the front door. Elysabet, she thought. She’ll know what to do. Elysabet and Christoffel, they’ll help me,

Her heart pounded in rhythm with her racing feet as she ran along the street toward the Reijts’ house. He’s not dead, he’s not dead, she said over and over to herself. Hendrik’s not dead.

I didn’t mean to hurt him, I only wanted him to stop. But she had hurt him. She’d have done anything to make him stop forcing her. Anything except kill him. She hadn’t wanted to kill him.

How had it come to this? Hendrik wasn’t evil, he was a good man. At least as good as most men. He’d been drinking, she never should have stayed on after the others had left. Drink often changed men for the worse. Even then, if she hadn’t told him Margitte had lied about what happened in the castaway island, she might have persuaded him to let her go.

Yet wasn’t she the same person that she’d always been? Why was it her fault that Pieter had forced her to lie with him?

But before then it had been Adrien. She’d wanted Adrien, even though the lovemaking had been his idea. She still wanted him.

Confused, she shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Hendrik mustn’t be dead, there’d been too much death. She couldn’t bear to be the cause of his death. What was it that drove men to force women who didn’t want them?

The moon rode low, the light barely showing her the road. Soon it would be morning. The voices of the night, the piping of the frogs and toads had faded. In the quiet, heard only

ky the sound of her scurrying feet. Suddenly she was very aware of the darkness around her, the black shadows where the thin moonlight didn’t reach. The moist night pressed close and heavy—she gasped for air.

Mingled with the cloying perfume of the tiny white flowers that bloomed only by moonlight, she smelled the foul odor of the canals that, here in Java, were not clean and fresh like those in Amsterdam.

The thud of her feet seemed louder and louder in the stillness—she could hear the sound over her gasping breath. Why did her soft-soled slippers make so much noise? An odd noise, too, now that she noticed it, almost as though she dragged one foot.

She couldn’t be making such a sound!

With a moan of fright, Romell glanced over her shoulder. Her cry caught in her throat. She stumbled, caught herself, but in that moment the dark figure behind her clutched her shoulder.

Before she could scream, an arm came about her neck, cutting off her breath, she struggled weakly, spent by her running, the arm tightened so her air was cut off. She choked and gagged, "Did you think to get away from me?" A man’s voice said.

Her heart seemed to burst with terror.

The voice was Pieter’s.