Tender Fury (19 page)

Lulled into sleep by one of Tante Louise’s soothing tisanes Gabby was unaware that Philippe had come in much later and taken his place beside her in the big bed, cradling her in his arms through the long night. He was already gone when she awoke the next morning, the only visible sign that he had been in the bed with her the indentation his head made on the pillow. Because her weakness still persisted, Tante Louise ordained that she must remain in bed several days, and Philippe echoed her words.

In any event, Gabby found herself more or less isolated while the cane harvest continued at a frantic pace. Even the house servants were pressed into service and she saw little of anyone except Tante Louise. When she saw Philippe in the evening, he seemed brusque and preoccupied. He had not attempted to make love to her since their arrival at Bellefontaine, falling in bed at night too tired even to talk. At times he remained away the entire night and Gabby had wild imaginings of him with the beauteous Amalie. Somehow his words to Tante Louise insisting he had no need for a mistress held little comfort. Soon she would be large with child and she wondered if Philippe would take up with his mistress when her grotesque body repelled him.

Once Gabby’s health and vitality were restored she set out to explore all the rooms of the house, from the wine cellar to the huge ballroom on the upper floor. Tante Louise explained to her that all the rooms were in a single line with a veranda on either side to catch the slightest breeze. The rooms were light and airy with pastel colors on the walls. The furniture throughout most of the house was of French design fashioned mostly from native woods. Gabby was delighted with the house and surprised at the large staff of servants it took to run it.

When Gabby met Tante Louise’s husband, Gerard, she was shocked. The man towered above his six foot wife with lofty majesty; a crop of grizzled, white hair hugged his large head as well as his chin. The muscles that rippled along his massive torso and thighs were awesome, but they were not the most amazing thing about the powerful slave. The most incredible, the most shocking, was his skin. He was white! As white, or nearly as white, as to be indistinguishable from Philippe or herself. Now she understood Amalie’s golden complexion.

As Gabby learned her way around the house she realized that there would be little if anything to occupy her time. She was not about to usurp Tante Louise’s position or insert her authority into such a well-run establishment. Nevertheless, she adapted easily to the indolent life of a planter’s wife expecting her first child. She was cosseted and pampered and learned to live with the intense heat, even enjoying the long afternoon naps when Philippe usually joined her in the big bed.

Even after Gabby had recovered from her early illness, Philippe still seemed reluctant to approach her with his lovemaking, fearing it would precipitate another attack of weakness and endanger the child. One day Gabby took it upon herself to initiate the resumption of their former intimacy, hinting that their loving would neither hurt the child nor harm her. The first time they made love, Philippe held her like a fragile doll, afraid she would break. But soon her desire turned his own passion into a blazing inferno. He had lain beside her far too many nights, holding her close, feeling her body warmly curled next to his, yet hesitant to approach her. He tried to be gentle but they were soon eagerly devouring one another. When at last he pierced her softness, she gasped with pleasure as she rose to meet him. Swiftly he brought her to completion before crying out his own joy. After that they made love regularly, Philippe’s fatigue vanishing the moment he drew Gabby into his arms.

Gabby’s first visitors at Bellefontaine were Marcel Duvall’s sisters, Honore and Linette. She was completely captivated by the two high-spirited girls who were ecstatic to find that Philippe’s wife was near their own age. Honore, the youngest, was seventeen. Her pert face and saucy manner soon had Gabby smiling. Auburn curls fell in sausage like rolls around her pixie face and she stared at the world through vivid, blue eyes. Linette, at nineteen, seemed much more mature but nonetheless beautiful. Her raven waves cascading down her back were held in place by a ribbon. Her green eyes were startling in their clarity and her petulant, sensuous mouth reminded Gabby of Marcel. Linette was to be married soon after the new year. Though she had never met her husband-to-be, she unquestioningly trusted her brother’s judgment in arranging the match. After marriage Linette would live in France with her husband leaving Honore alone at Le Chateau until a suitable marriage could be arranged for the younger girl.

From the sisters Gabby learned that when on Martinique Marcel resided mainly in St. Pierre, preferring the townhouse and the active social life of the city to the dull country existence of the gentleman planter. Several times a year the girls would join their brother, spending days on end visiting friends, shopping, and attending the theater. Carnival season always found them in St. Pierre, for Marcel was an indulgent guardian of his young sisters. From them she also learned that Marcel had returned to Martinique shortly after she and Philippe.

The Duvall girls were frequent visitors to Bellefontaine and as long as Marcel remained in St. Pierre Gabby was free to return their visits. Le Chateau proved to be as well run and well kept as Bellefontaine despite the fact that Marcel left the running of it to his overseer and his sisters.

The cane had been harvested and not any too soon. The rains began with drenching regularity, commencing nearly every morning with torrential downpours but clearing up by midday when the sun appeared high in the sky. Gabby found she was able to bear the dampness and gloom only because of the breaks between rainy days lasting anywhere from thirty-six to forty-eight hours, enabling her to resume her visits with the Duvall sisters.

Gabby had neither seen nor heard from Amalie since that day she arrived at Bellefomaine. If she was still on the plantation there was no evidence of it. Perhaps Philippe had followed Tante Louise’s advice and sent her away. Philippe was still absent much of the day, and since the harvest had been completed often traveled into St. Pierre, remaining at the townhouse several days at a time. His fleet of ships was constantly coming and going with cargo to all parts of the world and Gabby began to realize the immensity of his wealth and holdings. With all his prosperity any girl on the island would have jumped at the chance to become his wife, yet he had traveled all the way to France for his bride. It seemed incongruous that he should have paid for what would have been freely given by any woman in her right mind.

Though she was somewhat in awe of Tante Louise, the woman daily proved her devotion to Gabby and her unborn child. She watched over her
petite fille
as if she were her own daughter and daily concocted delicacies to tempt Gabby’s sluggish appetite, the heat often dulling her taste for food. Through it all Gabby managed to thrive as did the babe within her.

The first time she had felt movement in her womb her startled cry awakened Philippe who had been sleeping soundly beside her. He stared at her in wonder as he rested his hand lightly on the soft mound of her stomach and felt for himself the fluttering of the tiny life they had created.

“It’s a boy, Gabby,” Philipe proudly proclaimed. “And after this one we shall have another, then another…”

“Philippe,” Gabby chided gently, “I am not sure I wish to produce a child a year.” Although her words were said jokingly, the thought was sobering. Would she become a brood mare only to be caste aside when she was worn out in favor of Amalie or another like her?

“Having children is a natural culmination of our passionate natures,” Philippe said dryly. “Would you have me take a mistress so that you might be spared the rigors of child-bearing? Of what use would you be to me, then?” he asked with overbearing arrogance.

Gabby was stunned into silence. Just when she thought herself free from his cruelty he taunted her with threats of a mistress, calling her useless if she failed to serve her purpose in life.

Seeing her face, Philippe was immediately contrite. What made him hurt her when she deserved much better? he wondered, hating his own thoughtless words. She had adapted admirably to the isolation of the plantation and welcomed the coming child despite her tender years. She had even learned to respond to his lovemaking with an ardor that matched his own. Why then this compelling need to punish her? In his original plans Gabby was meant to play a minor role in his life. But she had become much more. Could it be he was afraid to show his love? Did thoughts of Cecily still haunt him?

“I’m sorry,
cherie
,” Philippe murmured contritely. “I don’t know what comes over me at times. I would not deliberately hurt you. Please believe me.”

Gabby forgave but did not forget.

That night was the first time Gabby became aware of the drums. She had heard about Voodoo or Obeah, snake worship as it was practiced here on Martinique. She had assumed that the natives were Catholics, like the French, but Philippe had informed her they were very much involved in Obeah as well as Catholicism when it served their purpose. The priests, he explained, tried to flog Obeah out of the slaves but were unsuccessful. No one on the island scoffs at the Obcah curse, she had learned.

The drums unsettled Gabby, and she drew closer to Philippe. They seemed to bode evil for her. She hadn’t realized that the Bellefontaine slaves practiced Obeah but should have guessed they would be no different from the others. Later, she dreamed of sleek, black bodies writhing and dancing around an altar upon which a nude, golden-skinned woman held a snake aloft, inviting it to become a part of her own body. She awoke drenched in sweat, clutching at Philippe who spent the remainder of the night soothing her fears with soft words and love.

The following morning Gabby awoke to a blaze of sunshine so intense that her fears from the night before were immediately put to rest. After days of rain and gloom the warming rays of the sun were a welcome sight. With an air of contentment she donned her gayest dress, one she had let out but which still fit reasonably well considering the rounded bulge beneath the waistline. Gabby hummed a happy tune while she planned a leisurely visit with Honore and Linette at Le Chateau. She hadn’t seen them since the rains had begun and sorely missed their company and witty chatter. So impatient was she to be off that she begrudged the time it took for Francine, the pretty mulatto maid, to arrange her silvery locks becomingly atop her head. After breakfast she left word for Philippe that she would not be home for lunch, then set off for Le Chateau in a carriage driven by Gerard.

When Gabby reached Le Chateau no one ran out in joyful welcome as was the Duvall sisters’ usual custom. Hesitantly she approached the door and was rendered speechless when it was flung open by Marcel who seemed inordinately pleased to see her, drawing her into the cool hallway.

“Gabby!” Marcel exclaimed in obvious delight. “How good it is to see you again.” She could only stare as he drew her into the salle and seated her in an overstuffed chair. “I hadn’t expected to see you at Le Chateau since my sisters are in St. Pierre.”

“I… I didn’t know they were gone,” stammered Gabby, still flustered.

“It is their intention to buy out St. Pierre,” laughed Marcel indulgently. “I shall join them in a day or two, as soon as I have cleared up my business here.” His green eyes glittered like emeralds and Gabby blushed as his gaze swept over her burgeoning figure. “But enough of me,” he said, turning serious. “What of you? Are you happy? I missed you when I returned to my sister’s house in New Orleans. How did Philippe find you?”

At that moment a servant appeared with refreshments and Gabby sipped her
bavarois
with relish while she considered her answer. Finally, she said, “I am content, and happy. I think Philippe has changed. He… he… is so looking forward to the birth of our child.” She hung her head shyly at the mention of the babe.

Marcel eyed her skeptically. “You mean to say that Philippe is the perfect husband? I hardly thought him capable.” Gabby did not miss the note of sarcasm in his voice.

“If you are thinking of Philippe’s past involvement with Amalie, Marcel, you need not worry. He no longer has need of a mistress,” Gabby said meaningfully. “Philippe has time for no one but his wife and the child soon to be born.”

“Would that child were mine,” muttered Marcel, his eyes straying again to Gabby’s waistline before returning to gaze into her violet eyes.

Gabby was startled by the depth of feeling in Marcel’s voice, and dropped her eyes to cover her embarrassment. As if sensing her discomfort, he took her hands in his and began speaking of things that would give her no cause for embarrassment. Warming to his charm, Gabby relaxed and soon they were chatting easily, unmindful of the passing time.

Meanwhile, Philippe, hot and dusty from the distillery, returned to the house earlier than usual because of a breakdown of machinery, his thoughts on a leisurely bath and spending the hot afternoon in the coolness of his bedroom with Gabby beside him, either making slow, lazy love or just resting side by side if she weren’t up to the former. He smiled in anticipation, for Gabby rarely rejected him, even as she grew large and bulky. He was more than a little annoyed to learn that Gabby was visiting Le Chateau and not expected to return until later in the day. His frown deepened as he absently ordered a hot tub to wash away his sweat and labors from the frustrating morning attempting to repair broken machinery. Philippe stripped and poured himself a generous measure of rum to ease his tensions and agitation. Finding the fiery liquid immensely soothing, he quickly downed another and another until he was well on his way to forgetting all about Gabby and her delicious little body.

Immersed in a steaming tub of water, Philippe’s thoughts strayed once more to Gabby and his thwarted plans for the afternoon. He had looked forward with eagerness to holding her sweetly curving body close to his, allowing her to slowly arouse him, savoring the moment he finally took her. Scowling, he realized his line of thought had aroused him and cursed under his breath. Why wasn’t his wife here when he needed her? Just then he heard a noise and, rising from the tub, looked expectantly at the door, a pleased smile curving his lips, certain that Gabby had returned early and his afternoon would not be wasted after all.