The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2 (11 page)

"It's not that."
 

The weepy sound of the woman's voice filled Precious with angst. She held Clara's hand. "Then what is it?"

"I just have fear. His last letter described the violence of this place. What if something has happened to him before I could see him? What if he never gets to behold his son? What if--"

Precious squeezed Clara in her arms and held her till the lady's tears stopped. "Don't do this. The what-ifs will do you in. No more of it. Lord Welling will keep everyone safe." She picked up the lady's heavy Bible and set it on the blanket. "You calm yourself, Miss Clara, just like you did me so many nights. Read it, and believe those words like you told me to do."

"Did you believe them, Precious?"

She didn't know what to say. Nothing had wiped away her nightmares, but she had more peace now than she had in Charleston or London. She patted Clara's arm. "I know you believe them. You don't lie with your faith in order to coerce. You're honest in it. That's what I believe. Now start in that book of Psalms. That David sounds like he's hurting, too."

Clara brought Precious's hand to her cheek. "You're right, Precious. I'm working myself up, over a bad dream. All will be well."

Precious framed a smile on her face and waited for Clara's before she got into a comfortable spot next to Jonas. Nothing could go well with her friend in a panic or with Precious joining her in letting fear run wild.

But Precious did believe in dreams. They were warnings sometimes, but she'd keep this sentiment to herself, along with her shaking limbs under the blanket. The movement she saw in the trees was a figment of her mind. Or, if it was real, let it at least be friendly person to Lord Welling and his party.

After a couple of chapters, Clara's fidgeting stilled. The woman took slower breaths. "Precious, thank you. I've been getting weak in my faith these days, fretting over the baby or my husband's safety. But none of anything that happens is in my control. I have to have peace with that."

Nodding, Precious shifted her eyes to the crack in the door, to the drifting sound of men's boots marching all about. The docking must be starting. "Yes, there's not much to do but the waiting and the hoping for the best."

Clara released a yawn. "I have to trust that, even in the bad, there will be good. God says that He wants our best. Suppose I have to believe that He will be true to His word."

Precious didn't respond, and kept her doubts tucked in her belly. Bad things always came, but hopefully it would stay away at least today and tomorrow.

When Clara's head dipped fully onto the blankets and her whistling snore sounded, Precious got up and slipped on her shoes. The movement of the boat seemed halted, almost still. She opened her door wider and saw the shadow of the ladder was the same as it had been an hour ago. Their position from the moon hadn't changed. They must be docked. They'd made it to Port Elizabeth. 

Skin tingling with excitement, she pushed into the hall. Anticipation mixed with her doubts and started a rumbling in her tummy.
Shhh
. She held her middle and wondered what she would see if she took a peek.
 

Lord Welling warned her to stay in the cabin, but that had had to be if something went wrong. Surely, it would cause no harm to crawl up and take a gander at what was happening. She'd only do it for a few minutes.

Yes, that's what she'd do.
 

Holding her breath, she plodded to the ladder and climbed to the top. It took seconds for her eyes to adjust to low, almost nonexistent, light. Her scan of land saw endless patches of trees and mounds of beach. The curves blended into the ebony night. This place was very different from London.
 

She craned her neck to make out figures marching down the plank. Her pulse raced when she found the tall figure wearing the moon-shaped hat. The glow of the torch in his hand exposed him fully. Lord Welling was glorious, his jacket billowing in the breeze. He lifted his arms, and he and his men started down the plank.

"Wowski? Don't you know the women should be below?"
 

The worm who wanted her to be a spy had come from nowhere, and now stood behind her, whispering, "That includes the black woman, too."

The hair on her neck rose as the scent of liquor and sweat from his sorry hide invaded her nostrils. "Hadn't you heard I’m more caramel?"

He chuckled, his tone sounding harsh with each fake note. "Funny Wowski."

She turned back to watch Lord Welling, but her head filled with questions. "What's going on? Why must this be done at night? And why aren't you with him?"

He moved to stand next to her. "What, your friend, the Captain, didn't tell you? The savages could be out, attacking us as we unload the cargo. Once everything is stowed, someone, probably your prince, will come for you."

Now wasn't the time for his bluster. Between Clara's unease and the sense that what she saw moving in those trees was real, Precious had lost patience with his joke. "Isn't Wowski a mocking of your king? Isn't it treason to speak ill of his brother?"

The man sputtered, as if caught in the snap of bear trap. "Go on below with you. Leave this for the men."

He stepped around her and kept going.

Good riddance, but Precious wasn't moving, not until she knew all was well. The wariness in her stomach didn't quit. There was something odd in this.

Her gaze left the landing party and moved to the trees. The close ones didn't look right. A limb or two bent opposite the wind. Either her imagination had become crazed, or something was out there.

She counted to ten and nothing happened. Swiveling, she again focused on Lord Welling's lantern. His light and those of his men cut through the ebony night.
 

This was just like the woods on the Marsdale Plantation, except the water there smelled of fish and stinky fishermen. This place had a scent of newness, and some raw, unexplainable danger.

Precious wasn't scared. The bumps pimpling her skin weren't mostly from fear, but a restless anticipation. This place would be her home, and she was going to set foot on it, not in chains and not enslaved.

She craned her neck to hear. Was that the sound of drums filling the wind, or just her nerves? Everything within her screamed something was out there.

A party of five or six lanterns marched from the dunes to the gangplank. They must be causing the noises. But what if they weren't?

Pacing to the lieutenant, she thought of how to alert him and not give him more fodder. It was one thing to be thought of as a harlot, but a nutty one, too? That had to be avoided.

A cry pierced the air. It was man's death yell. The lead man of the party on the shore fell.
 

Lord Welling charged forward. "Take cover, men!"

Another man dropped to his right, but Lord Welling kept moving until he stopped at the end of the gangplank. He seized a stick and pulled it from the first man's back. Even from this distance, the look of it, no one could survive, but her baron didn't leave him. He stayed.

She grabbed Mr. Grossling’s arm. "Lieutenant, you have to go to the baron and help him."

Coward, he shook his head. "I will not. The paper-pusher's not for suicide."

Precious pivoted and saw Lord Welling's lantern go dark, and her heart nearly exploded. Suddenly, she was running to him. Just like she was a rabbit in Charleston, she bounced down the gangplank with no care for losing her balance or falling into the treacherous ocean below. She had to get to him. She had to warn him of what she sensed awaiting in the trees.
 

He couldn't die. He was too good a man for that.

A spear flew past her side, but she ducked and tripped flat on her stomach, the air leached out of her.

Guns belched. The air filled with the perfume of killing powder.

Lifting her head, she could see a man on horse bearing down on the baron. He was in a leathered robe. Nothing the English wore. And he was as black as ebony. His thick forearm glistened in the moonbeams. What manner of enemy was this?

Why didn't the baron move? What distracted him from the danger closing in?

She leapt to her feet and ran at full force. She saw a spear launch, and jumped, arms flailing as she pushed through the air toward the baron's neck.
 

Wham
! She hit him hard, sending him backward, but he'd grabbed her, taking her with him. As they hit beach, sand flew everywhere. The wind of the spear sailed over her and lodged in the plank with a thud. He or she would have been sliced through if either stayed on the gangplank.

Lord Welling drew her fully into his arms, tucking her deep within his jacket. The scent of gunpowder and his musk swallowed her as he rolled with her until they were partially hidden underneath the plank.

Gunshots sounded, a bullet hitting close to their spot.
 

He drew her tighter in his arms. His low accent licked her ear. "What do you think you’re
 
doing? You could've been killed!"

She held him tighter, counting the hitching of his gasps. "Savin' your life. You're welcome."
 

"Thank you. Now we'll both be killed." He tugged her underneath him, as if to shelter her from their enemy, but his weight made it difficult to breathe.
 

Feet pounded overhead. More guns roared.

Fury overtook her. She kicked with her legs, beat on his chest. "I wouldn't have had to if you'd have moved. Why didn't you? I told you I saw people in the hills."

"I couldn't move. The spear hit my lieutenant. I had to tell him of his wife and the child soon to come. Narvel had to know before he died."

Precious stilled as his words crept past her anger and struck her heart. "No, not Clara's husband, not Mr. Narvel." Her poor friend. Precious's throat clogged, a sob filling the spaces between words. "I have to tell her."
 

He rolled to his side, but his heavy body blocked the way they'd come, and water was on the other side of the plank. She was trapped with Lord Welling under the gangplank until some side won. "I have to help her."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Not until my men sound an all clear. Then we can tend to our friends."

Port Elizabeth was to be a place of joy. With her palm, she beat the sandy floor beneath her. "Where have you brought me and Jonas?" She hit it again but he captured her hand and pulled her to him. The weight of his embrace pressing her against his chest stilled her motion.

She felt helpless and weak underneath him and the burden of her grief for her friend. "Why?"

Pistols popped, flintlocks moaned, and shouts drowned out everything but the rapid beating of his heart. The light of the moon slipping through the haze of bullets and smoke showed the anguish in his eyes. "It wasn't like this before I left. I'd never..." He lifted her chin, his strong gaze searing her flesh. "I'm greedy. I wanted you and the boy here with me. I needed you here."
 

She shouldn't have let him kiss her, but she didn't have the desire not to taste his strength. How could she not give into the feel of his rough hands caressing her face, his finger tips stroking her neck, drawing her closer, wrapping her in his power?

A horn blew. He stopped the siege of lips, her very willpower. With strong arms, he nudged her behind him. "Please, stay here until I know all is well." He stroked her chin. "And, Precious, you're not a mouse. No, you're full lion."

He scooted out of their hiding position and disappeared in the gloom.

She'd stay put, not because he asked, because she had to get all of her tears out of her, so she could tell her friend the worst. And that this crime was done by someone who Clara had come to be a missionary for, someone who very well could be a cousin to Precious. How was that news to be shared?

Episode III of The Bargain
 

Length: 8 Chapters (25,000 words)
 

Summary: Precious Jewell: A Leader’s Secret Weapon
 

Status: Coming August 2015.
 

More installments are on the way.
 
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Dear Friend,

I enjoyed writing The Bargain because I dream of Port Elizabeth, a burgeoning colony where all men and women had the opportunity to make their claim and determine their own fates. These stories will showcase a world of intrigue and romance, somewhere everyone can hopefully find a character to identify with as the colonists and Xhosa battle for their ideas and the love which renews and gives life.
 

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