Toward Love's Horizon Read online

  Much later, after Angela had eaten dinner in Jack’s cabin with Ezra, they were back at the railing watching the tiny spots of light dancing like fireflies over the sea in the interminable trips back and forth. It was no longer possible to see individuals, only a golden glow came from the slanted deck. There was no moon and the stars were so low they scraped the sea, a multitude of twinkling white dots merging into a gauzy swath across the ebony sky.

  Angela was exhausted but still she couldn’t tear herself away. How many opportunities would she have to see such sights? Jane was in England carefully ensconced in the country having babies with Owen. And here in Key West on a tropical sea, the deck of a ship rolling beneath her feet, was Angela, the antithesis of English womanhood, tearing around with an exhighway man turned wrecker and a freed slave.

  She shook back her now dry hair raking her fingers through it. The men were too busy to give her a second glance though their first had been scrutinizing enough. She had caught a glimpse of herself in a tiny mirror in Jack’s cabin and almost couldn’t believe that the wildeyed, tousle-haired gypsy was she. No wonder the women had been frightened of her.

  “Duchess!” Jack stood behind her, lines of exhaustion etched into his rugged face. “I’d like to see you in my cabin. Ezra, would you mind getting me some food? I'm famished!” There was a strange exuberant quality to his voice in spite of his fatigue.

  The dark wooden chests, six of them, that she had seen Jack and the Spanish captain arguing over were stacked in his cabin taking over most of the floor space, Jack, bare to the waist, wearing only tight fitting breeches and high boots sank onto the only chair and smiled broadly. Angela poured him a generous brandy and handed it to him. He tossed it off in one gulp and settled back in the chair.

  “Open that chest, Angela,” he directed pointing to the one in a far corner.

  Puzzled, she obeyed, struggling with the heavy lid, noticing the broken padlock. “Oh—oh—oh!” She was on her knees in front of it stunned by the riches revealed.

  Jewels of every description filled it, pearls, rubies, diamonds, sapphires, all in a jumble, sparkling and gleaming in spite of the dim light. Without being able to stop herself Angela plunged her hands into the shining mass and let the cool stones trickle luxuriantly through her fingers. It was a king’s ransom—a pirate’s treasure!

  “Open that one, Duchess!”

  Lifting another lid she stepped back, this time without words. Stacks of rough brick-shaped gold bars glowed dully right up to the top of the chest.

  “Gold bullion,” Jack explained, “bound for Spain from South America. Five chests of gold!”

  “It—it must be worth millions of pounds!”

  “Yes, and two of those chests are mine!”

  “Jack—Jack—you have finally made your fortune!”

  “Yes, but I don’t know if it is worth what I had to give up for it—what we almost had today.”

  “Of course it is!” she exclaimed laughing and throwing her arms around his neck.

  For a moment he held her tightly, his face lost against the soft spill of her breasts. Then there came a sharp knock on the door and they hastily separated as Ezra brought in Jack’s dinner. His amber eyes bulged with shock at the revealed riches.

  “Quite a haul, hey, Ezra? Not bad for a night’s work!”

  “Hell, I might become a wrecker myself!” Ezra backed out the door his eyes glued to the treasure until it vanished from sight.

  “Angela,” Jack pulled something from his pocket holding it in his clenched hand so she couldn’t see it, “turn around.”

  He lifted the hair off the back of her neck and fastened something around it. She felt something hard and cold dangling between her breasts and instinctively touched it. It was rough, irregularly shaped, a huge uncut emerald all the more spectacular in its natural state. It glowed from within with green fire like something alive—hacked from the heart of a steaming Brazilian jungle.

  “You should give it to Amy,” she protested, fingering the stone, not wanting to part with it in spite of her words.

  “No, she wouldn’t wear it. I have pearls for Amy. But the emerald was made for you. Beneath your ladylike veneer you are an untamed little barbarian. Don’t you feel as if it’s part of you, my fierce little Duchess?”

  “Yes—oh yes!”

  “When you wear it, think of me and know that if you ever need me I will be there. Even if oceans separate us, our love and friendship exist deep inside each of us. When you are sad or troubled, just touch it and I will be with you comforting you, loving you, soothing away the hurt.”

  She turned, her glowing aqua eyes brimming with rears like diamonds. “Oh, Jack. You always say and do the right thing at the right time.”

  “Not always, little girl,” he sighed. “If I did, I would be a saint and that I’m not. You better than anyone else know that. But I feel you will need my help when I can’t be there and if the emerald endowed with love can work its magic that’s all either of us can ask.”

  The sitting room opened onto the porch with wide French doors and a balmy breeze blew through it. The furniture was Sheraton upholstered in pale pink, green, and white, and lent to the cool unruffled serenity, a reflection of Amy’s own qualities.

  They sat drinking tea out of delicate bone china cups from France, and Robert stuffed a whole scone into his mouth only to be elbowed by Lorna. Amy laughed touching the perfectly matched pearls around her neck that glowed a creamy-pink. Jack was in Havana auctioning off the cargo and tending to business affairs.

  The wreck had been the most profitable in Key West history and word spread like wildfire throughout the islands about Jack Newton’s good fortune. It brought prosperity to the key and the locals superstitiously whispered that their duchess had brought the luck. Hadn’t she been aboard the Silver Bear when the treasure was discovered? It was all her doing.

  Amy shot an uneasy glance at Angela. She had been unusually subdued since Jack’s departure, though she still went on her morning rides of which Amy heartily disapproved. She could just see her nine months gone galloping all over the island with everyone gaping at her. She had tried to become Angela’s friend but they didn’t really communicate, and Amy had no idea of what went on in her mind. That was Jack’s department and she was sure he knew everything about the eccentric duchess, but he never discussed it with her.

  It was so hot that Angela felt wilted already. The only relief came at night when the breezes cooled things down and she took to riding earlier in the morning to take advantage of the day before it started sizzling. The fishermen were just putting out at dawn when she went galloping by with a determined look on her face.

  So far nothing had happened and she began to despair. If the storm, pounding ride, and all the activity on the day of the wreck hadn’t made her miscarry she began to think nothing would. She was depressed especially since Jack had left and she couldn’t talk to him. Sometimes she took out the emerald and looked at it but never wore it around Amy. They had curbed their sensual attraction very effectively since what had almost happened during the storm.

  Angela went stiff all of a sudden, the teacup slipping from her nervous fingers and shattering on the floor. It was moving! The nasty little worm was gnawing at her insides! The flutter came again and she knew exactly what it was—Laporte’s baby taking over her life and body, making itself known.

  “Quickly, Lorna—fetch my smelling salts!” Amy was at her side looking down at Angela’s white face and the closed trembling eyelids. “Angela, are you all right? Are you in pain?”

  Amy’s voice was far away. The only reality was the movement of the child in her belly, unwanted and unloved, forced upon her by a sadistic, revenge-filled pirate. He was truly avenging himself now, not even his death could stop his vengeance.

  Amy waved the smelling salts under Angela’s nose and with a burst of revived rage she struck it from Amy’s hand and jumped to her feet. “Leave me alone!” she screamed bursting into tears. “Jus
t leave me alone!” Wheeling, Angela ran half-blinded, stumbling up the stairs and into her room.

  “I’m a shrew,” she sobbed collapsing on the bed. An ill-tempered bitch!”

  She lay there for a long time until all her tears were spent and she felt dry and brittle inside. But all the crying in the world wouldn’t change the situation. She was caught in woman’s age-old trap.

  Swearing Angela flounced off the bed and stripped off her clothes. Examining herself in front of the mirror she saw hardly any change, only slightly fuller breasts. Her belly was as flat as ever, but she usually didn’t start showing till the fourth month.

  Cruelly she dug her fingernails into the flesh of her abdomen as if she could reach and crush the separate being that was slowly turning her life into chaos. It was no use, it would take more than willing it dead to get rid of the bastard. She was desperate and she knew now what she had to do.

  The decision made, Angela pulled on her trousers and a blouse rolling up the long sleeves. It was too hot to wear anything and she would have preferred it that way. Giggling, she found herself startled that she could still find any humor in the world, but the thought of the way everyone’s eyes would pop out of their heads if she emulated Lady Godiva was amusing. The fishermen would be sure to make a tangled mess out of their nets and lines.

  She saddled Neptune herself and galloped toward the salt pools. The sun was high, meltingly hot, and even breathing was an effort. After all her months in the tropics it was turning Angela’s exposed skin a soft golden brown and her eyes were even more startling against the tan. She looked more like a gypsy than a great lady and at the moment felt like one too.

  Angela sat gazing out at the turquoise sparkle of the ocean, so bright it hurt her eyes. She was soaked to the skin already but it didn’t matter, it was cooler that way. What was it they said—only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun? She wasn’t in India but she might as well be, and it was getting hotter by the minute.

  There, would be a thunderstorm today. Huge, wonderfully fantastic clouds were piling up on the horizon as they did almost every afternoon, though none had struck with the force of the first storm of the season. That should cool things down a bit and add more rainwater to the storage tanks scattered across the island. For although there were a few sweet-water wells they wouldn’t provide enough for this sun-dazzled island.

  A sea gull circled, screeching, awakening her from a pleasant dream to scorching reality. Turning her horse she set off at an easy pace, in no rush. The island was small and she would be there before she knew it. Angela wondered if she had the nerve to follow it through to completion.

  “Yes,” she told herself, “there is no alternative.”

  The tiny hut was a patchwork made up of odd pieces of wood, tin, and tar paper. As Angela dismounted she speculated as to how it had survived the storm. A sort of porch was connected to the front, of woven palm leaves shakily propped up on two poles. It seemed deserted.

  She tied Neptune to a tree and walked toward the hut. The shade of the makeshift porch was reviving but still she hesitated. Angela couldn’t even remember how she had heard of this place but everyone on the island knew of the Old Lady, as they called her. She was a last resort but sooner or later everyone made her acquaintance and Angela was no exception.

  The rickety door on leather hinges was open and she had to duck her head to enter. It was almost dark inside, bright cracks of sunlight penetrating where mismatched pieces of the walls failed to meet. She sensed a movement and as her eyes became accustomed to the dimness found herself being scrutinized by the oldest, most shrivelled little Negro she had ever seen.

  She looked like a monkey with bright piercing eyes and arms like gnarled sticks. Dressed all in black she was a shadow hunched over a table in the corner of the hut. Her eyes moved, sharp and alive, the only things about her that had any vitality, and her gaze swept over Angela’s unconventional garb.

  “I know you,” she said her voice as dry as autumn leaves crunching underfoot. “You are the duchess that rides like the devil. What is pursuing you? Or is it something within you that drives you?”

  Angela took a step backward letting out a deeply held breath.

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think you would be. You leave dead men in your wake like a hurricane on a rampage. You should not tamper with legends and curses—they are more powerful than you think. They can change fate.”

  “I know.”

  Did the old woman know everything about her? It was impossible—yet she was hearing it with her own ears. They said she had the power and Angela was beginning to believe it. After all hadn’t she seen things with her own eyes that defied understanding?

  “You have come here for a purpose. To rid yourself of the child of an evil one. But you should have learned long ago that some things cannot be changed.”

  “You mean you won’t help me?” A cat brushed against Angela’s legs and she jumped.

  The woman didn’t answer, going about the work she had been at before Angela’s coming. She was crushing dried things in a crudely made pestle and mortar. Herbs and strange looking plants hung in bunches from the tin roof and there was an assortment of earthenware bottles lined up on shelves.

  “I will pay you.” Angela took two gold coins from her pocket and laid them on the table. They shone brightly in a shaft of light.

  The Old Lady still hesitated. “The one inside you will bring love and peace wherever she goes. She is destined for great things. Do I dare interfere?”

  How could she know it was a girl? How dare she try and dissuade her! “It is a monster and I will be rid of it!” Angela laid four more coins beside the others. They made a tempting pile.

  “You will need a powerful potion if it is to work against what is foreordained. Such a draught could kill you.”

  “I don’t care! Give it to me and be done with it. I’m determined to do it and won’t be stopped. If you don’t help me I will find another way!”

  “Why not wait till she is born and get rid of her. Give her away—then there will be no danger.”

  “No!” Angela took the rest of the coins from her pocket and flung them on the table. Several fell to the hard-packed earthen floor. “Whatever happens to me or it, you won’t be blamed. I take full responsibility for the consequences. Let it be on my head!”

  “So be it,” replied the Old Lady ignoring the money. “It will take several days to concoct the right mixture. Return to me at midnight by the dark of the moon. It will be ready.”

  The sun was hot but Angela was shivering with cold as she mounted Neptune and rode away. Why did she tell her all those things? What was the use when the child would never be born? Great love and peace indeed! The offspring of such a father could only spread hate. The Old Lady had just wanted more gold; she had given in readily enough when Angela’s pocket was empty. Yet she had known certain things. Could what she said about the baby have been true?

  “Impossible!” she concluded urging her horse faster.

  It was dark as black velvet, the only relief millions of stars dashed against the sky. An apparition in white rode a black horse slowly through the night. Angela had crept stealthily from the house hours after everyone else was asleep. She had made no sound as she went through the garden and saddled Neptune. Even he had been quiet as if joining in the conspiracy with her and now he picked his way carefully over the island to the deserted section where the Old Lady made her home. They went more by instinct than any sense of direction for it was impossible to make out any landmarks in the pitch-black darkness.

  Light flickered from the cracks in the walls spilling out the open doorway. It was a relief to be there and out of the enveloping night. Angela walked into the tiny room and the Old Lady didn’t even look up. She was pouring a nauseous looking liquid into a small bottle. When the last drop was poured she sealed it with a cork stopper.

  In the guttering lampli
ght she looked ghastly, all lines, angles, and hollows and Angela knew why they called her witch and feared her magic. She handed the brown bottle to Angela and it was still warm.

  “Go to the beach and bathe three times in the ocean. Then drink the potion. It must be done tonight before sunrise.”

  “Will it work?”

  The gnomelike creature began chanting in a strange heathen sounding language. Her eyes were closed and she rocked back and forth. Then she stopped, coming back from wherever she had gone in her mind.

  “You are tempting the fates. I do not know if it can be done. I have told you the risks. The rest is up to you.” She pointed to the door. “Go!”

  With the bottle clenched tightly in one hand she left and the chanting followed her out the door. Without thinking, without even knowing where she was going Angela set out. Wherever she went she would reach the ocean so it didn’t matter.

  The sound of the surf was in her ears. Neptune had gone back to his shed so Angela unsaddled him and left, walking toward the beach. Sand crunched beneath her boots, a strangely comforting sound.

  Removing her clothes she placed the bottle on the neatly folded pile and started toward the ocean. Foam swirled around her ankles as soft as down. She clutched the emerald in her hand and it soothed her. There was nothing to worry about. Soon this would be nothing but an unpleasant memory and the secret would be safely buried within her forever. Scott would never know of her degradation.

  The water was tepid, warmer than the air but she plunged in, swimming for a few yards before going out again. Three times and then Angela was fumbling for her clothes, pulling them on with difficulty over her wet skin.

  Sitting on the sand she uncorked the bottle and sniffed, wrinkling her nose. She felt very cool since the swim. Taking a deep breath she put the bottle to her lips and drank it down in a few big gulps.