Master Of Paradise (9 page)

Nick's eyes crinkled with delight at her frankness. "I think Maggie would be closer to the mark."

She indicated an overstuffed sofa and they sat quite close, sharing their amusement.

"Please don't think you need explain yourself to me. My own background wouldn't bear too close a scrutiny, yet I have no intention of revealing myself to anyone for any reason."

"I feel a need for the truth for once," she said quietly.

"When under stress, men suppress; women confess," he said lightly.

"Well, there really was a Lord Stafford, but I discovered too late he had no intention of marrying me. God, I was naive. Almost threw myself in the cut when I found out I was pregnant and he'd have none of me. When I started to show, I got the sack from the milliner's shop and thrown out of my digs all in the same week. I was reduced to stealing the necessities of life, and before I knew it, I was clapped behind bars."

"Newgate?" he asked with quiet compassion.

She nodded. "I was transported. Christ that voyage damned near did me in, and I swore if I ever got my feet on dry land, I'd never be a victim again."

"How long were you in servitude?"

"Five years was to pay off my passage. I was bought by a wealthy plantation owner in Port Royal, close to the Georgia border. You can guess the rest."

"He seduced you?"

She smiled. "No love, I could tell you that, but it wouldn't be true. He was left a widower; I seduced him. It was a very simple matter once there was no wife to get in my way. I was so very lucky, really. When he died, he generously left me this house."

"I have two... friends. After all," she shrugged, "schools cost money. Things are very different in America than they are in England, especially in the South. Men don't take married women for their mistresses here. It's almost unheard of. The virtue of Southern womanhood is revered, worshipped almost. They are so chaperoned, so protected. A lady would be ruined if there was even the slightest whisper about her. Actually, Southern men believe that white ladies should be protected from men's sexual appetites. That's why they indulge themselves with black wenches. So you see, I don't fit the mold and I must be very, very discrete."

He drew her against him with one strong arm, while his other hand had already undone the fastening of her gown. As he freed her breasts, his head dipped to taste the fruit to see if it was to his liking.

It was nightfall before the weary travelers arrived at Paradise, the name already being used to refer to Nicholas Peacock's place. The mules Nick had purchased were put to work hauling wagons filled with plows, tools and supplies. Well over half of the hands he had purchased had experience driving mules, and the supplies that the wagons could not accommodate were being sent by barge down the river that curved in so close to Paradise.

By the time they arrived, Nicholas knew all his men by name. It was simple really. Brute looked exactly the part, Jason was the Mulatto, Joe the oldest, Ben the youngest, while Gold and Silver were two brothers. Nick mused that perhaps Fate had sent them as a sign of his venture's prosperity. Moses had a wide space between his teeth, which immediately brought to mind the parting of the Red Sea. Luke never spoke, only nodded and shook his head, and Vulcan and Lance had developed an immediately rivalry to see who could lift the bigger load. Nicholas knew he could use this to advantage, providing he didn't allow the rivalry to develop into something nastier.

They all pitched in to build a fire, then while they unloaded the wagons and fed and watered the mules, Samuel and Nicholas made coffee and handed around ham and biscuits, the only food that was practical at such a late hour.

As they sat sipping their coffee, Nicholas talked to his men. He pointed out the boundaries of his land. He told them what was expected of them, and what they could expect in return. He shared some of his dreams for a plantation that would thrive and eventually outdo those around it.

"I won't ask any man to do what I won't do myself. I'm going to be working alongside you, and we'll cut trees, clear out stumps, plow, plant and pick together. We'll build just a couple of cabins to live in at first. Then we'll build one for each of you. There's lots of logs; lots of wood. The first problem will be food. Who knows how to build a barbeque? Good! Joe, tomorrow take Ben and find enough stones to build a really big one to cook for a dozen of us.

"If I work sixteen hours a day, I expect you all to work sixteen hours a day," he warned. "At Paradise Hill everyone is equal, understand?"

He grinned. "Course, Samuel here's a house man. Thinks he's better than the rest of us, but until we have a house for him to take charge of, he's going to have to work like the rest of us." Nick watched as they all grinned at Samuel's haughty discomfort. "Course, hard work like we're going to be doing would kill a damned house man, so he's going to have to take over the job of feeding us all." He put his arm about Samuel's shoulders to show him his appreciation for all his help and advice.

"I'll buy chickens and goats from Bernard Jackson, and I'll hunt just as its coming light in the mornings. Should be plenty deer and game, don't you think?"

"Sure 'nuff is. Squirrel and wild turkey; lotsa 'coon an' possum," nodded Samuel, "an anybody with a whole lotta guts can hunt down a razorback or two."

"Wild hogs?" asked Nick, then said thoughtfully, "I bet it would be possible to keep some in a pen and breed them." His mind ran on again. "Everybody know how to fish?"

As they drifted off to sleep they wondered at this strange man who had paid good money for them, but wasn't even going to spancel them for the night.

In the beginning, it was pride that made the men work; pride to keep up with this strange white man from England. Then later, it was pride that kept them going, that drove them on. Pride in themselves and what they could accomplish; pride in their determination to produce excellent crops.

Nicholas planted tobacco and cotton, and where the land was covered by water, he planted a crop of wild rice, rather than take time to drain the land. There would be other years for that. The rice seeds could be planted anywhere from six to sixteen inches underwater, lightly covered with peaty bottom soil, anywhere that was protected from wind and waves.

The three crops had staggered planting times and different harvesting months, so they went straight from cotton into tobacco, and then rice.

Every day like clockwork a servant was dispatched from the Jackson Plantation to invite Nicholas to dine. He was loathe to turn down the generous hospitality of his neighbors, and in the end compromised by dining there one evening every week. He grew close to the Jacksons, receiving invaluable advice from Bernard in regard to his crops.

The county was as hive of social activity. Everyone took time for socializing, enjoying a party, barbeque, or fish-fry every single day of the week. Nicholas Peacock received dozens of invitations, but he knew he could not play until his work was done. It would be years before he could take time from his labors, except for the weekly visit to the Jacksons. Nick never forgot the look of dismay on Mandy's face when he told her he had purchased Paradise Hill from the County.

"You bought it on purpose, just to spite me! Your aim in life is to torment me like a plague of locusts."

Whenever her anger was aroused, her eyes flashed with golden lights that held him enraptured. He quickly assured her that she was welcome to come and play there anytime, then in an attempt to bring out her dimples, he added, "I think you can secretly consider it yours."

Her mood changed like quicksilver. "Will you build a house there, someday?"

"The House on Paradise Hill," he mused. "I think a Grecian Temple would be the right style, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely." She sighed. "I'd better not be home late today. I'm in Mammy Lou's bad books again."

"What is it this time, chewing tobacco and picking your teeth?" He cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her.

"You always make me laugh, so I can't stay mad at you. As a matter of fact, I refused to curtsy to the ladies and gentlemen at the Beverly's party last night. It's the
principle
of curtsying I object to, but Mammy I'm afraid doesn't understand principles." Her chin went up in a challenge. "You do, don't you?"

"Yes, I understand," he said, thinking this lovely young girl was as old as the ancients and wise beyond her years, but still, alas, a young girl. And yet... and yet...

Chapter Five

When Brandon Jackson came home for the summer and discovered that their neighbor was only a couple of years older than himself, he lost no time making his acquaintance. He hoped for a boon companion with whom he could raise a little hell. He shook hands with Nicholas, who towered over him, but the advantage was more than physical. One was man, the other merely a youth.

Brandon Jackson was a handsome young man with a lazy charm that was infectious. He had a stocky build with wide shoulders, and like his sister Jennifer Joy had blonde hair the color of sunshine. He wore it long and wavy to his collar and sported a romantic mustache much in fashion at the moment among the gentlemen of the South.

"Lord God Almighty, I don't believe the changes you've made in the short time I've been gone. Last time I was here, all this was water oak, seedling pine, tangled brush and vine."

"We'll be great friends. I'm totally indolent. All I posses is a talent to amuse. You'll play cards with my friends and I, won't you?"

"If you don't mind parting with your money." Nick laughed.

"Don't mind a bit," assured Brandon amicably. "Be a right pleasure to lose to you."

"There's something else I'd like from you," Nick said. "I believe it was you I saw when I was hunting yesterday. Never saw a man ride through woods better. You were shooting from the hip at full gallop. You didn't seem to take aim, but I saw you always hit your target."

"Well hell, I was born with a gun in my hand. Only four things in life worth botherin' with-- ridin', shootin', drinkin', an' fuckin', and I bet you don't need any lessons in the last two!"

Nicholas soon met all his contemporaries in the county through Brandon and his all-male gambling sessions. The first was held at Beau Hampden's, whose father, Wade, was just about the wealthiest man in the county. Beau was extremely handsome with dashing blonde mustaches and the slowest coastline drawl Nick had ever heard. He was tall and slim with a pantherlike grace that attracted females from miles around.

Kingsley Vickers, nicknamed 'King', and Tyler Caldwell, known at 'Ty' started the evening with a drinking contest that soon had them liquored up and spoiling for a fight with the other card players, Wesley Davis and Stuart Beverly.

Nicholas was amused to discover that when there were no ladies present, the flower of Southern manhood, who had been brought up to be gentlemen with the most chivalrous manners in the world, were without exception the cursingest, drunkenest, coarsest men he had ever mixed with. Their most unappealing quality, however, was their immaturity.

At university, Brandon was a member of the Order of Turtles, and insisted on initiating all of them. "It's the greatest fun," he laughed. "When you're a member of the club you can ask friends you meet, 'Are you a Turtle?' The correct answer is 'You bet your sweet arse I am!' If you don't receive this exact answer, he has to stand you a drink." Brandon continued, "Now you have to answer four qualifying questions. One-- What is it a man can do standing up, a woman sitting down, and a dog on three legs?"

There was general snickering as the obvious answer came to mind, then one of them shouted, "Shake hands!"

"Right! See how easy it is?" Brandon said with a laugh. "Two-- What is it a cow has four of and a woman has only two?"

The laughter grew louder as they realized they were all thinking along the same line. When no one could give a straight answer, Brandon told them it was 'legs'.

"Come on boys. The next one's easy! What's a four-letter word ending in K that means the same as intercourse?"

One or two shouted out the word that obviously fit so well. Ty Caldwell, whose brain should have been paralyzed from all the liquor he'd imbibed, stared owlishly at the other. "The word is talk, what else could it be?"

When the convulsive laughter died down, Brandon asked the last question. "What is it on a man that is round, hard, and sticks so far out of his nightshirt that you can hang a hat on it?" Ribald answers were drowned out by uproarious laughter. "The answer is 'head' of course."