Passion's Joy (23 page)

Unconsciously toying with a button on his shirt, she looked up. "I thought you would think me silly and childish—"

"For what? Attaching such soft sentiments to an animal?" He smiled down at the tears and said in a voice of fond tenderness, "Joy, I have only to think of Rake to know. How can one wonder

at our attachment to animals? It's not just how they depend on us, soliciting any and all propensity we have to care for things, but unlike humans, animals give their devotion unconditionally; they give everything and ask for so little in return." He had stopped his mount again so that his hand might freely caress her face as he spoke. "I know how much you love and care for her. So, what forced you to sell her?"

She shook her head and lowered her eyes, as fresh tears sparkled there. "Oh Ram, I shouldn't burden you with... our troubles—"

"No, sweetheart, don't hide from me like that. I would know what's wrong."

The Reverend's fate came out in bits and pieces of broken sentences until finally he grasped what happened, letting her know it with sudden vicious curses.

"Oh no." She stopped him in alarm. "Don't be angry with him ... he had to do it; he was doing it for us." She saw she would have to explain further to justify the Reverend's actions. He pressed her for all of it, his questions allowed nothing to be kept back. And then he was furious.

Furious with himself. He had kept himself ignorant and away from her family, all to selfishly avoid the damnable and unwanted temptation she presented, only to find this disaster upon those slender shoulders. His only excuse was that while he knew they were poor—one had only to view her clothes or step into their small house to know—he had thought Joshua had a decent enough income.

The whole thing was easy to settle and of no import. What was far harder to dismiss was how it felt to hear of her struggle, to realize she had been begging positions in another man's house, though he didn't wonder why such a valiant attempt at that kind of position failed. She carried the family burden alone and without help. Where the hell was Joshua and— "God girl," he suddenly demanded when she was through, "why didn't you come to me?"

She looked up in shock, then away to shake her head. "Ram, you know I couldn't. I never even thought to appeal—" She stopped and thought to ease his worry. "Please don't worry. It's all over now." She glanced down at the purse. "I can pay the Reverend's bail, plus the rent, and there's bound to be enough to buy some medicine and food..."

They were nearing the outskirts of the city, and again he stopped the horse, alarmed as he saw the drawn and thin features in a new light. She looked all eyes suddenly, large dark blue eyes. It was masochistic to ask, and he was afraid of the answer. "When was the last time you ate?"

She looked away, embarrassed, attempting to dismiss his concern with a wave of hand. "Oh, Cory and I don't need much, and naturally Joshua and Sammy come first—"

"Sweetheart, you're not telling me something. Even if you would not come to me for some mistaken idea of propriety, I know Joshua would, at least before he saw you and Cory go without food."

Then he saw it. Fresh tears filled her eyes, and he knew he had finally reached the real burden she carried. "He doesn't know, does he?"

She shook her head.

"Does he know any of it? Is he that bad?"

Again she shook her head. "Yes, he's worse of late ... I couldn't tell him ... I was afraid ..."

He took her back into his arms and held her tightly again as his lips brushed across her forehead and his hands tenderly ran through her hair. She cried softly against him, her sadness and pain pleading somehow with the very strings of his heart, his response alarming him with its intensity.

"Now though"—she wiped her eyes and pulled away slightly—"I can pay off the pharmacist and get more medicine and, and I haven't checked in a week; but maybe he has something new from the continent and with proper food—"

"Joy sweetheart." He stopped her, cupping her face in his hands, staring at the hope sparkling through the tears in her eyes. He saw now what Joshua had meant. In his past visits with her guardian, he had found much to respect and admire in the man. The quickness and depth of their intimacy sprung from the press of time of a man facing the imminent arrival of his death.

Joshua himself had faced the certainty of his death some time ago; his condition was hopeless, the suffering it brought made death welcome. Joshua's only fear—and this was a great one—was for Joy. Joy's future seemed so uncertain; her character and countenance were patently ill-suited for the docility of domestic life of marriage—how Ram knew the truth of this—and despite the benevolence of her motivation, her wildness constantly flirted with danger and certain ruin. What man was strong enough, Joshua had asked him, yet gentle enough to temper those failings by the act of marriage?

These worries were secondary, however, to Joshua's primary concern, a concern Ram now faced in the plain hope shining in those eyes. Joshua's main fear was Joy's inability to face his death, this after he, the Reverend, Sammy and once at Joshua's coaching, even Cory, had all

attempted to prepare her for the inevitable. She steadfastly refused to believe it and in a way that alarmingly portended of her devastation when it finally came.

She waited for what he would say, entertaining an idea he was about to rescue her by adding some happy new hope, some clever doctor he knew or a miracle medicine he had come across in his travels.

"Joy, medicines don't matter anymore." He spoke as gently as he could, "Joshua's not going to be getting well again."

He might have just spoken tongues for the sudden incomprehension lifting on her face. She shook her head, slowly at first.

"That's not true! How can you say such a thing?" Pushing from his arms, she slid quickly off his horse onto the ground, then backed away, still shaking her head. "He has to get better! He has to! Joshua's all I have in the world, he's all I—"

"Joy!"

It was too late. She turned and ran from him, disappearing down the dark street into her house. Ram did not pursue her; this was the one thing he could not fix or change. Long after she was gone though, he remained staring after her with the echo of her small running boots ringing in his mind. Thoughts spun in many directions but finally settled on a point of alarm.

This one girl with the long brown hair and eyes like openings to a summer sky, a pretty package of a hundred or so pounds and of nothing but trouble, had worked her way quite easily into his heart.

He had never been a man to entertain a "what if"; he had always taken what life had given him, working from there with his visions. Not once, he realized, had he ever wasted a moment on a "what if." Until now.

What if he could marry her? Had this passage in life been open to him, no doubt he would have already been married by this point—if not for love, simply to have some woman bear him children. Cold and unfeeling perhaps, but the truth, for in all his years he had never been touched by that one poetic sentiment for a woman. Since the tender age of ten, he had known that love would be a luxury he could never afford, for if he did any one thing in this life, it would be to stop the Barrington name with his death.

After all these years, this young girl slips into his life; and using only the music of her laughter, the wonder of her tears and the maddening tease of her innocence, she merely touches the iron wall surrounding his heart, and like the touch of sun upon morning frost…

"Joy Claret, you are a grave danger to me," he said out loud as he swung off the horse. He removed his boots and shirt, stuffing these carelessly into his saddle bag. After slapping his mount hard to send him on his way, he started running, running long and hard into the darkness that was the night.

Strange dreams visited Joy through the night, dreams of a wise old woman calling to her with silent words. She dreamed of Ram kissing and loving her, gently comforting her with his warmth and kindness and tenderness, but then suddenly transforming into a dark shape that raising his hand to strike her, and she was running and running from him—she could not let him catch her, but Libertine!

Libertine, Libertine, where are you?

She woke with a start, and upon encountering the morning light, the dream faded into the dark recesses of her mind, though she struggled with long seconds of disorientation. The events of last night came back to her and with them the near debilitating burden of her loss. Grief filled her, overwhelming the queasy gnaw her hunger had lately become. Forcing herself up, she rose unsteadily. There was much to be done. She had slept in the study to be near Joshua, and seeing he still slept peacefully enough, she felt ease at having to leave him for a time.

She woke Sammy and Cory and hurriedly went about dressing. It had been arranged last night. Sammy would leave immediately with the bail money. The day from work would cost him an added two weeks of indentured service, but there was nothing to be done about it. She would go to the landlord, pharmacist and market, while Cory stayed to care for Joshua. It would be over today. Over save for the price her heart had paid.

Cory and Joy met Sammy in the small parlor to see him off. Few words were spoken and all looked solemn and weary. “I’ll be back on the morrow, but I suppose I'll be goin' straight off to work. So, I don't reckon I see you two till night. Take care of Joshua now." "

Joy nodded and kissed his cheek, too numb, sad and hungry to say anything, even goodbye.

Grabbing her shawl, she followed him outside, bumping right into his huge back as Sammy suddenly stopped dead. There she confronted the surprise, but as it was such a surprise, she couldn't

at first make sense of it. Cory stepped outside, too, and had anyone been watching, they would have been three people standing in mute shock at the boxes and boxes of foodstuff piled beneath the awning of their small house and spilling out onto the street.

Golden sunlight slanted across the nearly deserted street, and the air was still and quiet, until Sammy's deep laughter sounded. He rubbed his chin with the wonder of it, shaking his head. Cory knelt down to cautiously peep inside a box. Frantically, Joy searched up and down the street for an explanation. A maid pounded a rug with a broom, and turning the corner, an early vendor called out strawberries for sale, but that was all.

There were waist-high sacks marked flour, sugar, wheat and corn, enough to last a year!

There were boxes and boxes of produce, fresh market vegetables and fruit, two buckets of molasses

—a treat they had not had in a year. There was bread already made, and meat: two turkeys and one, two three, four chickens, far more than their small cold house out back had ever held! There was all this plus a hundred small, medium and large brown sacks of things yet undiscovered!

Cory picked a plum and bit into the juicy fruit, giggling and ripping open the huge sack of sugar, wetting her finger to taste.

"Cory May!" Joy cried in a whisper, still looking anxiously up and down the street. “That's not ours!"

"Why is it in front of our house? Do you see anyone else's with a porch full of food?" Grasping the logic of this, Joy abruptly knew their benefactor. "Ram did this," she gasped. "And I’ll be a thankin' him as soon as I finish feastin'!" Sammy laughed, already lifting a

box and carrying it inside.

It was like a Michaelmas morning, and the joy it bubbled up inside. Joy and Cory began ripping into packages, laughing and exclaiming, tasting and eating. Cory threw the first handful of sugar and Joy tossed a sticky clump of molasses and the fight was on.

Cory could have passed for white and Joy looked like a sugared cookie, giving as good as she got. They were covered head to foot in sugar, wrestling now, with Joy laughing so hard she fell to the ground, only to have Cory jump her, stuffing grapes in her mouth amidst her peels of giggles.

Riding up the street, Ram and Sean came upon this happy scene. Sean's laughter rang out as a magnificent sound, but Ram stopped his mount and just stared. Then, without a word of explanation, he turned away and disappeared. Sean understood perfectly; it was too much, but then Joy Claret was always too much.

Cory greeted Sean with a smile of white teeth that perfectly matched her powdered skin, and she rose, pulling Joy to her feet, too. Too giddy and happy to be embarrassed, Joy was just about to run to Sean with gushes of gratitude for Ram when she saw what Sean had in rein.

"Libertine," came as a hushed whisper as her hands covered her mouth. She stood there in shock, staring with wide anxious eyes. Libertine sensed her presence and neighed excitedly, tossing her head high in an obvious willingness to forgive her mistress everything. Libertine's call could not be resisted.

Sean watched as Joy fell against her horse. For long tender moments, she kept her face buried in Libertine's neck as she caressed, petted and whispered to her. The young lady's love of animals—her love of all life—had certainly been a deciding factor in his decision, these things second only to Ram's unsurpassed desire. A love for life was the most essential part of femininity; the God-given virtue was especially important when a woman had sons, for masculine aggression was a deadly thing indeed when left untempered by the virtue of caring and respect for life. He and Ram had his own mother to thank for the imparting of this.

Joy Claret had this virtue in proportions so startling that it seemed to define her very person.

It was not just her heroic efforts to free people of color, or her desire to save her friends from ruin or indeed any one thing. Rather, it seemed present in everything she touched, everything she was.

He made the final decision one day when he had chanced to see her with children. They were out riding and came upon two young boys playing in the woods with slingshots. One of the boys hit a bluebird, injuring it without the mercy of a kill. Joy never scolded; she simply held the suffering creature in her hands and told them, almost word for word, what his mother had told Ram and himself a day long ago, until the horror and sadness in the young lad's eyes told Joy they felt the needless pain and suffering they had caused. Then she gave the two boys the same penalty his mother had given them: They must care for the bird until its wing healed and promise never to kill any creature unless it was to put food on the table.