Passion's Joy (53 page)

Michael, looking apprehensive, nodded and ran off. Minutes later Joshua appeared. Then they knew something horrible happened. He was coughing, which happened whenever he was upset, a patient died or Joy was trying him. He came briskly to the cart. The Reverend inquired what happened. "Madame Flaubert?"

"She's fine; the baby, too. A healthy seven pound boy."

Cory's eyes found Joy's with confusion, the Reverend's own, as he asked, "What's wrong,

then?"

Joshua coughed into his kerchief, but finally managed, "The boy's eyes are..." He leaned

over and whispered something to the Reverend.

She remembered the long pause.

"Oh Lord," the Reverend muttered at last. "Does she say rape?"

Joshua nodded, but cast a glance at Cory and herself. "Mr. Flaubert is quite drunk, and she's quite hysterical now. She won't have anything to do with the child. I've had to call for a nurse from Garden Court. I think it's best if I stay till it settles down."

The Reverend nodded and Joshua said he'd send for him when he was ready. The Reverend slashed the reins, and the cart jerked forward. Almost in the same instant, Joy demanded, "What's wrong? I don't understand what happened?" Unlike Joshua or Sammy, the Reverend could be counted on for answers to any and all questions. Of course one didn't always like his answers; for instance, "The sky is blue darlin', cause once a long time ago when the sky was green, folks didn't

know where the grass and trees stopped and the sky began. So, they asked the fairy people to paint it blue, and those little fairies did just that."

This time however, he told her a fact, such a simple fact; yet one that had the profound power to solve the mystery of Ram Barrington.

Twilight settled into the study where Ram and Sean talked. Sean related at length progress on the ship's repairs—two torn masts were back up, yet with two to go, and the ship siding was being fitted where cross cannon fire placed a fair size hole. Distractedly listening, Ram watched as a maid quietly entered the room to light the lanterns. What was her name? He should know her name. Joy would not only know her name, but her family background, the names and ages of her brothers and sisters if any, the girl's hopes and dreams and—

Ram pushed away the thought with a shot of brandy, and relieving Sean's apprehension, he finally reclined in the oversized reading chair. Sean pushed the ottoman to him, and almost as an afterthought, Ram lifted up his wounded leg to rest.

"So, what say you?" Sean asked as he finished, pouring more brandy into his goblet, filling Ram's as well. The antique crystal brandy decanter was set unkindly to the sterling silver tray, as though it was made of common brass.

"I say we sail in three days." "What?' Sean's gaze riveted to Ram.

Ram could never say why he loved to hear Sean's incredulous "what's"; the aristocratic breeding in Sean's pronouncement of that one word was enough to scare the hell out of half the English serving class. It made him remember Sean as a boy, a peasant Irish lad, smart as a whip and just as tough, laughter in his eyes and no damn good on his mind. Sean, his dearest friend in life; how many long roads they had traveled, how many places they had seen, people they had met, things they had done! Aye, they had come such a long way together....

Though in a very real sense Sean was responsible for the agony of his days, he could not blame him. Sean's benevolent motivations aside, to blame Sean for forcing his fate to entwine with Joy's was to regret it. He could find no regret, despite all. He could not regret knowing her love or her laughter, the joy that was her name, even if he had known it for such a blessedly short time.

"What?" Sean repeated again in the same manner. "Three days? Have you lost your wits, my lord? A poor metaphor but apt, I think, for I thought the only reason we returned was to get you proper care and see those wounds healed."

"Ah, these cuts can heal on the way back." "You mean fester!" Sean returned.

"I know what you're thinking, Sean—" "Aye! I think you seek an early death!"

"Don't be a fool," Ram snapped. "Had I been bent on meeting death, I no doubt would not now be drawing breath." His tone softened, and he added, "Life is too precious, even without her. I will not forsake it."

Sean thoughtfully considered that last, measuring the words against what he had seen. Never had he witnessed fighting like Ram's during the two weeks they attacked the barbarism occupying the coast lands of that God-forsaken land of Egypt. Ram's fighting was magnificent and terrifying both, a dozen times he had braced for Ram's death as he rushed to Ram's side, only to witness, through brute strength and unmatched skill, Ram escape the fatal blow time and time again. The miracle lay in the fact that Ram had only the saber cut on his leg, a broken rib nearly healed and a lesser chest wound.

Silence had settled between them, finally broken by Ram's husky whisper, "I have to get her out of my head Sean. She lives in my mind. I see her so clearly—I want her so badly." He stared off at the fire in the hearth; the bright blue rim of the flames reminding him, when he needed no reminder, of the color of her eyes. "God's curse," he shook his head, “I’ve got to get away."

Ram leaned forward, resting his forehead in his hands as though braced with pain. Sean shared his friend's despair in silence, literally willing to do anything if only it might help, but knowing nothing could. Nothing could help but the merciless slow march of time and even then—

A commotion sounded from outside, something involving the footmen. Sean listened distractedly until the front doors opened and in the distance, Mr. Cutler exclaimed, "Milady! Oh, milady! That's not you—"

Sean could barely hear the next feminine words. "Is he here? Dear God, tell me he's here!"

Joy? Was that Joy? Sean looked to Ram, but he remained unaware. Mr. Cutler said, "He's in the study but—"

Sean heard the distant footsteps, light, determined, running. The footsteps stopped at the outer hall, then passed through, and Sean turned to the door just as she burst through.

The sight of her brought Sean an instant comprehension of stoic Cutler's outrage. It was not just that she was supposed to be three thousand miles away across an ocean, or that she appeared so unexpectedly, with neither rhyme nor reason, nor word. No, it was that she looked wild, wild in a way far surpassing the first day that Ram and he had met her so long ago. She wore a poor boy's clothes and was barefoot, hat and coatless, her long hair wrapped tightly in two long braids, and more than anything it was the blue eyes, wild with agitation. Yet all she saw was—

"Ram!"

Ram looked up, shock registered on his face as he confronted the vision from his dreams. He didn't have time to react, to guess why she was here or why she was dressed in a boy's clothes, for she ran to him and fell into his arms where he sat. Tension gripped him in the instant, he didn't know what to do until the moment she cried. "No! Don't push me away! Please. Please hold me— hold me."

The soft plea held the desperation of a wounded creature's last cry, breaking his small resistance. All these past long months he had been traveling over a dark and treacherous landscape, knowing only fear and dark and cold until this very moment when his arms came around her tightly. It was like an avalanche. The feel of her small body crying in his arms felt like the blessed touch of the sun, and he lost his pain in the embrace. Now there was no fear or darkness or cold; there was only her.

Sean couldn't decide if he should leave or stay, and his indecision kept his feet firmly planted to hear the frightening thing that happened next.

"Ram, Ram, something has happened!" Joy finally said in a voice touched with her tears, yet excited and agitated. "The Reverend and I had this dream, and Sammy guessed what it meant! Sammy solved the mystery, and that day, the Reverend, little Sean and I left for Boston where we boarded the first ship sailing home. It wasn't even a passenger ship; it was a merchantman and we all had to sleep together and the captain was so mean and the crew was unpleasant and it was so awful! Awful because the ship was so slow, oh God, the endless hours I spent thinking of it, of you, only you, of telling you and showing you and—"

"Joy!" Ram pushed her back to search her face. "Slow down—"

"No, no, that's the whole thing! How long it took to come home! Until today, a bit before dawn, the ship finally made port, and I ran to the nearest livery stable where I had to bribe the owner with a diamond bracelet in order to get a mount, a Barrington treasure only... only that doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters, nothing but that you're here! You're here..."

She collapsed against him again crying, her relief so intense, she was hysterical, and Ram looked up, locking his gaze to Sean's. Fear reflected in both their gazes. All Ram could think was that she had lost her wits. This whole time he had been so consumed with his own pain he could not bear a thought of hers. What depth of despondency had she known?

"Joy, my love, Joy." He lifted her up again and tried to sound calm. “Where is Sean?"

"He's with the Reverend. They're taking a coach and should be here by noon on the morrow, but I couldn't wait... I had to get here to show you! I have to show you only, only—"

Quite suddenly she was afraid. It never occurred to her until this moment. What if it wasn't there? What if, in her desperation, she had only imagined the unalterable truth of the pictures? That her pain had conjured a happy ending? Dear God, could she be that desperate? Her eyes filled with the certain terror that she had indeed gone mad, and watching this gripped Ram with the same emotion. "Joy, Joy—"

"No!" she cried, and before he could react, she bolted from his arms and started running. "I'm not mad! It's there, it's there!"

"Joy!" Ram called but it was too late; she dashed from the room. Still stunned, Sean stood in mute horror over what he just witnessed until Ram, getting to his feet, shouted, "Follow her Sean!"

Sean caught sight of her just as she turned the corner into the east wing. He raced after her.

Ram's wound hindered his speed, but his fear fueled his pace, his own emotional pain magnified tenfold in light of hers. Both men ran down the long corridor, turning the corner just as she snatched the master key from a vase on a hall table and a lantern from the wall.

Joy!"

She ignored his call, ignored everything but the urgency brought by her sudden fear, an enormous fear that indeed pushed her past the thin line of sanity. The metal key ring clanked against the brass lantern holder and somehow paired rhythmically with the furious pounding of her heart. She turned another corner, and there it was, the door to the portrait gallery.

She shook badly as she held the brass holder of the lantern in her mouth and one hand held the doorknob. Her free hand fitted the key in the lock. The door opened and she burst inside. She held the lantern up to Lady Barrington's portrait, saw it and fell to her knees, crying.

Ram and Sean raced into the room simultaneously. There they confronted the sight of her kneeling on the floor, her face covered in her hands as she shook softly with tears.

Sean stood frozen in the doorway, while Ram stepped to her and knelt down, taking her by the shoulders, but stopped. He was afraid to see her lovely eyes, afraid to see the madness there. He knew not what to do but to love her; it was all he'd ever be able to do. "Joy," he whispered. “My love…”

Her eyes opened, sparkling like jewels with the tumultuous emotions of her heart. She said the strangest of all imaginable things: "It's like pickles."

Ram froze as if his heart just met with the cold hard lead of a bullet. He, better than anyone, knew the unfathomable face of madness, and this was it.

"It's just like how I was fifteen—fifteen!—before I knew that pickles were cucumbers," she tried to explain through her tears. "I'm not saying I thought pickles grew on pickle trees or anything, it's just that I never thought about it and that's it; somehow, some way, the knowledge that pickles are cucumbers escaped me."

Like all people confronted with a distortion of a person, whether it be physical or in the mind, Ram's gaze dashed to the side, for to stare at it proved too painful. Sean likewise. All Ram could think to do was to get her to bed. By God's grace, she would be coherent after rest—

"Don't you see? Here you are: you read and write in four different languages, you have a mathematical gift, you've read all of Greek philosophy and every book written about it and you know every day of English and Irish history—from the Romans, the Gauls and the Celts all the way to Napoleon. You can recite every date, every major and minor historical figure! You're the smartest, most knowledgeable person I've ever known, and oh God, you know so much but the one thing, the only thing that matters—"

"Joy... Joy, oh God, my love—"

He was quite desperate by now, but Joy ignored it to say, "It's like me not knowing about pickles. And you Sean." She turned to him with an accusing look. "Don't you know? Look! It's right there! It's always been right there!"

She pointed to the portrait of Lord Barrington continuing, "I knew when I was so young; when the Flaubert’s had a brown-eyed baby, and the Reverend told me what that means! Don’t you know?" She grabbed Ram's muscled arms, ridiculously as though his attention might now stray. "When that horrid man put a knife to your eye and said he would wipe the sin of your mother from your face—he knew! He knew the simple fact—"

"Stop! Stop this!" Ram shook her as though to shake the demons seized in her mind. "No! Wait!" She broke free from his grasp and turned to look up at the portrait, meeting

Lord Barrington's auspicious aqua-blue gaze. "The simple fact is, if Lady Barrington with her pale gray eyes is your mother, then Lord Barrington cannot be your father! Don't you know! Two blue- eyed parents cannot have a brown-eyed child!"

* * * * *

There, the simple fact was out at last. The simple fact that would change their lives and sweep them from certain hell into certain happiness. For all the magnitude of this truth, neither Ram nor Sean registered a response. Ram's thoughts traveled quickly and in so many various directions he could not keep up. She was insane, going on about his father and eyes and madness, which made twisted sense, for she touched upon the cause of their tragedy, a tragedy she simply could not accept—