Windmera-Desperation

“You deserve better than I,” she pleaded. How could she ever give herself to anyone other than Godwin? She would go back and live in secret, on the outskirts as Godwin’s mistress. No one need ever know, she told herself. That way, he could watch his babe grow up.

“Mignonne…” he pleaded. “Have you no notion how ravissant and wondrous you are to me? I would be husband to you, father to your child, live to make you happy. Believe me,” he begged.

Heather’s heart cracked for him. She cared for him because he was dear and good, and did not want him to throw himself at her feet as he was doing. “How could I do such a thing to you? I do not love you that way, Maurice. You know that.”

“Give me the opportunity, the time to make you love me that way.”

She knew this was the ‘call’ of all unrequited lovers. “No, my dear Maurice. You are not presently thinking clearly. I could not take such advantage of your kindness. How could I be so cruel to you? No.”

“Cruel? My dear, to call you wife would be a joy. Take advantage? My sweet life, I am years older than you. It is I that would be taking advantage of you.”

“And what of Godwin?” she answered after a long pause. “Should I leave him to think I abandoned our love…stole his child from him?”

“He believes you are lost to him by now. He will forget. Time has a way of dulling the senses, and he has his family.”

“No, he will never stop loving me. I know that as a fact. My brain and

my heart tell me that. No, Maurice, no.”

Heather could see him grapple with his emotions. He took her shoulders in a desperate attempt to change her mind, and shook her ever so slightly. “Heather, what of the enfant? Have you the right to bring a fatherless child into the world when an alternative is offered?”

She did not speak.

“Answer me, Heather!”

It was as though his words had formed an open hand and slapped her. She was surprised by his vehemence and taken aback. A tear formed and spilled over. She saw her dream of getting back to Godwin singed with all the impossible truths. An inner voice told her that Godwin was a beloved memory that she had to put away for the realities of life.

The horror of this idea flashed through her and she yelled, “No…no…” She was about to run from him.

Ashamed, he reached for her arm and stayed her. “Forgive me, Heather. All I want is to protect you and instead, I am causing you pain.” He had to allow her to make this decision on her own. He took her into his arms and whispered, “Ma belle, non, my petite. I will see you through this…and it shall be as you direct.”

She allowed him to hold her tight, admitted to herself that there was comfort in the safety of his strong protective arms. She was, she knew, in the grip of treacherous waters, and he was the only life raft in sight. “You understand, Maurice, you understand why I cannot marry you?”

“I understand, my love,” was his sad answer.

~ Twelve ~

BARBADOS! HEATHER STOOD ON BOARD the Liberté as it was safely docked in Bridgetown Harbor. The market was full with color. Women carried baskets on their heads filled with produce, hawking their wares as they made their way down the busy avenues.

Sailors laughed and jested with one another. Wagonloads of products were being loaded onto ships that would travel back to Europe. The warm air enveloped her, and Heather found herself mesmerized by this new and vibrant land.

Swan and Broad Streets dominated Bridgetown, as did the central marketplace, which was constructed in a spacious quadrangle. Hucksters took up their places there and their cries of “fish, hey, dolphin, useful limes” could be heard even over the noise of turning wheels.

Mingling bodies, men and women calling out to one another in good spirits captured the eye and Heather thought she had entered a fantasyland.

She watched shoppers enter an open center, which accommodated the more bulky foodstuffs, such as red and yellow yams, potatoes, coconuts, and so many exotic things she couldn’t count them all. This center afforded both sellers and shoppers shade from the burning sun because of rows upon rows of bearded fig trees. It was from these trees, Maurice told her, that the island received its name from the Portuguese. He said that when they found the island abundant with these fig trees, they christened it Los Barbados, meaning The Bearded.

Heather absorbed it all, noting the scantily clad black women. They appeared beautiful as they gracefully managed the crowded avenue in their charming and colorful dresses.

She watched fishermen in the harbor as they put away their nets, pocketed the cash they had earned from the day’s catch, and made their way towards a tavern down the street.

“Maurice, where is Bunky?”

“I sent him ahead with my man. Bunky tells me he has a way with horses. I asked them to buy a couple of gentle mares, for my sister and you to use while…you are with us.”

“Oh, how kind you are, Maurice, and thoughtful,” Heather said on a sigh when something caught her eye and riveted her in place.

Heather’s eyes opened wide then and she found herself horrified as she saw human flesh, black human flesh, being peddled on a stage as though they were products for sale.