The Bargain: A Port Elizabeth Regency Tale: Episode 2 by Vanessa Riley
Authors: Vanessa Riley
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about. The docking must be starting. "Yes, there's not much to do but the waiting and the hoping for the best."
Clara released a yawn. "I have to trust that, even in the bad, there will be good. God says that He wants our best. Suppose I have to believe that He will be true to His word."
Precious didn't respond, and kept her doubts tucked in her belly. Bad things always came, but hopefully it would stay away at least today and tomorrow.
When Clara's head dipped fully onto the blankets and her whistling snore sounded, Precious got up and slipped on her shoes. The movement of the boat seemed halted, almost still. She opened her door wider and saw the shadow of the ladder was the same as it had been an hour ago. Their position from the moon hadn't changed. They must be docked. They'd made it to Port Elizabeth.
Skin tingling with excitement, she pushed into the hall. Anticipation mixed with her doubts and started a rumbling in her tummy. Shhh . She held her middle and wondered what she would see if she took a peek.
Lord Welling warned her to stay in the cabin, but that had had to be if something went wrong. Surely, it would cause no harm to crawl up and take a gander at what was happening. She'd only do it for a few minutes.
Yes, that's what she'd do.
Holding her breath, she plodded to the ladder and climbed to the top. It took seconds for her eyes to adjust to low, almost nonexistent, light. Her scan of land saw endless patches of trees and mounds of beach. The curves blended into the ebony night. This place was very different from London.
She craned her neck to make out figures marching down the plank. Her pulse raced when she found the tall figure wearing the moon-shaped hat. The glow of the torch in his hand exposed him fully. Lord Welling was glorious, his jacket billowing in the breeze. He lifted his arms, and he and his men started down the plank.
"Wowski? Don't you know the women should be below?"
The worm who wanted her to be a spy had come from nowhere, and now stood behind her, whispering, "That includes the black woman, too."
The hair on her neck rose as the scent of liquor and sweat from his sorry hide invaded her nostrils. "Hadn't you heard I’m more caramel?"
He chuckled, his tone sounding harsh with each fake note. "Funny Wowski."
She turned back to watch Lord Welling, but her head filled with questions. "What's going on? Why must this be done at night? And why aren't you with him?"
He moved to stand next to her. "What, your friend, the Captain, didn't tell you? The savages could be out, attacking us as we unload the cargo. Once everything is stowed, someone, probably your prince, will come for you."
Now wasn't the time for his bluster. Between Clara's unease and the sense that what she saw moving in those trees was real, Precious had lost patience with his joke. "Isn't Wowski a mocking of your king? Isn't it treason to speak ill of his brother?"
The man sputtered, as if caught in the snap of bear trap. "Go on below with you. Leave this for the men."
He stepped around her and kept going.
Good riddance, but Precious wasn't moving, not until she knew all was well. The wariness in her stomach didn't quit. There was something odd in this.
Her gaze left the landing party and moved to the trees. The close ones didn't look right. A limb or two bent opposite the wind. Either her imagination had become crazed, or something was out there.
She counted to ten and nothing happened. Swiveling, she again focused on Lord Welling's lantern. His light and those of his men cut through the ebony night.
This was just like the woods on the Marsdale Plantation, except the water there smelled of fish and stinky fishermen. This place had a scent of newness, and some raw, unexplainable danger.
Precious wasn't scared. The bumps pimpling her skin weren't mostly from fear, but a restless anticipation. This place would be her home, and she was going to set foot on it, not in chains and not
Clara released a yawn. "I have to trust that, even in the bad, there will be good. God says that He wants our best. Suppose I have to believe that He will be true to His word."
Precious didn't respond, and kept her doubts tucked in her belly. Bad things always came, but hopefully it would stay away at least today and tomorrow.
When Clara's head dipped fully onto the blankets and her whistling snore sounded, Precious got up and slipped on her shoes. The movement of the boat seemed halted, almost still. She opened her door wider and saw the shadow of the ladder was the same as it had been an hour ago. Their position from the moon hadn't changed. They must be docked. They'd made it to Port Elizabeth.
Skin tingling with excitement, she pushed into the hall. Anticipation mixed with her doubts and started a rumbling in her tummy. Shhh . She held her middle and wondered what she would see if she took a peek.
Lord Welling warned her to stay in the cabin, but that had had to be if something went wrong. Surely, it would cause no harm to crawl up and take a gander at what was happening. She'd only do it for a few minutes.
Yes, that's what she'd do.
Holding her breath, she plodded to the ladder and climbed to the top. It took seconds for her eyes to adjust to low, almost nonexistent, light. Her scan of land saw endless patches of trees and mounds of beach. The curves blended into the ebony night. This place was very different from London.
She craned her neck to make out figures marching down the plank. Her pulse raced when she found the tall figure wearing the moon-shaped hat. The glow of the torch in his hand exposed him fully. Lord Welling was glorious, his jacket billowing in the breeze. He lifted his arms, and he and his men started down the plank.
"Wowski? Don't you know the women should be below?"
The worm who wanted her to be a spy had come from nowhere, and now stood behind her, whispering, "That includes the black woman, too."
The hair on her neck rose as the scent of liquor and sweat from his sorry hide invaded her nostrils. "Hadn't you heard I’m more caramel?"
He chuckled, his tone sounding harsh with each fake note. "Funny Wowski."
She turned back to watch Lord Welling, but her head filled with questions. "What's going on? Why must this be done at night? And why aren't you with him?"
He moved to stand next to her. "What, your friend, the Captain, didn't tell you? The savages could be out, attacking us as we unload the cargo. Once everything is stowed, someone, probably your prince, will come for you."
Now wasn't the time for his bluster. Between Clara's unease and the sense that what she saw moving in those trees was real, Precious had lost patience with his joke. "Isn't Wowski a mocking of your king? Isn't it treason to speak ill of his brother?"
The man sputtered, as if caught in the snap of bear trap. "Go on below with you. Leave this for the men."
He stepped around her and kept going.
Good riddance, but Precious wasn't moving, not until she knew all was well. The wariness in her stomach didn't quit. There was something odd in this.
Her gaze left the landing party and moved to the trees. The close ones didn't look right. A limb or two bent opposite the wind. Either her imagination had become crazed, or something was out there.
She counted to ten and nothing happened. Swiveling, she again focused on Lord Welling's lantern. His light and those of his men cut through the ebony night.
This was just like the woods on the Marsdale Plantation, except the water there smelled of fish and stinky fishermen. This place had a scent of newness, and some raw, unexplainable danger.
Precious wasn't scared. The bumps pimpling her skin weren't mostly from fear, but a restless anticipation. This place would be her home, and she was going to set foot on it, not in chains and not
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