Island of the Red Mangroves Read online

  Content

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Title

  Copyright

  Map Hispaniola

  A better future Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  A Greater Love Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Rocks in the Mist Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  The Black Messiah Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Book

  Island of Red Mangroves is the follow-up to Sarah Lark's tumultuous novel, "Island of a Thousand Springs," set in Jamaica, 1732.

  Jamaica, 1753: Deirdre, daughter of Englishwoman, Nora Fortnam and slave Akwasi, lives a sheltered life on her family's plantation. Her stepfather, Doug, has welcomed her into his life as his own. Despite Deirdre's scandalous origin, the men of the island flock to the young beauty, but she shows no interest. That is, until she is charmed by young doctor Victor Dufresne, who asks for her hand in marriage.

  After their lavish wedding ceremony, Victor and Deirdre embark to Saint-Domingue on the island of Hispaniola, where Deirdre can live without the burden of her mixed background. But what happens there changes everything …

  Best-selling international author Sarah Lark delivers a gripping historical account of social upheaval set against a romantic Caribbean background. For fans of Kathleen Grissom, THE KITCHEN HOUSE, Alex Haley, ROOTS: THE SAGA OF AN AMERICAN FAMILY, and Sue Monk Kidd, THE INVENTION OF WINGS.

  About the Author

  Sarah Lark is the author of several bestselling historical fiction novels. She was born in Germany in 1958, studied education and psychology and wrote her PhD-thesis about “daydreams.” She worked as an elementary school teacher, copywriter, and as a travel guide and was always fascinated by the paradisiacal and exotic places of the world. Her captivating novels gained a large readership and have a longstanding position on the bestseller list in Germany.

  Sarah currently lives in Spain and is working on her next novel.

  SARAH LARK

  THE ISLAND OF THE RED MANGROVES

  Translated by Sharmila Cohen

  BASTEI ENTERTAINMENT

  Digital original edition

  »be« by Bastei Entertainment is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe AG

  This title was acquired through the literary agency Thomas Schlück GmbH, 30827 Garbsen, Germany

  Copyright © 2015 by Bastei Lübbe AG, Schanzenstraße 6-20, 51063 Cologne, Germany

  Written by Sarah Lark

  Translated by Sharmila Cohen

  Edited by Toby Axelrod

  Project management: Kathrin Kummer

  Cover design: Travis Harvey with illustrations © Shutterstock: Steven Wright | Micha Rosenwirth | beltsazar | Valery Shanin

  Map © 2014 by Reinhard Borner, Wipperfürth

  E-Book-Produktion: le-tex publishing services GmbH, Leipzig

  ISBN 978-3-7325-0348-3

  www.be-ebooks.com

  A BETTER FUTURE

  Jamaica – Cascarilla Gardens

  Cayman Islands – Grand Cayman

  Late summer 1753

  CHAPTER 1

  We really should not be supporting this …"

  Lady Lucille Hornby-Warrington dourly looked out from the open carriage at the sunny summer day. There wasn't much to see aside from the roads between the Hollister and Fortnam plantations, which were dusty and lined with sugarcane plants. Some of the reed-like grasses were up to twenty feet tall and the streets looked like freshly cut swathes through the lush greenery. The lady was inescapably bored. Lord Warrington, her husband, was more interested, appraising the height and circumference of the plants. After all, the income brought in from the plantation that he managed for his wife's uncle also came from sugarcane and it looked like this year’s harvest was going to be good. Warrington seemed to be in a significantly better mood than his wife.

  "You can't be serious," he replied to the lady with a touch of mockery in his voice. "Miss a feast at the Fortnams' because the occasion doesn't suit you? May I remind you that Nora and Doug have the best cook in the area, keep the most beautiful ballroom, and always hire the most talented musicians? And the girl is also quite charming."

  "The girl is a half-breed," his wife replied with a pinched face. "A mulatto. Such a thing belongs in the slave quarters. One doesn't just raise her as the 'daughter' of the house and have a great celebration for her 'coming of age.' But Doug Fortnam acts as if the conception and rearing of this bastard is some brilliant achievement!"

  Warrington smiled. Lord Hollister, Lucille's uncle, was well known for siring bastards with black slaves. Lucille and her aunt looked past the fact that the Hollister plantation was actually populated with dozens of her cousins and half-cousins. Even their coachman Jimmy had some resemblance to the plantation owner, who had retired to his townhouse in Kingston several years ago. He left the plantation to Lucille's husband after having adopted the young woman, who came from the destitute Hornby family of civil servants. Lord Hollister hadn't had any children with his wife. Doug and Nora Fortnam, on the other hand, had two younger sons in addition to today's debutante.

  "Is the girl not actually Nora's illegitimate daughter?" Lord Warrington asked.

  He still hadn't entirely sorted out the situation at Cascarilla Gardens, even though he had already been living next door for five years with Lucille. But the Fortnams did not keep close contact with their neighbors. They were polite and invited them to parties from time to time, but they were not seeking out friendships. The other planters also kept more distance from the owners of Cascarilla Gardens. Doug and Nora Fortnam had a very outlandish way of dealing with their black plantation workers. Although they kept slaves like everyone else in Jamaica, they hardly ever employed white overseers; they gave their slaves more days off than the others; and they set up a system with a sort of self-governance under the leadership of a black foreman.

  Initially, the neighbors had expected the whole thing to turn into a disaster. After all, everyone knew that the blacks were lazy and often violent if not kept under strict control. Nonetheless, Cascarilla Gardens flourished despite the owner's unconventional style of leadership. In fact, it was among the richest plantations in Jamaica, which made many of the other planters envy Doug. What he saved on salaries for overseers alone! However, no one would even think about taking on his model for his own plantation.

  Lady Warrington exhaled sharply. "All the worse!" she said. Unlike her husband, she remembered the details quite well. "Well, it wasn't Miss Nora's fault, she had been kidnapped and … and one of the men was probably violent with her … but that's exactly why! Who wants to keep the … the fruit of such a misfortune around?"
r />   Warrington shrugged. He also found the whole situation disconcerting. After Nora had spent years in captivity in a pocket of resistance partially comprised of runaway slaves and then was finally freed, Doug Fortnam had not only married her but also adopted her daughter, who had been fathered by one of the insurgents. Well, he did find the girl quite charming and she had probably been delightful as a child. Perhaps Doug simply didn't have the heart to separate mother and daughter. His heart was too soft – everyone around Kingston had agreed on that matter for years. And at some point, he would end up paying for having such a lax attitude toward his blacks …

  The carriage was now passing one of the last fields on the Hollister plantation, where some slaves were planting sugarcane. The men hardly looked up, which Warrington noted with satisfaction. After all, they shouldn't be wasting time and watching his carriage, but working. He nodded approvingly at the overseer. The burly Scot sat on his horse with gun and whip at hand, but not in continuous use. The man did a good job, as his presence was clearly enough to put the fear of God into the blacks. And apparently, he didn't support this business with the slaves singing! Some overseers promised higher yields if the men swung the machetes to the rhythm of a song. Every now and again, singing could be heard coming from Cascarilla Gardens. Warrington, however, didn't care for it much and preferred the silence – if only because his wife talked so much. Although, at present, she had gone quiet with indignation. Apparently, she was still at odds over her participation in this party, caught between disapproval and curiosity.

  Then the silence was broken. When the Warringtons' carriage crossed the border into Cascarilla Gardens, rapid hoof beats and bright laughter echoed from a side path. Coachman Jimmy stopped the horses abruptly. Lady Lucille hissed resentfully, as she had nearly slipped off her seat.

  Warrington was calmer. Had Jimmy not stopped short, it would have been nearly impossible for him to avoid a collision with the two riders whose horses were now galloping on the road in front of them. A petite gray horse with a young woman in the saddle had just overtaken a much larger brown one. The young man, who was desperately spurring his horse on to a faster pace, called out a fleeting apology to the Warringtons. The gray had already disappeared between the plantations.

  Warrington snorted. "The young Keensley," he muttered.

  "And the Fortnams' bastard daughter," Lucille added acerbically. "Scandalous! I say … we should not support this!"

  Warrington shrugged. "And yet, we will enjoy the evening," he replied. "Moving on, now, Jimmy! I'll be needing a good swig of rum to help with the startle. Or rum punch."

  The Fortnams' cook had a legendary punch recipe and Warrington's mouth was already watering. And the Fortnam daughter was also an extremely pleasant sight, even if she was only galloping by on horseback. It would undoubtedly be even more exhilarating to watch her dancing later. Warrington wondered if it would come across as fatherly or just seem ridiculous if he offered to lead the girl for a minuet …

  "See? It's just as I said – Alegria is faster than your brown horse, even if he has racehorse ancestors. Alegria has oriental blood, she is a granddaughter of a Darly Arabian …"

  Deirdre Fortnam immediately began trying to persuade her companion as they crossed the finish line where the plantation paths met the hard-surfaced driveway of Cascarilla Gardens and they slowed their horses to a walk. The small gray mare had masterfully won the impromptu race.

  Quentin Keensley, her tall, lanky, red-haired companion twisted up his mouth a bit. It was hard to accept defeat.

  "Well, surely the fact that she needn't carry around a lot of weight plays a role in it," he countered. "Since you, Miss Fortnam, weigh hardly more than a feather. The loveliest feather from the most delightful of hummingbirds that our entire world has ever produced …"

  Young Keensley twirled his beard, which was fashionably trimmed to a point, and smiled at the girl. The smooth words were clearly about more than their ride – horses didn't really interest him. What attracted him was Deirdre Fortnam and nothing else.

  Quentin was well traveled. His family had provided him with a traditional English education and also given him a trip to Europe before his return to Jamaica. But he had never seen a girl anywhere that was as beautiful as the daughter of his neighbors. Her skin alone – cream with a shot of coffee in it, soft and silky. Quentin longed to touch it. And her unusual hair … it was black, but neither straight, nor with big curls, nor really frizzy. It was much finer than the hair of all the other black people he knew and cascaded down her back in tiny ringlets. And then her eyes! They looked like emeralds, protected by long, dark black lashes. There was a fire in them! Just like now, as Deirdre glared at him.

  "Hey, that makes it sound as if I were just a decoration atop my horse!" she complained. "Alegria wants to be ridden! You can certainly try, but I'll tell you, if you can't really ride, you won't manage to get her to stop before Kingston!"

  The young woman stroked the neck of her mare, which actually seemed quite relaxed and agreeable. Keensley was sure that Deirdre was exaggerating. Although, in fact, he wouldn't have thought the horse capable of such great speed as it had just shown.

  "I bow before your horsemanship and your beauty!" he exclaimed with an apologetic smile and bowed his head.

  He would have also liked to tip his hat, but the tricorn had already been lost at the beginning of the wild ride. He would have to send out a slave to look for it.

  Deirdre guided her horse around her parents' house, a cheerful construction in the colonial style that had reminded her of a castle in her childhood. There were turrets, verandas, and balconies. It was painted in blue and yellow, her mother's favorite colors, and adorned with ornate carvings. Cascarilla Gardens itself trained carpenters and wood carvers. The slaves here had many more children than on other plantations – Doug Fortnam accepted marriages among his people. He didn't tear any families apart by selling men, women, and children separately. In fact, Doug actually sold no slaves at all. Whoever was born on Cascarilla Gardens had the right to live there. It was good, since under these conditions, almost no one ran away, but activities had to be found for all the young blacks.

  Deirdre and Quentin trotted along the Fortnams' garden fence, which surrounded a vast, already festively-decorated property. The common rooms at Cascarilla Gardens led out to the garden areas and when the weather was nice, the wide doors of the ballroom were opened and the guests could sit outside or walk between the trees and flowerbeds. Nora Fortnam was a great friend of the Jamaican flora. She put all of her pride into cultivating as many species of the island's orchids as possible in her garden, pampered her acacias, and tolerated the ubiquitous, thirty-foot-high cascarillas that gave the plantation its name. A giant Blue Mahoe dominated the garden, offering shade in the summer. Now there were lamps hanging on its branches.

  "Isn't it beautiful?" Deirdre said joyfully, pointing at the decorations. "I decorated the garden yesterday with the maids and my brother. You see that red lamp up there? That's mine – I made it!"

  "Very … pretty …" Keensley commented with restraint, "but you shouldn't spoil your hands with housework …" In Quentin's family, a lady would have the slaves decorate the garden if need be. And she certainly would not have taken part in producing the lanterns.

  Deirdre sighed. "And I should wear riding gloves," she said with a guilty glance at her fingers, which were almost always gripping Alegria's reins and keeping the mare alert. "I just always forget. But riding and gardening are more the cause of calluses than a bit of paper folding. It doesn't really matter anyway. 'There's no shame in work,' as my father always says …"

  At a young age, Doug Fortnam had financed his trip through Europe himself by toiling away on farms and in quarries. In the end, he even worked as a sailor to pay for the journey back to Jamaica.

  Deirdre brought her horse back up to a gallop to reach the stables faster. The sight of the decorated garden had reminded her that she ought not to stay on her horse any longe
r but should have already been changed and ready for the evening. After all, this was her party – the Fortnams were celebrating her eighteenth birthday.

  The stable area had long been prepared for receiving guests. Kwadwo, the old stableman, awaited the carriages in front of the entrance, prepared to greet the guests, and take their horses. He had also insisted upon dressing in the traditional livery of a servant from a noble household: light blue with yellow lapels and sleeve cuffs. On top of that, he wore a white, powdered wig. He looked rather peculiar to Deirdre dressed like that, but Kwadwo seemed to like the suit. He would step forward in a stately fashion and open the carriage doors for the ladies and gentlemen with an elegant swing. Then he would bow in the manner of a footman in the court of the Sun King. Someone must have shown it to him at some point and it took his fancy, since his lordship did not maintain such formalities.

  Otherwise, however, his behavior was not particularly subservient. Quite the contrary: As the busha – which is what they called the black plantation heads in Jamaica – he represented the interests of the other slaves. Doug Fortnam valued him as a mediator between the slave quarters and manor house. In addition, Kwadwo also held the position of Obeah Man, the spiritual leader of the slaves on the plantation. However, that was a strict secret. Among the whites, the Obeah cult was generally frowned upon and usually forbidden on the plantations. The slaves would have to sneak out at night for the ceremonies. Doug and Nora Fortnam would never admit to their neighbors that they tolerated their workers’ Obeah meetings, but, in fact, they would look the other way if a chicken disappeared from time to time as a sacrifice for the Obeah gods …

  When Deirdre and her companion stopped their horses in front of the stables, Kwadwo immediately came out to them – although he did spare himself the formal greeting with the daughter of the house. Quite the contrary, in fact. After a glance at the position of the sun and Deirdre's flushed cheeks, a displeased expression ran across his broad, wrinkled face.