by Sarah Monzon
“A Negro fort.” Asa shook his head, his voice filled with wonder.
Mae’d said Master Rowlings was spitting mad at the newspaper and had thrown the whole thing in the fire with a huff. But even the blaze eating away the report didn’t change facts, and those facts had him ranting around the big house for days. War with the English had ended over four years previous, but by Mae’s recounting how the master had slammed doors and got all red in the face, Winne and all the rest thought for sure the sons would be picking up their guns and the fancy politicians would be sweet talking the Indians into fighting with them again.
Turned out the United States hadn’t been the only ones to make promises to the natives, and land in the South had been returned to them, including a fort they didn’t want. So what did one British lieutenant do? He left the fort to the fugitive slaves who’d been recruited to fight on their side. That had Master Rowlings all up in a tizzy, Mae’d said. Him and all his slave-owning friends. Scared them. They were afraid their slaves would revolt and escape to Florida, and they wouldn’t be able to fetch them back because Florida belonged to Spain.
And that was what Winnie and her family had done. Who knew how many more were out there, pinning their hopes on a land they’d never seen and the protection of a fort that would keep the monsters of their waking lives out. Course that’d been almost a year ago. Since then a lot of runaways had been brought back. Not all alive. The sight alone quelled the stoutest of hearts.
All but Asa, of course. He’d spent that time planning and dreaming. For all the good it did.
“Imagine it, son. A fort of protection. With guns we can lay our hands on. A way to fight back. A way to live free.” Asa bit off a chunk of bread, his jaw bunching as he chewed. The look of wonder didn’t leave his eyes, and Winnie could imagine the memories that ran through his mind. Those of his childhood, where he sprinted across the plains to fish in the river, his time his own.
“And what of General Jackson? They ain’t gonna let a bunch of runaway slaves hold a fort.” Isaac’s head rose, his eyes meeting Asa’s from across the fire for a moment before he looked away.
Asa spat. He’d long ago said that even hearing that murderer’s name left a foul taste in his mouth. “The devil’s man underestimates his enemy.” He stood and walked the few steps to the fire that had burned to glowing embers. With a swish of his boot, he distributed the hot, glowing bits. “Best get some rest. Our journey’s only just begun.”
Night was a long affair, with Winnie tossing and turning over the hard floor. She drifted in and out of sleep, her dreams haunting her as much as her waking moments. It was almost a relief when Asa and Isaac began to stir, and another day of dodging bloodhounds faced them.
Winnie blinked against the light of dawn as she emerged from the cave’s innards. Though the sun had barely awoken and the sky brushed a soft pink, the contrast between complete darkness and dawn had her squinting. In silence she followed Asa’s footsteps, Isaac tailing at the back. Even with the looming form of her father in front and her brother behind, she didn’t feel safe. Then again, would she even recognize that feeling if it were upon her?
Yes, she supposed she would. Even if her life knew hardship, its brand long ago born on her skin in the callouses of her hands and the stripes on her back, she’d also known love. From Asa, in his booming way, and her mama. Though ripped from Winnie at a tender age, memories were a possession that even the cruelest of masters couldn’t steal. Her mama’s sweet voice as she sang Winnie to sleep, her warm fingers gently caressing her forehead. Peace and safety and love.
Finding that feeling in the Florida wilds? Winnie shook her head. Whether their bodies found what Asa looked for or not, she could always escape to those sweet memories of Mama. Something she’d caught herself doing more often of late.
Better than the alternative—dwelling on all that could await them. Asa was so sure they’d make it to Negro Fort without being caught. That the walls and stores of weapons and ammunition would stave off an army bent on retrieving them and sending them back to their hells. But Florida was wild country and accepted only wild men within her borders. Even the Spanish kept mostly to the coastlines, leaving the deadly swamp to deal with those foolish or desperate enough to try and inhabit it.
A shiver ran down Winnie’s spine even though the rising sun beat upon their necks. The stories of the ravaging Red Stick warriors and the terror they caused the settlers in Alabama and along the Gulf Coast sent chills through every man and woman who’d heard the tales. Though the American army had ultimately won the war, causing the Creek Indians to give up millions of acres of land, they hadn’t beaten the fight out of the proud red men. Instead those warriors nursed their anger in Florida’s swamps. Winnie’d heard the overseer say the Spanish called them cimarron. She’d had to ask Old Tuck what that meant since he was the only person she knew who held even a little knowledge of the language. Tuck had said it meant runaway or wild one. Both seemed fitting to Winnie. And though the Seminoles had that in common with her—they we’re both runaways—she still didn’t want to come across no murdering wild man.
Winnie licked her lips, the cracked skin rough against her tongue. She wanted to ask Asa what would happen if they ran into a band of Indians. Had he even thought of that, or was he so mesmerized by the idea of Negro Fort that he hadn’t taken that possibility into consideration? Rumor had it some Indians had slaves, just as the white folks did. What if these runaway Creek Indians, these fierce fighters, were one of them?
Winnie grabbed a fistful of faded-blue linen, hanging on to the hem of Asa’s shirt. Digging into the corners of her mind, she brought forth her most cherished possession and replayed the memory of her mother’s voice as she’d sing Winnie to sleep.
Chapter 5
Present Day, Florida
Olivia leaned over the center console of her car and gripped the handle of the plastic bag she’d deposited in the passenger seat minutes before. The smell filling her Ford Focus had caused her middle to cramp the few miles from her favorite El Salvadoran restaurant to home. Her original plan had been to snag some food from Southern Comfort, but since she and Adam had eighty-sixed everything on Adam’s menu, she’d gone to plan B.
Her stomach gurgled as she pushed open the car door and trotted up the porch steps. Depositing her keys on a hook on the wall, she turned to make sure the front door didn’t slam behind her. The lights were still on, but that didn’t mean her parents hadn’t gone to bed yet.
“Ah, you’re home.” Eileen Arroyo stepped from the hallway and stopped in the foyer, looking up from the book in her hand. “No need for stealth. Your dad’s on the couch, doing a crossword puzzle.” She used the book to point in front of her, turned the page, and stepped around a half wall and down into a sunken living room.
Olivia’s father, David, removed the reading glasses perched on top of his nose and set them down alongside a pen and folded-over puzzle book. He pushed himself up off the couch and held his arms out to her.
She stepped close and placed a kiss on his rough cheek. “Any mail for me today?”
He leaned back. “That’s the third day in a row you’ve asked. Expecting something?”
She shrugged, but that nonchalant action doubtlessly didn’t dampen the excitement that probably had her eyes sparkling. “Maybe.” For the first time in her life, she had planned ahead for her parents’ Christmas gift. Usually she waited until the last minute and ended up giving them a gift card to their favorite restaurant. Not this year. Even though Christmas was more than five months away, she needed the time if she was going to pull off their present—a complete family tree.
She’d decided the best place to start would be with one of those DNA test search things. Thank goodness Lily had agreed to help her and keep the whole thing secret, or Olivia wouldn’t have been able to pull it off. Her best friend was working on her PhD in genetics and did research at the university’s lab. Lily had texted a few days ago to say that she was running Olivia�
��s DNA through their system since her supervisor was out of the lab for a few days. Olivia hated that Lily was doing her a favor that could get her friend in trouble, but she’d insisted it was no big deal. And no amount of wishing changed the truth—with the extra bills Olivia had taken on to help her parents out, she couldn’t afford one of those send-off services. Lily had said she’d mail the results so there wouldn’t be any extra digital trails leading back to this little side project.
Olivia had a fair idea what the results would come back with. No question there would be a large chunk in the pie graph that indicated a Mayan heritage and possibly some Spanish blood, too, from her dad’s side since his family had all immigrated to the US from Guatemala. She figured there was either German or Scandinavian on her mom’s side given the family folklore her aunts liked to tell at reunions.
Lily would know not to put a return address on the envelope, right? Her friend was super smart but sometimes lacked in the common-sense department. A stamp on the corner of the envelope with the genetics department would ruin the surprise. Maybe Olivia should start stalking the mail carrier just to be sure. She’d shoot a message off to Lily, but the chances Lily would see past her dissertation paper that she’d been working so hard on lately was slim to none.
Another pang of hunger brought her attention back to more pressing issues. Wiggling the plastic bag in her hand so it would crinkle, she stepped toward the kitchen. “Anyone hungry?”
Dad sniffed the air. “Papusas?”
“With extra curtido.”
He patted his soft belly. “You spoil me.”
She pulled down plates while her mother took out the containers of spicy cabbage slaw and tomato salsa and stuck serving spoons in the centers. Shaking out two cheese-filled, hand-stuffed mesa tortillas onto her plate, Olivia passed the to-go container to her mom. Piling the slaw and salsa on top, Oliva took a bite too big for her mouth. After a few chews, she pushed the food into her cheek with her tongue and looked up at her dad. “How’d the interview go?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” her mom reprimanded in an automatic voice as she filled a glass with tap water.
Her dad winked at her, and Olivia hid her grin behind a palm. His lips barely closed as he chewed, but since Mom’s back faced them, she hadn’t seen.
“Da interview wav a dead end,” he said around the food rolling back and forth in his mouth.
Mom turned and narrowed her eyes at them, then shook her head and threw up her hands. “I give up. Be disgusting animals if you choose.”
Dad swallowed hard before setting his plate down and wrapping his wife in a hug she squirmed to get away from. He leaned his head down and spoke intimately into her ear. Mom’s cheeks turned rosy, and she giggled before swatting at his chest. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
He stared at her through hooded lids and grinned. “I have some ideas.”
Smiling, Olivia took another bite and looked away. They’d been this way for as long as she could remember. Dad personifying the passions of a Latin man, and Mom the modest and reserved girl of European ancestry—complete with the blue eyes and blond hair. Her mom would protest and demure and blush at her dad’s advances, but it was all a show. Eileen Arroyo loved every rascally moment of attention her husband showered on her.
Olivia studied the potted bromeliad on the screened-in back porch like she was memorizing for a botany test. Smooching noises sounded behind her, and she took another forkful of curtido, hoping the sound of her crunching on raw cabbage would drown out her parents’ amorous pursuits. She loved that they still showed affection for one another. She just wished her dad would finally learn what the word privacy meant.
“The coast is clear, mija.” Laughter danced on the timbre of Dad’s voice, and Olivia turned.
Her mom’s lips were red and slightly swollen, her hair a bit mussed as she cut a small piece off her papusa, her attention riveted to her plate.
Olivia swallowed a chuckle before returning her gaze to her dad. “So what was the problem this time? Don’t tell me they said you were over qualified again.”
Her dad’s shoulders slumped. “By the time they got to me, they’d already filled the position. Same as last time.”
“It’ll happen. You’ll see.” Mom covered his forearm with a hand.
Dad patted Mom’s hand absently. “I went down to Day Labor after. The pay is awful, but something is better than nothing.”
“And in the meantime, we wait and pray. God will provide. He always has, and He always will.”
Olivia watched her dad offer a small and strained smile. Time to change the subject. She set her plate down on the counter. “Well, I have some news.”
“Oh?” Mom’s sculpted brow rose.
Olivia couldn’t hold back her grin. Years of working and waiting at Seaside had opened zero doors to the culinary world. A food truck might not be the highway to her dream, but she’d take any route available. “I got a second job working at a food truck. And get this—the owner is going to let me list my own creations on his menu.”
“That’s so great, honey!” Mom’s floral perfume enveloped Olivia a second before her arms did.
Olivia looked past her mom’s shoulder to her dad leaning against the kitchen countertop.
Pain flashed in his eyes before he ratcheted his fake smile up another notch. He pushed off the Formica and patted her on the back as he passed. “Congratulations. I think I’m going to head to bed now.”
Mom’s arms fell away, along with Olivia’s joy. Her nose began to tingle as she watched her dad’s hunched shoulders disappear down the hall.
“Don’t worry about him, honey. He’s happy for you.” Mom tilted her head, her eyes softening. “He’s just struggling right now. Your father is a proud man, and being unemployed and not able to provide for his family has made him feel like his legs have been cut out from under him.”
“But we’re a family, and families help each other.”
Her mom removed Olivia’s hat and stroked her hair. “I know. And we’ve appreciated you moving back home and pitching in with the mortgage. But your father? He wants to give you the world, sweetie. If he could, he’d fly you to Paris so you could learn from the world’s top chefs. Accepting your help with bills and then seeing you settle and not realize your dreams is killing him.”
Olivia hung her head. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”
Pressure on her chin raised her face. “You didn’t. The fact that he’s not invincible did. But he’ll come to terms with it.” A twinkle entered her blue eyes. “Humility and your father have never been good companions.”
Olivia looked down the hall. “Should I talk to him, you think?”
“Give him time. He’ll come around.” Mom moved away to set the empty plates in the sink and toss the food containers in the trash. “Just wait. Pretty soon he’ll be one of your regular customers at that food truck of yours.”
Olivia sat on the porch step and leaned her head against the railing. Faint stars still dotted the sky, but the horizon had begun lightening in shades of blues and yellows. Soon the sun would crest over the Atlantic. Though, she wouldn’t bear witness to the sight this far inland. She tugged her plaid flannel shirt closed over her cotton tank top. In an hour or so, when the heat and humidity rose, she’d be thankful to shed the outer layer.
She checked her purse for the list of ingredients she’d shoved in the night before. Her mom had spent over an hour helping her flip through her recipe binders on the hunt for the perfect dishes to seal the deal with Adam. There was wiggle room in her plan, based on what fresh produce she found at the farmers’ market, but she was confident in the dishes she’d picked. Cajun fish and savory cheese grits. Chicken and dumplings. Classic Louisiana po’boy. Hand pie for dessert, with in-season fruit. Fresh smoothies to combat the heat.
A white Jetta pulled into the driveway, the driver hidden behind the windshield and visor. Had to be Adam though. Who else would pull up before s
unrise? She stood and tugged at the hem of her shorts before walking to the car.
The driver’s side opened, and Adam rose in the space between the car and door, aviator sunglasses over his eyes and a smirk on his face as he leaned his forearm on the roof of the car. “Morning.” He thrust his chin the direction she’d come. “Nice house.”
She opened the passenger door and met his gaze across the roof of the car. “Chai latte?” He’d better have remembered.
His head bobbed with his laugh. “In the cupholder.”
She dropped to the seat and extricated the hot drink, her eyes sliding shut as the spicy, creamy sweetness slid down her throat and warmed her belly.
The engine roared to life, and the car backed out of the drive. “Not a morning person?”
Olivia took another sip before answering. “I’m at work by now on most days, but today is a rare day off. I usually spend those in bed until noon.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the road. “You should’ve said something yesterday.”
She settled back onto the seat. “And miss this opportunity? Not on your life.” The scent of cloves and cinnamon filled her nostrils as she lifted the cup back to her mouth. “And in full disclosure, that was my parents’ house. I have my own space in the frog, but, yeah, I still live with my parents.” She took a drink, then lowered the cup, putting a challenge in her gaze. “Okay, let the judging begin.”
Adam chuckled beside her. “Sorry. Can’t jump to judgment yet. I’m still caught up on what you said before that. You live in the frog? Please tell me that’s a euphemism for something.”
“It stands for finished room over garage. A garage apartment basically, although I lack a kitchen in mine.” She’d been content to move back into her old room, but her dad wouldn’t hear of it. Said if she was going to pay rent, then she deserved as much space and privacy as they could offer. The room above the garage had been his man cave, but he’d moved all his stuff out so she could have her own bathroom and a larger living space.
