by Sarah Monzon
Sucking in her cheeks and gently biting the inside with her teeth, she opened and closed her puckered lips like a fish out of water.
Laughter won out, a sound from him she was getting used to. Adam looked at the tilapia in her hand, and then he shook his head with a grin. “I’m reelly glad I hired you, Olivia Arroyo. Even if your jokes are unfortunate.”
She rolled her eyes but smirked. “I cod say the same for yours.”
He plucked the tilapia out of her fingers and handed it to the vender. “Don’t be koi. You know I’m hilarious.” Fish wrapped in paper and placed in a plastic bag, he turned. Only a hint of pain rimmed the edges of his eyes.
She searched for another comeback. One more to erase all signs of his previous moodiness. “Am I herring you correctly? Seems to me as if you’re floundering in jokes too awful to tell.”
His grin widened, and he reached out an arm behind her back. She turned her head to look at him, expecting his hand to fall to her shoulder and pull her into a side hug. Instead his palm made an about face, his fingers weaving through the hair at the back of his head.
For some reason the motion made her angry. She didn’t necessarily want him to hug her, but she didn’t want him to be fake either. “Don’t do that.” She kept her voice even, her pace equal with his.
“Do what?”
“Retreat. You don’t have to. Not with me.”
He looked at the cobblestone path beneath their feet.
“And don’t say you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
The skin of his cheek bunched at the side of his face before he turned a bemused look her way. “Anyone ever tell you it’s not good business to boss around your employer?”
“Good thing I’m talking to you as a friend then.” She hip-checked him to keep the conversation from getting too serious. “And as your friend, I’m telling you to be yourself around me. You don’t have to hold back.”
He stopped walking, his expression taking on one of boyish mischief. “Are you sure you’re ready to give me that permission?”
A tiny flag of caution rose, but she stepped around it, bringing her closer to him. “I’m sure.”
Lily: You should be getting the results soon.
Lily: Call me as soon as you get them.
Lily: I love you. *heart emoji*
Olivia: *excited face emoji* I love you, too. What did the results say? Am I really descended from some Viking princess or something? *winky face*
Lily: …or something. Seriously, call me when you get them.
Lily: Better yet, why don’t we grab coffee or ice cream, and I’ll be there when you open the results.
Lily: Ice cream. We should definitely open it with ice cream.
Olivia: You’re being weird, and it’s kinda freaking me out.
Lily: Sorry. I love you. GTG.
Olivia: Ciao
Chapter 8
Florida, 1816
“We’re almost there. I can feel it in my bones.”
Winnie tried not to cringe at the too-oft heard declaration. Asa had been saying they were close for over a week now, and to her knowledge they would no sooner reach their destination than when they’d started this journey. Asa’d never been to Florida before, much less Negro Fort. How was he supposed to know the way except by his proclaimed bones, which, to his word, could taste freedom like food to a starving man?
She swatted at a mosquito on her arm, the smashed insect leaving a trail of smeared blood across her skin. They’d left the red clay-packed ground, the beautiful dogwood trees that had flowered as they’d gathered their provisions and made their final plans for their escape, the fluffy heads of cotton that would be ready to pluck from the fields any day now. They’d traded those for towering live oaks with gray moss hanging from their arched branches, protecting them from the brilliant sun. Wet earth sucked at their feet as they treaded through underbrush of giant ferns and moss-covered debris. Insects ate at their bodies, and humidity caused them to sweat until their torn and smelly clothing clung to their skin.
She hoped Asa was right. They needed to be close, if they were to survive at all. Their food had long been gone, and what little the slaves they’d encountered had been able to sneak them hadn’t lasted for as long as they’d needed. She’d managed to harvest some woodland berries and wild onions, but all of Isaac’s attempts at snaring game hadn’t amounted to anything. Though she walked in the middle between her father and brother, she’d caught enough glances at Isaac when they’d set up camp to see his lean figure grow thinner still, the bones of his ribs and hips visible even beneath his shirt and trousers. If not for the suspenders slung over his shoulders, she doubted his pants would stay about his waist.
A twitter rent the air, a warning to the animal kingdom that there were intruders invading their territory. A second later, a bird with a blue head flew from a low-hanging branch, retreating deeper into the woods. The wildlife she’d been able to witness was their escape’s single highlight. She’d never forget the speckled fawn lying perfectly still amid the thickets. They hadn’t even seen the darling until they were right upon it. Asa had wanted to cook it for dinner, but he’d finally given in to Winnie’s tears. A battle she’d felt victorious over even though her father and brother’s hungry glares that night had been less than pleasant.
Another birdcall, higher pitched this time, sounded from the opposite side, and Winnie turned her head to catch the little creature’s flight. Maybe it would be a kind she hadn’t seen before. Instead of the span of wings lifting on air, three men rose from behind the large finger-like fronds of a palmetto.
Winnie stilled, breath caught in her throat.
Isaac bumped into her back, jostling her forward a step, but even that movement couldn’t pry her wide eyes from the trio of men advancing toward them on slow, stealthy feet. The light shifting through the canopy of branches did little to highlight their features, though she could tell they didn’t wear the uniform of soldiers or carry the bearing of a bounty hunter
A twig snapped on her other side, and her head whipped around. The fiercest man she’d ever laid eyes on stood not half a span away. Covered in buckskin leggings, a loose-fitting trade-cloth shirt that covered long arms and fastened tightly at the wrists, and a turban wrapped around his head with a white feather plume sticking off center. A shaft of light sliced through the shadows, glinting off a silver pendant in a crescent shape, resting over his broad chest. He moved not a muscle but stared at their small band with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes, which were set too narrowly in his wide, tanned face.
Was this man a Seminole or from another tribe bent on either scalping or returning runaway slaves in agreement to a treaty with the army? Her heart punched against her ribs, but instead of cowering like she’d done in the past when the master had stalked toward her with a whip in hand, she formed up her spin and squared her shoulders. She was so tired. Of running. Of being afraid. They’d set out to find a new life, and she’d go kicking and screaming, clawing eyes out like a wildcat if they so much as thought to force her to return.
The muscles in Asa’s back constricted as the Indians closed in on them. Knowing he was of the same mind, preferring to fight and die than be returned to Georgia, Winnie laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. Best find out the men’s intentions before going off half-cocked.
Winnie’s attention was divided between the solitary man on one side and the trio who had drawn near. She didn’t like being hemmed in, and though the three men held the threat of numbers, she didn’t think for a moment any measure of resistance in the direction of the lone warrior would succeed.
The man in the middle stepped forward. “Don’t be afraid, my friends. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”
English? With a Gullah accent? She tilted her head, noticing for the first time that the man sported skin even darker than her own, though he wore the same buckskin and tunic-like shirt as the others.
“My name’s Scipio. Where you headed?”
&nbs
p; “To Negro Fort.” Asa’s voice resonated with strength, his body taut, as if ready to strike. “Let us pass, and we’ll be on our way.”
Pain and regret flashed on Scipio’s face, the feather on top of his turban fluttering as he shook his head. “Sorry to say, the fort’s no more.”
Asa took a step forward, his fists clenched at his side. He’d do battle with any who stood in his way, a battering ram against any obstacle. “What’d you mean?”
Scipio merely stared.
Asa flinched before going rigid once again. “We’d heard they’d enough ammunition and provisions to outlast any ambush. The fort be secure, all people inside safe. And free.”
The lone Indian passed on silent feet to join the others, and Winnie’s eye tracked his movement all the while reminding her heart to pump and her lungs to fill. Her conscious split, half of her attuned to the possible threat surrounding her, the other half trying to come to terms with the revelation that Negro Fort had fallen. That all their hopes were snapped twigs under a careless boot.
Swallowing emotions that would not help her now, she narrowed her focus on the present, on the warrior who moved without a sound. He had a regal profile with a solid chin, as if carved from a rough stone, which lifted in the air as he walked. Silver bands encircled his biceps, and a sash crossed his chest. Without a word spoken, he demanded attention, the conversation between Asa and Scipio caught in the air and held until the warrior settled himself beside the others.
Scipio waited half a second before continuing his speech. “We both know the whites would never let a group of slaves keep control of a fort with so many weapons. Especially not so close to their own borders.” His voice wavered, then hardened, fire flashing across his features. “They feared an attack of retribution, and rightly so, as those of Negro Fort did repay in likeness what was done to them. God rest them white men’s souls.”
Winnie held her breath during the exchange, watching the expressions of each man as Scipio spoke. Their future hinged on this single conversation and the group of men standing before them. With a black man among the natives, she no longer feared they’d return her and her family to Master Rowlings. But what would they do to them? Would they let them go and find peace and refuge among the Spaniards, or would they take them as their own slaves?
She eyed Scipio, trying to discern his place among their presence. He seemed healthy, well fed, and well treated. The Indians let him speak, even to let him take the lead. If he was their slave, then he was a prized one.
“But you said the fort is no more.”
Isaac’s voice squeaked behind her, though she prayed it was from misuse and not fear. Though her own innards quaked, she’d not let these men see the evidence.
The tall Indian, so full of pride it bordered on arrogance, scowled in Isaac’s direction. She didn’t think fear and trepidation were emotions these men were much acquainted with. And ones they certainly despised. From the mere look of them, she could imagine their powerful faces covered in war paint, a blood-curdling scream ripping from their throats as they ran boldly into battle. Never hesitating. Never looking back.
Scipio reached up and pulled the turban from his head, revealing a thick patch of disheveled hair. He rotated the head covering around and around in his hands. Where the others lacked emotion, he showed signs of feeling. Grief. Regret. Anger. “A cannonball hit the fort’s powder magazine. An explosion killed almost everyone inside. Nearly three hundred lives lost, blacks and Seminoles alike.”
Asa’s head tilted back as he put his face to the sky. His knees buckled, but he remained upright as a guttural sound tore from his throat. His fists lifted and shook in the air, emotion rocking him back and forth. Was he thinking of Temperance and William? Of the sacrifice made to get this far only to have freedom ripped from him again? Letting his hands drop in defeat, he said, “We ain’t goin’ back. No matter what, we ain’t goin’ back.”
Scipio nodded, then turned and addressed his friends in a strange language, his hands making wide, sweeping gestures. Finally, he turned back to address Asa again.
“A ways from here be two settlements. Side by side, though about a mile apart. One for Seminoles”—he gestured to the men beside him—“the other, Negros like us. Black Seminoles. We farm the land and share the harvest. We fight with them. Live like them.” His gaze swept to include Winnie and Isaac for the first time. “Sometimes even marry them.”
Unbidden, her eyes lifted and collided with the third warrior. Nothing about him had softened during the entire exchange, and he stared at her with his penetrating, unreadable gaze. What must he think of her? Of them? She looked down, noting the long tear in the hem of her skirt and petticoat, the mud stains that circled all the way past her knees. Stench drifted from her body, and a twig dangled from her hair in her peripheral vision.
Her immediate response was to shrink. To hide. Make herself small and invisible. But that was a reaction that had been pounded into her. That Winnie she’d left behind on a Georgia plantation. This Winnie was a fighter. A survivor. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
With that reminder, she lifted her chin and met the warrior’s gaze with all the dignity that had been due her and never received. Every evil that should have been a kindness. Every harsh word that should have been spoken in love. Every inequality that should have been made equal.
He continued to stare, to scrutinize, to study. Then with a small tic in his cheek, one side of his mouth lifted.
Asa dipped his chin in a decisive nod. “We’ll join you.”
Scipio smiled, revealing the loss of a front tooth. “Good.” He reached out and clapped Asa on the back, pushing him toward the Indians. “This is Hachi and his brother Holata.”
The two who bore a resemblance to one another stepped forward and greeted her father with a firm grip to his forearm. “Istonko.”
Scipio moved to the last man. “And this is Nokosi. We are of the Panther clan.”
Nokosi stepped forward and gripped not just Asa’s forearm, but Isaac’s as well, holding the younger man’s arm a span longer before he turned and walked away into the woods, the brothers trailing.
“Come,” Scipio said. “Our camp’s not far from here. We were just about to settle down to some food when we heard your footsteps in the distance. There’ll be provisions, and you can rest.”
“Thank you.” Winnie couldn’t let a moment longer go by without the words. They’d fled to freedom, and at last it seemed they’d found it.
Scipio looked over his shoulder and offered her a small smile. “We were lookin’ for survivors of the fort. The army’s out there now, pickin’ them up one by one.” He shook his head. “It ain’t right.”
“What’s…” Isaac voice shook. He wobbled on his legs as he took a high step over a fallen log. “What’s it like, livin’ with Indians?”
“Don’t believe everythin’ you hear. You got nothin’ to fear with them. White folk no doubt filled your head with lies. They like to think they’re superior to any other. Take whatever they want whether it belong to them or not.” He cackled, though Winnie wasn’t sure what he found so funny. “Don’t like it none when someone’s brave enough to fight them back.”
“So they ain’t murderin’ thieves that’ll scalp you in your sleep?”
Scipio hooted. “They’re warriors, don’t get me wrong. But you don’t have nothin’ to fear.”
The light of a fire drew them closer, Isaac near collapsing by the time they reached it.
What would it be like to live without fear? Though Scipio assured they need not feel the emotion, Winnie’s pulse had yet to return to a normal rhythm. They’d gone looking for a new life, and they’d found it—albeit an unexpected one. She’d spent the drudging hours of their flight alternating between remembering her mother’s soft songs and imagining what her future would look like within the confines of the fort.
She lowered herself beside her brother, making sure to sit close so he could lean on her if need be. Once he ha
d food in his belly again, his strength would return and he’d not be in threat of embarrassment by showing his weakness to the other men. Until then she’d shield him as best she could.
A log in the fire cracked, sending a spray of red sparks into the air. Across her shoulder, a canteen entered her line of sight. She turned her head and met the friendly gaze of one of the brothers. Nodding her thanks, she took the canteen and tilted the contents to her mouth. Sweet water touched her tongue, and a thirst exploded within her. Taming the want, she pulled the lip of the container away from her mouth and offered it to her brother.
Prickles crawled along her skin, those caused by being watched. Lifting her eyes, she once again collided with the silent warrior’s gaze. Nokosi dipped his chin in deference, and she felt his pleasure over her like an accolade, though she didn’t know why. What had she done to gain his favor? And what did being in favor with an Indian mean?
The other brother held out a pouch to her, and she took it with a smile of gratitude at not only the offering but also of being rescued. Lifting the pouch to her face, she sniffed at its contents. Immediately her stomach clenched as the smoked scent of dried meat taunted her appetite. Placing a hand at her middle to silence the growls, she offered the pouch to Isaac first. After he withdrew his hand, strips of meat in his palm, she stood and made her way to Asa, who sat farther away, his elbows planted on his thighs and head bent and supported between his open palms.
She’d never seen him like this—on the verge of brokenness. She’d thought if anything would’ve done it, the sight of his eldest daughter going beneath the rapids would have. But he’d stood stalwart then, if a bit bent by the winds of sadness. Now, however, he looked about felled, an axe taken at his base.
Winnie sat on the log beside him, sharing his space, silently shouldering the pain that throbbed around his large frame. She tilted her head and rested her temple on his upper arm. Silent sobs racked through his body as he swayed back and forth. A tear slipped past her own lid and trailed down her cheek.
