Freedom's Kiss

by Sarah Monzon

  A spark of hope shone in Curtis’s eyes for the first time. “Do you think that will work?”

  “Enough that the district attorney might be willing to negotiate and settle on lesser charges.”

  He seemed to take that in, and instead of being disappointed Adam didn’t think he’d be outright acquitted, he accepted the responsibility of his actions. He looked up and met Adam’s gaze head on. “My wife and son?”

  “I’m meeting with her after this and taking her to fill out paperwork for support. She should qualify for food stamps, housing, and help with childcare while she’s at work.” He leaned forward. “I promise I will do everything within my power to help you. That includes taking care of your family while you cannot.”

  The large man’s eyes filled, and he blinked hard several times. “Why are you doing this for me?”

  “Besides it being the right thing to do?” Adam sat back in his chair, a smile playing at his lips. “Someone recently reminded me of something I had lost sight of.” And he would continue to thank her for pushing him to see past his shame and accept it for the gift it was…even if it took him the rest of his life to do so.

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  He held Curtis’s gaze in his own. If the man hadn’t heard anything this whole time, Adam wanted him to walk away with this. “Amazing grace.”

  Chapter 32

  Florida, 1835

  “What we gonna do now?” Temperance sat cross-legged on the raised floor, her infant daughter suckling at her breast.

  Her eldest son and Otter had been sent out while their parents and family members talked. Later Winnie and Nokosi would explain all to their son, but Winnie wanted to protect him for as long as she could.

  William leaned against a nearby tree, chewing on the stalk of a sugar cane and spitting out the grainy fibers. He seemed disengaged at first glance, but if anyone were to venture a closer look, they would see a man deep in thought.

  Asa stood with feet braced and arms crossed against his chest. Nokosi laid a hand to Asa’s shoulder. “As a people, we have two choices. We can join Charley Emathla at Fort Brooke and board the ships that will take us west, or we can follow Micanopy of the Alachuas and the young warrior Osceola and resist the whites’ insistence that we be removed from our homeland.”

  “Ain’t no choice, if you ask me.” Asa’s eyes burned with anger.

  William pushed off the tree and chucked the sugar cane into the far bushes. He wiped his hands on his buckskins. “Have you met Osceola, Nokosi?”

  Winnie’s gaze swung to her husband. The male members of her family did not often speak so plainly to each other in her or Temperance’s presence, and she didn’t want to alert them that females sat among them now.

  Nokosi nodded slowly. “He has experienced his own pain at the hand of white men from his past. Though he is friends with the agent Wiley Thompson, I do not think even that friendship will stop him from raising his hand and fighting. Already they have stoked a fire in him by refusing to sell guns and ammunition to him and our people, claiming doing so treated him like a slave.” He looked out over the horizon. “I heard him claim that he would make the white man red with blood before they made him black.”

  Asa ground his teeth while Nokosi sent Winnie and Isaac a fleeting look of apology.

  “So he means to fight.” Isaac interjected.

  “And strike first,” Nokosi affirmed. “President Jackson and his agents have already threatened force. Osceola and others do not want to wait until the snake strikes. Better to cut off the head before the poison of venom is in our skin.”

  “Does he have a plan?” William asked.

  “The warriors have been talking, though I have not heard it from his own lips. Small skirmishes have already broken out on both sides. One report claims more soldiers are marching into Florida every day. The snake knows his enemy is closing in and is coiling in preparation.”

  Asa slammed a fist into his open palm. “We should attack before they get more men and weapons. Or we got no chance of winnin’.”

  William agreed.

  “I do not think Osceola will wait long before he doles out punishment, both to those he finds traitors among his own people and those who wish to erase our way of life.”

  Winnie found her voice for the first time since they’d started talking. “What would become of us?” Already they’d been forced from land that yielded to their hand. The inhabitable space left to the south were rivers of grass guarded by alligator and the razor teeth of yucca and saw palmetto plants. The marshes would not be hospitable to seeds of squash and corn. She feared starvation more than capture.

  “Though a fire in the forest can destroy all in its path, still life can flourish. The heart that beats inside you and all our people is that of a survivor. We know this land, for it is in our blood. It will not turn its back on us in our hour of need.” Assurance shone from Nokosi’s gaze. “And if need be, the land itself will hide us from our enemies.”

  “But what about the treaty of Payne’s Landing?” Temperance lifted her daughter to her shoulder and gently pounded on the baby’s back to release air from her tummy. “Didn’t the seven chiefs agree and sign the truce?”

  “By force.” William tilted his head down to look at his wife. “And they didn’t have the power to decide for every band and tribe.”

  Temperance broke eye contact with her husband and kissed the downy head next to her own. “Wouldn’t it be better though? We’d at least still be alive and together.”

  William squatted in front of her. “Would we? You think they’d let us get on that boat? Only place we’d go would be back to slavery and then the grave.”

  “What then?” Soft and breathy, her voice filled with fear. Winnie reached over and squeezed her sister’s arm.

  Asa’s hands fell to his side as he slapped at his thigh. “I didn’t risk everything to get my family out of slavery just to give up without a fight.”

  Isaac stepped closer to Asa. “I agree.”

  Winnie watched her husband. His face remained impassive, as if the conversation flowing around him didn’t touch his own life. She knew the flood of emotion the man held in firm check. Had felt it in his kiss and embrace. Seen it as he watched his son practice with a bow or play a game of stickball with other children.

  Slowly he nodded before meeting Winnie’s gaze. “What is the saying that your friend Martha likes to repeat? The one about the seasons.”

  A small smile softened her lips. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up.”

  Only his eyes reflected that anything moved within Nokosi. “Just as the autumn winds blow and bring about a season of change, the time to fight has come.”

  Temperance tightened her hold on her daughter, tears sounding in her voice, though her face remained dry against the emotion. “I’m scared. I can’t bear for our family to be torn apart again.”

  Winnie shifted beside her sister and drew Temperance to her side. “Sometimes we get a say in life, and sometimes we don’t. Being born to Master Rawlings, ain’t no one asked us if we wanted that. But we broke free, and now we get a say. Not just for us”—she laid her hand on the baby’s back—“but for our children as well.”

  Temperance glanced down, her cheek caught between her teeth. Winnie pressed on. “Either way, we’re leavin’ these children a legacy. The say you get is, do you wanna leave them a legacy of slavery and fear or a legacy of freedom?”

  Chapter 33

  Present Day, Florida

  Olivia took a deep breath as she stared out the side window from the backseat of her dad’s truck. He killed the engine, his hand lingering on the keys in the ignition. The three of them sat there, she in back and her parents in front, gathering courage about them like sandbags in the trenches. None of them kne
w what the day held, what kind of projectiles might be hurled their way.

  Amy had seemed super friendly and cheerful in her email and over the phone when they’d hashed out the meeting, but that didn’t settle Olivia’s stomach. It flipped and turned over on itself like two wrestlers in a match. On the one hand, she was beyond excited to be meeting a sister—and she still reeled over the fact she even possibly had a sister! But what if Amy turned out not to be her sister at all? What if Olivia wasn’t any closer to finding her blood family than she had been when she’d first discovered her adoption? What if Amy told her all about their mom and then tacked on, “Oh, by the way, she still wants nothing to do with you.” The unknowns gave her a queasiness that made her want to hurl.

  She glanced at the backs of her mom’s and dad’s heads. The guilt about her parents killed her. Dad had woken her that morning with fresh-squeezed orange juice and a plate of huevos rancheros. The smell of sautéed onions and garlic, tangy tomatoes, and cooked eggs triggered a memory of a morning about twenty years before. It had been summer break, and she’d prepared herself for a boring, lonely day at home with a neighborhood teenager who spent more time talking on the phone to her boyfriend than paying any attention to Olivia, because while Olivia had off for the summer, her parents didn’t.

  Dad had surprised her that morning though. She’d padded out of her bedroom to find him in the kitchen, ingredients lined up on the counter and a hand-printed recipe card propped up against a bag of coffee beans. He’d called in to work and spent the whole day with her, starting with teaching her his grandmother’s secret recipe and ending with watching a soccer match, or, as he’d call it, futbol, featuring the national team from Guatemala. He was a man proud of his heritage, and he’d wanted to share it with his only daughter.

  A crease formed between her brows as she both reminisced and watched a woman dressed in authentic Native American clothing exit her vehicle and trek across the grounds. What would her childhood have looked like if David and Eileen Arroyo hadn’t adopted her? Would she have spent her growing-up years learning traditional stomp dances instead of play-dancing the salsa to Latin American music with her dad? Or worse, maybe…

  She shook her head. She could think up a thousand scenarios, but the truth was, she really couldn’t picture growing up any other way or with any other parents than the ones she had.

  Her dad cleared his throat, snapping her out of her thoughts and bringing her focus from out the window to meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Ready?”

  She nodded and pulled on the handle to open the door. She stepped out and shut the door, two echoes following. Her dad walked around the front of the truck, looking first at his wife, communicating silently, then moving to focus on Olivia. He reached out and gripped her shoulder, pulling her into his chest and encasing her with his strong arms.

  “We’re here for you, mija.” He whispered into her hair. “Anything you need.”

  Olivia nodded, and her dad loosened his hold. Mom’s eyes glistened, but she smiled.

  “I’m so sorry, you guys.” Olivia shook her head. Yes, finding out her parents hadn’t given her life had come as a shock and a punch to the gut, and yes, she still dealt with some residual anger over it, but she hadn’t been exactly understanding or kind since the revelation either.

  Dad’s arm still lay across her shoulders, and Mom stepped up, winding an arm around Olivia’s back. She returned their hug, and they stood there a moment in a huddle. She soaked it in. Their love. Their support. The unconditional way in which they relayed that they’d be there for her no matter what. No matter how much doing so might hurt them in the process.

  She let her arms fall, and her parents followed suit, but instead of allowing them to distance themselves, she grabbed and held their hands. She used to walk with them like this—father, daughter, mother—all the time. When she was little, she’d pull up her legs and they’d swing her by the arms between them. A family.

  As they neared the outskirts of the grounds where pop-up canopies had been erected, the sound of milling people underscored the announcer speaking over a sound system. Somewhere, drums played. A rainbow of vibrant colors everywhere.

  Gratefulness seeped into her limbs that her first introduction to her biological culture and heritage was here at a small intertribal powwow and not the large event held at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel. As it was, sights, sounds, and smells bombarded her senses and threatened to squash her initial excitement and send her into a tailspin of panic.

  As if sensing her mounting nerves, Dad squeezed her hand and pointed between two canopies where a little boy about five years old with a roach headdress spiking and running down the middle of his head pranced about in a dance that had his knees rising high as he made tight circles. The feathers attached to his white, blue, and green shirt and pants bounced with his movement.

  “You think he’s practicing for one of the dance competitions?” Dad asked while Mom cooed, “Isn’t that the most darling thing?”

  Olivia nodded but didn’t comment. She and Amy had agreed to meet at a booth featuring art from a local artist who carved animals into natural materials, such as antlers, and attached them to a blade created using an old technique called knapping. So far, they’d passed a few vendors selling food and some more artsy ones featuring beadwork.

  She looked to her right. Knives on stands two booths down caught her attention. From the distance, she couldn’t distinguish the carving at the end of the handle of the closest, but it looked to be made out of an animal bone of some sort. She scanned the other four knives on display. One had teeth. What animal did that jawbone come from?

  They drew closer, the second row of art behind the knives becoming visible. Her heart skipped a beat at the beautifully carved or painted pieces of driftwood. She’d never seen art quite like this before, natural in its rugged elegance.

  Olivia’s gaze scanned the inside of the booth, but only a middle-aged balding man sat in a fold-up camping chair, not a college-aged girl who could possible share parts of Olivia’s DNA.

  The man gave them a friendly smile and held up a few strands of leather in his lap. “I’ll be right with you, folks.”

  Pressure on her right hand brought her head up. Mom focused on something beyond Olivia. She turned. Time stood still. All the sights and sounds and smells drifted away like someone pressing a Mute button to her senses. Her heart kicked up a notch, and her lips twitched, as if they didn’t know if they should smile at the person heading toward her or not.

  Silky black hair framed a slightly square face that housed eyes lit by the sun and a smile an eternity wide. She seemed of equal height and build as Olivia, and the colorful patchwork skirt and matching poncho blouse made up of red, orange, yellow, and blue stripes—some solid and some consisting of geometric shapes—swished as her gait picked up speed.

  Olivia stood there, frozen, speechless. A squeeze to both her hands, then her parents dropped their hold. A second later Amy—or rather, she assumed the woman was Amy—barreled into her, squeezing her around her neck.

  “You have no idea how many times I imagined meeting you. Hugging you like this.” The young woman leaned back to smile at Olivia. “And now I can!” To prove it, she squeezed Olivia again.

  Olivia wrapped her arms around the other woman’s waist a bit tentatively. “Amy?”

  She stepped back and thumbed a tear from the corner of her eye. “Right. Sorry. Yes, I’m Amy.” She thrust her hand forward at first David, then Eileen. “It’s nice to meet you.” Her gaze landed on Olivia. “Finally.”

  Olivia let her lungs release the bubble of air she’d held hostage. Some of the tension she’d been holding along her shoulders escaped with it.

  I can’t believe it. My sister.

  Amy pressed both palms to her cheeks, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve finally found my sister.”

  Lily’s voice entered Olivia’s head, cautioning her from getting attached before she ran a DNA test
to confirm familial relations.

  Lily wasn’t there. She couldn’t see what Olivia saw. Feel what Olivia felt. Know, in her heart, what Olivia knew.

  Amy Kinnard was her sister.

  Dad touched her lightly on the arm, his eyes warm and soft. “Mom and I are going to grab a snow cone right over there.” He pointed to the vendor selling flavored shaved ice, his unspoken subtext—we’re here if you need us.

  Olivia smiled and nodded.

  Amy hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “I have a blanket set out in the shade, where we can talk.”

  Eileen kissed Olivia’s cheek before she turned and followed her husband.

  Amy looked at her expectantly, and Olivia grinned. “Lead the way.”

  Amy’s blanket wasn’t far, but she’d found the perfect spot under a tree with branches wide enough that they lent much-needed protection from the sun. Olivia leaned against the trunk and crossed her legs as Amy jumped in and started sharing all about her life. She was a sophomore at UCF, but right now most of her classes were online. She wanted to be a nurse and spend the first few years out of school traveling before she settled down. She was dating a guy named Brad, but it was more casual than serious. She had a peanut allergy. Did Olivia have any allergies?

  No, she didn’t.

  Amy’s tone changed as she moved from the generic to the personal, about when she’d first found out she had a sister, how their mom had told her. Olivia found herself playing with the edge of the blanket, running her index finger across the wool fibers and concentrating on how the strands would lay one way and then the other.

  Amy grew quiet, and Olivia looked up to find her sister’s gaze riveted on Olivia’s fidgety fingers. Some of the excitement and exuberance had worn out of Amy’s voice and expression to be replaced with a compassionate understanding.

  “Mom does that, too, when she’s nervous or anxious or overwhelmed. Sometimes just when she’s bored. She’ll work her finger over the seam of her pants or a cushion…anything really, as long as it’s within reach and she thinks no one will notice.” Amy raised her eyes and peered into Olivia’s. “Am I making you uncomfortable? I’m sorry if I am.”