Sarah piped up. “We were rewarded, Papa. We got freedom.”
Fortune stared at Sarah. His nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth. “I want you to listen good, Babygirl. Did they promise the white man freedom or was he promised rewards?” His eyes blazed. “What would you call titles, honour and glory and large land grants? We are at the end of the line, getting the crumbs, if there are any left.” He waved his finger at her and said, “It is your right to have rewards if you put your hand to the load. Don’t think that the colour of your skin makes you less deserving. You are worthy.” Then his voice softened, but remained firm. “Freedom is not a reward, Sarah. Freedom is a right. Never forget that.”
“Fortune, you are right, but hush now and put that anger away. It will wear you down. Tonight calls for joy because you found us. You did us proud and because of your courage, you got your freedom. We are not worrying about anything else tonight. We got you back and we can work together to survive in Scotia. We got to look to ourselves as best we can.”
“I guess it was the Lord’s will that it happened the way it did. I went to war because I felt it was the right thing to do for my family. I did not do it for greed.”
“You hush, now. The Lord will show the way, if we take the time to listen. We can help each other and stand up for our rights.” She looked at Fortune with an inquisitive face. “How did you get to Scotia, son?”
“That’s a long story,” he growled as he took small sips of cold tea.
“We got nothing but time. Come on Fortune, finish the yarn.” She loved a good story and besides, it would keep him from talking about the war. Her voice was sharp. “I know you been through a lot son, but come on now, tell us about your journey.”
“That’s a yarn to tell, but I’ll make it short. Save some for another day.”
“Just start at the beginning, son.”
“Well, it was 1781 when I joined the British. I watched the surrender of Charles Town to the American rebels in ’82. After that, my unit headed to New York and stayed for a year. We boarded the ship Adventure. She took us to Saint John, New Brunswick.”
“All this time we wondered if you had made it.”
“I got myself a little work, but it was not long before I got discouraged. I was worrying about you. Then, the strangest thing happened. One day down on the dock in Saint John I come across a long, lean fellow by the name of Hercules.”
“Hercules is a funny name, Papa. Was that his real name?”
“Aye, that’s his name and he was an odd man to go with it.” Fortune stretched back in his chair. He grinned for the first time. His voice quieted and he began to laugh. “He was a slave hell-bent on getting freedom from his master. He had one eye and one ear and a back so ridged with scars that it looked like a ploughed field. Ol’ Hercules just laughed off his misfortunes. He liked putting us to shame by saying it proved he had courage. It made him a man, not like the rest of us. He was always asking us, ‘Where your scars be, you jellyfish?’”
“You don’t have to wear your scars on the outside,” Grandmother interjected.
Fortune nodded in agreement. “So true, Mama, so true. As I was saying, Hercules came to Saint John from Port Roseway. We got to talking about the settlement in Birchtown.”
“That be a rag. Oh, Lord.” Lydia chuckled.
“He said that he got separated from his woman and he searched this colony high and low, but could not find her. That Hercules. He came right out and said that he was glad to be rid of her. Said that woman was nothing but trouble. She had a split tongue like a snake, always speaking out of both sides of her mouth.” Fortune hissed. “Ol’ Hercules couldn’t believe a word she said.”
“A sinner, she was,” chimed Grandmother. “There are plenty of them.”
“Well now,” Fortune grinned and added, “Then he mentioned an old lady and a girl in Birchtown.”
“Did you figure it was us, Papa? What did he say?”
“Oh Lord, Sarah,” Grandmother said. “How would your father know it was us?”
Fortune laughed hard. “Hercules said the old woman was as hard as a coconut shell. Everyone minded his manners around her. Who else could it be, but you, Mama?”
Grandmother sucked on her pipe with such a ferocious drag, she choked.
“I said that sounds like Lydia Redmond, all right. Well, he jumped up saying, ‘That be the name.’” Fortune’s laugh was long and hardy and it infected them. He looked at Sarah. “And the girl, well, Hercules said that she was as pretty as a field of peach blossoms.”
Sarah’s face beamed. This was the old Papa, always with a bit of mischief in his words and such a laugh.
“Fortune, how did you get by in Saint John?”
“I worked in the woods marking trees with the king’s broad arrow … only the best and the straightest trees for the masts on British ships. I got me some money and took a lumber boat across the Bay of Fundy to Digby. After that, I hitched a ride to Yarmouth on a fishing boat, then on another to Port Roseway.”
“That was a trip. It surely was.”
“In Roseway, I came across a fellow playing the spoons at the wharf by the name of Cato. He gave me directions to Birchtown. I swear he knew the name and background of everyone here. He rhymed off names and places I never heard of. I never thought it would be that easy to find you. Sometimes a man gets favoured with a little luck.”
“Yes he does. To that, I say Amen, Fortune.”
Thirteen
BEULAH GREETED FORTUNE WITH AN EERIE SMILE. IT was early morning and another snowy December day. She neither acknowledged nor commented on Fortune’s return. She turned with just a quick hello and went to the bunk where Prince Junior lay crying, picked him up and gently pressed him to her breast. The child made ghastly sounds and sucked so hard, Fortune wondered if he was getting any nourishment at all.
He chatted with Fibby, who came by just twice a week now, to give Sarah a break. She was all talk. “Yes, Fortune,” Fibby said. “I delivered the twins all by myself. It was a hard labour, but I pulled her through, not once, but twice. Yes, yes. It takes a good midwife to do that for two days.” She beamed with pride.
“Yes, it takes a skilled hand,” he agreed, stealing a glance at Beulah. She looked small inside the big blue dress. He was baffled by her strange reaction to him. This place had stolen her joy, he thought, for her eyes were as blank as a clear sky and her spirit was numb.
“You don’t recognize your brother-in-law?” he said jokingly.
Beulah glimpsed quickly at Fortune, a solemn expression on her frail face. She clung to Prince Junior and kept patting the back of his head. She did not reply.
“Is she alright?” he asked Fibby.
“She’s frail and heartsick over losing Prince. She’s a broken woman.”
Fortune looked at the broken woman closely. Beulah Thomkins came to the plantation in chains, one of the new arrivals, in the back of Boll weevil’s cart. She walked to the quarters, not bent over like the others, but tall and upright in a dress that was stiff with dry blood. She was broken then, beaten bad to take the running out of her. However, beyond the rags and blood there was beauty—a face golden-brown like fresh molasses and eyes that mesmerized all the young slaves. She took chances that often brought her trouble. It was all gone now.
He shifted in the chair and broke the morbid silence by humming. When Beulah put Prince down, he approached her, reaching out his hand. “Don’t be afraid, Beulah. You can’t give up now. We survived worse times, didn’t we?” He waited, but she did not answer. “You are a good woman. Do not lock yourself away from life. Let yourself feel again.” He stuttered now saying, “Please, Beulah. Let me help you.” He fumbled for comforting words. “I’ll help you. Come on now and cheer up. Things will get better.”
She leaned into him and placed her head on his chest. She wept without any explanation. He held her t
ight and hummed again. Fortune understood her silent grief, knew it was difficult for her to connect rightly to her feelings. She had trained herself to hold emotions back because crying was a sign of weakness. A weak slave made good sport for an overseer. Patience, he thought. A little kindness would help bring her around.
“You look a lot like Prince,” she said finally.
“So they say.”
A long silence swallowed the room. Fortune thought about the revolution, how it had displaced thousands. How it had separated men from their women, children from parents, slaves from masters. The reality was that no matter what happened, you had to march to the beat. If you lost step, you would fall down and get left behind. And no one would care. You had to hold on. You had to believe and trust that if you fell, God would find you. His mother had said it a thousand times: “Blessings will find you if you let them.” He looked at Beulah. She needed his help to get in step and march. She was scared and lost and broken, sure. He quietly stroked her hair. His voice was protective: “It’s going to be all right.”
“I’m not myself, Fortune. I don’t know what’s come over me. Sarah and Fibby have been such a help, but there is so much to do. I’m tired and there’s no money and so little food.”
Fortune looked around the shack. If ever there was misery, he thought, it found its way here. How were any of them going to survive in this squalor? He looked at Beulah. Could she care for herself, let alone the twins? He looked at the two babies curled up tightly to each other. Their tiny faces looked ashen. He bent and picked up the smaller of the two. Destiny was frail and listless. She was not much bigger than a large melon and weighed barely as much.
“I promise to help,” he said, “starting with fixing up this place and building up the wood pile to heat it.”
Fibby chimed in saying, “That will be good, but she needs food and a tonic, Fortune. That’s what she needs to get her strength back. Cecil carries tonic at the store.” She nodded her head. “And a little meat would be good. It’s been a long time since we had meat.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said as he headed to the door. “I’ll be back.”
The cold December wind caught Fortune’s back and pushed him along the trail. He wondered about Beulah and thought about his future. He was thirty-seven. Sarah was grown and the old woman was getting along in years. Time was sliding along. It was time to settle down. Beulah was a good person. Behind her sad eyes, he knew there was a woman capable of finding herself again. The tonic would help. When she was feeling better, he would test fate.
After Fortune crossed the frozen brook, he came upon some Pioneers warming themselves around a roaring fire. He recognized Bill Abbot and Jake Whalen. He joined them with a yarn about his journey to Birchtown. They made small talk about the war and the weather, discussed the plans for a new church and talked about folks having to leave Birchtown to find work. When all that was out of the way, Bill said, “A lot of folks are getting picked up and shipped south.”
Jake interrupted, “So I hear. That Boll weevil tried it with Lydia.”
“What do you mean?” Fortune asked.
“Boll weevil is up to his tricks,” Jake said.
“What’s he done?”
“I was putting in a half day with Ramsey Lewis, the livery man, when I heard him say that Boll weevil rented his cart to collect runaways and that he tried to pick up Lydia and the girl.”
“I heard it as well and that the old woman pulled a fast one,” Bill spurted.
“A fast one?” Fortune asked.
Jake laughed so hard he took a pain in his side. “She faked dropping dead on the road.”
“Yes. Boll weevil left her there on the side of the road for dead with her granddaughter. Lydia always has a trick in her pocket. She fooled him,” Bill said.
“Well, I know this much, she’s not dead,” Fortune frowned.
“That Lydia,” Jake said, still laughing. “She’s a fox all right. And a clever one.”
The news left Fortune unnerved. With Boll weevil lurking about, any one of them could disappear without a trace. He wondered why Boll weevil was after his mother and Sarah. He thought about his army pistol stored away in his bedroll. He would carry it from now on.
CECIL MACLEOD KEPT ONE EYE ON FORTUNE AND THE OTHER on the barrel of salt pork he was stirring. Fortune flipped the coins in his pocket and looked about the store. He could feel Cecil’s eyes. He recognized him as soon as he saw him. Not wishing to be disrespectful, he spoke first. “Good morning to you, Sir.”
“Good morning.” The tone was condescending. “And who might ye be?” Cecil looked him over from head to toe. He tried to keep up on all the newcomers, if not by name, then by face. This one was new, yet there was something familiar about him.
“Name’s Fortune Redmond.”
“Redmond? One of Lydia’s tribe, are you?”
Fortune bristled at the word “tribe.” “Yes, Sir. Lydia’s son.”
“Well, well. Her boy has come home. She must be happy.”
“Yes sir. She is happy to have the help.”
Cecil made no reply. He kept his eyes on Fortune as he milled about. The missing slave. Another Redmond. One of his shameful offspring. This was certainly more than he had bargained for.
Fortune, aware of being studied, kept looking among the strange bottles. It would have been easier for him to find the tonic if he could read, but it was not long before he found a bottle of the right shape and colour.
“How much, Mr. MacLeod?”
“One crown,” Cecil sneered. “I suppose Lydia sent you. Not feeling herself these days? Or, is she too busy to come by?”
“I don’t know, sir. Folks can’t get out and about in the cold.”
Cecil swept his hand over his bald head. He squirmed and discharged a loud belch, leaving his face beet purple. He sized the boy up.
Fortune put the tonic on the counter. He was feeling uneasy and acutely aware of Cecil’s eyes on him as he walked about, adding a small keg of milk, a half dozen salt herring and a small cut of chewing tobacco to his pile. He calculated the total and then reached into his pocket and placed the exact amount on the counter. Dahlia had taught him enough not to get cheated.
After Fortune departed, it dawned on Cecil that Lydia’s Certificates of Freedom were still in the pot. He removed the prized papers and placed them inside the pocket of his thick, woollen vest. Later, when things quieted down, he would find a hiding place upstairs in the loft. For the present, he would work on his plan for Lydia. “Soon,” he mumbled. “Soon, I too shall be free.” His sarcasm produced a wide smile and his one tooth rested on his bottom lip.
When Fortune arrived back at Beulah’s, Beulah was mumbling, holding her head in her hands at the table. Fortune placed his bundle on the table beside her, but she did not look up. He looked at Fibby, who was sitting on the cot holding a small bundle tightly wrapped in rags. Her eyes were grey with tears and her sobbing was long and sharp, like a child’s whining.
“What has happened?” Fortune asked, already knowing the answer.
“Destiny,” wailed Fibby. “Shortly after you left. Peaceful it be, in her sleep.”
“Oh Fortune, my Destiny’s gone,” Beulah moaned. “She’s gone. My child has passed on. She’s gone to be with her daddy.”
Fortune put his arms around Beulah. “Life will be good again. This grief will pass.” After holding her for a few minutes, he started for the door and said, “I’ll tell Mama the news.”
The following day, the Redmonds stood huddled with their backs against the cold December wind. The frozen ground behind Beulah’s shack did not enable a proper burial. Their hearts were as heavy as the stones Fortune managed to pry from his brother’s grave. He piled them over Destiny in a spot next to her daddy.
Grandmother’s words were brief. “Dear Lord, we commit this baby to your loving c
are, our child, Destiny Redmond. May she rest in peace. Amen.”
Fourteen
AN UNRELENTING BLIZZARD ENGULFED THE BIRCHTOWN settlement bringing a frightful amount of snow, six feet deep in places. Every available hand turned out to shovel.
The sod roof on Reece Johnson’s shack had collapsed through the centre. He stretched long poles across the gaping hole and piled the last of the spruce boughs over the poles. When he finished, he sat on a tree stump and finished off a chunk of salt deer meat as he took a much-needed break. He focused on a pair of noisy woodpeckers drilling relentlessly for moth larva. He was thinking how the birds had such a convenient supply of winter food and the tools they needed to find it, unlike many of the Loyalists, who were fending off starvation with little more than their will.
Sarah, who was on her way to Cecil’s store, spotted Reece and slowly crept up from behind until she was close enough to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. Reece jumped, then stood and turned about sharply. She giggled and was about to say, “A good wife would make you a nice lunch,” but checked herself, as finding even a morsel these days would be hard. Reece looked into Sarah’s sparkling eyes and said, “You should have on a heavier coat. This weather can make you sick if you are not dressed for it.”
“I’m warm enough. I have a ton of clothes piled on.”
“A good thing. So what are you doing out on such a day, Miss Sarah?”
“Cato came by with a message from Mr. MacLeod. He said that Grandmother took a dizzy spell on her way back from Port Roseway. She made it as far as the store and Mr. MacLeod has asked that I come and see that she makes it home safely.” She squatted on a stump opposite Reece. “I only have a minute. I’m worried. Grandmother has never gotten sick, not that I can remember.”
“Why didn’t Cato help her back?”
“I didn’t ask, but you never know his condition! He always smells of brew.”
“Fortune could have gone.”
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