“Does He love a half-caste as much as He loves Lady Lavender, d’you think?”
The question pulsated with hope and doubt, and Emerald’s heart knew a pang. “Remembered what Uncle Mathias taught us from the first chapter of Ephesians? ‘Chosen’ by God the Father. ‘Accepted’ in the Beloved One Jesus. In Christ we are one family. All of the King’s daughters are robed with grace.”
A short time later she turned the horse from the carriageway onto the narrow dirt lane that led a quarter mile ahead to the Manor. Her excited thoughts were on Jamie. He had a ship! She wondered how he had found it, but at the moment she pushed that question aside. It was enough that now they would set sail for New England!
Only one thought arose to float on the troubled waters of her heart. How could she bring herself to tell Uncle Mathias good-bye—and what about the Singing School? Yes, she would seek to serve the Lord in Boston, but what about the slaves and children such as Timothy and Titus?
Uncle Mathias was old and growing more frail as the days passed. Who would take his place? Yet the Lord had His ways of providing, she told herself, pushing aside the faint disturbance that stirred in her soul.
As she drove ahead, she could see the dark waves of cane on both sides of the road. The stalks and leaves rippled in the wind, and the sound grew as it rolled along until it filled her ears with sounds like the sea.
Minette sat holding the seat with both hands, staring tensely from one side of the lane to the other. “Did you hear something?” she whispered uneasily.
“The wind. Stop it—you’ll spook me. We’ve never been out this late before is all.” Changing the subject, she asked, “Does Uncle Mathias know about the message from Jamie?”
Minette shook her head, still glancing about at the fields. “He’s got the fever again. I wouldn’t have left him at the Singing School bungalow except Ty showed up—Emerald, look out!”
Emerald caught a glimpse of a form darting from the rows of cane, and she flapped the whip on the horse’s back.
A voice called from behind her, “Emerald, stop! It’s me, Ty!”
“Ty!” cried Emerald.
Minette twisted about on the seat as the horse galloped. “It’s him!”
Emerald drew the reins and slowed the buggy to a stop near the side of the wagon road.
She waited with relief as he came running up, sweat glistening on his handsome face. His white cropped pants showed in the light of the moon rising above the miles of cane. He was bare-chested, and she noted with alarm that he had a machete strapped about his lean waist.
Minette must have seen it too, for she gasped. “Ty, no, you mustn’t! You’ll hang!”
“Hush, sister!” he scolded and turned quick, anxious eyes to Emerald. “There’s no time, Emerald. You’ve got to listen to me good.”
“Yes, Ty, what is it?” breathed Emerald, glancing behind them.
“There’s to be a slave uprising.”
She tensed, her eyes meeting his in alarm.
He hastened on. “I had nothing to do with it—I swear it, but you know as good as I that they won’t believe me now—not after I tried to escape. And Mr. Pitt has it in for me bad. He won’t let up till he sees me hang.”
Emerald’s heart leaped to her throat. A slave uprising. “Ty—”
“Listen, you and Mathias has been good to me and my sister. You’ve accepted us, loved us, shared Jesus with us.”
“Ty—” Her throat constricted.
“You go to the Singin’ School and stay with Mathias till morning. Don’t come out till the sun comes up. No matter what you hear.”
In a moment of confusion Emerald stared down at him. In the moonlight she saw the brand wound on his forehead, and she winced. “Ty, don’t get involved. Come with Minette and me now. Jamie has a ship—you heard what your grandfather said. We can all leave Jamaica. I’ll buy your freedom somehow!”
He shook his head. “It’s too late for me. I must stand with the others. Please understand, Emerald. These are my people, and they are treated worse than animals. New slaves was brought into Port Royal this mornin’—I saw them. The women was naked and—”
“Ty—” Emerald groaned “—please. There’s a way to end all this, you’ll see! A better way than death and fighting.”
“Is there?” he choked, suddenly bitter. “You say so, Emerald! Mathias says so! But God don’t seem to hear our prayers! It’s time to fight!”
“You can’t win! They have all the weapons, the power is on their side—and the laws of Jamaica. We’ve got to change the laws! Remember Moses! He thought he could save his people by killing the Egyptian, but God had another way! You must be patient and wait for the moving of God.”
“Good words, Emerald,” he said gently, but his voice shook with restrained emotion. “I believe it. Yet there’s no sign in the heavens, no moving of the winds of the Almighty. How? When?”
“Pray, Ty. That’s what we must do. That’s what Uncle Mathias keeps telling us, and we keep letting our impatience get in the way. I don’t have all the answers, but I know the One who does. Get in the buggy, Cousin Ty, please.” And Emerald stretched a hand to his dark muscled arm.
His eyes filled with a gush of frustrated tears.
“Aye, brother Ty,” choked Minette. “We’ll leave with Jamie, the three of us. He’ll teach you to sail a ship. We’ll be free indeed. The wind is at our backs now, can’t you see?”
Ty gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Mr. Pitt’s out for me.”
“I’ll stop him this time, you’ll see,” said Emerald. “I’ve a new friend now,” she said boldly. “Viscount Baret Buckington is here. He’s offered to intervene for you and Jamie—”
She stopped abruptly, and all three of them turned to look toward the field. At first Emerald thought it was the cane rippling in the wind. Then she heard running footsteps.
“It ain’t the wind,” whispered Ty. “Go, Emerald! Go! Go!”
“Ty! Get in!”
Ty gave the horse a whack, and it started with a jump. Emerald grabbed the reins as the buggy jolted down the narrow lane.
“It’s the workers,” wailed Minette, staring behind her, her hair flying.
In her horror Emerald expected to see angry slaves converging ahead of her, streaming in from the fields where they hid, but the narrow road remained clear.
“Ty! Come back!” Minette cried hopelessly, still looking behind as she held to the seat.
But he did not run after them, and Minette bowed her head across her arm. “Lord, help us! Please save my brother—”
Even as Emerald’s soul silently joined her plea for God’s mercy, she had the ominous premonition that what was now happening would not be stopped in time. The words of Uncle Mathias paraphrased from Holy Scripture burst into light across her mind: “Sow to the wind? Reap the whirlwind!”
The harvest on Foxemoore would end in blood and death as surely as reapers thrust in their sickles.
Her mind continued to race as feverishly as did the horse, whose hooves kicked up dust while the buggy tottered precariously. The words that always brought dreaded images to every white planter on the sugar islands were slave uprising. By morning, except by the intervention of God’s grace, there wouldn’t be a planter’s Great House without someone with his throat cut!
I must warn the family! she thought, her heart pounding with the hoofbeats. But how? There was no turning the buggy back down that lane now! Not even her connection with Ty could save her!
In her mind’s eye she could see the unsuspecting wedding guests in the Great House toasting Geneva and Lord Felix, oblivious to their danger, while docile and obedient slaves carried silver trays laden with refreshments.
She tensed. The field slaves were one thing, but were the house slaves also dangerous? How many of those slaves knew about the uprising? How many were secretly involved? How many would open the back door to allow a rebel with a machete to enter? To hide in the wardrobe of the master’s bedchamber? How many
loyal house slaves would decide to sound the alarm instead, knowing that if they did their fellow slaves would hang?
And who was the leader of the rebellion on Foxemoore? Not Ty! She would never believe it of him, no matter what Mr. Pitt might say tomorrow, and she no longer had any doubt but that the overseer would seek to blame him. And perhaps Jamie as well, she thought.
Baret—he was the only one who could help them, but how could she reach him—and her father?
She knew that the house slaves tended to be more loyal to their white owners than did the field laborers, and that was the reason for the owners’ choosing them. Great-aunt Sophie believed that there was no cause to doubt those serving the family in the house, but was she right? How well did she understand the grieving anger in their hearts?
Sophie didn’t understand, of course. Like the other planters, she had convinced herself that slavery and brutality were excusable, that slaves were somehow less than human or, if human, then at least destined to their lot in life.
Though her heart beat like a drum and her knees were weak, Emerald took consolation in knowing that Baret was at the Great House and would use his weapons with skill if necessary to protect the family.
A sudden dart of fear pierced her soul. Jette and the twins—where were they? Were they now safe in the house with the governess? What if Jette had gone to the Manor instead?
“Jette,” she said to Minette. “Have you seen him?”
“Maybe he’s with Uncle Mathias or at the Manor!”
Outside the Manor, Emerald stopped the buggy and scrambled down, catching her flounces on a nail. She jerked her skirts impatiently and ran up the porch steps with Minette just behind her.
A light burned in the lower portion of the narrow house as they entered, breathing hard, looking about with alarm.
“I’ll check for Grandfather,” said Minette and ran toward the cook house. “Grandfather?”
Emerald shivered as she stared up the flight of steep steps shrouded with shadows. A menacing silence wrapped about her as, alone, she picked up her full skirts and began to climb.
“Jette? Are you up there?”
She paused near the top landing. “Jette! Timothy? Titus?”
Outside in the night she could hear the faint sound of shouting voices growing louder. Too late to stop it. The rebellion had broken like a flood.
She looked down the steps as Minette came running from the back. “Jonah’s not here. Maybe he took Jette and the twins to the Singing School.”
“Go there and wait like Ty said. I shall follow when I can,” said Emerald evasively. She was certain that Jette was not with Jonah, yet she didn’t want to risk Minette’s life by asking her to help search for the child. Even Minette was in danger, for the workers, especially the men, considered her white and often accused her of haughty ways.
Minette stood below, frightened and pale, but determination hardened in her eyes. “Not without you. I know what you think to do. I won’t let you risk the fields, Emerald. I know what the men will do if they find you. There’s a pistol in your father’s room—I saw it.”
Emerald already knew about the weapon, and she nodded, clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering. “I’ll be all right. God is with us. We’re never alone. I must try to risk the upper house to find Baret. I’ve got to locate Jette and the twins.”
“Then I’ll risk the fields,” stated Minette. “They won’t touch me.”
“You know that’s not so. They’ve been mad at you ever since you said you wouldn’t marry a slave. Do as I say!”
Minette turned on her heel. “Not this time. I’ll find the viscount.”
“Minette!”
But before Emerald could stop her, Minette ran toward the cook room, and the hemp screen door banged behind her.
In the silence, Emerald clutched the banister, then looked toward the front door. The distant voices were growing more distinct. There was little time, yet she must make certain Jette was not hiding in one of the upstairs rooms, and she must take the extra minutes needed to change clothes before she could ever hope to run the furrowed paths!
She approached her room cautiously and opened the door wide before entering. “Jette?”
She entered, glancing about. Seeing that the room was empty, she shed her velvet garment with fingers that shook and swiftly donned a cotton frock that reached above her ankles, all the while praying aloud, “Lord, You know where Jette is. If he’s not safe in the Great House, help me find him.”
She raced down the hall to her father’s chamber and fumbled to light the lantern. She went to his bed and stooped, pulling out the old trunk from beneath it, and searched for the pistol. “Gone!” she breathed. But her father always left it for her! Had Jonah taken it on his way to the Singing School?
A frightening shiver raced up her back. Or had one of the slaves also known about it and taken it?
A hissing sound like a snake alerted her, and her head whirled toward the wardrobe. “Psst!” came the sound again from inside, where breeches, tunics, and cloaks hung.
She stood with audible relief when a moment later Jette poked his dark head out from the clothing, his winsome eyes wide.
“Jette—”
He rushed toward her. “Emerald, I can’t find Timothy and Titus. They’re hiding and took the hound with them. And I can’t find Baret either. And the slaves are mad at us all. Are they going to kill us?”
“Thank God you’re safe. Come, we must try to reach the Singing School.”
They ran down the hall toward the steps. Then, No time! her mind shouted, and she stopped.
There were voices below, talking in their native African tongue. She clutched Jette to her side, and he looked up at her with wide eyes. Emerald put a finger to her lips, silencing him.
He stiffened but appeared to understand their plight, and his small jaw tightened.
She might try to bring him to her room, but she had never bothered to put a lock on her door, nor was there one on her father’s.
The window, she thought. The vine that grew along the wall—it was not strong enough to hold them both, but maybe she could get Jette down—
Someone was coming!
Quickly she motioned for him to enter the gallery, where she knelt, pushing him to the floor with one hand. Drawing near the rail, she peered through the lattice. Her heart wanted to stop, then began to thud.
Several field slaves with gleaming machetes were searching the lower floor. Ty was not among them! These men were all angry strangers.
Without You there is no hope, Lord. Help me know what to do.
One of the slaves started cautiously up the steep staircase. In moments he would find them, for there was no place to adequately hide. She shielded Jette behind her as best she could, amazed at his bravery.
Please, God, make the man change his mind. Make him go back downstairs.
A thought sprang clearly to mind. “My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him.”
Could she reason with the slaves? She knew a few words in the various tribal languages but not enough to carry on a winning discourse. And the slaves all came from different tribes in West Africa, having varying dialects. Many could not converse together except in English.
Someone charged through the front door then, calling out in Swahili. Emerald looked below.
Jonah stood there with a pistol—her father’s? His creased dark face, pained, glistened with sweat. “Come down,” he ordered the man on the stairs.
A lump formed in her throat. Here was Jonah, ready to face death to save his white friends, for he must know she was up here. Had Minette met him on her way to the Great House to alert Baret?
Please, God, make Baret come in time to save Jonah.
Jonah said something to the other slaves, and they all turned on him with angry words. The field hand on the steps went back down, however, pointing accusingly at Jonah and shouting in a dialect she was not familiar with.
Jonah shook his
head and spoke to him in English.
The man answered in broken English, a sob in his cracked voice. “You brother, you betray plot—break blood oath—warn them! They evil! See what they do to our people? Animals! Brand Ty! More women arrive today! Naked! White man Pitt, he laugh!”
Jonah’s face was now wet with tears, and Emerald felt her soul ache equally with the shame the slave spoke of. If only she could tell them she understood, that she despised the evil of slavery even as they did, but what could she do to stop it?
“You are right,” said Jonah wearily. “What they do is evil. But for us to kill everyone? That too is evil. I warned Mathias, a friend of God—our friend too.”
“Mathias a friend. Maybe! But now we die!”
While they agonized in debate, Emerald came alert to the opportunity God had given to her to escape to her room with Jette.
She clutched his hand, and they crept from the gallery into the hall, then silently sped toward her room.
Inside, she rushed to the open window and peered down into the darkness. Did anyone wait below as a guard? Or were they all in the front hall arguing?
“Jette, you must make a run for it. Can you climb down the vine?” she whispered.
He nodded, teeth chattering. “Wh-what a-about y-you, Emerald?”
“Baret is at the Great House. Minette is trying to get through the field to warn him. If she didn’t make it—you tell him to hurry here to the Manor.”
Jette swallowed and nodded, and tears oozed from his eyes.
Quickly she helped him through the window, judging the distance. If the vine broke … or if any were watching below … “Jesus keep you,” she whispered as she entrusted the small boy to the vine.
“I’ll come back, Emerald, you’ll see. I’ll find Baret!”
She watched until he disappeared into the darkness, and listened until the leaves on the vine ceased to rustle. All remained dark and still below.
The moments slipped by. Had he made it? Had he gotten away?
She waited, listening intently, then contemplated the risk of trying to climb down herself. She was about to try when the crack of Jonah’s pistol startled the voices below into silence.
Buccaneers Series Page 25
