Island Queen

by Vanessa Riley

“You want me here, waiting for your return, waiting for some woman to die to regain a life that was a lie? Never. You chose you and Fanny, not us, not the family we built.”

  He tried to hold me, but I ran.

  Cells’s footfalls followed.

  I locked myself in the nursery and dropped to Catharina’s cradle.

  He pounded the door. “Mrs. Randolph. I need the key!”

  Time had run out for this dream. I was to lose another daughter. “Catharina.”

  She smiled and puckered her lips.

  I gave her all I had, a blessing. “My pickney dem, my little, littlest girl, I love you.”

  The door creaked. In silence, Cells slipped inside, put my papers in my hand, and stole our daughter away.

  Part Three

  The Stand

  I stood for my family and my truth.

  Dominica 1784: Floundering

  The sun felt different in Roseau, Dominica. It was as hot and bright as any day in Demerara, but the air was less dry, more forgiving to my skin. The shores on the western side of Dominica weren’t swampy like Polk had tried to convince me. He wanted us to stay at the Hermitage.

  The dear man was right about the singing in the bay.

  Yo-yo-yo. Male voices of the deepest accent merged with the breeze. Clothed in just tan-colored aprons, enslaved men stood in lines of two along the sides of the deep-bellied boat.

  Yo-yo-yo.

  Their sorrow tore into me. Their plight would worsen. They didn’t know the misery to come.

  They’d yet to be sold like animals.

  They’d yet to know the overseer’s boot.

  They’d yet to learn and earn their ransoms.

  Yo-yo-yo.

  Fourteen years it took me to awaken, for me to come to this free port and certify my freedom.

  “Miss Dolly?”

  Captain Owen approached. He’d said his good-byes to Edward and Charlotte. Kitty shooed him toward me.

  The captain, the happy bouncy man, didn’t notice my sis’s hiss. He led me closer to the dock. “Dolly, Captain Thomas is bringing your mother and daughter from Montserrat. He should’ve been here by now. I can’t wait any longer. I have to head to Barbados . . .”

  My mind drifted to the singers, the kinship I felt to their pain. I temporarily forgot Owen’s renewed proposal. I brushed sand from his lapel. “I’ll be fine, sir. Go on. Thank you again for bringing us here.”

  “Think about what I asked you, woman. I’ll be back in a month. Maybe you’ll marry me then?”

  If I asked him how a Catholic and an Anglican could wed, he’d think I took his offer seriously. Instead, I patted his arm. “Let me get used to being free, Captain Owen, completely free.”

  I waved good-bye as he walked toward his tied-off sloop with all the enthusiasm of a woman who’d bedded a friend and discovered the experience lacking.

  I don’t know what I was thinking, lying with him.

  That wasn’t true.

  I knew exactly what I did and why. The captain liked me, and he seemed the easiest route to getting Cells out of my blood. He’d also be a name to place on a birth register if my menses came up missing. John Coseveldt Cells would never take another of my children.

  “You actually like Captain Owen?” Kitty paddled to my side. Wide sandals, tan skirts, and a bamboo green tunic, my sister seemed different, a little more grown-up voicing her opinions. She did more of that since we left the Hermitage.

  “He’s pleasant.”

  “Polk says he wants your share of Foden’s estate. Polk is a good man. They aren’t all bad.”

  She’d mentioned Polk again.

  A third time this week. I hadn’t noticed that they’d become friends. Too caught up in Cells or business or the birthing sadness, I hadn’t noticed much.

  “Dolly, I think Polk is right.”

  Five thousand pounds left to me by Foden was a small fortune. A fortune that would be gone quick, paying for food and clothing and lodgings for my family.

  I scrunched up my sleeves to absorb more of the rays. “Mr. Foden told me to be careful. I’m using his solicitors.” His expensive solicitors. Once everyone was free, I’d figure out how to start my business here in Roseau.

  Kitty leaned into me. “I miss Cells and the baby. I like babies.”

  I nodded, but I was beyond missing. The loss rattled in my hollowed-out lungs every time I breathed. “I . . . We have to deal with Pa now. You ready for that, my swallow?”

  Her head dipped and I kissed her brow. “Before we left the Hermitage, Charlotte and Edward’s tutor taught me the word freedom. I’ll be able to read it on the official papers.”

  The shadows in her eyes made me fear for Kitty and the safety of her still nine-year-old world. To make her smile, I spun her and pointed to the black sand beach of Roseau, then up to the hills. “Look at those mountains. They say it rains a lot up there, but only a little here.”

  Fog floated like a collar about the peaks. “There’s steam. It comes from broken cones sending hot breath from the earth.”

  “That doesn’t sound good, Dolly. I think we need to stay at the shore.”

  I twirled her in the allemande, faster and faster until she laughed. We stopped and walked to Charlotte and Edward.

  They were miserable.

  My daughter didn’t want to leave the Hermitage. She cried when I told her we may never see Papa Cells again. Edward, my stoic four-year-old, wiped a few tears. I thought Cells loved him, but he sacrificed knowing our Black son to give our white-skinned Catharina a lie.

  A crowd of women passed behind us, beautiful women with faces of brown, topaz, and henna, smart women with beads teasing their throats and hats topping their heads.

  “I want to craft necklaces, Dolly.”

  “The one you made me is a treasure. Kitty, I’m going to buy us hats.”

  Edward touched the top of his head. “Me, too, Mama.”

  “Of course.”

  “A black one, Mama.” He jumped up and down.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. She didn’t know the significance of wearing a hat, only that Cells’s black one was gone.

  Sighing, I turned back to the sea. The rippling waves exposed hints of green and gold.

  Yo-yo-yo.

  “You think Mama has changed much? Dolly, you think she’ll recognize us? Lizzy, too?”

  That question about Lizzy haunted me, and now it would torment me with Catharina. Would my babies, either baby, ever forgive me? Oh Catharina, I didn’t fight harder ’cause . . . ?

  Yo-yo-yo. Yo-yo-yo.

  ’Cause deep in my chest, I thought a white world and a white mama who’d never suffered enslavement was best.

  I’d never forgive myself. Never.

  “Dolly? You’re crying.”

  “No.” I wiped my eyes. “Just some sand.”

  Thirteen-year-old Charlotte came to my side, dragging her sandals almost stepping on her dress of white linen with embroidered lotus flowers, a dress meant for floating or dance. “May I write to Papa Cells?”

  “I’ll get an address.”

  Edward wheezed. It sounded heavier in this humid air. “Much longer?”

  Dipping to my knees, I straightened his olive-green jacket. “Mamaí will fix you up. She has many medicines.”

  Kitty put her hand on my shoulder. “Yes, our mama will.”

  I looked at my sister’s approving smile and feared my mother’s reaction. Would she love the easy spirit Kitty was now or mourn the warrior Kitty who’d disappeared?

  Dominica 1784: Family

  A boat appeared on the horizon growing bigger. The people on board looked like ants.

  Mamaí, my Lizzy, and Pa?

  And Nicholas?

  No. No. No.

  Kitty tugged my arm. “A boat, Dolly!”

  I nodded but my heart stuck in my mouth.

  Knees knocking, betrayal pooled like spittle on my tongue.

  A gun vomited. It cut short the haunting yo’s. The enslaved were
pushed below, buried in the belly of the boat.

  Dead. I was dead if Nicholas came, or he needed to be.

  Until my papers were certified, I couldn’t swallow, couldn’t get my gut to settle.

  The boat, a sloop, navigated the sandbars and pushed close to the docks. Big white sails hooked to a blue-painted pole—it looked like the sky or a piece of it.

  On the deck was a captain, my mother and my pa, a young woman and a young man . . . no Nicholas.

  No Nicholas.

  I gulped air, rubbed my heated stomach.

  The boat kissed the docks.

  My mother, my Mamaí, waved.

  An orange osnaburg woven skirt draped her thicker middle. She was a little grayer beneath her orange knotted headscarf. Her feet were bare.

  I’d change that.

  The young woman sitting next to her, almost hiding, my Lizzy? Had to be the now fifteen-year-old daughter I left all those years ago. I started moving.

  My pa climbed out of the boat. He whipped off his straw hat and exposed a head full of white hair. There was a scowl on his face.

  My low heels skidded. It took a great effort to stay upright.

  Had he changed his mind? Did he see my fine clothes, my shoes, and think he could charge a higher price?

  The man piloting the ship hooked rope on the deck post. He stepped onto the dock and finished tying it place. “Yuh dey? Spectator?”

  His rebuke sounded mild, almost calm. He eyed me and smiled. “Ma’am. Stay back. It’s slippery.”

  Finished with his knots, he reached into the sloop and helped my mother onto the dock.

  Ignoring all, I ran to her. Years of tears stung my cheek. “Mamaí.”

  “Dolly. My Dolly.”

  Buried in my mother’s arms, I gobbled the sound of her heart, her voice, her strength. Her keeping herself bottled up, I understood it all. Then I heard a young woman thanking the captain.

  “Mama?”

  That small voice was meant for me.

  “Lizzy?” I broke from my mother to the young woman standing a few feet away. Slim, gold in coloring with a small hook nose. Her pull skirt was red and green wrapped under a blue tunic with yellow flowers. She had shoes. Pa had purchased her light-colored slippers.

  “My little girl? My Lizzy.”

  A tall dark-haired fellow released her. I tugged the lithe little thing up in my arms, but she wasn’t little. She was flesh and blood, with a figure her tunic barely hid. She was older now than I was when I bore her.

  “I love you, girl.”

  I must have said this a thousand times. A thousand and one.

  “Mama. Grama, she told us . . . Grampa told us you were alive.”

  Caressing her pale cheeks, I nodded. “All these years apart.” She was an Irish rose with my deep-set eyes, my pa’s nose, and nothing, nothing of Nicholas. “If I could’ve been with you, I would’ve.”

  “Yes. Grama said you had to go.”

  Mamaí moved to Kitty and Edward and my Charlotte, giving them hugs and kisses.

  “Hmmm. Hmmm.” The boy with the dark hair made noises like he was important.

  Cells had introduced me to colony governors and financiers. They didn’t harrumph with their throats. Power projected in the quieter things—silver buttons, silk, soft politics.

  “Mama,” my daughter said. “This is John Coxall. He’s the son of John Cavelero Coxall.”

  The young man was from a wealthy Montserrat family like the Tuites.

  Lizzy blushed as this young man put her hand on his arm.

  “When your business is done in Roseau, call on me at 22 Long Lane. Where shall you be?”

  “She’ll be at Hanover Street. A house I rented. You may visit.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Coxall dipped his chin to me then turned to Lizzy and bowed.

  I liked that. I liked his sign of respect, reminded me I was worthy of it, even with my mistakes.

  “May I walk you all to your residence?”

  “Let him, Dolly, but I must speak with you,” Pa said.

  My gut started twisting, but I needed to hear his changes before he hobbled me at the solicitor’s. “Yes. Kitty, lead them. Pa and I will catch up.”

  “They make a nice couple.” Pa’s face held a grin full of pride. He stood at the edge of the dock between me and the endless sea. He’d aged. His eyes looked strange hidden behind lenses as thick as bottled glass.

  “Pa, let’s catch up to the others.”

  Shifting too fast, I slipped, and I braced to hit the dock.

  Breath stuck in my craw as I was caught and lifted like a prize fish.

  “Easy now, woman.” The brawny boat captain had me. He turned to my pa. “She’s a beauty. Fiery like your granddaughter.”

  “Put me down, before my fire eyes consume you.”

  “They already have, ma’am.” He steadied me on the dock. “Just a lil’ helpin han.”

  His whisper had a slight Creole pitch to it, like a British tongue that mocked the islanders. Then he laughed, full bodied and rich, like sweet claret.

  I straightened my overdress, smoothed my satin skirt. “Captain—”

  He lifted a trunk out of the boat, my father’s traveling trunk. “Thomas, Joseph Thomas of Grenada, ma’am.”

  Pa put his foot on the leather-skin box. “You’re moving too fast, Dolly, but you always have.”

  He and Thomas chuckled. Both men could go to the devil.

  “My Dolly, you’ve done what I could not.”

  Could not or would not?

  Pa put his hand under my chin. Could he feel the steam brewing in me?

  “My little doll has nothing to say? It’s been a long time.”

  My fingers fisted. I should curse at him for leaving me to be abused by my brother.

  The captain nudged me. “I think you need to leave and be ready for that big meeting tomorrow at the offices of Brayshaw and Bates.”

  Pa moved and began fussing with his trunk, no longer paying attention to me.

  “Good girl.”

  The captain’s mocking endearment made the taste of vomit rise. When I turned to tell Thomas to go jump off the docks, I saw something in his squinting sea-blue eyes.

  A warning.

  Pa tipped his trunk, put his foot up on it. “Tomorrow is big. I don’t know how you did it, coming up with the money. And it’s a big step to be independent and take care of your mother and the rest.”

  “I’ll manage, Pa.”

  “Miss Doll, what a spirit you have.” Captain Thomas stood up after making a final knot in the boat’s rope. “I’ve gained an earful from your mother and my old partner, Mr. Foden. He described you very well—light eyes, skin pretty like midnight.”

  “She is. My Dolly has always been special, special and bold. And she has a head for numbers, just like me.” Pa had his boastful grin showing, and for a moment I was seven in the back of his dray loving his praise.

  Praise that made Nicholas hate me.

  “A week,” the captain said. “That’s the earliest I can get you back to Montserrat.”

  Captain Thomas glanced at me again. “Seven days is a long time for minds to be changed.”

  This time I understood. The captain definitely warned me about my father.

  “Pa, I’ll see you at the solicitor’s office tomorrow.”

  His hand touched my elbow before I could withdraw. “Dolly, wait. After this is done . . .” He clutched his neck. His face had another sugary grin. “I want Betty to return with me. Lizzy, too. I think it best. Convince your mother.”

  I offered him kind eyes, the kindest I could, but I would do everything to make Mamaí and Lizzy’s visit permanent.

  Dominica 1784: Friend

  I woke up crying in my sleep, reaching for Catharina. My babe, did she look for me, or had she stopped?

  Kitty and Edward slept with me in the bed, a four-poster one like I had at the Hermitage.

  My sis, whose face had been beneath a pillow, bounced out of
the bed and hugged me. “Dolly’s day. Freedom. We’ll do something fun when you get back. I wish Polk was here. Then he’d play his banjo and you’d dance.”

  I took my time dressing in a mango-colored tunic. Tightening the corset front strings over the linen, I forced a chuckle. “You never go dancing.”

  She climbed back in the bed and pushed Edward’s feet to my side. That boy snored louder. “Maybe I would if Polk was here.”

  I scooped up the hope in her voice and filled the hole in my chest. “We’ll see.”

  Plodding out into the hall, I checked on Charlotte and Lizzie in one bedroom, then on Mamaí in hers. She was asleep, stretched out in bed.

  I wondered if Mamaí had ever slept in a bed unless Pa had sent for her. I was glad to give her the best bedchamber.

  She couldn’t go back with Pa, not after I’d freed her.

  With my scarf in hand, the signed papers for manumission in my sack, the deep bag I’d left Montserrat with, I headed to Mr. Bates.

  The morning sun reflected off the glossy painted red shutters of the buildings. Roseau, Dominica, was an endless grid of streets. Would a home here be as fine as the Hermitage?

  Clutching at my chest, I stopped in the middle of the cobbled street gasping like I’d been overcome by the heat.

  Why did I have to miss Cells more than he missed me?

  Why on this, the biggest day of my life, did I have to face it alone?

  “You looking to buy, miss?”

  An old woman at her vendor’s table stacked fabric rolls like a rainbow come down to earth.

  Pretty, but I saved my spare pennies for a hat to show off our new status. “Do you have tricorns or bonnets?”

  The sable woman wore a headscarf of gold with a knot in the front. The end pulled through was shaped like a spear’s point. I’d seen women done up like this. “In the Demerara’s markets, women with sweethearts wear scarves like yours, but I want hats.”

  The lady smiled. “Wacht me op de hoek? Your birthday?” She stood and pointed. “Drie hokjes beneden.”

  Her Dutch was beautiful and I missed Demerara more, all my customers. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll check three booths down.”

  I turned and bumped into Captain Thomas. “Sorry.”