Kofi picked up the bowl of papaya and led her to the corner of the shack most hidden from the open doorway. He sat, gently pulled her down onto a piece of burlap he'd placed on the floor, and fed her a chunk of juicy ripe papaya, gazing into her eyes. She giggled as some juice dribbled down her chin. She began to wipe it off but he stopped her, swabbing her chin with one finger and licking the juice from it. Mesmerized, she fed him fruit, wiped his chin, and licked her finger. He fed her more papaya, this time licking the sweet juice from her lips. She put more papaya in his mouth, watching his face for a moment before leaning in to lick his full lips. Impulsively she darted her tongue between his lips, and he responded by taking her mouth with his. She moaned and he pulled away to look at her questioningly. She pulled his head back to hers and took his mouth in a soft, bottomless kiss. Never had she known a kiss like this.
He leaned her back against the corner and touched the skin around her eyes, kissed her eyelids, and said something in Ashanti. He kissed her eyebrows, ears, and throat. Unlacing Freddy's tight bodice, he stroked her belly. She relaxed, caught up in the feeling. He took his time, touching every part of her from her toes to the curls on her head. He combed her long black locks with his big fingers and caressed her skin lightly, almost tickling, with his palms.
There was no need for words as she ran her fingers lightly down his two facial scars, kissing the end of each scar line. She studied his body with her hands, from his wide eyes to his narrow hips and high round buttocks. He responded by stroking her buttocks, unashamed of his natural desire. He lay her down and propped himself on his side, pulling her gown up and looking at all of her. He took off her gown and bodice. Nothing was hidden as he slowly explored her.
"Freddy…" His voice rumbled in her ear as he touched a place that was extremely sensitive.
She gasped sharply. What was this? She involuntarily arched her back and opened her knees. She could barely breathe as he went deeper, whispering in his soft language. In the dim candlelight she let the feelings intoxicate her. He waited for her to press herself into him, then made love with a passion she never knew existed. She rode wave after wave of emotional sensation as if in a dream.
Afterward they lay together and drifted off, arms and legs tangled in an intimate twining of black and white. When she awoke the candle had burned out and the babe was beginning to fuss. She threw on her loose shift, crawled over to the bed, and nursed Laurie. In the moonlight she watched Kofi roll over and open his eyes. When she was finished, he took her hand, leading her out of the hut, through the terraced fields, and down to the white strand. He placed the babe between two large roots of a mangrove tree on the upper edge of the sand, where they could watch over him as he slept.
In the pallid light of a half moon Kofi undressed Freddy, scooped her up, and carried her into the ocean. She pretended to protest, kicking her feet and giggling. He bathed her in the calm, slightly cool sea, caressing her breasts. She arched her neck, closing her eyes.
"Oh!" she exclaimed when he lowered his head to taste her milk.
She removed Kofi's loincloth and washed him with it, carefully avoiding his wounded back. She embraced him and kissed his lips, dumbfounded by the feelings stirring in her groin. Her knees buckled and he lifted her hips to him. She nuzzled his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. His strong brown arms holding her hips, she lay back in the water. Her pale skin glowed blue in the moonlight and her long tresses spread out around her like black wisps of seaweed as she gladly surrendered to it all – the man, the ocean, the moon, and the stars.
Later, they lay on the silver stretch of sand next to Laurie, holding each other and catching their breath. Freddy was exhausted yet exhilarated, incredulous over what was happening between them. They were as one with no words, melded together in profound harmony. This was how it was supposed to be. Nothing had ever felt so right. Kofi had nothing to prove. He was simply himself – confident and strong enough to be gentle. She felt like a real woman, not degraded but protected and utterly loved.
What sweet irony, that Master had ordered them to mate. Had obedience ever caused such bliss? They may be slaves, but with each other they were completely free. This must have been God's plan all along, for her to love this fine African man.
CHAPTER 18
June 1654
Captain Lacoste threatened the men with being marooned on a sand bar if they touched even a hair on Dika's head.
"You'll be made governor of an island," he said, laughing. But he was serious and they knew it. He would not hesitate to abandon a wayward brigand with rum and a loaded pistol. That way the errant buccaneer could choose suicide over an agonizing death.
As he watched the men load supplies for their voyage to New Spain, he regretted how small the Alizé was. However, the 60-foot sloop had saved their hides again and again with lightning-quick escapes, sailing over shoals and hiding in shallow bays where larger ships could not follow. Her quarters were miserably crowded, but it could not be helped. One had to carry a crew of at least 75 to conduct raids and battles.
He would never allow Dika to sleep below decks on a hammock. The lower quarters were jammed not only with men but with food, drinking water, weapons, rum, rats, and cockroaches. No matter how often he had the vessel fumigated with burning pitch, the below-decks still stank of bilge water, rank bodies, rotting meat, and salt fish.
God only knew what would befall the woman down there, and what trouble would follow.
From her first day on board, Dika stayed in his cabin in the forecastle. She had agreed to clean the cabin and see to his laundry in exchange for a corner of his quarters. She fashioned a privacy curtain from gunnysacks, cleaned an old hammock, and hung it in her corner. At first, Lacoste would awaken in the night, all too aware of the Gypsy beauty gently snoring on the other side of her makeshift curtain.
After weeks of tiptoeing around each other, Dika had come to trust him. Her dark, gleaming cat eyes gradually stopped darting around when he spoke to her. One night, after a private rum drinking competition, they had tumbled into his ample bed. Never had he been so content. By day she was a leathery buccaneer in breeches. But by night she was all woman.
It had been a good year. They'd struck it rich near Tobago, raiding a Spanish ship overflowing with gold, silver, gems, silk, and spices. Each crew member received about 3,000 pounds, with the captain getting a double share. They'd voted to sail back to Tortuga to celebrate, and then investigate Port Royal. With Jamaica newly won by the English, the port was blossoming into the latest haven for the lawless. The men spent wads of money in wicked new brothels and taverns. Finally satiated, they'd found an isolated cove for the sloop’s annual careening. They stripped her and hauled her onto her side with pulleys. They scraped her bottom, burned off her barnacles, re-caulked her seams, and replaced her worm-infested planks. It was a huge job, but a necessary one.
The captain leaned on a cannon and watched Colin scramble barefoot onto the long bowsprit to adjust the rigging. The lad worked hard, pitching in with any chore. He had taken to this life completely. He'd begun covering his head with a lime green bandana. He'd also grown a bushy black beard, purchased a belt and boots, and had his ears pierced. As he labored, his silver hoop earrings flashed in the sun.
Lacoste was thinking of making him an officer. His former Sailing Master had run off with a señorita in Port Royal. Colin had some education and a knack for reading navigation charts. The captain hoped the lad would be adept at leading plantation raids, now that the rainy season was upon them. Colin and Dika would like nothing better than to return to the Whittingham Plantation, this time to ransack the place.
CHAPTER 19
August 1654
To the west, dark clouds were piled high, their edges glowing orange in the sunset. Walking back to the slave quarters, Freddy rounded a corner and stopped. Silhouetted against the ginger sky, in the center of the vacant compound, were Ben and a slave at the whipping post. The slave was naked, his hands tied to the cros
sbar, his toes barely touching the ground as the driver lashed his back. He looked too small to be Kofi. Freddy covered her eyes, shuddered, and then looked again. Under the whip the man twitched. She realized it was Birdie's kindhearted Kazoola, and her heart sank.
She rushed to Birdie's hut. Her friend was huddled on the bed, cuddling Raz's head under her chin, rocking back and forth, and weeping. Freddy wrapped her arms around both of them.
"Ben kill," Birdie whimpered, her voice muffled against Freddy's shoulder.
"No…" Freddy murmured. Through the open door she watched as Ben threw a bucketful of salted water on Kazoola, who writhed and moaned.
"It wrong…" Birdie's breath came in racking sobs.
"What did he do?" Freddy asked softly.
"He help sick ones, late to field."
*
As she worked, Birdie's wooden earrings swung like pendulums from her ears. Kazoola had found a slender mahogany branch, carved half-moon crescents from it, and made them into earrings for her. The cookhouse burst with fragrance as she and Freddy stood at the work table grinding coriander, ginger, nutmeg, and pepper to store in urns. The native woman stopped and straightened her back.
"Our love grow…" Birdie rubbed her round belly. She was due to give birth in December.
Freddy nodded, pausing to nurse Laurie. "How is Kazoola?"
"Better. I put medicine."
"Kofi was angry. He was gone until late. Did you hear the drumming?"
Birdie shook her head as she stretched her back.
Freddy cradled her love for Kofi deep inside. She worried about him.
Paulina ambled in, humming to herself. She wore a tailored white dress Freddy had never seen before, with a full skirt that accented her petite waist.
"Give me luncheon," the house slave demanded airily, lifting her chin and looking down her long nose at Birdie. "Master desires my company on his rounds in town." She sniffed and sat at one end of the work table, spreading the billowing skirt around her.
Birdie wiped her hands on her apron, turned her back to Paulina, and rolled her eyes.
"You have a new dress," Freddy remarked as she ground ginger root. She had to admit that Paulina looked lovely. The high collar set off her golden skin and elegant neck.
"A gift from Master." The creole woman smoothed her black hair, which was pulled tightly back in a bun. "He has also given me a room in the Big House." She slid her eyes to Freddy but, realizing that she was nursing the babe, quickly averted her gaze.
Birdie placed a bowl of stew in front of Paulina and began to turn away. Suddenly she froze, both hands on her big belly. "Oooh," she grunted.
"The babe?" Freddy asked.
"Moving big," Birdie said, a look of wonder in her sloping eyes.
"Bring me a napkin!" Paulina interrupted.
Freddy picked up a clean rag and tossed it down the table.
"I think girl," Birdie murmured, sitting on her stool.
"A girl would be good," Freddy said, pouring the ground ginger into an urn.
"Do you two ever chatter about anything besides babes?" Paulina cried, glaring at Birdie. "Your precious bairn was fathered by an African field slave! Ugh! How degrading, lying with Negroes!" With that, she lifted her perfectly-arched eyebrows at Birdie, who said nothing and kept her eyes on the nutmeg she was grinding. Paulina tucked the rag into her collar to protect her dress and began spooning stew into her mouth.
Freddy shook her head as she loaded the mortar with chunks of ginger. She glanced again at Birdie, who was holding her round belly, her brown eyes now filled with tears. Freddy put her arm around Birdie's shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. How dare this ninny vex her gentle friend so? Freddy dropped her arm and glared at Paulina, her jaw muscles clenching. The creole was focused on her stew. It's a fool she is, a right simpleton, Freddy told herself, and not worth the trouble. Freddy bit her lower lip and resumed grinding, her hands trembling. She attacked the ginger with a wild strength. Remembering what she'd heard Paulina say about miscarrying, she willed herself to keep silent. But before she could stop herself she blurted, "What about you?"
"Me?" Paulina asked with her mouth full.
"Yes." Freddy pretended to concentrate on her work.
"Whatever do you mean?"
"When will you be with child?"
Paulina's spoon stopped in mid-air, her eyes darting from Freddy to Birdie and back to Freddy again. "That is for God to know," she said stiffly.
Birdie sat very still, looking at the house slave. The silence was heavy and thick.
Paulina scraped the bottom of her bowl noisily. "Anyway, men admire my slender shape…"
Freddy kept her eyes on the ginger she was grinding.
"Master wants to marry me!" Paulina suddenly exclaimed.
Freddy looked at her. "You're welcome to the likes of him."
"At least he is not a filthy African!" Paulina jumped up, yanked the rag from her collar, and threw it on the floor. She stormed out, slamming the door.
Late that night Birdie watched the babe so Freddy could follow Kofi. He went only as far as the plantation's slave cemetery – a rocky area nestled among guava trees just down the hill from the compound. Hiding behind the trees, Freddy watched as the Africans gathered quietly amid crude grave markers. A warm breeze stirred the guava branches, sending blue shadows dancing across the east-facing burial sites. Africans always buried their dead so that they faced the homeland.
Under the half moon the men stood in an arc, facing away from her. A boy sat in the center, softly beating a drum. The men joined in a low chant. One man rattled a shell necklace as he sang in a high-pitched voice. Father Sean had cautioned her about the Africans' Obeah religion, which he said involved witchcraft. Was the singer an Obeah man? At his signal they quit chanting, sat on the ground, and took turns speaking in low, deep voices. Freddy understood none of their musical language. When a cloud darkened the moon, she stole away.
"Bababababa!" Laurie bellowed.
Freddy, who was cooking the field rations, glanced over. She had put Laurie on his blanket, on the floor next to the far wall. "Just listen to you!" Freddy grinned at him. He was sitting up on his own, his legs splayed as he leaned forward. His curls were thicker and blacker than ever, but his blue eyes were turning green like Freddy's. He favored his mother except that his eyes were deep-set under a prominent brow, like Master's. Laurie toppled over and amiably picked up a wooden bowl Freddy had given him to play with.
Mrs. Pratt bustled into the kitchen, carrying a bundled cloth and cursing the heavy rain. Paulina was right behind her, bringing the sewing basket. "Of all the days for it to begin pouring," Mrs. Pratt complained loudly. "How will I get it dry? This is his best linen tablecloth; he is beside himself. Paulina, you must help me repair the embroidery and wash it carefully. This cloth belonged to his dear departed wife, you see. And now this rain!" She set the cloth in a small tub, wringing her hands. "You two," she barked at Birdie and Freddy, "hurry and take those rations, so I can prepare the lye wash. Paulina, get a bucket of water heating. Thank goodness I only need a small tub—"
"Bababacaaaa!" Laurie bawled, louder this time. He pounded the floor with the bowl. Turning onto his side, he jammed one edge of it into his mouth.
"No, no, that's nasty!" Mrs. Pratt scolded. She charged over, yanked the bowl away from him, and slapped his hand.
Freddy inhaled sharply.
"Dirty!" Paulina chimed in, grabbing a bucket to fill and hang over the fire.
Laurie began crying.
Freddy rushed over, picked him up, and hugged him to her. "There, there," she crooned in his little ear. He stopped his wailing.
"Get back to your work. You two are late already. Here, give him to me." The housekeeper grabbed Laurie from her. "You must not cosset him so."
Freddy stood staring. Mrs. Pratt could stir up plenty of trouble. Knowing she mustn't say a word, Freddy slowly backed away, her fists hidden in the skirt of her shift. Laurie was quiet but looked c
onfused. Freddy felt her face getting hot and knew that her cheeks had become red splotches. She turned back to the mush, keeping one eye on her babe. Her hands were trembling again.
Mrs. Pratt set him on the work table in front of her. "How old is he now?" she asked, smoothing his dark hair back. Laurie began to topple over, but she caught him and held him upright.
"Four months," Freddy replied lightly, trying to sound calm. If only the mush would cook more quickly, so she could take her son and get out of the cookhouse.
Birdie went to get the cart.
Paulina stood behind Mrs. Pratt, smiling slyly at Freddy, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
"Old enough to learn some words!" Mrs. Pratt exclaimed, sitting on a stool.
Paulina sat next to her, idly stroking one of Laurie's chubby legs and glancing over at his mother. "Say 'Paulina,'" she cooed, leaning forward so that her face was almost touching the babe's.
Laurie stared at the young woman, his eyes huge. Freddy noticed that his face was turning red. If only they would leave him be!
Mrs. Pratt leaned in, too. "Say 'Mamma Pratt,'" she clucked, running the tip of one finger down his plump cheek. "Come on, now…"
Laurie put his thumb in his mouth, looking around for his mother.
"No, no, dirty," Mrs. Pratt scolded again, pushing his thumb away.
Laurie flapped his little arms at her, his face crumpling as he began to fuss.
"May I hold him?" Paulina asked the housekeeper.
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