Mrs. Pratt handed her the infant. Freddy broke into a sweat.
As the house slave cradled Laurie, he calmed down. "Wouldn't it be nice to keep him dry here in the kitchen?" Paulina asked in her sweetest voice. "He shouldn't be out in that wet weather…"
"A splendid notion!" Mrs. Pratt crowed. "Since we must stay and watch the lye wash, we might as well watch the babe for you."
Paulina cast a self-satisfied smirk at Freddy, then lowered her head to rub her nose against Laurie's. "Who's a good boy?" she gushed. He flapped his arms again, as if he could perhaps fly away.
Freddy hesitated, not knowing what to do. She forced herself to take a deep breath, her mind racing. What was Paulina about, she wondered, and what were they planning to do with her babe. "Mrs. Pratt, thank you all the same," she began, "but the lye wash is so dangerous—"
"Nonsense! As if I don't know how to keep an infant safe! Really, I insist that you leave him with us."
"But he will need feeding soon…" Why was Mrs. Pratt doing this? Her stomach churning, Freddy tried to remember if the housekeeper had ever forced Birdie to leave Raz with her.
"From time to time you must leave him, to focus on your work," Mrs. Pratt said, arching her eyebrows at Freddy.
Birdie arrived outside with the cart.
"But he is no bother," Freddy said. "I work well with him in his sling…"
"Perhaps I shall be forced to consult Master Whittingham about this disobedience."
Freddy lowered her head, tears of anger springing to her eyes. She was mere property, not allowed control of her own babe. Seething inside, she turned toward the hearth and imagined pouring the burning-hot mush over Paulina and the housekeeper. The strength again flowed into her trembling hands and she knew she could strangle them. Her temples pounded with the beginning of a bad headache.
As she helped Birdie carry the crock of mush to the cart, Freddy could hear Paulina crooning. "Say 'good-bye mamma,'" she was telling Laurie, a cat grin on her face.
*
Freddy stepped inside Father Sean's candlelit hut.
"A hundred thousand welcomes to you!" the priest said.
"Bless you, Father." She greeted him with a kiss on his cheek, took Laurie from his sling, and wiped raindrops from his little face. Thank the Lord her babe was safe, and back in her arms. When she and Birdie had returned to the cookhouse this afternoon, they'd found Mrs. Pratt alone, with Laurie napping peacefully beside her.
"Let's sit." Father Sean lifted the rum bottle and looked at her, lifting his eyebrows.
"Ah, you're an angel sent from above." Holding Laurie close, she settled into one of the wooden chairs the priest had made. Then she raised her cup to Father Sean and sipped. "Father, the Coromantees have been meeting in the slave cemetery."
"That does not surprise me." They both kept their voices to a whisper.
"Why?" She leaned forward.
"They are strong, fearless, called dangerous. Some want to outlaw them. It is said that they never stop trying to run away. They execute mutinies aboard slavers, and commit suicide to escape."
"What if they are caught meeting?"
The priest shook his head. "The planters would be merciless. Something is afoot, though. Word is, the slaves in the southern parishes are waiting for the next storm to revolt. The Bowles Plantation is the worst, ignoring starving slaves while serving a gluttonous feast for the governor…"
Freddy rubbed her sleeping babe's back and waited for Father Sean to continue.
"Nathan Pease, the Quaker freighter, hauled leftover food from that feast. He was ordered to dispose of it far from the grounds. The waste filled his wagon, he said – meat, oysters, puddings. He tossed as much as he could to the famished slaves who followed him on the road. They scurried for scraps in the mud, he said…"
"God love him," Freddy whispered, shaking her head.
"Rebellions are nigh impossible here because of the militia, and there is almost nowhere to hide. The Quakers write letters protesting slave conditions, but are ignored."
"Who are these Quakers?" she asked.
"Radical Christians. They believe that all people are equal in the sight of God. They've helped our people escape to Montserrat, where Catholicism is tolerated."
"Let us go there, Father," she murmured, barely audible.
"We will," he whispered. "But there is much to be arranged first, with the Africans and with the French pirates…"
Freddy thought about the rainy season pirate raids.
"Dika was seen in Port Royal, in buccaneer clothing," the priest was saying.
"Dika? Do you think it was her?" But Freddy's mind had already leapt to Colin. It seemed like years since he had floated away on the moonlit sea.
"I don't know," Father Sean whispered.
Laurie sighed as he dozed, and she hugged him again.
"I made something for you." The priest got up, went over to a shelf and picked up a rosary.
"For me?"
Father Sean just smiled and handed it to her.
Freddy fingered the hand-carved wooden beads, then beamed at him. "Truly, you are an angel, sent here to help us…" She put the rosary around her neck and patted the crucifix. "I will cherish it forever. Thank you, Father."
"Ye're most welcome, Freddy. Keep it close and use it well."
"Father…may I speak of a personal matter?"
"Of course, child."
She cleared her throat. "Is it a sin to love Kofi without being married?"
"You were ordered to live with him…"
"But our love runs far beyond orders, may God forgive me."
The priest rubbed his white beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps I could perform a baptism and marriage…"
"Oh yes!" She sat up straighter.
"But…he speaks no English?"
"None."
"He would understand none of it, and that would make it wrong," Father Sean said softly.
Freddy slumped and covered her face. He lifted her hand. "These are difficult circumstances, macushla." The priest smiled into her worried eyes. "May you please each other like the stars do their Creator. God wants you to be happy."
"Thank you, Father." She took a deep breath. "There is something else…"
He waited.
"I wish to confess." She gulped.
"Pray continue, under the Seal of the Confessional." In the candlelight he leaned forward and crossed himself.
"Today Mrs. Pratt slapped my babe's hand and scolded him, and ordered me to leave him with her and Paulina," Freddy whispered. "I hate them! I go mad with fury. My hands grow strong and I imagine throttling them all. My ill temper is a mortal sin, may God strike me dumb. But when they force me…when they take away my own son…" Her voice broke and she lowered her head.
"With the help of God and prayer, ye'll only think on the killing, my girl. Ye're blessed with the fierce passion of a good mother, is all. Never fear, Freddy, God has also given ye the strength of a thousand winds…"
CHAPTER 20
September 1654
Birdie, already big with Kazoola's child, slowed the cart to a bumpy crawl through deep puddles. The sun was finally out after three days of hard rain. It seemed to cook the muddy lane, filling the sweet-scented air with clouds of steam. The two young women rolled along, the skirts of their white shifts drenched from rubbing against the tall cane that crowded alongside the path. They had almost reached the field when Birdie pointed down the terraced hill toward the sea. Along the coast road, Master's elegant white carriage careened, his team of silver-speckled horses gleaming in the midday sun.
Through one carriage window, Freddy spotted Millicent's blond curls bouncing wildly. She fervently hoped never to set eyes on those curls again. Smiling to herself, Freddy thought of the thick pad of stationary and three bottles of ink she'd swiped during the girl's last lesson. Tonight she would write more letters. Freddy shaded her eyes and took another look at the carriage. Next to Millicent sat Mrs. Pratt, dressed in her finest costume to accompany the
girl to England and boarding school. The ruffle of the housekeeper's white lace cap nodded up and down in the breeze. Freddy was looking forward to Mrs. Pratt's extended absence.
The planter rode his black horse alongside Millicent's window, his sharp features shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat with a purple feather that matched his waistcoat. After seeing his daughter to the ship, he planned to ride to Christ Church Parish, Mrs. Pratt had said. An estate there had suffered a landslide that buried half of its slave huts. All of the island's planters were being called upon to help. Freddy studied Master's erect frame and again smiled to herself, savoring the sublime paradox of her situation. Imagine his reaction, should he ever discover how happy he had made her and Kofi by throwing them together like breeder cattle.
That evening she hummed to Laurie as she perched with him on a log in front of the hut and stirred the fire. Kofi would like this supper – rice, okra, hot pepper, salt beef, garlic, and onions. Freddy had begun sneaking tidbits from the kitchen to combine with vegetables the slaves grew in allotted areas. The swiped food enhanced the paltry cornmeal, salt fish, and salt beef supplied to them. She was careful to take only small amounts each time. Kofi's favorite was Coocoo, a blend of cornmeal, okra, onions and sweet peppers. Yesterday she had pilfered some fresh flying fish. Breaded and fried, it was another favorite. Now and then she also brought papayas and bananas.
Freddy sniffed the air, catching the scent of rain coming. A heavy tier of blue-black clouds was moving in. As she finished cooking, she tucked a wayward strand of hair into her high bun. Since Paulina had diverted Master's attentions, she had been wearing her hair as she chose. During the rainy season she disliked the heat of her heavy curls on her neck.
After supper, Kofi dozed on the platform bed, curling around her from behind as she wrote letters. If only she would hear back from Mam and Aileen. She prayed that her sweet sister had found an oasis of happiness to grab, as Freddy had in this humble hut. She scribbled quickly, describing Laurie's smile and Kofi's gentle ways. As she hunched over the paper, the rain began as a whisper. Soon it was pounding on the thatch. The flame flickered as a gust of wind puffed through the drafty hut. A second gust blew the door open and rattled the wooden window covering.
She got up to close the door, then resumed her writing. Kofi awakened, rolled over, and reached for a bundle on the floor. He waited quietly as Freddy finished. Then he sat up and placed a green bead necklace around her neck.
"What's this?" Surprised, she touched the beads.
"Accori…" He turned her around to face him, unpinning her hair and watching it tumble over her shoulders. The tubular beads brought out the green in her wide eyes. He buried his hands in her curls and pulled her to him. "Odo," he whispered in her ear.
She looked at him, wanting to understand.
"Odo," he repeated, tapping his bare chest. "Mmmmm," Kofi hummed, nuzzling her cheek with his long nose, "odo…"
"Love," Freddy murmured back. "Love, love, love." She rubbed his nose with hers, and gave him a deep kiss.
"Akoma," he whispered, again touching his chest. Taking her hand and putting it over his heart, he repeated, "Akoma."
"Heart." She placed his big hand over her own hammering heart, which seemed about to leap out of her. "Heart."
"These are still tarnished! Polish them again!" Paulina demanded, tossing the silver spoons onto the work table and strutting over to the hearth, hands on her hips. "Make haste! You're late with supper and we are famished." She pushed Birdie aside and peered into the stew pot that hung over the fire. "What is this pigswill?"
Master had been gone for a week. Mr. Pratt was occupied in the Big House, so Paulina had decided that she was in charge of the kitchen slaves. Freddy never thought she would miss the stern Mrs. Pratt. But the English housekeeper was worlds better than this insufferable shrew.
Paulina was behaving more strangely than usual in other ways, too. Something was afoot. Last night Freddy and Birdie had stolen away to the spring pool for a late hour dip. While bathing they spotted Paulina's white dress on the path below, and realized she was walking arm in arm with Ben. Birdie had pulled Freddy lower into the pool just in time to avoid their being seen by the furtive couple.
"This is stained!" Paulina was barking, holding up a gold plate. "I told you to—"
"Paulina!" Master lurched in, a bottle of rum in one hand. His clothes were wrinkled and his planter's hat perched crookedly on his head. "Did you not hear me calling for you?"
The mulatto started, dropping the plate onto the table with a loud clatter. She whirled around to face him. "Master!" she sang in her most syrupy voice. "How fine to have you home!" She glided across the floor and embraced him.
Freddy rolled her eyes at Birdie and they hid their smiles behind their hands.
Master set the bottle on the table and squeezed Paulina, kissing her throat. He clutched her backside and abruptly lifted her onto the work table in front of him. Birdie turned back to the stew pot. Freddy picked up the silver spoons and carried them to a shelf, where she pretended to concentrate on polishing. Her head lowered to her work, she could not resist glancing back at them. Master had pinned Paulina's knees against the table with his own, and was pushing her legs apart. He grabbed the bottle and took a swig. "Drink with me," he commanded.
"Yes, sir. I will fetch some glasses," Paulina murmured.
But he held her fast and raised the bottle to her mouth. "Bottle's good enough for me," he slurred.
Paulina gave him a bright smile, wrapped her slender fingers around the neck of the bottle, and took a long drink. Rum dribbled down her chin. Gazing into the planter's eyes as if enchanted, she wiped her mouth and chin with the back of her hand. He kissed her mouth hard, one hand moving up to her breast. "You naughty minx," he muttered.
The Creole leaned back on her hands, arching her back invitingly. He kissed her again. Over Master's shoulder Paulina glared at Freddy, who dropped her eyes.
"But what is this?" Master growled. Freddy looked again. His fist closed around the tight chignon into which Paulina had coiled her hair at the nape of her neck. "Have I not told you how to wear your tresses?" He took her by the waist, stood her in front of him, roughly turned her around, and began tearing at the bun. Freddy watched as the house slave squeezed her eyes shut, pursed her lips together, pushed her chin up, and grimaced.
"Oh, Master," Paulina murmured breathily, "it is only due to the day's tasks…" She flinched as he ripped out the pins and hurled them to the floor. Paulina hugged her arms in front of her chest, her shoulders hunched. A frown creased the skin of her forehead.
"You will pay for this infraction," the planter snarled, running his hands through her black curls until they flowed down her back.
"Let me appease you," she crooned sweetly. But she was clutching her forearms so hard her knuckles were white.
He slowly coiled a dark ringlet around one of his pale fingers. "To your room. Bring supper and a bottle." He swatted Paulina's backside. "Step quickly. I am eager to have my fill."
The mulatto woman scurried to fetch the rum, her mouth a grim line of bitterness.
Laurie's strangled cries jolted Freddy awake just before dawn. Kofi had already lit the lantern and was holding the babe, crooning to him in his musical voice. She rushed over, searched Laurie's face, and felt his forehead. He was hot and dry, and trembling. His cries were strangely hoarse. He rubbed his closed eyes with one tiny fist.
"Oh, Laurie," she whispered, caressing his little head as her own eyes filled with tears. She kissed his cheek, kissed Kofi's cheek, and reached to take him. "Birdie, we need Birdie," she said.
"Birdie." Kofi's coal-black eyes lit up as he recognized the name.
CHAPTER 21
September 1654
Warm rain slashed the night as the men crept up the hill, their flickering torches held high. Still queasy from the dinghy ride, Colin wiped the back of his neck. Lacoste had guided the darkened Alizé close to the beach, but the stormy sea had almost swam
ped the dinghies. Resting one hand on his cutlass to calm his trembling, Colin checked the flintlock pistol that hung in a holster from the wide baldric that crossed his chest. Another flintlock weapon was tucked into the red sash that encircled his waist. He was ready.
Colin suddenly recognized the soupy trail they were ascending – the very one he had followed the night of his escape. The mature sugar cane, dancing in the wind, resembled giant grass. Colin's drenched vest, shirt, and cut-off trousers hung heavily. Like the others, he was barefoot. He rubbed his dripping beard and flinched as a heavy limb from a wind-pummeled guava tree crashed to the ground on his left.
He and Dika had thought this night would never come. But, by promising plenty of rum and booty, they'd finally convinced the men to attack the Whittingham Plantation.
They reached the level yard that he knew stretched across to the Big House. As the men silently gathered in a circle of torchlight, awaiting the signal, Colin listened to the nearby sugar mill creaking and groaning in the storm. He caught Lacoste's eye and nodded toward the black shape that was the mansion. As the last man joined them, they unsheathed their swords and cutlasses.
"Pillez!" the captain yelled, pointing his shiny blade toward their target. The gang of buccaneers, seventy-three strong, broke into a howling sprint for the Great House. Kicking in the back door, they swarmed through the manor, their shrieks eerily harmonizing with the whistling wind. They stomped and screamed, brandishing their weapons.
A disheveled Mr. Pratt appeared wide-eyed in one doorway, quaking in his nightshirt as he aimed his musket at the captain.
"Drop it, pig!" Dika commanded, raising her pistol. With ten more pistol barrels aimed at him, the butler lowered the gun. The men grabbed him, carried him to his bed, and tied him to a bedpost. The captain, Dika, and twenty of the men stood before him, dripping on the polished wood floor.
"Where be that bastard Whittingham?" Colin demanded in his fiercest voice. And where was Freddy, he added to himself.
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