by Sarah Lark
“And you really want to ride into the Blue Mountains and shoot at the Maroons?” she asked, hesitantly, when she saw him later in the barn.
Doug was loading Amigo up with additional saddlebags. He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes and no. Well, I won’t be spared the ride into the Blue Mountains — it should actually be beautiful there, you would like it, too — unless the other planters turn out to be more reasonable than Father. But they will most likely get drunk together and dream of victory. And if I then don’t ride out with them, then I am somehow the biggest coward.”
“But … but …”
Nora didn’t quite know what to say, but her facial expression spoke volumes. In any case, Doug grinned rakishly, as he registered her widening eyes and the pallor in her face. She was beautiful, the way she just stood there and struggled to find the words. He would have most liked to bring her along. She was already dressed appropriately in a riding habit and had just asked the groom to saddle her mare. Undoubtedly, she was planning on taking advantage of Elias’s absence and riding to the beach. He had left for Kingston soon after breakfast, to attend to business there before the meeting.
“You’re not afraid for me, are you?” he asked, cheerfully.
Nora held her tongue. “Of course not, I—”
“No, no, don’t deny it, it’s quite natural.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “In a way you are my mother, after all, and—”
“Don’t talk such nonsense!” Nora burst out. “I mean … it …” she awkwardly played with her riding crop, “It’s rather dangerous.”
Doug was touched by her concern.
“It is not very dangerous,” he reassured her. “We will ride in the mountains, but the probability that we’ll kill a Maroon there is extremely low. It would surprise me if we even saw one at all. If we encounter one, it will only be because he wanted it as such. The people there know every stone, Nora, while we will aimlessly ride around the area.” He pulled back Amigo’s saddle girth.
“But the danger of an ambush is even greater, isn’t it?” Nora was still not convinced. And she had now given up her reticence. She was worried for him, but that didn’t have to mean anything. He was right; he was her stepson, her relative. She was allowed to worry about him. Doug nodded with another slight smile. Nora’s concern clearly pleased him. He had never had to court a girl for so long in the past. On the other hand, he had rarely ever tried with married women, and of course never with a stepmother …
“The Maroons could lure us into an ambush and massacre us whenever they wanted,” he then said. “But they won’t do it. It would be a rather amateur decision.”
“Amateur?” Nora asked.
Doug laughed. “Ever heard of strategic thinking, lovely stepmother? Look, Nora, my father and the other planters paint the Maroons as blood-hungry savages, but if you consider it rationally, it’s really not about massacring whites and freeing slaves. When they raid the plantations, what they want above all is to loot. When they do that, they kill the planters — they certainly do foster a hatred toward white plantation owners. But to them, it’s more important to plunder the houses and drive off with the cattle.”
“Which is also not a nice thing to do,” Nora muttered.
“Granny Nanny would now probably say that they simply have no other choice,” Doug said. “They appear to have a functioning society up there. They cultivate their fields and they would like to sell their harvest. With the money, they could acquire tools, new livestock, clothing … but they cannot. Were they to go into the city with their goods, they would be attacked, captured, enslaved, or even lynched. So, they have raids and steal what they need — to the general displeasure, if you ask me. A few former slaves undoubtedly want revenge, but the vast majority of these people would rather work with their hands. These are farmers, Nora, not warriors. The merchants in the city wouldn’t care with whom they do business — and it will be done over and over again with the money and jewelry that was stolen in the raids. And the people buying and selling it are white crooks! And I would rather concern myself with them than the Maroons!”
“So, you think they would be willing to negotiate?” Nora asked. She was less interested in the white stolen goods dealers in Kingston, as they were not threatening Doug’s life. “You meant what you said earlier?”
Doug shook his head. “There have always been attempts to negotiate with the Maroons, even quite successful ones. For example, for a long time, fleeing slaves weren’t taken in, but instead turned in.”
It slowly dawned on Nora why Máanu and the other slaves didn’t speak all too highly of the Maroons.
“However, the situation has changed, since Nanny and her brothers are getting their say up in the mountains,” Doug explained.
“There has still been no negotiating with them. But it doesn’t mean that no peace agreement would be possible. And Cudjoe and Accompong surely don’t reject negotiating on principle. Why would they raise hell and lure every white that goes into the mountains into an ambush and then chop them to pieces? On the contrary, if they were smart, they would not even show up. Nothing is more grueling for an aspiring army like our own, to wander around the mountains helplessly for days and then return home without success. Believe me, Nora, nothing will happen to me. But still … you could give me a kiss goodbye. Just in case. So that I can feel the sweetness of your kiss on my lips in case I die.”
Nora wanted to back away, but Doug had already pulled her in, and pressed his lips against hers.
“Think of me until we meet again!” he then laughed, swung himself into the saddle, and spurred his horse.
Nora stood there, confused, worked up by Doug’s kiss, his firm, but tender lips, his mischievous laughter when he parted with her. What was she thinking, what had he done to her?
Nora galloped to the beach, sure that it was deserted as it almost always was, and let herself drift into the waves as she had so often done. The seawater would wash away the kiss — and flush out the strange feeling that he had created inside of her. But in fact, diving into the water only reminded her of her last visit to the beach. She had been there with Doug, they had a race — and then, when Nora innocently unpacked their picnic, he shamelessly threw off his boots and shirt and ran into the waves in his breeches. In doing so, he also let out a wild cry, like a pirate captain storming a ship. Nora laughed and envied him a bit. Naturally, a lady was forbidden in the presence of a gentleman to undress down to her stockings and splash around in the water. But then she completely lost herself in her admiration of Doug’s sinuous body, the way his muscles moved, his vigorous battle against the rough waves. It had been wonderful to watch him. And now she remembered it as she floated through the water, longing for his body beside hers, for a swimming contest, a shared game with water and sand.
Nora had been agitated when she rode to the beach, but on her way home, her heart beat even faster. She couldn’t understand the feelings that she had. She felt younger, more alert, and seemed to be seeing things more clearly, and yet, something like guilt was gnawing away at her. It was as if she had betrayed Simon.
CHAPTER 8
Nora didn’t know whether she had imagined it, or if perhaps it had to do with this strangely altered perception that she felt ever since Doug had kissed her, but as she returned to Cascarilla Gardens, something in the atmosphere in the house seemed strange. The servants were distracted and jittery. Eventually, she decided to get to the bottom of the matter. She sent Máanu away and spent the afternoon in the terrace above the kitchen courtyard, where she could sit and listen. Nora did not have to wait long.
“You put a curse on Jimmy if he not ask to go with you,” one of the kitchen maids teased another, giggling.
“Pshh … I put a spell on Jimmy, then he go with me,” the other replied.
“For real magic, you need chicken!”
“He has chicken!”
“Do you know who bring chicken?”
“Don’t know, maybe Jimmy bring
chicken to have wedding with me!”
Nora heard laughter again. She furrowed her brow. Curses and chickens — Máanu had also mentioned such a thing. And magic. Was she now on the trail of one of the mysterious Obeah ceremonies that Doug had told her about? Nora thought she also managed to get the time of the event from a conversation between the two house servants. “When the moon is over the sea.”
Of course, the moon remained there for half of the night and Nora couldn’t get any information about the location of the meeting from her eavesdropping. But that really didn’t matter; she just needed to follow the slaves. It couldn’t be so difficult — she would simply pretend to go to bed early and sneak out a little later. The bushes and trees that hid the huts from the house offered enough cover, even if someone came by. It was not impossible. If the meeting took place at the slave quarters, the stable boys who slept in the barn would have to come past the house.
However, Nora thought of another meeting place. If the Obeah gatherings even had the slightest bit in common with Christian masses, they would sing and pray aloud. It would be much too dangerous at the slave huts, as the overseers lived at its border. The gathering would be found immediately.
Nora spent the rest of the afternoon and evening feeling tense and nervous, and Máanu seemed no different. The girl was being sloppy and clumsy, dropping things, and pulling the comb and brush so impatiently through Nora’s long hair that it hurt. Nora had to restrain herself from snapping at her maid, but she by no means wanted to upset her. Maybe she would need her help to sneak off to the meeting.
Later, Nora waited until she was relatively certain that Máanu had left the house, and then she quickly tied her hair back on her neck and slipped into a comfortable housedress. No corset or lace blouse, it had to be quick; she had to be as nimble as possible. However, she needed a shawl, one as dark as possible. Her dress was dark green, but her hair might be seen in the moonlight. She grabbed one made of dark-red silk. After briefly considering it, she decided against footwear. She would only ruin her lightweight slippers if she had to go through the jungle, and her heavier riding boots would probably make noise.
Nora took the path through the kitchen, and enjoyed the air in the garden at night. Lingering in the humid air, there were the tantalising fragrances of thyme, rosemary, and basil, mingled with the scents of the orchids and roses in the park. Then she entered the darkness of the forest, with its hard, heavy, earthy smells, and the salty whiff of the sea. She ran parallel to the path through the sparse jungle, but it was not hard for her to get oriented. The moon was full over the sea and was only vaguely perceptible behind the thicket of mangrove and palm trees. There was no wind, but it also wasn’t quiet — countless crickets chirped, there was a rustling in the undergrowth, nocturnal birds made eerie sounds. Nora knew that there were owls, but she had never seen one.
Now she was not afraid — quite the contrary, in fact, she enjoyed the adventure. Nora reached the slave settlement within minutes, which seemed eerie and deserted in the moonlight. So far, nothing was happening here. Everything was dark and quiet and she wondered with a slight shudder how it would be to live without any candles or lamps. On that night, however, the moon was the only source of light and not even the slightest sound came from any of the houses as Nora waited. But then the door of the first hut opened. As silent as the zombies she’d read about in a ghost story, the slaves of the Fortnam plantation shuffled out of their homes and away in small groups. They went along the field slaves’ path to work — so the meeting place must be somewhere between the sugar cane fields. Nora waited as long as her courage could handle. Adwea, Máanu, and little Mansah went with the first group. Nora followed Toby and old Hardy, surprised that the two would take part in the pagan event. She had previously always taken the two field slaves, as well as the stable master Peter, for the most ardent of Christians.
Nora feared that she would lose sight of the slaves between the fields if she kept too great of a distance, but then she realized that it was easy to stay on their track. They didn’t get lost on the endless paths between the expansive, identical sugar cane fields. Instead, they wandered along the busy daytime path towards the windmill, before going down to the shed with the sugar kitchens and distillery. The stables for the oxen and mules were also there, as well as a large barn where their hay was stored. At the moment, it was nearly empty — Nora recalled that Elias had rudely reminded the stable master to fill it with hay just the day before.
“When Backra Elias returns, full,” Peter replied. Nora had casually wondered why the old servant had risked being rebuked. Usually, Peter was extremely reliable and would never have allowed any of the animals to run out of food. Now she realized why. The barn was being used that night as the meeting hall for the Obeah ceremony and the coachman had been involved in its planning.
Nora thought the location a perfect choice. She was a bit afraid of the oxen, which could kick if something startled them, but she had no fear of the mules. So, she simply took the path through the stables and hid in a shed where two mules were chewing hay. From there, she saw nothing at all, but could hear the hum of voices from the barn.
Nora waited until it was apparent that they had all gathered and settled down. Then she left the shed and scurried to the door between the stables and the barn. Unfortunately, it was closed, which Nora hadn’t counted on. Nora tried the latch and jiggled the heavy door a bit, hoping that no one inside would notice. But then the door suddenly flew open, as if a latch had popped off. Since Nora had been leaning against the door with some pressure, she catapulted into the barn — and almost straight into the arms of Adwea!
Frozen in shock, the two women faced each other. Adwea had surely been expecting one of her own and apparently had sat in front of the door to block it. When someone then shook it, she had gotten up to clear the entrance. “Missis … please, Missis …” she stammered.
Nora put her finger to her lips. “Shh! Don’t make a scene. I won’t say anything, I just want to watch!”
Adwea furrowed her brow, but then a smile crept across her face.
“Missis curious?” Nora winked at her. “Terribly curious!” she confessed. “I promise I won’t be disruptive. Let me just sit here with you. No one need see me.”
“Spirits see you!” Adwea explained.
Nora raised her eyebrows. “They won’t hurt me,” she said.
Adwea shook her head. “No, do nothing, spirits friendly. Mostly. Kwadwo call friendly spirits.”
With that, she gestured to the seat beside her and Nora pulled her shawl around her as tightly as possible. In the dark, she would surely not standout in the far corner of the barn. Nora wondered why Adwea, who actually ranked highly among the slaves, was hidden so far in the back. Máanu and Mansah weren’t with her; they sat in the middle of the circle that the slaves had formed around an open space. Máanu took a seat across from Akwasi. She stared at him.
Two men at the back finally closed the barn doors behind the last stragglers, and one of them began to sing. Nora was startled when Adwea joined in with the other slaves in a loud, deep voice. The song sounded touching and lamenting, but Nora didn’t understand the words. It was certainly not English — the people must have brought the song and the language with them from Africa.
“What does it mean?” Nora whispered, as Adwea and the others repeated a vocal sequence several times.
Adwea shrugged. “I don’t know, no one know; calling spirits … language of spirits.”
Nora assumed that the words originally must have meant something, but now that she listened closer, she found that each singer uttered something different and some were apparently improvising. No one knew what they were singing, but the songs were getting louder and more commanding. Along with it, drums sounded out throughout the barn.
And then a man stepped up to the fire in the middle of the room.
He was tall, bulky, and naked, except for a loincloth and was chanting incantations. The Obeah man. Nora was dumbf
ounded when she recognized her dutiful stable master. Peter, who faithfully hung on the reverend’s every word each Sunday.
“Kwadwo,” Adwea said, casually.
“Is that his real name?” Nora asked.
The cook nodded. “A powerful sorcerer. Son of a medicine man.”
Kwadwo then threw more wood on the fire — no wonder he was careful not to store any hay in the barn. He hung a kettle over the blazing wood and poured a clear liquid into it from a gourd. Then he took a sip from the gourd and passed it to the slave sitting beside him. His helpers passed other vessels around the circle and Adwea also got a jug. Nora smelled rum. Adwea put the jug to her lips and then passed it to her mistress after a brief hesitation. Nora also hesitated. Could she drink here with the slaves? In England she would have never acted so casually with her servants.
“Brings you closer to the spirits,” Adwea explained.
Nora kept quiet and took a swig. Maybe you just had to think of it like the sharing of bread and wine in the Christian community. And, after all, master and servant prayed together at masses.
The singing grew louder and more commanding, as the jugs, bottles, and gourds were passed around the room a second and third time. People were now swaying to the rhythm of the songs, and the drums seemed to be gaining control over them. Nora felt as if they were being beaten directly in her head. A few young people danced in the font, as well as the Obeah man — but then Nora was startled again when she caught a glimpse of a knife in his hand. The song rose to a crescendo, but Kwadwo’s cry drowned it out, as he now pulled a chicken out of a sack, threw the animal into the air, and with a lightning-fast, well-aimed swing of a machete, separated the head from the body. A fountain of blood spurted out over the people sitting nearby. The animal’s body was still moving, but the Obeah man quickly lifted it in the air and flung it in the middle of the followers — in Máanu’s direction, as far as Nora could tell. In fact, the girl picked up the dead animal, held it over the kettle, and let it bleed out. A stinking smoke rose from the vessel, as the Obeah man now stirred it and burned herbs.
