by Sarah Lark
“Where is Adwea?” Doug asked the nearest person. “Is she …?”
“I here, Backra Doug,” the plump cook came out of one of the huts. “I not gone. Akwasi gone, Máanu gone. Mansah I don’t know. Maybe dead. But I not gone. I stay. And you …”
Doug staggered up to her. Adwea opened her arms to him.
“I had five children,” Adwea whispered. “My first sold, then Máanu, Akwasi, and you. And Mansah. I bad woman, I gave them to Backra Elias. You are the last. Come. Come to Mama Adwe!”
Doug threw himself into her arms and sobbed from the depths of his soul into the bosom of his nurse, his Mama Adwe, his mother.
Although Keensley and Hollister declared him insane for it, Doug spent the night in the slave quarters. He pulled himself together again and forcefully sent the Keensley’s overseer away. Kwadwo gathered his congregation. Doug was lulled to sleep by the lamenting songs of the people, which perhaps included a eulogy here or there, and surely a lot of prayers for the young people who had gone. Adwea cradled him like a child and also cried about her daughters. No one had bothered to notify her of Mansah’s rescue. She suspected that her youngest had probably died with her tormenter — or earlier by his hand. And Máanu would hate her mother for it all her life.
On the next day, there was a heavy silence and smoke filled the air hanging over the remains of Cascarilla Gardens. In the night, Christopher Keensley and Lord Hollister had forced the carpenters among their slaves to build makeshift coffins for the dead, so that Doug Fortnam could be spared looking at the fire victims again. Still, he could hardly force himself to avert his eyes when he finally braced himself to inspect the ruins of the house. He still could not believe that Nora was in one of those coffins. She was so alive, so tender, so attentive, and caring. Doug was at odds with God and the spirits. Had Simon Greenborough taken revenge on him for his lost love? Or was this God smiting Elias Fortnam, as he should have already done long ago?
Doug tried to draw his attention to the house. It would not be too difficult to rebuild it. That is, if he wanted to. But he had actually never liked it. The austere architecture of the English manor house, the columns, and stairs — Doug didn’t think it suited Jamaica. For now though, a hut would be enough … He heard Nora’s voice, And we built ourselves a hut out of bamboo and covered it with palm leaves. I wove a hammock, and he made love to me on it in the moonlight …
Doug would have liked to build her hut for her. On the beach, by the sea. Why had he left her there alone? He cursed the panic and rage that had driven him out of the house. And every so often he would tell himself that there was nothing he could have done for Nora. So far, not a single planter had survived an attack by the Maroons. They always came with stronger forces, outstanding fighters, and were completely ruthless. Doug’s only consolation would have been to die alongside Nora.
But even that seemed better at the moment than the desperate feeling of emptiness and darkness that completely paralyzed him. Doug sat down hopelessly in front of the still smoldering, soot-blackened stairs at the front of the house. He would have preferred to hide away somewhere and be left entirely to his grief, but the world around him made merciless demands. Soon he would have to take care of the slaves, the funeral …
Doug stared at the neatly raked, gravel driveway, which had not suffered from the fire one bit and still looked just as normal and tidy as the day before, when something caught his eye. It was shining in the sunlight that could not be a pebble … Doug laboriously stood up. Damp from the morning dew, but already warm from the sun, Nora’s pendant lay there on the ground. He picked up the piece of jewelry and it felt almost as if Nora had just taken it from her neck.
Doug’s heart was pounding. She had been wearing it the night before, even when they were making love to each other. And then played with it when she told him about Simon.
Doug wondered if his find had to mean something — but he knew that he was just using it to delude himself. The silk ribbon was torn. Someone had undoubtedly pulled it from Nora’s neck before she was killed. The Maroons were known for being thorough looters. In the manor houses that they raided, there were never any burned objects with recognizable value. Surely they wouldn’t have left a piece of jewelry behind. But the murderer must have lost this one during his rapid escape. Doug put his hand around it and felt almost comforted. Nora loved that pendant, and now it would always remind him of her.
Filled with new strength, he made his way to the slave quarters.
Keensley had sent two overseers over again that morning — after all, Douglas Fortnam had to have come to his senses by now and be prepared to accept help in guarding his slaves. Doug however, declined once again. Instead, he appointed Kwadwo as the Busha, which was what they called the few black headmen in Jamaica.
“There is no work at the moment,” he said wearily. “We won’t go out to the fields today. And in the house … in the house there’s also nothing to do.”
“You don’t want it rebuilt, Backra?” Kwadwo asked, surprised. He didn’t know what had emboldened him, but he gave up on his Pidgin English. “Shouldn’t we …?”
“For whom should I build it, Kwadwo?” Doug rubbed his forehead. “But you can clean one of the houses where the overseers lived. That’ll do for me. And Adwea can cook for me.”
“Then you sell all house servants, Backra?” Adwea asked in dismay. “Girls, pages …?”
Doug sighed. He briefly considered if he should address the concerns that all of those house servants quietly had on their minds. He would have most preferred having none of them around. But, on the other hand, they were left with no other alternative. Not even Adwea …
“Of course not,” he reassured the cook. “I won’t sell anyone … don’t worry. And I also won’t send anyone from the house out to the field.”
This anxious question was written on the faces of all the house servants, no one needed to ask.
“We’ll see what we end up doing. Today, however—”
“The reverend is here, Bakra Doug”
Adwea pointed to the carriage, which had just rolled into the slave quarters. Doug dreaded an encounter with the man. Hopefully, he had at least left his wife and child at home, as Ruth was surely still in mourning.
“Get another overseers’ house ready,” Doug said.
“As long as that’s all right with the reverend. He probably spent the night at the Hollisters’ or Keensleys’. But we’ll need to prepare a funeral service. Mama Adwe …”
Adwea nodded. “I do already, Backra!” She said, comfortingly. “We can do it in slave kitchen. We make barbecue …”
The thought of burning coals and roasting meat made Doug nauseous, but he would leave that to Adwea. Exhausted, he turned to the reverend, who was wearing a worn-out, black suit as his long, lean body as he got down from the carriage.
“Mr. Fortnam!” he said, squeezing Doug’s hand. “Words are useless in the face of your great pain …” Doug braced himself for a sermon.
CHAPTER 2
Exhausted, Nora dragged herself over the steep hills of the Blue Mountains. She had always thought herself to be quite good on foot, but the forced march with the slaves took her to the limits of her strength. Meanwhile, they were probably moving quite slowly by the Maroon’s standards — the three men who had stayed behind to set Cascarilla Gardens ablaze had caught up with the main group within a few hours. The freed slaves drove her mercilessly onwards. They must have put Kingston behind them in the course of the night, and as many miles as possible between themselves and the looted plantation. The only chance was to quickly wander far inland, a still uncharted area in which there were practically no roads. The leader of the Maroons went ahead and cleared a path with his machete. They would stumble over roots and vines after him, and were just thankful that there was a full moon that night.
Nonetheless, Nora saw almost nothing, since there was almost always a canopy over them, as they still hadn’t reached the higher regions of the mountains.
Even though Akwasi held her hand tightly, it was so hard that it hurt more than it offered any protection and she fell again and again. The fieldworkers moved with unbelievable dexterity, and didn’t even seem to notice the thorns and roots that were tearing Nora’s feet apart.
For Nora, every step was accompanied by splitting pain — while in the past she had always been proud of the calluses under her feet. After all, she went to the beach or the swimming spot in the woods barefoot often enough. But that was apparently nothing compared to the hardships the field slaves were exposed to every day. In any case, they laughed about the house slaves’ complaints. Máanu, for whom it certainly wasn’t any easier, said nothing. She grimly continued onwards, dragging the crying Mansah behind her.
Nora was worried about the little girl, who also had to deal with the horrors of that night. Whenever she had the chance, she ran to Nora and hid her head between her skirts, although the opportunity hardly ever presented itself, since the Maroons wouldn’t give the group a moment to rest. They did not want to cross paths with any whites and if they did, they wouldn’t let him escape. The many people and various stolen animals would stand out anyway and were hardly able to defend themselves against a group of planters in an open field. So, they hastened on until morning and the trade winds drove the famous, blue fog over the mountains. Nora, however, had no interest in this natural spectacle. She was simply too exhausted and every step was a new torture.
The excruciating heat barely subsided as they ascended to higher mountain regions. The vegetation changed a little; when the jungle gave way to bushes and acacia plants that bloomed in stunningly bright colors; with butterflies and hummingbirds dancing around them. Nora thought with a fleeting sadness that she would never be able to identify these plants, but at this point what did that matter? All she wanted now was the sweet release of death.
In contrast the march hardly seemed to strain the freed slaves. Now that they were beginning to feel safe, the younger ones even began singing songs. That, however, did not please the leader.
“Quiet. Still a long way to Nanny Town. There can be traders here, will give us away.”
Nora felt vague anger at the white traders that unabashedly did business with the Maroons. They had to know that the money and goods came from ransacked plantations. So it wouldn’t actually matter to the leader if they were turned in or not. Everyone knew that the Maroons were responsible for the attack on Cascarilla Gardens.
“But don’t know which Maroons,” the leader explained as the young house slave confronted him with that very sentiment.
“Can be Nanny, can be Cudjoe, can be Accompong from Saint Elizabeth Parish. They not know who to attack for revenge. So, attack all when we not have enough people or attack none. What better?”
“Are there a lot of attacks?” the girl asked, nervously.
The leader stood up. They had briefly rested along a river in order to drink, but now he wanted to keep moving. “Sometimes more, sometimes less. But no fear. Nothing happens. Nanny Town is impregnable!”
He said the last sentence proudly in absolutely perfect English. Nora sighed. There would be little chance for Doug if he came looking for her.
The freed slaves were now moving along well-worn paths, even though they wouldn’t have been recognizable at all on first glance. But there were no more thorns and roots over which to constantly stumble, and the men at the front of the group seemed to know them quite well.
Nora hoped that they were approaching Nanny Town, but the road still dragged on endlessly. Eventually, each valley and each of the hills that rapidly turned into mountains looked the same to her, and then, she only looked at the ground to make sure she put her tortured feet on sand instead of stone. Akwasi was still holding onto her, but didn’t say a single word to her. It was almost eerie to go for hours in constant silence, being dragged along behind him.
None of the other slaves addressed Akwasi either. Akwasi’s decision to take the woman was met with general disapproval. He had made himself an outcast. On top of that, word was spreading that he was the one that had killed the backra. That got him the respect of the others, but also a sort of superstitious fear. If someone were to be struck by vengeful lightning — as the reverend foretold of the unfaithful servants every Sunday — it would undoubtedly be him.
At some point, Mansah stopped crying. With a blank look on her face, she followed Máanu — she didn’t even need to be pulled along anymore. The girl was far too exhausted to resist. Finally, when it was evening again, the leader of the Maroons let them stop.
“Rest two hours,” he said. “Nothing to eat, but eat tomorrow in Nanny Town. Here if want, can sleep. Is safe, no white man comes here at night.”
Nora slumped down on the ground. To sleep … to close her eyes … to finally catch her breath again. But Akwasi pulled her up before her back even hit the ground.
“Come with me!” he said harshly. “I want you. In case they take you away from me tomorrow morning!”
Take her away? Nora could hardly grasp the meaning of the words. But surely, it could well be that she had only endured all of these hardships only to then be cut into pieces by the Maroons or publicly whipped to death. She had no idea what the free blacks might think of as a punishment for the wife of a planter, but at this point, she was in a state of complete indifference. If only they would leave her alone. But Akwasi did not have that in mind.
“Come on. Or do you want everyone to watch?” He pulled her to her feet and off of the path. They didn’t go very far, as he didn’t want to get more than a few steps away from the group. To Nora’s surprise, he let her drop to the ground, while he quickly cut a few ferns and prepared a sort of camp.
“Here. Your bridal bed!” he said, sarcastically. “Let no one say that Akwasi treated his slave poorly. It’s softer than the beach, isn’t it? It’s more beautiful than the forest where Doug kissed you!”
Nora wondered how Akwasi knew, but she no longer had the strength to think about it. The bed of ferns was rather soft. And the shrubbery and flowers around them filled the night with a bewitching scent. Under other circumstances, she could have enjoyed this “bridal bed.” Resigned, Nora gave in when Akwasi threw her on her back, but stopped him from tearing her dress with her last bit of strength.
“Don’t rip it,” she said. “Otherwise you might as well just take me right in front of all the others.”
Nora felt no fear, but rather weariness and indifference when she finally pushed up her dress. She had never really felt much pain when Elias penetrated her. His quick and not very stimulating caresses on her breasts or between her legs were enough to get her a little wet. Nora was easy to arouse— — if she was given a few moments to conjure up Simon’s face in front of her closed eyes. Akwasi hardly waited for her to push up her skirt. He grabbed her breasts roughly — it was nothing like his intense, but loving touch back at the barn. At the time, he had wanted to make love to her, but now it seemed to only be about humiliating her. Nora cried out when he forced her legs apart and entered her without any build up. She groaned in pain as he thrust into her again and again. An eternity seemed to go by until he finally pulled out.
“That was good!” he then said, grinning at her. “Much better than last time.”
“Better?” Nora asked angrily. “But I … it hurt …”
Akwasi nodded. “That’s how it should be,” he spat out with utter conviction. “That’s how men want it in Africa. A good woman stays dry. Only a whore has fun.”
He lay down beside her and seemed to fall asleep almost instantly. Nora lay awake a long time, trying to block out the pain in her bleeding genitals. And the fear of what was to come in Nanny Town.
Aside from the former housemaids and the little Mansah, who began to cry again when the Maroons woke her from a deep sleep, no one in the group complained that they had to keep moving so soon. On the contrary, the former slaves were in good spirits. They would finally reach Nanny Town soon, a free black town, a place that m
any of them had dreamed of for years. They wouldn’t feel completely safe until they got there, and apparently their guides wouldn’t either. Once again, they were moving at an extremely fast pace. Nora was already out of breath after a few steps and on top of that, was not only dealing with the pain in her feet, but also the burning between her legs. Finally, they reached Stony River, and the freed slaves cheered. It was stunning in the last moonlight and first daylight that reflected off of it — like a silver ribbon. The Maroons followed it for a few miles and then Nanny Town finally lay before them! The newcomers didn’t even notice the village at first. The Ashanti structures had been added to the landscape so harmoniously that they were hardly noticeable in the morning light. The Maroons’ watchmen had already seen the caravan of people and animals about a half a mile before they reached the city and announced them with the sound of loud horns. The newcomers were startled when they heard the warning. It was inevitable that they stopped — if it seemed like a possible ambush, they would probably soon become the victims.
Suddenly, men stepped out of the bushes near the riverbank. They’d obviously been observing the path up until that point, invisible to those looking on. The huge, heavily armed black men, some in Western dress, others in what looked like tribal attire, welcomed Máanu and her five companions with joy and reverence.
With her last bit of strength, Nora dragged herself through the river and up the steep paths into the town. She yearned for nothing more than a place where she could collapse. She thought that if Akwasi took her again she might even be too exhausted to even feel pain. If he would only let her rest afterwards. Her heart was pounding and she was breathing in fits as they finally reached the settlement.
