Read Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish Online
Authors: Maggie Plummer
CHAPTER
23
February
1655
Raz
toddled into the cookhouse and climbed onto the tall stool next to Freddy, who
was grinding corn at the work table. He perched on his bare bottom, curling his
brown legs around the stool and pulling on his long black braid. Birdie's son
would turn two in April, around the same time Laurie turned one.
"Laurence
Frederick O'Brennan!" Freddy exclaimed as her own son resumed banging two
calabash bowls together. "Enough of that." She reached down,
retrieved the bowls, and handed him a strip of dried salt beef. They had just
finished breakfast, but she knew her Laurie – always hungry for beef and always
wanting something to chew. She touched his black curls and noticed that his
blue eyes were becoming greener. He pulled himself up and stood, holding onto a
table leg.
"Taakeeee,"
he gurgled, drooling as he happily attacked the meat.
"Me
hold Efia?" Raz held out his little arms. He had his mother's dark,
sloping eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips.
"Here,"
Birdie answered softly, patting the table top. She unwrapped the baby girl
who'd been born on Christmas Eve, and lifted her from her sling. Carefully
cradling her neck, she lay little Efia on the table. She pushed Raz and the
stool closer and helped him ease his arms under the infant's neck and legs.
"Such
a bonny one," Freddy crooned. The babe's black ringlets glistened in the
morning sun that streamed through the window. Birdie and Kazoola had named her
Efia in the traditional African way, since she was born on a Friday. Bursting with
pride, Birdie insisted on her middle name being Beverly – her mother's family
name. Freddy touched Efia's plump cheeks. The wee lass had velvet skin the
color of cocoa, and curly black eyelashes.
Freddy
sighed, pouring more dried corn into the mortar. There was always too much to
do. Here it was another harvest. Still furious about losing twelve Irish slaves
in the raid last fall, Master was also beside himself because Mrs. Pratt was
late returning from England. He was driving everyone too hard, working the
field gangs longer hours under the whip, and refusing to provide the slaves
with salt fish or meat.
The
two kitchen slaves ground cornmeal as quickly as they could, with Birdie
keeping a watchful eye on Raz and Efia. Laurie had fallen asleep on the floor.
"Master
rode to Bridgetown to buy more slaves," Freddy told her friend.
"He
say no rest day," Birdie muttered, shaking her head. "No seed for
slave grow. People hungry, sick…angry."
Freddy
nodded, wiping her dripping brow. "And no crop celebration. Does he blame
the slaves for that raid? Imbecile." A sudden wave of nausea sent her
scurrying out the door. She vomited under the tall mahogany tree, then leaned
against it catching her breath.
"You,
Kofi make babe!" Birdie crowed triumphantly through the open window.
Freddy
turned to see her friend grinning at her. She put her hands on her belly and
smiled back. "Perhaps," she said. It was true that her breasts had
been sore and swollen lately. She rushed back into the kitchen, gave Birdie a
tight hug, and continued grinding.
"Mmm,
four babes, like sleep spirit world." Birdie wiped her chin with her
sleeve. "Raz, Laurie, Efia, and this…" She tapped Freddy's belly with
her fingertips.
"Sleep
spirit world?"
The
Indian woman nodded. "I sleep, see pictures."
"Oh,
you dream."
"Dream,
yes. Many time same."
"Tell
me, please." Efia had fallen asleep on the table, and Raz was playing
quietly on the floor.
"Big
horse of shiny copper," Birdie began. "On back, four brown babes
laugh, him run on water, up, down waves, water all around."
"Our
babes?"
"Not
sure," Birdie murmured. She gazed out the window. "On horse is sign
of people." She pulled her shift off her right shoulder and turned to show
her tribal tattoo. Freddy had noticed the tattoo before, when they bathed
together in the spring. The symbol was two parallel arrows, one pointing up and
one pointing down, with a third arrow crossing them to make an 'H' on the back
of Birdie's shoulder.
Freddy
poured more corn into the mortar, remembering the Irish legend of
Tír na nÓg
.
She shuddered, recalling that misty night on the slave ship when Aileen had
dreamed of poor Bridget drifting down beneath the sea to live in golden
Tir na nÓg
.
Freddy stared at the kernels of corn. It seemed a lifetime ago that her family
had gathered around the fire on howling nights and listened to those ancient
tales. Suddenly she missed home sharply, and tears sprang into her eyes. At
least on that ghastly ship she had been with Aileen.
"What?"
Birdie asked, gently touching Freddy's hand where it lay limp on the table.
"Your
dream reminds me of being a little girl, enchanted as Da told us the old
stories."
Birdie
cocked her head. "You tell."
"It's
the legend of
Tir na
nÓg
, the land of eternal youth and beauty and happiness, under
the wide sea." Freddy touched her friend's shoulder. "They say to
reach
Tír na nÓg,
one must ride a magical white horse that gallops on
water…"
Birdie's
hands froze in mid-air. She stared at Freddy, her eyes widening into pools as
black and endless as a moonless night sky.
The
next morning, Freddy was still thinking about Birdie's dream. As she churned
butter, working the plunger up and down the wooden barrel, Nathan Pease ducked
into the kitchen and handed her a piece of folded parchment with her name
printed on it.
"Oh!
Thank you!" she managed to blurt as he quickly left. She looked around.
Birdie was gathering eggs, and there'd been no sign of Paulina yet. Freddy
scooped up Laurie, grabbed a lantern, and scurried to the alcove. Settling her
son on the pallet, she sat next to him and unfolded the sheet of ivory
parchment. Aileen's loopy script filled an entire lavender-scented page.
Leaning toward the lantern, Freddy held one hand against her chest and eagerly
read:
"Dearest
Freddy! I am so happy to know that you are well, in spite of the cursed
Whittingham. St. Patrick's blessings are with me: my Master, Andrew Foster, is
more than kind. We are fortunate to feel his soft touch – and well aware that
not all planters are gentle. I miss you and Mam and all of our family, yet I am
managing to build a good life here.
Master
Andrew discovered that Mam educated me, so made me governess. His wife died
giving birth to their third babe. I have my own room and a real bed. I am fond
of the children: Geraldine, seven; Winifred, five; and Andrew Junior, who just
turned three.
Freddy,
Master Andrew has asked me to marry him and I have consented. We are to be wed
after harvest, during the crop festival. He has given me yards of peach-colored
linen, from which I am sewing a gown. I shall trim it with white bobbin lace.
Dear
one, if only you could come for the wedding and stay forever! May I speak with
Master Andrew about bringing you here? I am confident that you would like him.
I love him so! He is handsome and strong and good. Remember Mam's favorite
saying? 'Let your enemies hear the bees but may you get the honey.'
I
pray that the hand of God rests lightly on you, darling Freddy.
Your
loving sister,
Aileen"
Oh,
macushla, Freddy thought, touching her belly, if only things were as simple as
you think. She wondered if this Andrew Foster could possibly be good enough for
her sister.
"Gaaaaa!"
Laurie roared, kicking his little legs high in the air.
Freddy
handed him a sock toy to chew.
"Guuuuu!"
her son hollered, holding the toy in one hand and staring at it. Freddy smiled
at Laurie, leaned back against the alcove shelves, and lightly stroked the top
of his head. Perhaps Aileen's planter could purchase all of them – Kofi,
Birdie, Kazoola, and the babes. She would answer the letter tonight, and
inquire about just that.
Oh,
to be there when Aileen was wed! To fix her sister's hair and watch her pass
safely into marriage. She pictured the last time she had seen Aileen – in that
dinghy, just a silhouette against the glittering bay. A tear fell on the
parchment, blurring one word. Freddy dried it carefully with her sleeve, then
tucked the letter under one corner of her pallet, wiping her eyes.
Freddy
yawned, stretching her tense shoulders as she milked the last cow. During the
grueling harvest, she and Birdie did their regular chores at night – after
carting sugar cane and preparing food for the entire estate. Like the rest of
the slaves, they were allowed only four hours to sleep – from 1 a.m. until 5
a.m. – until the sugar crop was in. Yesterday, several of the Africans in the
first gang had fainted from hunger and exhaustion.
The
lantern light flickered against the shed wall as the two women filled copper
buckets with fresh milk. They sat back to back on low stools. Freddy's stomach
rumbled with hunger. She aimed the cow tit toward her mouth and drank a stream
of milk, wondering if she had ever felt fatigue like this. It didn't help that
she could not keep some of her meals down. After such a day, even little Laurie
felt heavy in his sling. She slouched back against Birdie, yawning again.
"What
that?" the Indian woman asked.
A
low grumble floated through the balmy night. "Talking drum? The
Coromantees are perhaps meeting again."
"Mmmm,"
Birdie agreed.
They
milked for a while in companionable silence.
"Cane
slice Kazoola arms," Birdie said.
"Kofi
too," Freddy replied. "And his ankles are stung by cowitch vines. I
pluck the itch hairs from him. Ben split Kofi's back open with the whip again.
I fear Kofi will be consumed by rage…"
"Kazoola
need food."
As
they finished, the drum grew louder.
"My
people drum," Birdie murmured.
"How
old were you when they took you?"
Birdie
stopped and leaned her head back. "New woman, fourth blood time. We trade
at big
falling water—"
"Hallooo?"
A man's voice called softly from the doorway.
They
both jumped, startled. "Who goes there?" Freddy asked, peering
through the darkness but unable to see anyone in the shadows.
"A
friend in search of Freddy O'Brennan." A short, slender man moved into the
circle of light. His red hair was pulled into a pony tail, and he wore a
leather blacksmith apron over his vest, shirt, and breeches.
"Friend?"
She had never seen this freckled fellow before.
"Truly,"
the man whispered, "sent by Father Sean Gwynne."
"I
done." Birdie stood and carried her bucket out the door.
"I
am Freddy…"
"And
I am Father Tomas Phelan, of Montserrat," he said in a low, musical voice.
"I met Father Sean there. He has taken over my duties so that I may serve
here."
"Serve?"
Freddy tiredly resumed milking.
"You
have a language problem. I can help. I have learned the Akan tongue."
She
abruptly straightened and gaped into his light blue eyes, which now sparkled in
the golden lantern glow.
CHAPTER
24
July
1655
Freddy
sat on the damp cave floor behind Kofi, to watch and listen. Lightly rubbing
her belly, she wondered how big she would get with this child. Birdie was
predicting that she would give birth to a girl in September.
The
men gathered around Father Tomas in a tight circle, long shadows from their
flickering candles creeping up and down the bumpy limestone walls. Lately the
Barbados militia was keeping a close watch on the slave cemetery. In late May,
someone had reported hearing drumming there. The men had taken to holding their
secret nighttime meetings in the cave, which was tucked into a hillside on the
upper edge of the plantation. Freddy had never before entered the cave, but she
and Birdie had seen it many times when they bathed in the spring pool next to
it. Father Tomas had asked her to bring food this night for the men. Although
it had been awkward carrying the food as she crawled, round belly and all,
through the narrow cavern entrance to reach the larger inner chamber, she had
managed it. Among the assembled men were eight rebels – three African and five
Irish – from other plantations. Master was away, at a planters' feast on the
southern part of the island. Kazoola stood watch just inside the cavern
opening, listening for intruders and blocking the candlelight's glow from
unfriendly eyes.
It
was cool and musty in here, and the constant dripping echoed strangely. Two
large drops of water from a yellow formation plopped on top of her head, making
Freddy shiver. The cavern ceiling arched low over a stream of clear water.
Across the stream from the arch, where the cave ceiling was highest, was the
small smooth area where they sat.
Freddy
passed the basket of cassava bread and the bowl of "fufu" mash she
had sneaked out of the kitchen in spite of Mrs. Pratt, who had finally returned
from England. The hungry men dipped the flat bread into the mash, which was
made with cassava and yams and plantains. They gobbled the food down until it
was gone. Then they took turns ladling sweet spring water and gulping their
fill.
"The
white devil is killing us," Father Tomas translated Kofi's words. "We
grow weak. We must fight or die. We have no forests for escape."
The
men nodded and grunted.
An
Irish slave named Brian spoke up. "Whittingham has not increased our
provisions, in spite of a good harvest. He tells Ben that this year's planting
will require seven days a week from us. We are starved and overworked because
he drinks and gambles his money away!"
As
Father Tomas translated for the Africans, Freddy chewed on a scrap of bread.
Their plan was to overthrow the English and set up a free state of former
slaves. They would create two nations on the island, one ruled by the Africans
and the other ruled by the Irish. They would not destroy the plantations.
Rather, they would take them over and continue producing sugar, but as their own
bosses.
The
slaves on Barbados outnumbered the ruling class. In the dead of night, they
would trumpet the alarm with horns made of gourds and use knives and crude
weapons for the initial attack, cutting their Masters' throats, seizing guns,
and surprising the militia.
"We
must use machetes, hoes, even rocks and bricks," the priest translated.
This time it was the words an African from a neighboring plantation. "We
must grab the whip, hold it, use it."
"We
must prepare to kill, and be killed," Brian said.
When
the priest translated, the Africans became excited. Kofi leaned forward,
speaking rapidly in Akan.
"We
Ashanti are ready too long for war!" Father Tomas translated, then added
his own voice to the discussion. "A widow told me
of the 1649 rebellion
here
.
The rebel slaves were hanged, drawn and quartered,
their heads put on pikes and paraded around the island as a warning." He
repeated his words in Akan.
The
men lowered their eyes.
"We
fight or die!" Kazoola repeated, his eyes shining wildly. "We make a
surprise attack!"
Father
Tomas translated and the men nodded in agreement.
"We
should surprise them when they're drunk," Brian suggested.
Kofi
laughed. "That is easy, the white devil is always drunk." He jumped
to his feet, swaying and stumbling in the candlelight.
"Kofi
says you must not fight," Father Tomas told Freddy a few nights later. She
had asked him to come to the hut to translate for her and Kofi privately.
"He says Ashanti women never play a part in battle. Their duty is to care
for the young and keep up the home front with prayers, 'Mobeme,' for the
men."
She
nodded, fixing her eyes on Kofi. "I understand…and I am with child."
The
African's eyes softened. Through the priest he told her that her important task
was to have their baby, strong and proud: "Kofi says that his God,
'Nyame,' created the Ashanti people to bring into the world the best in the
human race. You are a true Ashanti woman, he says, most honorable."
"Please
tell him," Freddy whispered, resting one hand on Kofi's arm, "that I
trust him with our lives. We are happy in his hands."
After
a brief exchange with the priest, Kofi gently covered her hand with his. Father
Tomas again turned to her. "He wants us to pray together now."
*
Freddy
bolted out of a deep sleep to find Kofi leaning over her with a lit candle,
shaking her shoulder. His brow was creased with worry as he softly repeated an
Akan word she did not understand. He held up the gourd horn and pointed to the
door. Freddy remembered that he was to use the gourd to sound the alarm for the
rebellion.
"Oh!"
She sat up quickly, pointing to the gourd. "Now?"
He
silently put the horn to his mouth and gestured toward the hilltop above the
plantation.
Freddy
glanced over at Laurie, who was sound asleep. She quickly tied back her loose
curls and wiped her eyes. Her head was throbbing. The wind whipped and howled,
and a heavy rain drummed on the thatch. She couldn't think. Kofi held up her
cooking knife in the candlelight and pointed to the cookhouse. "Yes! I
will make haste."
She
threw a loosely laced bodice over her sleeping gown and ran through the wet
night, warm mud squishing between her bare toes. For months now she'd been
hiding sharpened knives in the kitchen cellar. All was dark. She quietly let
herself into the cookhouse, tiptoed to the counter to light a small lantern,
and opened the floor hatch. Quickly descending the steep stairs, she left the
lantern on the bottom step, went to the dampest corner, and lifted a sack of
Master's imported potatoes to retrieve the bag of knives that lay behind it.
Suddenly
the wooden floor overhead creaked. She froze in place. At that very moment the
babe kicked. Freddy held her hand over her mouth to keep from yelping.
"Who
goes there?" Paulina stood at the top of the stairs, peering down.
"Only
I," Freddy answered, forcing her voice to sound normal and moving to the
herb shelf. "Laurie has taken ill again." She took a small jar of
herbs from the shelf. What the bloody hell was Paulina doing awake at this
hour?
"Well,
good night then."
After
a few minutes, the floor was quiet once again. Freddy grabbed the sack, opened
it to make sure each knife was wrapped in cotton cloth, then carefully placed
it in another sack, between several jars of dried herbs. She picked up the
lantern and the sack, and climbed out. Placing the lantern on the kitchen
floor, she closed the hatch. As she straightened, she caught from the corner of
her eye something white flashing by, beyond the mosquito netting that hung
across the cookhouse doorway. Had she imagined it? Perhaps it was a shadow in
the flickering light. Or had that been Paulina's white dress?
"Paulina?"
Freddy had to remind herself to breathe as she crept to the door and poked her
head out. No one was about. She shook her head, snatched four chunks of salt
beef jerky from the work table, tucked them between her breasts, blew out the
lamp, and rushed back to the hut. The storm was blowing harder.
"May
these and the sword of God above keep you safe," she whispered, handing
the knife bundle to Kofi. He inspected the knives, nodded, smiled at her, and
put one hand on her shoulder. Freddy handed him the salt beef. Heaven knew when
he would get to eat again, or what. He took a ravenous bite of jerky. As he
chewed, they huddled together on the plank bed.
"Mmmm,"
he hummed. Freddy rested her cheek against his broad chest. His big arm came
around her, pulling her close. She embraced him back and kissed his jaw, then
his cheekbone.
"God's
grace on you, my darling," she murmured into his ear. Freddy could not
bear how much she loved this man.
They
turned to face each other. Her arms encircled his neck, her hands running
through his hair. Tenderly stroking her swollen belly, he whispered an Akan
word. Freddy lay her hand on his cheek. He resolutely stood and put the gourd
horn into the sack. Freddy got up and wrapped her arms around his waist. He
kissed the top of her head and again murmured something in his language.
Holding her face in his large hands, Kofi searched her eyes and gave her a
long, deep kiss. Then he gently pulled away, lifted the sack, and went to the
door. He turned to look at her one more time, then opened the door and slipped
out, closing it behind him. Freddy hurried to the door, opened it a crack, and
watched him disappear into the black gale.
Just
then a sharp clap of thunder awakened Laurie. He began crying. Freddy picked
him up, crooning, and brought him to bed. She blew out the candle and lay on
her side, her son curled snugly beside her. He immediately fell back asleep.
She stretched her legs, listening to every sound. All she could hear was the
moaning wind accompanied by pounding rain. The skin on her arms prickled with
fear. She wanted to open the door but knew the rain would blow in.
She
tried to doze. Laurie slept peacefully but Freddy could not. Her beloved was
out there somewhere, facing the worst kind of danger. She carefully pulled away
from the babe, got up, and opened the door a crack. There was nothing to see.
But a minute later she heard the horns and watched as slaves swarmed through
the compound. Freddy kissed the wooden rosary Father Sean had given her, then
knelt on the dirt floor and fingered the smooth beads in fervent prayer for
Kofi and the others.
When
she finished, she felt an urgent need to see Birdie. As she bundled her son
down the row of huts, Freddy spotted Paulina's white dress. The slender Creole
woman was sprinting down a mud track that led through a cane field to the slave
cemetery. Freddy stood still, rain dribbling down her face, and watched her.
Militia men had been stationed in the cemetery for the past month. She wanted
to run and catch Paulina, but here she was with one child in her arms and
another in her heavy belly.
She
scurried through the storm to Birdie's hut, where her friend welcomed her with
a mug of mobby.
"I
saw Paulina!" Freddy blurted, sinking to the floor and drying Laurie off.
"I fear she is running to the soldiers in the slave cemetery!"
Birdie
gave her a look of alarm. She put Efia down in her makeshift cradle. "I
go?"
Freddy
nodded, feeling horribly helpless. Birdie ran into the wet night. Freddy sat on
the floor and ground her teeth, furious with Paulina and even more furious with
herself. She should have been more cautious. Her mind racing in circles as she
wondered what Paulina could have seen, she covered her face with her hands.