Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish (17 page)

CHAPTER
31

September
1655

Tortuga
Bay was as flat as glass as Colin rowed, each dip of the dinghy's oars stirring
silver-blue liquid trails in the moonlight. The sloop was a black silhouette in
the glistening inlet. The almost-full moon slipped behind a black cloud. Colin
raised his head and sniffed. He could smell the approaching rain. It was close
to midnight as he tied the dinghy to the sloop, climbed the rope ladder, and
strode heavily down the main deck to the captain's cabin. Situated under the
quarter deck in the stern, the quarters were pitch black. He fumbled with the
big key and unlocked the cabin door.

       Colin's
mind was anything but calm. For hours he had been at Silky's Tavern, talking,
eating pigeon pie, and sipping ale. Carlos, the bar man, had handed him the
letter when he'd arrived at the pub. Retreating to a quiet corner, Colin had
carefully read it twice, then tucked it away for safekeeping. Joining the others
at the crowded bar, he bought the men drinks and made casual inquiries about
sailing to the Virginia colony. Before long he had the names of several
buccaneers who were seasoned veterans of voyages to that far northern coast.

       Colin
lit the cabin's two wall-mounted candle lanterns and went to the oak cabinet
for paper and pen and inkpot. He also grabbed a rolled map from the top shelf.
At the table desk, bolted to the floor in front of the single arched window, he
sank into the chair and pulled off his sweaty boots. Fastened onto the desktop
were an empty copper fruit bowl and another candle lantern, which he lit.
Behind him the small panes of window glass reflected the candlelight. Colin
unrolled the navigation map and pored over it. Pulling Freddy's letter from his
pocket, he read it again.

       He
rose from the desk chair, stretched his arms, paced about the cabin, and
settled on the sturdy window seat secured to the floor beneath the window. The
rain was now beating against the glass. Carlos had said that Spanish Florida,
especially the garrison town of San Agustín, was a strategic target for
attacking heavily laden Spanish vessels sailing up the Gulf Stream. One old
salt at Silky's had bent his ear with tales of being caught in the
"Michaelmas storms" of late September. He said that sailors who
arrived at the sugar ports in the fall wisely spent the winter in the warm
Caribbean, and waited to ship the new sugar crop during the first quarter of
the year.

       Colin
got up, went back to his desk, and took up his sharpened quill. He dipped it in
the inkpot and hesitated. With the quill poised above the parchment, he
scratched his nose with his other hand. By this time, Freddy had probably given
birth to the African's babe. Although Colin's mind buzzed with questions about
the African and the babe, he dared not mention such things to her. Surely
Whittingham had forced her to mate with the African. In time Colin would find
answers. Whatever the circumstances, she was his true friend and he would help
her.   

       "Dear
Freddy," he scratched slowly, his head bent toward the paper. After
another pause, he wrote:

       "I
hope you are faring well, my friend, in spite of it all. I am sorry to hear of
your loss and your ensuing sadness.

       "Regarding
your inquiry: yes, such an endeavor is possible. Your Father Tomas is most
welcome..."

       Colin
stopped to think. There was much to say, but he must take care. Should this
letter end up in the wrong hands, woe be to them. One had no way of knowing
whether all of the Quaker freight men who helped the slaves by transporting and
delivering messages throughout the West Indies were trustworthy. There were
many dangers in writing such a dispatch. He must not give them away. Freddy was
no fool; she would understand his meaning.

       "The
answer to your geographical question is: 2,000 miles," Colin continued.
"I always stand ready to help you as you so generously helped me. Dear
Freddy, I never forget that I owe you my very life – and a good life it is at
present. I have managed to purchase a trusty vessel, and find myself in a rare
position of financial comfort. Therefore, your inquiry is well-timed. I have
the means to help, and will gladly do so.

       "Here
is what I know thus far: we cannot plan with the usual strategy, due to the
nature of this undertaking. Timing is critical."

       He
stopped again, wanting to tell Freddy that the best time to voyage to Virginia
would be in February. He wished to set sail from Barbados during the coming
February, 1656. Colin scratched his jaw, then put his pen back to the
parchment.

       "The
month I propose follows three months after the anniversary of my own getaway,
which you no doubt remember. As I write this, that month is a mere five moons
away, as our friend would describe it. I have access to information about the
more challenging parts of the venture. I must warn you of the dangers,
particularly when it comes to the territory unknown to you and me. Our lives
will depend on our friend's knowledge of the land. 

       "One
must be prepared to move with lightning speed. During the month described
above, watch for my sloop, which flies a flag with an initial you will know.
Then await instructions. If you do not receive a second letter, do not fear.

       "And
now, Freddy, burn this correspondence, leaving not a scrap behind. I look
forward to your reply.

       "Your
faithful friend forever,

       Colin
Shea Brophy"

CHAPTER
32

November
1655

Freddy
glanced around the cookhouse to make sure no one was about. Two-month-old Kofi
was nestled securely against her chest, sucking on his hand and looking around.
A heavy rain was pounding the roof as she dropped her grinding pestle into the
mortar, pulled the folded letter from a special pocket she'd sewn inside her
vest, and walked over to the hearth. She quickly tossed the note into the fire.
Wrapping her arms around the warm bundle in the sling, Freddy watched the
parchment burn, her eyes shining feverishly in the light of the leaping flames.
The paper curled, turned black, and disappeared into gray dust.

       The
words on that parchment, now a mere flake of crumbling ash, would alter their
lives, God willing. This February, Colin had implied. That was only three
months away. They must prepare to grab the babes and run.

       Freddy
took a deep breath and ran her hand lightly over the infant's kinked brown
hair. With her other hand she stroked his back through the fabric of the sling,
gazing at his bronze face. She had named him Kofi even though in Akan it meant
"born on a Friday" and he'd entered the world on a Wednesday. It was
important to Freddy that he be named after his father, whose deep brow and
wide-set eyes were clearly reflected in the child's features. But when little
Kofi opened those eyes, they were the same startling green as Freddy's.  

       She
must hurry and grind the dried corn for supper. Birdie was in the yard,
filleting fish in the pouring rain. After supper, more buckets of maize must be
ground for tomorrow's mush. Freddy sighed, picked up the pestle, and started
working with a throbbing rhythm, her arm muscles aching. If she never saw
another kernel of dried corn she would be happy.

       But
the truth was, for once Freddy was not bothered by any of this. Since reading
Colin's letter, which Nathan had handed to her an hour earlier, her mind was
racing. As her hands milled the grain, her thoughts were miles away. Freddy
tried to picture Colin's sloop, and wondered where he was right now. She
yearned to rush into the yard and blurt the news to Birdie, but knew she must
wait for privacy. Freddy would ask her friend to join her at the cave pool this
night, if the rain stopped. They could rinse the babes and themselves, cooling
off before bed, and whisper together of Colin's plan.

       Even
at the pool they must watch for Paulina, who lurked around every corner these
days. Freddy shivered, thinking of the house slave and how she had behaved
during the revolt. She would never understand that woman. Soon, God willing,
Paulina would no longer matter in the least. She and Birdie and the children
would be thousands of miles away, across the open sea. But they must be very
careful. Paulina had a right uncanny way of knowing just when to spy on them.

       Kofi
stirred. He had been Freddy's birthday gift this year, arriving as he did just
before she turned sixteen. This babe was her latest reason to love September.
It had always been her favorite month; this time of year the fields back home
turned a rich gold, and harvest meant a rare abundance of food on the farm.

       Freddy
sighed heavily. Her memories of home and Mam and Da were fading, no matter how
desperately she tried to hold on to them. It had been three and a half years
since she had watched Aileen be led away by a different planter, to a different
island. Here it was November again: a new rainy season. Yellow fever was on
another deadly rampage, and the Great Gang was digging holes to plant more
blasted cane shoots.

       Colin's
message pierced the stifling gloom with a brilliant ray of hope. Was it truly
possible to break out of this misery? Freddy crossed herself. Jesus and Mary,
she prayed, please let it come to pass. 

       Kofi
had weighed almost ten pounds when he was born. It seemed to Freddy that he had
doubled that weight already. Master was very pleased. He had big plans for her
mulatto son. Little did he know that other plans were afoot. Freddy sent up
another prayer, closing her eyes and asking God to bless them, watch over them,
and send good winds to blow them quickly away from the wretched Whittingham.

       Freddy
had her own dreams for this little tan-skinned one now gently stirring, and for
Laurie, too. They would be no one's slaves, but would grow into good, strong
men among Birdie's people. Her sons would take the best from the fierce
O'Brennans. Silently Freddy vowed to spend every ounce of her strength making
the dream come true. She clenched her jaw and attacked the corn with renewed
vigor, sweat trickling between her breasts.

"We
must take care to hide our pleasure," Freddy said in a low voice as the
cart dipped sharply into a puddle. She reached out to steady the crock.
"No one must suspect." 

       Birdie
nodded, her expression serious as she steered the squeaky cart through cane
that dripped in the soft rain. The narrow mud lane looked like a tunnel,
winding its way under lofty cane leaves overhead. Laurie and Raz were tucked
into the cart and the small babes rode snugly in their slings. Today the clouds
were so low and heavy, the women hadn't been able to view the sea from the
hilltop as they usually did. As they approached the steamy field where the
Great Gang was planting, Freddy noticed Master sitting tall on his big horse,
high above the field slaves who bent to their work, their bodies dripping with
sweat and rain.

       "Look
at him," she muttered. "Lord of the field. I want to nurse this babe
forever, so he will forget about assigning me a mate."

       Birdie
grunted in reply. Freddy glanced at her. Birdie's wary eyes were focused on
Sam, the plantation's new driver, who was snapping his whip above the slaves'
heads and bellowing threats of flogging and worse if they didn't speed up their
work. Freddy watched him. A tall, striking mulatto from Bridgetown, Sam was
rumored to be a bounty hunter who had helped catch the rebels in July. One day
she overheard Paulina telling Mrs. Pratt that the driver made a lot of money
turning the rebels in to the authorities. When Master hired him, he was a free
Negro living in Bridgetown. Sam was known as a brutal driver. He had already
led two ruthless inspections of the slave quarters, looking for runaways he
suspected the field slaves were hiding. Freddy wondered if Sam knew about the
cave by the pool. She remembered Una saying that the island's maroons –
descendants of escaped slaves – stayed there from time to time. She'd also
heard that the maroons helped runaways survive.

       Master
had purchased so many new slaves, the compound was once again full. None of the
newcomers was Coromantee, of course. This time most of them were Ibo. Father
Tomas said that two of the Ibo women had committed suicide the first night they
were here, slicing their own throats because their husbands had been sold to a
different planter. 

       "Soon,
no Master," Birdie murmured. She had been elated to hear of Colin's plan
for February. The two friends had stayed in the pool much longer than usual,
whispering excitedly. Later, after hours of hushed chatting in the hut they now
shared, they had slept only a short time.

       The
gang was small compared to yesterday. Many of the field slaves had taken ill
with severe yellow fever that was raging through the compound. Mrs. Pratt said
that the epidemic was the worst in three years. Thankfully, Freddy and Birdie
and the children were well. May God and His Saints keep us healthy, she prayed.
Birdie was hoping to visit and help the sick this night.

       Master
stiffly rode his black steed to a far corner of the field, where a young Ibo
woman was digging holes. She was a graceful, yellow-skinned beauty named
Ezimma. Paulina had been in a royal sulk for weeks because Master fancied this
new woman he called Zim. He was spending much more time in the fields, obviously
watching her. Of late he appeared at the Big House only to eat and sleep.

       "Look,"
Freddy whispered, nodding toward the planter. Walking to him, Zim swayed slowly
on her long legs. Master turned his horse and rode into a thicket of guava
trees. She sauntered leisurely behind him, unwrapping the white turban from her
head and shaking out her black curls. If the African woman found Master as
repulsive as Freddy did, she certainly knew how to mask her feelings. Master
usually ordered his slaves to remove all of their traditional African
ornamentation. Zim was clearly an exception. Like all the Ibo women, she was
bare-breasted. But above her low-slung purple wrapper she wore bright yellow
waist beads. A black bead necklace lay between her breasts, and her shoulders
were marked with traditional patterns. Freddy had noticed that one of the new
men had similar patterns on his back, where they intersected with bloody whip
marks. The Ibo were handsome people, but not as strongly muscled as the
Coromantees.

       "Paulina
hates that Zim," Freddy whispered.

       "Paulina
hate many." Birdie shook her head.

       Freddy
nodded. "Paulina plays a dangerous game."

       Birdie
raised her eyebrows.

       "She
talks with Sam, at his cottage."

       Birdie
just shrugged.

       "I
know. May the fool get her come-uppance." And may Master stay obsessed
with Zim, Freddy added to herself. It helped to have him distracted by the new
woman. He was less likely to harass her and Birdie, or their children.
According to Mrs. Pratt, he planned to mate the two of them with Ibo men as
soon as they finished nursing the infants. For Freddy, that meant at least a
year. Although Efia would be a year old this Christmas, Birdie could continue
nursing her for several more months. That should delay Master's breeding
plans. 

       Christmas
was just a month away, Freddy realized as the cart lurched ahead. This year she
was determined to celebrate Yuletide for the babes. She would swipe a bit of
sugar here and a bit of flour there, enough to make sweet treats for them. She
had found discarded wood to whittle into toys for two-year-old Raz and
one-year-old Laurie, and was saving rags to make dolls for Efia and Kofi. She
would ask Father Tomas to say Christmas Mass. Freddy glanced over at Birdie's
faded blue vest and smiled to herself. She had the perfect Yule surprise for
her friend. She would use forest-green fabric scraps to fashion a new vest,
complete with secret pockets hidden inside. She intended to make a similar one
for herself, to wear when she left this vile plantation forever.

       They
rolled into the clearing to dish out the mash, and Sam blew the conch shell
that signaled midday break. Birdie stopped the donkey and she and Freddy
stepped down to ready the calabash bowls.