Freedom's Kiss

by Sarah Monzon

  Sorry, she mouthed as she tried to wiggle her way off the crowded sofa to sit on the floor. But Summer’s arm stayed hooked around hers, and the woman only pressed Olivia’s limb tighter. Adam shimmied over as far as he could, and the half part of her body that had resided on top of his thigh slid down to rest at his side. Every inch of her right side was plastered against every inch of his left. Leaning slightly away from her, he lifted his arm and settled it across the back of the couch. The move afforded them a little more space but felt even more intimate as her shoulder snuggled up against his ribs and her head rested against his bicep.

  Energy buzzed through her body, looking for an outlet to break the circuit. She pinched the hem of her shorts and felt the serge stitching of the thread used to hold them together. She focused on the feel of the back-and-forth zigzag pattern and ran the underside of her index finger along the ridges of the thread. A nucleus of humming echoed around her chest cavity, but she felt the release through her fingertips.

  Amber sat cross-legged in front of the TV, a DVD case open in her lap. “Everyone ready for a wildly inaccurate depiction of archeology?”

  Adam’s body tensed beside Olivia. She looked over at him to find his gaze glued to the television screen.

  Amber rose to her knees, DVD in hand, at the same time Adam leaned forward until he barely sat on the edge of the couch, elbows digging into the tops of his knees.

  “Wait!” He threw a hand out as he stayed riveted to the scene playing out on the news.

  Olivia found her hands stilling, her body also leaning forward to catch the words pouring from the speakers. The air in the room thickened with tension as everyone sat motionless, absorbing the monologue of the news anchor.

  “Dan Munchouse, the lacrosse captain at Miami University, has been charged with three felony accounts of rape. The alleged assault of coed Stephanie Singh occurred behind a trash container outside a fraternity house while a party within was in full swing. Eyewitnesses are coming forward, but Munchouse’s attorney, Hudson Burke, has issued a statement of no comment at this time.”

  Adam held himself rigid, his jaw popping but otherwise as still as a statue. The news broke for commercial, and Amber reached over to turn the TV off.

  Undercurrents pulsed through the air, everyone quiet as death. The bitter taste of foreboding filled Olivia’s mouth with dust as her mind worked to put the pieces together. While sick and horrible, the report of the alleged rape of a college student seemed to hit the Carrington family, and Adam specifically, like a bull’s-eye at the shooting range. Questions unasked, things unsaid filled the room like an imposing figure, sucking the oxygen from their lungs.

  Olivia’s inability to make the connection only reminded her that although it felt like she’d known Adam all her life, they’d only met the day before. There were so many chapters of his life that she was unaware of, mysteries that cast his past in dark shadows.

  Why did he really quit his job as a successful defense attorney? Why did his eyes dim with the weight of sorrow when he let his guard down? What had his mom alluded to when she’d said he couldn’t buy atonement?

  A suspicious thread wound around her ribs. Somehow the breaking news report tied to Adam.

  Beside her, Adam hung his head, his face buried behind his palms. Emotions rolled over him, her body attuned to his to the point she felt each crash of wave as it hit. Disbelief. Guilt. Anger. He jumped to his feet, arms falling to his side. Lightning shot from his eyes, and his muscles coiled.

  “Don’t do anything rash, son.” George stood, a comforting hand on Anita’s shoulder as the woman looked near tears.

  Adam’s nostrils flared, and his knuckles cracked from being squeezed into tight fists. He stared into the black screen of the TV as if he could look through the electronic to whomever it was who had caused his blood to boil.

  “You okay?” Amber looked up at him from her kneeling position on the floor, her voice soothing, as if Adam were a child who’d scraped a knee.

  Adam ignored her, lost in his anger and the swirling thoughts that flamed the fire.

  No one had approached him, though Olivia wasn’t sure if it was because of fear he’d lash out—he did seem rather fierce at the moment—or out of respect and the knowledge that he’d work through it all in his own time. She watched as he turned the anger he projected toward himself, the mental flagellation running through his mind written clearly on his face.

  Slowly, she rose from the couch and put a palm to his back. He flinched away from her touch, but the contact served its purpose. He snapped out of the invisible black hold that had gripped him.

  “Olivia,” he breathed her name.

  “Hey, Chef.”

  The fog receded from his eyes, and the indignation that simmered in his countenance melted to resignation.

  “Rough day for both of us, huh?” She kept her voice down even as their audience pretended not to listen.

  She wished she could say something that would wipe away the tormented look from eyes created to twinkle with mischief, from a mouth prone to curve with laughter, not thin from shame. But even though the clues were there—his past and the news story—the truth was she didn’t know what he struggled with, what ate at him, and from the look of him, spat him out.

  Patience.

  Call it curiosity, compassion, or friendship, she wanted to get him away from his family, who were trying and failing at pretending not to be watching him closely, and get him to open up to her about what was going on. She wanted to know so she could help…somehow. But Adam had been patient with her, letting her sort out all her mixed-up emotions that the DNA results concocted.

  When he was ready, he’d tell her. He’d open those chapters of his past to her, and she’d be there to help him wade through whatever storm he weathered. Because one thing was certain—she wasn’t going anywhere.

  Chapter 14

  November, 1817

  Winnie reached for the silver comb in the basket by her side, her fingers caressing the cool, shiny metal as her middle rippled like a stone cast in a still lake. A gift from Nokosi. One of many he’d given her over the last weeks—visual representations of his love and desire to provide for her as a husband, he’d said. Just remembering his words caused her skin to warm. Who would’ve thought the serious and fierce warrior would be capable of such tender words and gestures? She fingered the comb, then lifted it from the woven reeds and placed it securely in her hair. Peering into the basket, hundreds of beads glinted back at her. She took a string and began the morning ritual of threading the beads and tying them around her neck, layer upon layer until they stacked from shoulder to chin.

  Many of these beads had also been given to her from Nokosi’s strong hand, but most she’d earned and bought for herself. Of all the things she’d been taught while living among the Seminole, independence was the most precious gift the people had given her. For the first time in her life, she was able to buy things with her own money—money she’d earned by raising hogs and grinding sacks of coontie starch to sell—and the necklaces of glass beads that hung heavy around her neck each day reminded her of the privilege of freedom.

  With a twist of her fingers, she tied off the last string behind her neck and replaced the basket to a corner of the chickee. Many of the women were going to harvest oranges that had become sweet after the first frost, but she had other plans. She ran her hand over her skirt and poncho, then stepped off the chickee’s platform floor and onto the sandy grass below. With a grin, she ducked her head and hid her fingers in the folds of her skirt.

  “Where you goin’, girl?” Asa’s booming voice stopped her in her tracks, and she slowly turned toward him. While he approved of Nokosi, he might not appreciate his daughter running off alone into the woods to meet the man courting her.

  Asa had the barrel of a rifle clapped in a meaty paw, the butt resting on the ground. In a flash he could have the weapon aimed and discharged. Winnie knew because she’d seen it. That rifle had become Asa’s co
nstant companion, and she had no doubt that he had other weapons on his person. The thought should make her feel safe, but it only reminded her of their precarious position and the news of growing unrest to the north that the scouts brought back with continuing frequency.

  Winnie pressed a hand to her stomach and forced her lips to curve at the edges. “I thought I’d hunt berries in the woods.”

  He eyed her. “Who’s goin’ with you?”

  “Need me some alone time.”

  A humph exited his mouth. “It ain’t safe. Take that bear of a man with you.”

  Nokosi meant bear in the native language, and the clan mothers had named him correctly, for he’d grown into the size and strength of his namesake.

  This time Winnie tried to suppress her smile lest she seem too pleased and eager for his permission to seek out Nokosi. “Yes, sir.” Before he changed his mind and thought to accompany and protect her himself, she turned and sprinted across the field and into the woods on moccasin-clad feet.

  She reached the live oak where they’d agreed to meet and looked around. The song of a bobwhite trilled on the morning breeze while a gray squirrel with a fluffy tail scurried along the bark at the base of the tree. Spanish moss hung from the limbs like the gray hair from an old white woman.

  Last time they’d met here, Nokosi had snuck up on her and scared her out of her mind. Her cheek twitched. Maybe she should repay him in kind. She looked up and gauged the distance of the lowest hanging branch. Out of reach, but just. Circling the tree, she found a knothole in the trunk about knee high. Sticking her foot in the hole, she pushed off and grabbed the branch, then swung her legs and wrapped them around the branch, pulling herself up. She straddled the limb and shimmied her body along it until she hugged the main part of the tree. Standing, she pushed her body flush against the rough bark and hung on. When Nokosi stood beneath, she’d jump down and surprise him. It wasn’t too far down, and the ground was soft from a recent rain, so she wouldn’t hurt herself.

  A trail of ants crawled along in a straight line not far from her fingers. Their bodies blended in to the brown skin of the tree but stood out when they marched past a patch of sandy-white lichen. Winnie pulled her hand closer to her body to keep it clear of the ants.

  “Pakse.”

  She startled at the voice and looked down into Nokosi’s upturned face. To anyone else he would have appeared disapproving, but Winnie caught the slight turn at the corner of his mouth and the flash of laughter that came and went from his eyes like heat lightning illuminating inside a dark cloud. The look chased away any disappointment she might have at not being able to catch the warrior by surprise.

  She grinned and lowered herself until she sat on the branch. “How’d you know I was up here?”

  One brow rose and nearly disappeared behind his turban. “A warrior must be aware of all his surroundings lest an enemy jump out from behind a bush…or down from a tree.”

  He put his hands up, and Winnie leaned forward and let gravity pull her to him. His warm palms encased her waist and set her feet back on the ground. “Good thing I ain’t your enemy then.”

  “Though my heart has battled with yours for a while, no, you are not my enemy.” He stepped back and readjusted the strap of his rifle across his shoulder. “Come.” He held out his hand.

  She placed her palm in his and let him tug her along. His long legs ate up the distance, but he shortened his stride for her. Before long they made it to the edge of a slow-moving river. Water lilies grew thick along the edge, hiding the blue water beneath them under a blanket of green foliage. Nokosi pushed a dugout canoe through the mass, slicing through the green. A frog jumped and splashed into the water.

  Winnie steadied herself as she stepped into the canoe and lowered her body into the burned-out bottom. She’d seen some of the men in the different stages of boat making but had never climbed into the middle of one before. Isaac had recently built his first and had been eager to share tales of his accomplishments with her. After the woodsman had selected the right cypress log with the heart of the tree near the side and not the center, her brother had shaped the vessel using axes and fire. He’d thought he’d be able to travel the river then, but first the canoe had to be buried in mud for almost two years.

  Winnie looked back to shore, wondering if Isaac’s canoe lay buried somewhere along the bank. He still had a few months longer to wait before he would dig it up, dry it out slowly, and then burn the wood inside the middle. A stick would be used to hit the sides, and only when the vibrations reached a certain pitch would the vessel be deemed worthy of floating atop the water.

  Winnie slipped her hand over the side of the canoe and dipped her fingers into the current as Nokosi paddled. She didn’t know where they were going or why, but she was content to sit and just be, to soak up the presence of the man behind her and let it warm her from the inside out, like an alligator sunbathing on the shore, it’s cool blood thawing.

  The canoe shifted underneath her, and she felt Nokosi’s warm breath on the back of her neck. A shiver raced down her spine, curling her toes in her moccasins. “Pakse, look.” He lifted an arm and pointed along the bank.

  Five small creatures, low to the ground on short legs, stared back at them. Their bodies were long and lean, with whiskers sprouting from their faces and tails trailing behind them. Their fur appeared wet, like they’d just come back from a swim. Winnie had never seen an animal quite like them before.

  “What are they?”

  “Osvnv. Brother otter. Curious and playful animals of the river and excellent fishermen. Keep watching. They won’t be content to sit there and study us long.”

  As if they’d heard Nokosi, one by one the otters slid into the water and disappeared under the surface. Winnie scanned the area, waiting for them to reappear. She laughed as their heads lifted above the water and then their bodies curved in a fluid motion as they dove back under. One turned on its back and floated along, as if she were too mature to take part in the others’ antics.

  “Otters live in families and take care of each other, hunting fish to eat and fighting off predators like alligators, panthers, or eagles. Though they are on the alert, they do not allow danger to steal their moments of fun and joy.”

  Winnie turned to look Nokosi in the eyes. At times she felt like she had learned the lesson of the otter. With Martha’s help she’d memorized passages from the Bible that reminded her that worry couldn’t add a single hour to one’s day and that tomorrow should worry about itself. She remembered the resolve that had flowed through her veins like solid rock when Nokosi, Scipio, and the brothers had crossed paths with their ragtag runaway band and offered them a new way of life. The resolve to no longer be the girl who quaked with fear, who allowed others to control not just her physical body but her spirit as well. The peace that she’d finally attained when she allowed her rage and hate to burn on the altar at the Green Corn ceremony. She’d been able to accept the family around her, past Asa and Isaac to the other runaways and the Seminoles who accepted them into their band. And she’d learned to laugh again. To love. To hope.

  But…

  But lately a restlessness had returned. Like a calm before the storm, she felt more than saw the gray clouds rolling and piling on top of one another just waiting for the right moment to break the bonds that were restraining them and unleash their unimaginable fury.

  How could one fight back against a storm such as that? Instead the winds would threaten to topple them, the lightning to scorch them, and the pelting rain to beat their bodies. When the calm returned, the promising rainbow arching across a repentant sky, would any of them be left standing?

  Winnie returned her gaze to the otters, a sad smile spreading across her lips at their chatter as they bobbed beneath the water and then resurfaced. “They’re small compared to the alligator, weak compared to the panther, and not as cunning as the eagle. Do they survive and win against such predators?”

  “You would be surprised at how swift and d
eadly they can be. No one should underestimate an otter. Not even brother alligator.”

  A high-pitched shrill pierced the air, immediately garnering both Winnie’s and Nokosi’s attention. Behind them, along the shore where they’d launched the canoe, stood Hachi. Nokosi dipped his paddle in the water and turned the boat toward the lone Indian.

  “What is the news?” Nokosi asked even as he jumped from the canoe into waist-deep water, pulling the boat behind him.

  “As you know, Eneah Emathla at Fowltown has been angered by the deaths of his people at Negro Fort and warned General Gaines that if he crossed the Flint River, a battle he would not win would be waged.” A muscle jumped in the warrior’s jaw. “The White General did not like Fat Warrior’s warning. He sent two hundred and fifty soldiers to arrest the mekko. The people were driven from their village and fled to the swamps.”

  Hachi’s jaw ticked again, and Winnie held her breath. Something told her the worst of the news had yet to be delivered. “Seven days later a boat carrying supplies on the Apalachicola River headed toward Fort Scott was overtaken by the warriors. Almost all of the fifty people on board, both soldiers and their wives, were killed.”

  Nokosi’s fingers flexed, but he showed no emotion on his face. “The great white chief in the North will not allow such a deed to go unpunished.”

  That black cloud Winne had felt was about to let loose on them all. “That means…”

  Nokosi turned to her and met her eyes unwaveringly. “We are at war.”

  Chapter 15

  Present Day, Florida

  Adam gripped the steering wheel and flexed his wrists. The motion on Trent’s Harley would rev the engine, but against the stitching of a Volkswagen Jetta’s steering-wheel cover, did nothing but warm his palms and create a bouncing, screechy sound as skin skidded across leather. He lifted a hand and slammed the heel of his palm against the top of the wheel, a phrase he wouldn’t normally give voice to tearing off his tongue and whipping around the inside of his car like a lash that curved back and struck his flesh.