Freedom's Kiss

by Sarah Monzon

  She pressed the accelerator and turned onto her street. An empty driveway greeted her as she parked her car, and her lungs released with relief. Dad was no doubt filing out applications or standing in line at the unemployment office, and Mom had her shift at the nursery. For now, she wouldn’t have to pretend that everything was all right. That she was all right. And until she figured out how to broach the topic and start the conversation with them, she’d have to go on like nothing had changed.

  Where is everyone?

  Given the popularity and crush of people she’d come to expect and associate with Southern Charm, she was surprised to find the sidewalk in front of the food truck deserted. More surprising, she noticed as she parked her car in an empty spot a few spaces behind the truck, was the window remained closed, as if Adam hadn’t even opened for the day yet.

  He’d acted affected the night before, but not opening his truck? A surefire way to tank his new business.

  She walked to the door at the side that led to the kitchen area and knocked. Maybe he’d skipped lunch service and now prepped for dinner. She waited a few beats, but no sounds came from within the truck, and the door remained closed in front of her.

  “Olivia!”

  She turned and found Adam jogging toward her, the backward baseball cap that he wore to cover a hairnet absent from his head.

  “Good.” His chest rose and fell as he pulled air in deeper “Now that you’re here, we can go.”

  “Go where? Don’t we need to open for dinner?” She hooked her thumb over her shoulder.

  He flashed a grin. “Privilege of ownership.”

  “It’s going to be privilege of the unemployed if you think a business—a fledgling one, no less—can survive whimsical operational hours.”

  “What if I said it was an emergency?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, not buying it for a second. People in emergency situations didn’t grin like Jim Carrey from The Mask. “Is it?”

  “Yes. I had a horrific morning and am in urgent need of a distraction.”

  The breeze blew a strand of hair across her face, and she lifted a hand to free it from between her pressed lips. “I’ve always found work to be a very effective form of diversion.” Except it hadn’t been so successful for her that morning.

  Reaching for her wrist, he tugged her back in the direction he’d come. “What happened to not arguing with your boss?”

  “Technically you aren’t my boss since you aren’t paying me, except a percentage of profits, and if the truck isn’t open, then you’re not the only one not making money tonight.”

  He stopped in his tracks, and she nearly bumped into his side. Peering down at her, a mist of guilt overshadowed his features. He lifted his eyes to look behind her—back at Southern Charm—and a weight settled along his shoulders. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t think—”

  “You know what, Boss? You’re right. My morning wasn’t exactly peaches and cream either.” The words flew off her tongue before her brain processed what she was saying. All she knew was that she couldn’t be the cause of any dimmed animation in his expression.

  “But what about the business and your new menu and the profits from sales?”

  Pushing down all the worry and obsessive thought that had been hounding her suddenly sounded like the best idea she’d heard in a long time. “They’ll still be there tomorrow, right?”

  He chucked her chin. “That’s my girl.”

  Your girl? Olivia mentally stumbled, her smile wobbling. She studied Adam, trying to figure out if he meant more by those words than their face value, but he’d returned his grip on her wrist and once again pulled her across the field to his car.

  No, he hadn’t meant anything by it. He’d called her sweetheart and had hugged and touched her even more than her last boyfriend, but that was just his way. He was just a touchy-feely guy who flirted and teased because of his personality. No need for her to make a big deal out of it. Not like after such short an acquaintance he’d really make such a claim on her.

  And it wasn’t as if her skin tingled whenever his fingers brushed against her arm or her insides warmed when he looked so deep into her eyes that it seemed like he could see into her very soul. It wasn’t as if the drifting feeling fled whenever he put his arms around her. She didn’t feel safe and protected within that circle. The lost girl didn’t feel found.

  Except that was exactly what was happening.

  She tugged back on the arm he held, feeling the need to put a little distance between them. Her life already resembled the set of a prime-time drama. Mixing in a romance with a new boss was not something she needed right now. Especially if the feelings that were sprouting like daisies in the spring were only one sided.

  She cleared her throat, the silence giving her brain way too much time to wind up her anxiety. “What sort of distraction did you have in mind exactly?”

  His brow lifted, and she recognized the challenge in the expression. “How in touch are you with your inner child?”

  Inner child? Did he have sidewalk chalk in his car or a football to throw around? “We have tea parties together at least once a week, why?”

  He chuckled as he opened the door for her. “Because it’s time for her to come out and play.”

  She gave him a questioning look, but he refused to elaborate as he drove through traffic to the other side of town. When a large lot with mini-golf greens, batting cages, a go-cart track, and a large pool with bumper boats floating along the edges came into view, she laughed.

  “The Family Fun Center?”

  He tossed a wink at her. “A smorgasbord of diversions.”

  She touched a finger to her window as the car turned and gave her a view of the main building in the center of it all, the roof made to look like the striped big top of a circus. “I haven’t been to one of these since I turned twelve.”

  “Perfect. That means I’ll crush you in all events.”

  The seat belt unbuckled with a click. “Is that what it means? I don’t think so.”

  He smiled, but Olivia found the turn of his lips a bit too smug for her taste. Her mom and dad had stopped playing games with her a long time ago because of her competitiveness. And maybe because they’d stopped being able to win any of them since before her middle school years. If Adam wanted a diversion, she’d give him one. It just might not be as pleasant an experience for him as it would be for her.

  They walked across the parking lot and into the building, Olivia’s senses attacked as soon as they crossed the threshold. Children laughing and screaming competed against the lights and sounds of the arcade games littering the stained concrete floors. The smell of popcorn and hotdogs permeated the air, as well as something stale and sweet. They walked to the back of the admissions line, and Olivia scanned the prices and bundles on the digital display hanging from the wall behind the Center’s employee.

  Adam pushed his hands into his front pockets and rocked back on his heels, his ever-present grin still in place. “How about we place a little wager on the evening to make it interesting?”

  She moved her gaze from the menu to his eyes. “What kind of wager?”

  “Well, a bet between my brother meant the loser would be saddled with some sort of embarrassing assignment, but I could never do that to a lady such as yourself.”

  “How chivalrous of you.”

  “Quite.”

  “But…” She leaned forward as if to convey a secret. “I don’t see any such lady about.”

  He dipped his head closer to hers. “Don’t you?”

  She opened her mouth, but his nearness muddled her brain and nixed any quick retort or witty repartee she might have conjured. Smiling, she shook her head.

  “How can I help you folks?” The teenager behind the counter interrupted their playful banter.

  Adam stepped up to the counter and handed over a credit card. “Bundle five, please.”

  The teenage rang Adam up and handed his card back with a
receipt and instructions on where to find the mini-golf clubs and balls, as well as directions to the go-carts and batting cages.

  Returning his wallet to his back pocket, he scanned the arcade before looking back down at her with that smug lift to his face. “So what shall our terms to the bet be?”

  What would be something that would wipe the egotistical, self-assured smirk off his face? Something to bring him down a peg… Maybe something embarrassing like he said he did with his brothers. An idea formed, and she tried to refrain from looking too pleased with herself. “If I win, you have to let Trent pick out an apron for you to wear at Southern Charm for a week.”

  He scrubbed his hand along the side of his cheek. “You do realize what kind of frou-frou getup he’d find for me, don’t you?”

  Olivia rocked forward on her toes, chest light for the first time that day. Adam had been right. She’d definitely needed a distraction. “That’s kind of what I’m counting on.”

  “Hmmm…” He eyed her like she was evil. “And if I win?”

  She shrugged. “You won’t.”

  “You seem awfully confident.”

  “I don’t like to lose.”

  “And I’m unaccustomed to it.”

  “Then maybe it’s time for you to get reacquainted with the feeling.”

  At that he threw back his head and laughed, then swung his arm around her shoulders. She sucked in a breath but forced her muscles to stay relaxed.

  “I concede. However, if I win, then you’ll have to spend an evening on the street corner by the food truck bringing in customers by some creative means.”

  “That sounds vague.”

  He lowered his arm and thrust out his hand, eyes sparkling. “Have we got a deal?”

  She placed her hand in his, and his fingers enclosed around hers in a firm grip. “Let the games begin.”

  Chapter 17

  Florida, 1818

  Winnie couldn’t help but think she was to blame for the bloodshed among the Native people. Her and the other runaways who had found refuge and safety among the tribes. Their presence—their freedom—is what provoked the whites across the border to continue to make forays into the settlements in attempts to reclaim people whom they believed their property.

  The Indians had enough hardships of their own, many Red Sticks from the Creek people having come south themselves to escape injustice. Why didn’t they give in to the demands and return the runaway slaves so they could enjoy peace instead of letting yet another war be waged against them?

  She didn’t know the answer, but she was eternally grateful that they’d chosen to fight over surrender. Their ranks might look like a hodgepodge of people—skin color ranging from the blackest of night to the bark shavings of a pine tree. Not to mention the differences in language and religious beliefs. But the people—Black Seminole, Native Seminole, and Red Stick warrior alike—had come together to march against a common enemy.

  Winnie stilled, spear in hand. With the majority of the men in combat, it fell to the women to hunt and fish as well as scavenge the palmetto and pine woods to find enough food to feed those who’d fled to the safety of the marshes and wilderness.

  A fat trout swam nearby, and she slowly raised her spear, ready to throw when the moment presented itself. Seeing a water spider glide along the still surface of the lake, the trout propelled forward to catch a meal, and Winnie let the hollow wooden shaft with a flint head attached fly, impaling the fish in the middle.

  Retrieving dinner from the lake, Winnie looked up, her senses pricked. She recalled Nokosi’s warning that it wasn’t safe for her to be alone in the woods, and those words were no truer than now. She’d seen the smoke that billowed into the blue sky on angry gray puffs—evidence of the burning and decimation of many tribal homes. They’d been forced to flee, to leave behind their extensive herds of cattle and fertile gardens, reduced to live like animals. For months they’d hidden, almost constantly on the move south, with little word on how the battles progressed. Winnie’s nerves couldn’t take much more.

  A shuffling sound, palmetto fronds rubbing against each other, and twigs snapping under foot caused her blood to chill in the tropical climate. She tugged the trout off the end of her weapon and tossed it on the bank, readjusting the spear in her hand to defend herself. Necessity had improved her aim. If she needed to hurl the thing into her enemy’s heart, so be it.

  A man emerged, head clear of a turban, black hair shining in the sunlight. His deerskin breeches, knee-length tunic, and familiar silver crescent lying against his chest had Winnie not only lowering her weapon but casting it aside all together. She bounded out of the lake, water splashing up and wetting her skin and clothing.

  “Nokosi.” She stopped in front of him, barely restraining herself from throwing her arms around his neck.

  Seconds ticked by as his gaze swept over her, taking her in bit by bit, as if savoring every inch that his eyes consumed. He lifted a hand and trailed the back of a crooked finger over the apple of her cheek. “My Pakse.”

  Questions pushed into Winnie’s mind—what was he doing here? Did this mean the war was over? Had they won?—but she sidestepped them all, refusing to allow worry to steal this moment from her. Nokosi was back, standing once again only a handsbreadth away. She’d wished it for so long, and now that dream had become a reality.

  A low moan filled the silence around them and broke the trance that had held them captive. Winnie looked over Nokosi’s shoulder, squinting to make out the source of the sound within the woods’ shadows.

  Nokosi laid a hand on her arm. “Scipio has been gravely injured in the battle and needs a healer quickly. We only stopped at the lake to refill our water gourds.”

  Winnie’s spine snapped straight. Scipio wasn’t the first wounded to make it to their refuge, and a healer had been found to tend to their injuries. “Follow me.”

  She quickly retrieved her spear and stuffed her catch into a small basket belted to her hip as Nokosi knelt at the water’s edge and filled up a hollowed-out gourd. He led her along the same footpath she’d taken that morning, stopping and pushing back a large frond. Scipio lay upon a thatched travois, eyes clenched as he held his blood-soaked side.

  Winnie fell to her knees beside him, her hands hovering before descending, one to his shoulder, the other smoothing across his forehead. She made soothing sounds, ones she’d heard Martha use with Timothy, as she untied her own drinking gourd and brought it to the man’s lips.

  She looked up at Nokosi, who’d taken the travois poles in his hands. “What happened?”

  “I will tell all later.” The stern lines in his face hardened as his gaze flicked to Scipio. “If he is to survive, he needs the healer. Now.”

  She nodded as she rose, then began the trek back to their hiding place at a forced sedate pace.

  Once large in number and covering rich, open fields, their small encampment now clung to the safety of inhabitable swamplands and rivers of grasses. Winnie’s feet sucked against the thick mud, and gnats buzzed around her head. A scout along the perimeter of their village raised a shout at the sight of her and Nokosi, causing a moment of stilled silence followed by a rush of movement.

  Women streamed forward to see if the returning warriors, either the one on the travois or the one pulling it, were their husbands or sons. Disappointment flitted across their faces as Winnie and Nokosi passed. Their expressions quickly replaced by ones of questioning. They, too, were hungry for news.

  A man with three feathers tucked into his turban rose from the floor of a chickee near the center of the village. He extended his hand as his gaze swept past Nokosi to Scipio, who moaned upon the travois. The man was older, the skin of his wrinkled face sagging from his pronounced cheekbones. As he stepped onto the ground, he began humming and then singing in low, long tones. The medicinal song swung high as his fingers worked to untie the hemp string Nokosi had used to secure Scipio to the conveyance. Voice strong and movements nimble despite his age, the words of his so
ng strummed through the people gathered, and Winnie felt her blood pump harder, as if her own body responded and joined in the melodic plea of health and healing.

  Nokosi lifted Scipio, who cried out and clutched his side, and carried him into the chickee, setting him gently onto a blanket on the floor. The healer walked around him, chanting his song and gathering herbs from baskets that littered the perimeter of the dwelling. With a pestle and a small bowl, he knelt beside Scipio and set his instruments aside. His hands moved to Scipio’s blood-soaked tunic, and the ripping of fabric tore through the healer’s song.

  Nokosi bent to speak into the healer’s ear, but the man shook his head and waved Nokosi away. With one last look to Scipio, he turned and stepped off the chickee’s platform.

  “Is he gonna be all right?” Winnie asked as soon as Nokosi drew near.

  “He is in the hands of the healer now.” Nokosi stared off into the distance, a palpable weight about him. He pulled his gaze to settle back on Winnie. “I must report to the council how our brothers fare.”

  Though Nokosi had never graced this specific settlement, he knew where he’d find the elders. Those men too old to raise a rifle, much less a war club or bow and arrow, congregated in the middle of the village. Winnie watched from a distance as those who were able rose to greet Nokosi.

  Winnie itched to creep closer. To hear the things that were being spoken. But women were not allowed within the council’s circle, even though their lives were just as much at stake as the men. Instead, she planted her feet and strained her eyes and ears. Prayed for a breeze to carry voices so she could hear.

  One of the elder’s lips moved, but she couldn’t make out any words. His face, sagged by time and hardship, remained unaffected. The muscles along Nokosi’s back tensed, his hands in fists at his side. The elders looked at each other, their heads shaking. The one speaking took a deep breath that expanded his chest, and he let it out slowly, dejection aging him further. Nokosi took a half step closer and let his gaze roam over each of the men’s faces, giving Winnie a view of his profile. His jaw bunched, his carved features hardening. He said something and then turned and stalked back toward her. He passed her without a word, the wind his quick movements created causing hairs on her arms to stick up. She followed in his wake, hoping that when they were alone, he would speak.