Freedom's Kiss

by Sarah Monzon

  The smile froze on her lips as her gaze slammed not into a little boy honing his skills of manhood, but into the blue uniform of a soldier, a musket held firmly in his grasp.

  Winnie took a step back and slammed into unforgiving flesh, two meaty paws coming up to grip her upper arms. She spun, and the hands fell from her. The small hope that Nokosi or another clan warrior had emerged to come to their rescue against the soldier died as she met the merciless gaze of a towering man, blond beard scraggly against sun-beaten cheeks and eyes the like she’d only seen once when a slave catcher had returned Nehemiah with barely a breath left in his body.

  The man scratched at his beard with the tip of a pistol, cold steel glinting in the sunlight. “Looks like we’ve found ourselves a little bit of gold, Corporal. And without a rainbow too.”

  All blood drained from Winnie’s face as he sneered and revealed rotting teeth to match his black heart.

  The soldier dipped his chin. “Round them up, and let’s get out of here. You never know what savages lurk in the woods.”

  The catcher turned his disgust on the young infantryman. “Scared, are you?”

  “I’ve seen how these devil men fight.” He lifted the flap of a messenger bag slung over one shoulder and retrieved a knot of rope. Tossing it to the other man, he commanded, “Hurry up.”

  Lifting a hand, the catcher waved his pistol in the air. “You heard the man. Get to it. Lest you need a bit of encouragement from old Jeb.” His tongue darted across chapped lips.

  Winnie’s stomach revolted.

  She didn’t move but felt the bodies of the other women as they sidled up behind her. Casting furtive glances around the perimeter of the wood, she searched for a sign of Nokosi’s nearness. That any moment a war cry would tear from his throat and he’d jump from the shadows and inflict justice on these two callous souls. A bird took flight from a high branch of a needle-nosed pine, but no warrior emerged into the sunlight.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not again. She couldn’t return to Master Rowlings. Couldn’t be ripped away from her newborn son.

  Terror clawed at her with the force of a bear ripping open his kill. It feasted upon her heart until she thought she’d be consumed alive. With all the strength she possessed and a war cry of her own, she raised both fists and charged the soldier, catching him off guard and pushing him aside. Her gaze focused in front of her and her mind picked out a path to weave among the trees and underbrush. All she had to do was outrun them. Get close enough to the village to alert a watchman.

  Pain seared across her skull as her head whipped back. She fell hard onto her backside, though the tug of her hair had her scrambling quickly back to her feet only for her left cheek to meet a solid fist. She spun. Fell again to the ground, her head pounding and gaze blurring. Her cheek stung, and she lifted her hand to cradle the burning side of her face.

  Jeb the slave catcher thrust his face in front of her, the smell of rancid breath and unwashed man mixing with the throb that started at her crown and worked its way through every sinew of her body, causing nausea to roll in her belly.

  “I get paid good money to return you vermin dead or alive. Makes no never mind to me which it be. You hear?” He patted her uninjured cheek like an adult would a child. “Better remember that.” He gripped her elbow and hauled her to her feet, wrenching her hands in front of her and latching them together with a length of rope.

  Winnie stared down the line of women, all vestiges of the self-assured and free women she’d come to know stomped beneath the bootheel of the one who tied them together like cattle. A mirror of who they’d been in slavery—downtrodden, hopeless, submissive—caused their heads to bow and their shoulders to sag. She couldn’t rely on them to fight back and break free. Each one appeared a sheep headed toward her own slaughter.

  Winnie’s lips curled back as a growl built in her throat. Jeb might not care if he hauled her in dead or alive, but she did. As long as she had breath in her body, she’d fight. To get back to her son. To Nokosi. To freedom.

  The soldier moved to the back of the line, his musket slung over his shoulder instead of primed in his hand. Jeb picked up a lead of rope that attached to Winnie’s bound hands and jerked her forward. She stumbled but took advantage of her bent knees. With all the strength she possessed, she launched herself onto the slave catcher’s back, bringing her bound wrists over his head and pulling them with all her might against his throat. The rope dragged against her skin, ripping into her flesh as the women she was tethered to fell forward from her sudden movements.

  Their weight hauled her down. Jeb on top of her. An elbow jammed into her middle, forcing air from her lungs and not allowing her to suck any back in. Her arms shook, but still she pulled back, hoping her strength would be enough to either break his neck or strangle him. His arm raised, this time landing in her ribs. His fingers encased the bones of her wrists, and he squeezed until she thought they’d snap. Her strength was no match for a man of his size, and though he came up choking and red faced, he still came up, towering over her.

  His boot swung back, and he kicked her in the side. She curled, trying to protect herself as much as possible. But each swift kick landed in an explosion of pain until she felt herself slipping into blackness.

  He hauled her to her feet, and the rope again bit into tender flesh, blood, warm and wet, running a trail from beneath the cords along the underside of her forearm. Jeb glared at her, worked his mouth, and spit a wad of saliva in her face.

  Winnie returned his glare, her revulsion matching the sickness that slid down her cheek. “My husband’ll find you. And when he does, he’ll kill you.”

  He backhanded her. She would have fallen to the ground again if Martha hadn’t been next in line and caught her.

  Jeb turned his hate-filled eyes toward the corporal in the rear. “Lot of good you are.”

  The man shrugged. “I’m not risking my life so you can line your pockets. One shot from my musket and we’d have arrows through our hearts in minutes.”

  Jeb projected another mouthful of spittle to the ground. “Yellow-bellied coward.” He yanked on the rope. “Let’s go.”

  With every step that she was pulled forward and away from her home, Winnie tugged back, resistance in her movements as well as her heart. But her efforts only left her with muscles that screamed, bruises that throbbed along her body, and wrists so raw she feared her skin had been rubbed completely off. At nightfall Jeb stopped, and the women collapsed in exhaustion.

  Winnie wiggled until her spine rested against the trunk of a tree. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, the determination to resist giving way to the emotions she’d fought against as hard as she had Jeb. Tiny pinpricks of discomfort arched over the tops of her breasts, spreading down, filling and weighing her chest with life-sustaining milk. Dampness spread in small circles in the front of her poncho-like shirt. Her body weeping at the distance from her child as much as her heart broke for need of him.

  Martha scooted over and laid her head on Winnie’s shoulder, offering comfort. “Don’t lose heart. Remember the words of David, ‘The Lord is on my side; I will not fear: what can man do unto me?”

  Winnie wanted to snort, as she could think of many things man had and could do to her and her people.

  “Nokosi will come for you. Evil won’t win this day.”

  But at what cost? And how long would it take him to track them down? She prayed another woman in one of the villages would have mercy over her precious Otter and nurse him alongside her own child. Otherwise…

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight, not able to even entertain a thought along that direction.

  Footsteps crunched nearer. She opened her eyes to slits. The soldier stood at the slave catcher’s side, hands fisted at his hips. “Aren’t you going to feed them at least?”

  Jeb pushed his hat, discolored along the band from his sweat, back from over his eyes and peered up at the corporal with arms and legs crossed. “What’s it to you?”
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br />   “We’ve got days of hard walking ahead of us. They’ll need food and water if they’re going to have the strength to travel the distance.”

  Jeb fingered his throat as he scowled in Winnie’s direction. He harrumphed but didn’t bother voicing an argument, just replaced his hat over his eyes and leaned back against a fallen log.

  The corporal expelled a breath before reaching into one of his bags and bringing out bits of dried meat and distributing them among the women. Winnie took the food, though it killed her to do so. She wanted nothing from either of these men but to be released.

  “No point in trying to escape.” Jeb’s words were muffled through the large brim of his hat. “I’ll only catch you again now, or you’ll be returned to your old masters by your new Injun ones soon enough.”

  “He’s right, you know.” The corporal lowered to the ground and rested his forearms on raised knees. “A delegation of Seminoles is meeting now to sign a treaty. The government will pay them five thousand dollars a year for twenty years to move onto a reservation inland, but one of the stipulations is they return all fugitives.” He stared at the tips of his fingers. “It’s a good deal. They’ll get farm equipment, cattle, pigs, compensation. Not to mention a school and a blacksmith.”

  How could chasing a people off their land, away from their homes, and caging them in ever be a good deal? How could making an agreement that tore families apart and enslaved them based solely on the color of their skin ever be a good decision?

  Cicadas buzzed as the air thinned, night throwing off the blanket of humidity that day draped over them. Winnie’s eyes grew heavy, but she refused to give in to sleep. If an opportunity arose when both the corporal and Jeb succumbed to slumber, she’d quietly rouse the women and flee. But the soldier remained ever alert, and with the arch of the moon overhead, she feared he’d soon awaken Jeb to take second watch.

  Thwack!

  The corporal’s eyes widened before he slumped foreword, an arrow protruding from his back.

  One of the women down the line stifled a scream, but the sudden noise startled Jeb awake. He darted from his reclined position, pistol in hand.

  “What the…” He wiped a hand down his beard as he stared at the dead body at his feet. His gaze leaping up, he trained his gun in a wide sweep in front of him. “Come out and fight, savage. Man to man.”

  Nokosi stepped out from behind the wide trunk of an oak tree, his visage as ferocious and deadly as Winnie had ever seen it. He looked like a panther who had stalked his prey and was now ready to pounce and devour.

  “I see no man. Only a coward who steals women. My woman.”

  “These slaves don’t belong to you. I’m returning them to their rightful masters.” Jeb’s finger flexed over the trigger. A shot rang out, smoke curling from the pistol’s barrel.

  “Uck.” A gurgling sound, like a man drowning in his own blood, emitted through the aftermath.

  “Nokosi!” Winnie shouted as she scrambled to her knees, the rope around her wrists tied to the other women keeping her from dashing forward.

  A form split the smoke, broad shoulders slicing through the grayish cloud as Nokosi stalked toward her, his face all hard lines and planes. In her peripheral vision she saw Jeb upon the ground, a tomahawk wedged into his chest, but she only had eyes for the man who gazed upon her with a fierceness that took her breath away.

  He removed a knife at his waist and knelt in front of her, slicing through her bonds with one sweep. Arms free, she wrapped them around his neck and pressed against him, never wanting an inch of space between them again.

  He cooed into her ear and held her close. “No one will steal my tomorrows from me, Pakse. No one.”

  Chapter 24

  Present Day, Florida

  Olivia punched the mound of dough in front of her, folded it over on itself, and kneaded her knuckles into its center. Baking wasn’t her go-to in the kitchen, but when her mind spun like a hamster in a wheel, it felt good to work everything out through her hands. That energetic, mental rodent had kept her up most of the night and woken her all too early. For the life of her, she couldn’t find a shut-off button, so she’d been going back and forth obsessing over her decision to either search for her biological parents or not, and reminding herself that Adam’s actions toward her were nothing special, that when he pulled her into hugs, squeezed her hand, or let his fingertips graze her arm, that was just him being a friend and offering support.

  Placing the dough into a bowl, she chose a clean dish towel from the drawer and draped it over the top. She’d give the yeast about an hour to work and double the dough in size. Meanwhile, she’d work on the filling.

  Problem was, even with her mental reminders, her body responded to the memory of Adam’s touch. And blast it all if she didn’t want to explore what his attention would feel like if it was directed to her on more than friendly terms. But then that would ruin everything. She’d only just found a way to work in a kitchen, have people other than family and friends taste her food. If she acted on her growing feelings, she could jeopardize this opportunity, and who knew when she’d find another one?

  The timer buzzed, and she moved to the oven, opening the door. Heat greeted her face a moment before the smell of cheese, eggs, asparagus, and mushrooms filled her nostrils. With an oven-mittened hand, she pulled out the tray of mini quiches, the pastry golden brown along the edge, appetizing steam rising. She placed the quiches next to the other tray—this one filled with strawberry tarts—and removed the mitt from her hand so she could prepare tomatoes to roast.

  “Something smells delicious.” Her mother walked into the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively. She scanned the countertops filled with Olivia’s morning endeavors and regarded her daughter with sympathy. “A lot on your mind, huh?”

  Olivia bit back a retort, an unwanted feeling rising inside her. She’d always been close to her parents, had a good relationship with them, but ever since she’d learned they’d kept the adoption from her, her first reaction to them had been on the snide side. Her head understood their reasons. Her heart still stung at the betrayal. “You could say that.” She turned to slide the baking sheet of tomatoes to roast into the oven. When she straightened, her mom stood at her back, sliding her arms around Olivia’s waist and squeezing.

  “How can I help? Please. I want to help.” Eileen let her hands fall and took a step back. She cleared her throat. “Seeing all this, I’m surprised you missed your dad this morning. First day at the new job. He left around three in the morning.”

  Olivia concentrated on the fresh basil leaves positioned on her cutting board.

  “I’m not sure he got much sleep either. Too busy clicking away on the computer. He printed some stuff off for you.”

  She ceased her chopping and glanced up. “What stuff?”

  Eileen retrieved a small stack of papers from the dining room table, turning it and sliding it along the granite countertop, the movement pooling loose flour that Olivia had scattered on the surface and never cleaned up.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, she flipped through the stapled pages, reading only the headlines in big, bold black ink. Seminole Tribe of Florida—the Official Home of the Florida Seminole Indians. Who Is a Seminole and Who Gets to Decide? Seminole Indian History. Seminole Indian Facts. The last dozen or so pages came from Wikipedia.

  “Did you know that the Seminoles call themselves ‘The Unconquered People’? The government spent around forty million dollars on war efforts, and still a band of about three hundred eluded the army and refused to relocate to Oklahoma.”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” Olivia said softly. She knew so little of her new heritage.

  “It doesn’t surprise me. You’ve always been a fighter too.”

  Olivia met her mother’s eyes and swallowed. “I don’t feel like a fighter. I feel so mixed up, honestly. I don’t want to be angry with you and Dad, but I am, and I’m sorry for that. But even with those feelings, I don’t want to hurt either of you.” />
  “I know, baby.”

  “What should I do?”

  “I can’t answer that. Either way though, the things that really matter won’t change. I will always be your mom and love you not matter what, and your dad will always be your dad. If you feel like your story isn’t complete without knowing and decide to seek the woman who gave you life, we will support that decision, and more importantly, support you.” She rounded the island and set her hands on Olivia’s shoulders. “Just, please don’t shut us out. I get that you’re mad. Your dad and I can take it. Yell at us if you have to. Just don’t shut us out. Okay?”

  Olivia sniffed and nodded.

  The timer beeped again, and Eileen lifted her hands after a final squeeze. “I’ll get out of your way, but I hope you have a destination for all this food besides my waistline and thighs.” She winked and walked away, slipping her keys from off the hook by the door before stepping out.

  Olivia chuckled, mixing the basil, garlic, cheese, and roasted tomatoes together. She removed the dish towel from over her bowl of dough and smiled at the dome. Pulling it out, she gently deflated it, using a rolling pin to stretch out a rectangle. She pressed the filling along the top and then, starting at one side, rolled the dough into a log, pinching the edges to seal them. Seal side down, she cut longwise down the center with a pair of kitchen shears, then, cut side up, formed an S, tucking both ends under the center to make a figure eight. She covered the whole thing to let rise a final time before popping it into the oven to bake.

  Surveying the kitchen, she winced. What was she going to do with all this food?

  Olivia sat in her car, surprised to see Adam’s Jetta parked behind Southern Charm. Usually she’d be at Seaside at this hour, but she had a rare day off. Still, she would’ve thought he’d either be sleeping in or at the market purchasing ingredients for later. Had he decided to open for breakfast as well? He’d work himself to an early grave at that pace.