Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish

by Maggie Plummer

  "Does he have a name?"

  "Laurence." Freddy wiped her sweaty palms on her shift, barely controlling a powerful urge to grab the babe back. She hated seeing Master's scrawny hands on her son.

  "Awfully small," he remarked. "Puny, really." Whittingham handed him back.

  Freddy clutched Laurie to her chest.

  "In five weeks time you will go live with the biggest African, Kofi Ashanti, and produce strong slave stock." He regarded her coolly, his dark eyes unreadable.

  Freddy concentrated on the babe as she tied him back to her chest. Sensing that the planter was waiting for her reaction to this news, she willed herself not to look at him. She would not give him the satisfaction of even the slightest response. Lying with an African…could it be any worse than lying with a loathsome Englishman such as Master? Surely not.

  "You will get what you deserve, breeding with a savage, for turning your face away from me," Master was saying in his pinched manner. Freddy stared at the straw floor. She could feel his beady eyes travelling up and down her body. He cleared his throat. "I tire of you chilly papist whores. Paulina knows how to please a man…"

  Freddy's cheeks flamed as she scrutinized the planter's shiny black boots. How she would love to spit on them.

  "And what is this I hear, of you and the native woman bathing in the spring?" Suddenly he grabbed a handful of hair on the back of her head and yanked on it, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Look at me, strumpet!"

  Freddy stiffened. Studying Master's squinting eyes, her stomach roiled. She almost gagged from the curdling stink of his breath.

  The babe let loose a high-pitched wail.

  "Quiet him!" He released her hair.

  Trembling, she rubbed the side of Laurie's mouth with her little finger. He clamped his tiny lips around it and sucked hard.

  "We meant no harm," Freddy said softly, lifting her eyes to Master's and trying to look apologetic.

  "Take heed," the planter snarled, leaning in so close their noses were only an inch apart. "I miss nothing."

  Freddy wiped her dripping brow on her sleeve, put the babe on her left breast, and resumed peeling a massive pile of sweet potatoes. Pausing to lift a calabash gourd of cool water and take a long, slurping drink, she allowed some of the water to dribble down her chin and wondered how long it would take to get her vigor back after giving birth. She dripped some water on top of her head, sighing as it trickled down to the back of her neck. It was only afternoon and Freddy was already exhausted – and hungry, too. She still had to grind pounds and pounds of extra corn to make cakes. As the last cane was cut and crushed, Freddy and Birdie were already preparing the crop over feast. Earlier they'd slaughtered this year's prize pig. Now its head was simmering away in a deep iron pot, sending ribbons of pork-scented steam into the sweltering kitchen. They'd rubbed down the rest of the pig with salt, pepper, and rosemary, then hung it in the spring house to chill.

  With Raz asleep on her back, Birdie was chopping onions, peppers, and cucumbers for the pickling mix to be served with the head. "Kofi?" the native woman asked in her quiet way as she reached for a pile of limes.

  "Yes, Kofi Ashanti."

  Birdie nodded. "I see. Tall, pretty." She nudged the younger girl with her elbow and they laughed. "I ask Kazoola."

  "I would like to see this African I am to have babes with…" Freddy gulped.

  Birdie turned to face her. "Kazoola good, Kofi good."

  "I hope so…"

  Birdie resumed chopping limes in half. "No more Master…how say? 'Thank be to God?'"

  Freddy chuckled and put her arm around her friend's shoulder. "Ah, you learn so well. That's precisely how we say it!"

  "In keeping with island tradition, we offer the annual harvest feast," Master bellowed, standing stiffly in his fancy carriage, his face shaded by his wide planter's hat. Millicent was seated next to him, the ruffled skirt of her green party dress billowing around her. He lifted a glass of golden rum and downed it in one swallow. "Rum for everyone!" A murmur undulated through the group of white and black slaves assembled in the yard across from the Big House. As they lined up for rum, savory smoke from the roasting pit wafted over them. Mr. Pratt had set large planks across two wagons. On them Freddy and Birdie arranged "puddings" of spicy mashed sweet potato encased in pig's belly and a giant platter that held the pig's head in a bed of pickling mix. After the two kitchen slaves carried out wooden bowls full of guava fruit and fresh corn cakes, then helped Ben carve the roast pig into juicy chunks, they would be free to enjoy the celebration, Mrs. Pratt said.

  The field slaves helped themselves to food as the Irish men entered into impromptu drinking competitions. Soon they were whooping and climbing a greased pole set up in one side of the yard. Freddy and Birdie ate their fill of pork and pudding, sipped rum, and joined the other women in cheering on the men. Bare-chested African men stood around in small groups, drinking and talking softly in their tribal languages.

  Master and Millicent watched from the plush carriage, where Mrs. Pratt served them dinner. The Pratts also served the squad of militiamen who lounged around the edges of the dusty yard, keeping an eye on the slaves. Then the housekeeper and her husband sat with Paulina near the Big House to have supper and watch the festivities.

  The slaves ate and drank and laughed, throwing sugar cane trash onto a pile of wood in the middle of the yard. Just before sunset Master signaled for Ben to light the bonfire. Flames leaped up into a rose-colored sky. As black and white slaves gathered around, their faces were lit by the tall blaze. Three Irishmen appeared with a wooden flute, a small Celtic harp, and a bodhran. One took up a two-headed stick and began beating a light rhythm on the tiny round drum. As in past harvest feasts, the slaves paraded past Master, clapping their hands and shuffling.

  Freddy watched Master's dour face in the firelight. He and his petulant daughter seemed to only go through the motions of the celebration. As soon as tradition allowed, they retired unsmilingly to the Big House.

  Then it was time to dance the ancient Irish "Beltaine" around a tall pole that had blue and green fabric streamers fluttering to the ground. Everyone was invited to join in. Mrs. Pratt came over and encouraged Freddy and Birdie to dance, offering to watch the babes. She gave each of them a red hibiscus flower for her hair. Freddy noticed that Paulina, who still sat near the Big House veranda, also had a red flower in her black hair.

  "Come, Birdie, I'll teach you," Freddy coaxed. She smiled affectionately at her friend's shyness, then leaned in and whispered, "Is Kofi here?"

  "I no see."

  Freddy pulled her into the circle of dancers. The boys grabbed the ends of the blue streamers and the girls took the green ones. As the music began, the boys circled to the right and the girls to the left, weaving in and out. Freddy kept a close watch on Mrs. Pratt and Laurie as she danced. Once around the entire circle, everyone danced with a partner. When the fiddler signaled, the weaving circle was repeated. As the dancers wove their ribbons, the Irish musicians were joined by Africans playing homemade drums carved from tree trunks. Other Africans played bone rattles and stringed gourds. They also brought bamboo flutes and trumpets fashioned from conch shells.

  The music gradually shifted from Irish to African. The drums and rattles grew louder as the Africans drank and chanted, swaying to the tempo. Soon they were jerking and twisting in the bright light of the bonfire, sending wild shadows leaping across the yard as they immersed themselves in traditional rhythms. Shiny with sweat, they dipped and swirled. Off to one side, the Irish jigged around the fire. Birdie and Kazoola did their own hopping dance, laughing and smiling into each other's eyes. Freddy danced with Father Sean and then with a lad named Liam, but tired quickly. She sank onto a log next to Mrs. Pratt, thanked her, and cradled her sleeping son in her arms.

  It was midnight by the time the fire and the dancing died down. Freddy finished off her rum and wiped her mouth. She and Birdie could wait until morning to clean up, thank God.

  Suddenly she fe
lt she was being watched. She glanced at those still gathered around the glowing bonfire embers.

  Birdie sidled up. "Kofi," she whispered, indicating with her sloping eyes where he was.

  Freddy followed her gaze. In the deepest shadows, she could barely make out a large African man sitting on the ground resting against a log, sipping from a coconut bowl. She realized with a start

  that he was looking straight at her.

  CHAPTER 17

  June 1654

  Freddy tapped on the rough wooden door that was propped open. In front of the slave hut, the remains of a cook fire smoked in the slanting evening sun. Laurie stirred in his sling and she instinctively stroked his back. In her other hand she clutched a burlap sack containing her few belongings. A golden sunbeam shone through the hut's only window and onto a low plank table. On it the African lay facing the doorway, his wide-set eyes fixed on her. He did not move except for those black eyes following her as she entered the hut and stood next to the door, poised to sprint away. His tall, russet body was too long for the plank bed, his large brown feet hanging off the end comically. His arms and shoulders were heavily muscled and well-defined. He watched her with mesmerizing eyes that were shadowed by a prominent ridge of brow. He wore only a blue loincloth.

  He abruptly sat up, facing her.

  Freddy shrank back against the wall, startled by his sudden movement. He looked like the Africans she'd seen hiding in the bushes behind Master that day during harvest. But this was a different man. The bright whites of his eyes flashed from his chocolate face. He smiled at her, revealing two pointed upper teeth. She gulped and tried to graciously smile back. Her face felt frozen. His closely cropped, fuzzy black hair framed a glowing face that looked polished. He had handsome, toffee-colored features that seemed more Indian than other Africans she had seen. His skin was not blue-black like some. Between chiseled cheekbones his long, high-bridged, narrow nose fanned out into dramatically wide nostrils. From the top of each nostril, two ridged scars stretched out and down to his jawline.

  He sat motionless, his strapping arms propped on his knees and his head tilted back slightly. He appeared fearless but wary, ready for anything. The outer lines of his full mouth pointed down, which made her wonder if he was angry.

  "I'm Freddy," she managed to blurt out in a cracking voice. Nervously smoothing back a frizzy strand of hair that had escaped from her braid, she took a deep breath and tried to relax. Her face was hot and she knew that her cheeks sported two bright red splotches.

  He stood, towering over her.

  Freddy flinched but her eyes never left his. She raised her chin and leveled her wide, almond-shaped eyes at him, silently pleading for compassion.

  "Kofi," he murmured in a soft bass tone, pointing to his sturdy chest. He pointed from her to the plank bed, walked to one corner, and sat on the dirt floor.

  Holding his eyes with hers, she moved to the bed and sat. As she untied the sling, Kofi leaned against the corner studying her. She settled her sleeping son on the bed.

  She wondered if this powerful-looking man was feeling fearful, too. Freddy knew nothing of Africans. Like everyone, she had heard wild stories about them and their pagan ways. Maybe he despised white women. She reminded herself that they were both slaves, owned by the same ruthless Master. Had the planter told Kofi of his plan to mate them to produce mulatto slaves for the estate? This African probably spoke only his tribal language.

  She rubbed her stiff, tired neck, took a deep breath, and looked around. Below the small window, a row of calabash gourds sat on a shelf. Next to them lay yams, guava fruit, and coconut bowls.

  He rose and walked to the shelf, poured something into two bowls, and handed her one. She took a careful sip. It was mobby, and surprisingly cool. She wiped her sweaty brow with her sleeve, got up, and went outside for some air. He joined her on the crude plank bench that stretched along the front of the hut. Freddy dug at the dirt with her bare toes. Kofi's brown feet rested placidly on the ground.

  They silently sipped their drinks and watched the rose sunset light the high clouds above a grove of guava trees. Kofi's hut sat on the edge of the quarters facing away from the slave compound. From here they could see no other buildings. They viewed only guava trees, sky, sugar cane fields, and several slave gardens. In one of the plots an African woman squatted, pulling weeds from a thick pumpkin patch.

  Freddy swatted away a mosquito and glanced down at Kofi's strong, brown hand resting on his leg. She wondered if he had built this hut himself, purposely facing it away from the others. Her eyes returned again to that dark hand. Suddenly she imagined his massive hands touching her breasts, and she shuddered.

  He turned to her and said something in his soft African tongue.

  "I don't understand," she said apologetically, shaking her head and trying to smile.

  He pointed to himself. "Kofi Boateng."

  She nodded. "Boateng. Not Kofi Ashanti?"

  He shook his head.

  "Ashanti is your tribe…" He looked at her with a blank expression in his black eyes, shaking his head again.

  She pointed to herself. "Freddy – Frederica O'Brennan."

  "Freddy." His velvet accent caressed her name. She liked the sound of it. Again she shivered in spite of the warm evening.

  "Kofi," she repeated gently.

  In the fading light they went back in. On the dirt floor in one corner, Kofi fashioned a crude burlap pallet for himself. Sitting on it, he again pointed from Freddy to the plank bed.

  "Bless you," she whispered hoarsely. Perhaps Birdie was right. Perhaps this Kofi was good.

  Freddy awakened before the horn sounded and rubbed her eyes. Next to her, Laurie stirred. She sat up and looked around, slowly remembering where she was. Kofi was stretched out on his side, facing the wall. As Freddy nursed the babe, she listened to Kofi's even breathing and studied his tapered brown back. It was criss-crossed with fresh-looking whip marks. She wanted to surprise him this morning with a parcel of smoked pork she had snitched from the kitchen and stashed in her bag.

  The conch shell echoed through the gray dawn. Freddy heard the compound spring to life as slaves fetched water and prepared quick meals. She could smell the smoke from a nearby cook fire. Kofi rolled over to face her and mumbled something. She shook her head, shrugging, but held the parcel up for him to see.

  "Mmm," she said, smiling and touching her stomach.

  He got to his feet, went to the shelf to splash his face with water, dried it with a rag, and joined her at the low plank table. She tore off a chunk of meat and handed it to him, putting her finger to her mouth to let him know this was a secret. He nodded and took a big bite. While chewing, his face lit up.

  "Mmm." He smiled and took another piece of pork. He said something else before devouring it. When she gave him a blank look, he smiled again, rubbed his belly, gently patted the top of her head, and repeated the Ashanti word. She smiled back and nodded. That must mean thank you, she figured.

  The horn blew again and it was time for them to go their separate ways for another long day on the plantation.

  *

  That evening they circled each other like wary leopards. As she cooked rice over a small fire in front of the hut, he took the babe and held him, rocking him soothingly. Freddy stole glances at the two of them from under her long lashes, and wondered if Kofi had ever fathered children. Laurie, who looked extremely small and pastel in those dark, muscular arms, calmed right down as the African crooned something in his ear.

  After supper, Kofi took two yams from the shelf and gestured for her to follow him. Both barefoot, they climbed a narrow path that led to the same spring she'd bathed in with Birdie and Una. He gestured for her to go in the pool, carefully took the babe from her, and walked back around a rock shelf to give her privacy. She sat on the edge of the pool, dipping her feet, then plunged in and immersed herself, still clothed. She had a clean, dry gown in the hut. She was still unsure of Kofi, and didn't know if anyone else was about.
She floated in the cool, clear pool, her gown ballooning out around her. Then she scrubbed her scalp with her fingers, climbed out, and wrung out the skirt of her white shift.

  She noticed for the first time that by the mouth of the cave behind the pool, someone had placed a stack of coconut bowls. She shrugged to herself, went to find Kofi, and perched on a large slab of rock cradling Laurie while the African bathed out of her sight. He was finished quickly. She waved a mosquito away from the babe, got up, and watched as Kofi took the yams and placed them next to the mouth of the cave.

  "What's that for?" Freddy asked.

  He gave her a vacant look, his black eyes unfathomable.

  It was almost dark by the time they got back to the hut. Kofi went straight to the pallet on the floor and stretched out on it, again facing the wall. Freddy remembered the salve Birdie had given her, and dug it from her burlap sack. She settled the babe on the bed, padded over to Kofi, and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  He jerked his head toward her.

  She showed him the jar of ointment and gently touched his back.

  He nodded.

  With one finger, she carefully covered each of Kofi's whip lesions with a thick layer of salve. By the time she was finished, he was snoring lightly.

  When Freddy returned the third evening, Kofi was squatting next to the outdoor fire, cooking. She could smell fish frying, and cornbread cakes. Her mouth watered.

  "Freddy," he said in his soft way, pointing to the bench in front of the hut. She sank down onto it and watched as he dished the food into calabash bowls.

  "Thank you," she said when he handed her the bowl. She had eaten mush earlier, but she gratefully gobbled the fish. How had he gotten his hands on this? The cornbread was delicious, too.

  "Mmmm!" She smiled, patted her belly and lightly touched the top of his head. He nodded and smiled, passing her a bowl of mobby.

  When they finished, he motioned for her to follow him inside. He went to the shelf and picked up a knife. The blade flashed in the light of a lit candle and she inhaled sharply. Kofi grabbed a papaya, chopped it in half, cut away the peel, sliced it into small pieces, and put them in a bowl. He walked over to where she stood and pointed at the babe. She untied the sling. As he carried the sleeping babe to the bed, Freddy held her breath at the sight of his massive brown hand cupping Laurie's miniature white back.