Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish

by Maggie Plummer

  Pratt scurried from the room, almost tripping over Freddy in his rush to the cookhouse.

  "Paulina!"

  The mulatto girl hurried in. "Yes, Master?"

  "Get to your room."

  "I await your pleasure, Master." A smiling Paulina swept out of the room. Again Freddy rolled her eyes. Birdie stifled a giggle.

  "Wanton yellow wench," they heard Master mutter. "But she is loyal. The rest will pay dearly. Where is that wretched butler? I need a real manservant, someone who won't betray me…"

  CHAPTER 23

  February 1655

  Raz toddled into the cookhouse and climbed onto the tall stool next to Freddy, who was grinding corn at the work table. He perched on his bare bottom, curling his brown legs around the stool and pulling on his long black braid. Birdie's son would turn two in April, around the same time Laurie turned one.

  "Laurence Frederick O'Brennan!" Freddy exclaimed as her own son resumed banging two calabash bowls together. "Enough of that." She reached down, retrieved the bowls, and handed him a strip of dried salt beef. They had just finished breakfast, but she knew her Laurie – always hungry for beef and always wanting something to chew. She touched his black curls and noticed that his blue eyes were becoming greener. He pulled himself up and stood, holding onto a table leg.

  "Taakeeee," he gurgled, drooling as he happily attacked the meat.

  "Me hold Efia?" Raz held out his little arms. He had his mother's dark, sloping eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips.

  "Here," Birdie answered softly, patting the table top. She unwrapped the baby girl who'd been born on Christmas Eve, and lifted her from her sling. Carefully cradling her neck, she lay little Efia on the table. She pushed Raz and the stool closer and helped him ease his arms under the infant's neck and legs.

  "Such a bonny one," Freddy crooned. The babe's black ringlets glistened in the morning sun that streamed through the window. Birdie and Kazoola had named her Efia in the traditional African way, since she was born on a Friday. Bursting with pride, Birdie insisted on her middle name being Beverly – her mother's family name. Freddy touched Efia's plump cheeks. The wee lass had velvet skin the color of cocoa, and curly black eyelashes.

  Freddy sighed, pouring more dried corn into the mortar. There was always too much to do. Here it was another harvest. Still furious about losing twelve Irish slaves in the raid last fall, Master was also beside himself because Mrs. Pratt was late returning from England. He was driving everyone too hard, working the field gangs longer hours under the whip, and refusing to provide the slaves with salt fish or meat.

  The two kitchen slaves ground cornmeal as quickly as they could, with Birdie keeping a watchful eye on Raz and Efia. Laurie had fallen asleep on the floor.

  "Master rode to Bridgetown to buy more slaves," Freddy told her friend.

  "He say no rest day," Birdie muttered, shaking her head. "No seed for slave grow. People hungry, sick…angry."

  Freddy nodded, wiping her dripping brow. "And no crop celebration. Does he blame the slaves for that raid? Imbecile." A sudden wave of nausea sent her scurrying out the door. She vomited under the tall mahogany tree, then leaned against it catching her breath.

  "You, Kofi make babe!" Birdie crowed triumphantly through the open window.

  Freddy turned to see her friend grinning at her. She put her hands on her belly and smiled back. "Perhaps," she said. It was true that her breasts had been sore and swollen lately. She rushed back into the kitchen, gave Birdie a tight hug, and continued grinding.

  "Mmm, four babes, like sleep spirit world." Birdie wiped her chin with her sleeve. "Raz, Laurie, Efia, and this…" She tapped Freddy's belly with her fingertips.

  "Sleep spirit world?"

  The Indian woman nodded. "I sleep, see pictures."

  "Oh, you dream."

  "Dream, yes. Many time same."

  "Tell me, please." Efia had fallen asleep on the table, and Raz was playing quietly on the floor.

  "Big horse of shiny copper," Birdie began. "On back, four brown babes laugh, him run on water, up, down waves, water all around."

  "Our babes?"

  "Not sure," Birdie murmured. She gazed out the window. "On horse is sign of people." She pulled her shift off her right shoulder and turned to show her tribal tattoo. Freddy had noticed the tattoo before, when they bathed together in the spring. The symbol was two parallel arrows, one pointing up and one pointing down, with a third arrow crossing them to make an 'H' on the back of Birdie's shoulder.

  Freddy poured more corn into the mortar, remembering the Irish legend of Tír na nÓg. She shuddered, recalling that misty night on the slave ship when Aileen had dreamed of poor Bridget drifting down beneath the sea to live in golden Tir na nÓg. Freddy stared at the kernels of corn. It seemed a lifetime ago that her family had gathered around the fire on howling nights and listened to those ancient tales. Suddenly she missed home sharply, and tears sprang into her eyes. At least on that ghastly ship she had been with Aileen.

  "What?" Birdie asked, gently touching Freddy's hand where it lay limp on the table.

  "Your dream reminds me of being a little girl, enchanted as Da told us the old stories."

  Birdie cocked her head. "You tell."

  "It's the legend of Tir na nÓg, the land of eternal youth and beauty and happiness, under the wide sea." Freddy touched her friend's shoulder. "They say to reach Tír na nÓg, one must ride a magical white horse that gallops on water…"

  Birdie's hands froze in mid-air. She stared at Freddy, her eyes widening into pools as black and endless as a moonless night sky.

  The next morning, Freddy was still thinking about Birdie's dream. As she churned butter, working the plunger up and down the wooden barrel, Nathan Pease ducked into the kitchen and handed her a piece of folded parchment with her name printed on it.

  "Oh! Thank you!" she managed to blurt as he quickly left. She looked around. Birdie was gathering eggs, and there'd been no sign of Paulina yet. Freddy scooped up Laurie, grabbed a lantern, and scurried to the alcove. Settling her son on the pallet, she sat next to him and unfolded the sheet of ivory parchment. Aileen's loopy script filled an entire lavender-scented page. Leaning toward the lantern, Freddy held one hand against her chest and eagerly read:

  "Dearest Freddy! I am so happy to know that you are well, in spite of the cursed Whittingham. St. Patrick's blessings are with me: my Master, Andrew Foster, is more than kind. We are fortunate to feel his soft touch – and well aware that not all planters are gentle. I miss you and Mam and all of our family, yet I am managing to build a good life here.

  Master Andrew discovered that Mam educated me, so made me governess. His wife died giving birth to their third babe. I have my own room and a real bed. I am fond of the children: Geraldine, seven; Winifred, five; and Andrew Junior, who just turned three.

  Freddy, Master Andrew has asked me to marry him and I have consented. We are to be wed after harvest, during the crop festival. He has given me yards of peach-colored linen, from which I am sewing a gown. I shall trim it with white bobbin lace.

  Dear one, if only you could come for the wedding and stay forever! May I speak with Master Andrew about bringing you here? I am confident that you would like him. I love him so! He is handsome and strong and good. Remember Mam's favorite saying? 'Let your enemies hear the bees but may you get the honey.'

  I pray that the hand of God rests lightly on you, darling Freddy.

  Your loving sister,

  Aileen"

  Oh, macushla, Freddy thought, touching her belly, if only things were as simple as you think. She wondered if this Andrew Foster could possibly be good enough for her sister.

  "Gaaaaa!" Laurie roared, kicking his little legs high in the air.

  Freddy handed him a sock toy to chew.

  "Guuuuu!" her son hollered, holding the toy in one hand and staring at it. Freddy smiled at Laurie, leaned back against the alcove shelves, and lightly stroked the top of his head. Perhaps Aileen's planter could purchas
e all of them – Kofi, Birdie, Kazoola, and the babes. She would answer the letter tonight, and inquire about just that.

  Oh, to be there when Aileen was wed! To fix her sister's hair and watch her pass safely into marriage. She pictured the last time she had seen Aileen – in that dinghy, just a silhouette against the glittering bay. A tear fell on the parchment, blurring one word. Freddy dried it carefully with her sleeve, then tucked the letter under one corner of her pallet, wiping her eyes.

  Freddy yawned, stretching her tense shoulders as she milked the last cow. During the grueling harvest, she and Birdie did their regular chores at night – after carting sugar cane and preparing food for the entire estate. Like the rest of the slaves, they were allowed only four hours to sleep – from 1 a.m. until 5 a.m. – until the sugar crop was in. Yesterday, several of the Africans in the first gang had fainted from hunger and exhaustion.

  The lantern light flickered against the shed wall as the two women filled copper buckets with fresh milk. They sat back to back on low stools. Freddy's stomach rumbled with hunger. She aimed the cow tit toward her mouth and drank a stream of milk, wondering if she had ever felt fatigue like this. It didn't help that she could not keep some of her meals down. After such a day, even little Laurie felt heavy in his sling. She slouched back against Birdie, yawning again.

  "What that?" the Indian woman asked.

  A low grumble floated through the balmy night. "Talking drum? The Coromantees are perhaps meeting again."

  "Mmmm," Birdie agreed.

  They milked for a while in companionable silence.

  "Cane slice Kazoola arms," Birdie said.

  "Kofi too," Freddy replied. "And his ankles are stung by cowitch vines. I pluck the itch hairs from him. Ben split Kofi's back open with the whip again. I fear Kofi will be consumed by rage…"

  "Kazoola need food."

  As they finished, the drum grew louder.

  "My people drum," Birdie murmured.

  "How old were you when they took you?"

  Birdie stopped and leaned her head back. "New woman, fourth blood time. We trade at big falling water—"

  "Hallooo?" A man's voice called softly from the doorway.

  They both jumped, startled. "Who goes there?" Freddy asked, peering through the darkness but unable to see anyone in the shadows.

  "A friend in search of Freddy O'Brennan." A short, slender man moved into the circle of light. His red hair was pulled into a pony tail, and he wore a leather blacksmith apron over his vest, shirt, and breeches.

  "Friend?" She had never seen this freckled fellow before.

  "Truly," the man whispered, "sent by Father Sean Gwynne."

  "I done." Birdie stood and carried her bucket out the door.

  "I am Freddy…"

  "And I am Father Tomas Phelan, of Montserrat," he said in a low, musical voice. "I met Father Sean there. He has taken over my duties so that I may serve here."

  "Serve?" Freddy tiredly resumed milking.

  "You have a language problem. I can help. I have learned the Akan tongue."

  She abruptly straightened and gaped into his light blue eyes, which now sparkled in the golden lantern glow.

  CHAPTER 24

  July 1655

  Freddy sat on the damp cave floor behind Kofi, to watch and listen. Lightly rubbing her belly, she wondered how big she would get with this child. Birdie was predicting that she would give birth to a girl in September.

  The men gathered around Father Tomas in a tight circle, long shadows from their flickering candles creeping up and down the bumpy limestone walls. Lately the Barbados militia was keeping a close watch on the slave cemetery. In late May, someone had reported hearing drumming there. The men had taken to holding their secret nighttime meetings in the cave, which was tucked into a hillside on the upper edge of the plantation. Freddy had never before entered the cave, but she and Birdie had seen it many times when they bathed in the spring pool next to it. Father Tomas had asked her to bring food this night for the men. Although it had been awkward carrying the food as she crawled, round belly and all, through the narrow cavern entrance to reach the larger inner chamber, she had managed it. Among the assembled men were eight rebels – three African and five Irish – from other plantations. Master was away, at a planters' feast on the southern part of the island. Kazoola stood watch just inside the cavern opening, listening for intruders and blocking the candlelight's glow from unfriendly eyes.

  It was cool and musty in here, and the constant dripping echoed strangely. Two large drops of water from a yellow formation plopped on top of her head, making Freddy shiver. The cavern ceiling arched low over a stream of clear water. Across the stream from the arch, where the cave ceiling was highest, was the small smooth area where they sat.

  Freddy passed the basket of cassava bread and the bowl of "fufu" mash she had sneaked out of the kitchen in spite of Mrs. Pratt, who had finally returned from England. The hungry men dipped the flat bread into the mash, which was made with cassava and yams and plantains. They gobbled the food down until it was gone. Then they took turns ladling sweet spring water and gulping their fill.

  "The white devil is killing us," Father Tomas translated Kofi's words. "We grow weak. We must fight or die. We have no forests for escape."

  The men nodded and grunted.

  An Irish slave named Brian spoke up. "Whittingham has not increased our provisions, in spite of a good harvest. He tells Ben that this year's planting will require seven days a week from us. We are starved and overworked because he drinks and gambles his money away!"

  As Father Tomas translated for the Africans, Freddy chewed on a scrap of bread. Their plan was to overthrow the English and set up a free state of former slaves. They would create two nations on the island, one ruled by the Africans and the other ruled by the Irish. They would not destroy the plantations. Rather, they would take them over and continue producing sugar, but as their own bosses.

  The slaves on Barbados outnumbered the ruling class. In the dead of night, they would trumpet the alarm with horns made of gourds and use knives and crude weapons for the initial attack, cutting their Masters' throats, seizing guns, and surprising the militia.

  "We must use machetes, hoes, even rocks and bricks," the priest translated. This time it was the words an African from a neighboring plantation. "We must grab the whip, hold it, use it."

  "We must prepare to kill, and be killed," Brian said.

  When the priest translated, the Africans became excited. Kofi leaned forward, speaking rapidly in Akan.

  "We Ashanti are ready too long for war!" Father Tomas translated, then added his own voice to the discussion. "A widow told me of the 1649 rebellion here. The rebel slaves were hanged, drawn and quartered, their heads put on pikes and paraded around the island as a warning." He repeated his words in Akan.

  The men lowered their eyes.

  "We fight or die!" Kazoola repeated, his eyes shining wildly. "We make a surprise attack!"

  Father Tomas translated and the men nodded in agreement.

  "We should surprise them when they're drunk," Brian suggested.

  Kofi laughed. "That is easy, the white devil is always drunk." He jumped to his feet, swaying and stumbling in the candlelight.

  "Kofi says you must not fight," Father Tomas told Freddy a few nights later. She had asked him to come to the hut to translate for her and Kofi privately. "He says Ashanti women never play a part in battle. Their duty is to care for the young and keep up the home front with prayers, 'Mobeme,' for the men."

  She nodded, fixing her eyes on Kofi. "I understand…and I am with child."

  The African's eyes softened. Through the priest he told her that her important task was to have their baby, strong and proud: "Kofi says that his God, 'Nyame,' created the Ashanti people to bring into the world the best in the human race. You are a true Ashanti woman, he says, most honorable."

  "Please tell him," Freddy whispered, resting one hand on Kofi's arm, "that I trust him with our lives.
We are happy in his hands."

  After a brief exchange with the priest, Kofi gently covered her hand with his. Father Tomas again turned to her. "He wants us to pray together now."

  *

  Freddy bolted out of a deep sleep to find Kofi leaning over her with a lit candle, shaking her shoulder. His brow was creased with worry as he softly repeated an Akan word she did not understand. He held up the gourd horn and pointed to the door. Freddy remembered that he was to use the gourd to sound the alarm for the rebellion.

  "Oh!" She sat up quickly, pointing to the gourd. "Now?"

  He silently put the horn to his mouth and gestured toward the hilltop above the plantation.

  Freddy glanced over at Laurie, who was sound asleep. She quickly tied back her loose curls and wiped her eyes. Her head was throbbing. The wind whipped and howled, and a heavy rain drummed on the thatch. She couldn't think. Kofi held up her cooking knife in the candlelight and pointed to the cookhouse. "Yes! I will make haste."

  She threw a loosely laced bodice over her sleeping gown and ran through the wet night, warm mud squishing between her bare toes. For months now she'd been hiding sharpened knives in the kitchen cellar. All was dark. She quietly let herself into the cookhouse, tiptoed to the counter to light a small lantern, and opened the floor hatch. Quickly descending the steep stairs, she left the lantern on the bottom step, went to the dampest corner, and lifted a sack of Master's imported potatoes to retrieve the bag of knives that lay behind it.

  Suddenly the wooden floor overhead creaked. She froze in place. At that very moment the babe kicked. Freddy held her hand over her mouth to keep from yelping.

  "Who goes there?" Paulina stood at the top of the stairs, peering down.

  "Only I," Freddy answered, forcing her voice to sound normal and moving to the herb shelf. "Laurie has taken ill again." She took a small jar of herbs from the shelf. What the bloody hell was Paulina doing awake at this hour?