"Oh!" Paulina slapped her hand to her chest. "Those evil field slaves will pay…"
"That they surely will." Mrs. Pratt nodded.
Paulina glanced around furtively to see if the others were listening. Freddy pretended to be absorbed in peeling cassava. Birdie's back was turned to the yard as she scrubbed clothes. Raz sat in the dirt next to her, drawing a picture in the dust. "It is only because of me," the Creole said in a lowered voice, "that things are not worse." The morning was so still, her hushed tone carried clearly across the yard.
"Whatever do you mean?" Mrs. Pratt asked.
"It was I who alerted the militia," she bragged. "If not for me, we would all be dead, I am certain of it. I was awake at a strange hour and heard horns, then saw field slaves moving about. I ran to tell the soldier at the slave cemetery."
Freddy bit her bottom lip to keep silent. Birdie continued scrubbing, but her widened eyes now scanned the horizon. She looked as if her mind were far, far away.
"What a precious gift you are, my dear," Mrs. Pratt was saying as they flung rags over their arms and carried the jugs of polishing oil to the Big House. "We must tell Master Whittingham when he returns."
Freddy stared at their backs. Those two had become odd bedfellows, especially since Master had given Paulina the room under the stairs in the Big House. She waited until they had gone inside the mansion, rubbing her lower back. She felt huge and uncomfortable with child.
"I knew it!" she hissed. "Remember I saw her running?" Birdie nodded grimly. She came inside to hang a pot of water in the indoor fireplace. Mrs. Pratt had ordered them to cook maize mash twice a day and deliver it to the compound.
Freddy rested her head in one hand, holding a cassava root in the other. "Birdie…"
Her friend finished stirring the fire and turned to her.
"I have a wicked notion," Freddy whispered, waving the cassava root in the air. Birdie's brown face crinkled into a grin. It would take only a few pieces of raw cassava to send the treacherous Paulina and the obtuse Mrs. Pratt to their beds.
Birdie pretended to vomit.
"Just enough to make them suffer." Freddy nodded, smiling for the first time this day.
The two of them set to work splitting pieces of sweet coconut bread into layers, spreading honey and small slivers of cassava root on them, and then squeezing the layers back together.
"Delicious morsels," Freddy said softly, setting the bread on a small plate. She put her arm around Birdie's shoulders and leaned into her affectionately.
Just after their midday meal, Paulina and Mrs. Pratt staggered out of the Big House looking pale and complaining of headaches.
"Oh, no, yellow fever," Freddy told them.
"I am quite dizzy and faint," the housekeeper said, leaning against the trunk of the mahogany tree.
"My mouth burns," Paulina added, gulping and sweating.
At that, the women moaned and retched miserably in the dirt.
Freddy and Birdie grinned behind their hands.
They were still washing clothes that afternoon when Nathan Pease hurried into the yard and handed Freddy a folded piece of parchment.
"It's late," he said. "I was held up in town because of the trial."
"Trial?" Freddy asked.
"The rebels. In the big cage on the square. The militia is trying them one by one. Everyone's watching. The crowd is so large the soldiers had to turn some away."
"What of the rebels?" She fingered the letter nervously.
"Nothing yet. I had best be on my way. Too many eyes about…"
"Thank you, Nathan." Freddy picked up Laurie and carried him inside and into the alcove, where she sat with him on her lap and hunched over the two parchment pages. At last, an answer from Aileen. This was dated May 8, 1655. She eagerly read:
"Dearest Freddy! What joy to receive your letter! Oh, for us to be together again! But it pains me to address your question, for I fear you will dislike the answer. Alas, Master Andrew cannot purchase the Africans or the mulatto babes. You see, Coromantee Africans are outlawed here.
But Master Andrew is eager to meet you. He welcomes you and Laurie with open arms. I pray you will come!"
Freddy stopped, her heart sinking heavily into her stomach. She forced herself to continue reading:
"We are planning our wedding along with the best crop festival ever seen on this island. The festivities will begin the moment the last cart of cane is pulled to the mill. I will pin pink hibiscus blooms in my hair and in the veil. The dress is finished and hanging, ready. But am I? I do believe I am! My betrothed has made me promise that once we are married, I will call him, simply, Andrew. He makes me delirious with happiness. One day he took me on horseback partway up the slope of the volcano called Mount Liamuiga. It was like standing upon a majestic rooftop above the world. I imagined I could see Barbados from there.
Freddy, it has been less than two years since we arrived in these islands. Yet here I am, about to become a married woman. And there you are, a mother of one and soon to have more babes. Please write more of Laurie and your friends there.
I will close now, as the quicker this reaches the proper hands, the quicker I will receive your reply.
God and His Saints bless all of us.
Your loving sister,
Aileen"
Freddy dropped the parchment and lay on her side, curling snugly around her sleepy son. It was time for his nap anyway. Mrs. Pratt had taken to her bed. No one would know if Freddy rested a bit. Cuddling Laurie and inhaling the sweet scent of his dark hair, she murmured to him. But as he drifted off, she was lost in a rush of churning thoughts.
How could Aileen suggest that she come to St. Kitt's without her half-African babe and her African man, and without Birdie's beautiful Efia and Kazoola as well? What of this Andrew? Would he also have a problem with Birdie being native? Aileen was most likely blind to Andrew's faults.
The English planter was, however, good to her sister. That was the most important thing. Freddy sighed deeply, hot tears spilling from her tired eyes. She could never join her sister on St. Kitt's. Then again, perhaps saying 'never' was wrong. No one knew what the future held for any of them.
How far apart they had grown in such a short time! She and Aileen had landed on opposite sides of the planters' laws. She felt worlds closer to Birdie and Kofi, and of course Kofi's unborn babe inside her. To leave any of them behind was unthinkable.
She knew she should not fault her sister. Aileen had no notion of the wrongs Freddy and the others suffered every day on this cursed estate. Aileen had been blessed in being purchased by a decent planter. Freddy was happy for her sister, but also desperately sad about the distance between them. One day they would be close again. Freddy had to believe that.
Despite her spinning mind, she dozed off. When Freddy awoke Birdie was sitting on the floor next to her, nursing Efia.
"Bad?" her friend whispered in her gentle way, eyeing the sheets of parchment Freddy had let fall to the floor.
She nodded, sitting up carefully to avoid waking Laurie.
Birdie handed her a bowl. "Make good sleep."
Freddy took a sip. It was cool, refreshing. "Mmm. Thank you." What would she do without Birdie? She put her arm around the Indian woman's waist and rested her head on her shoulder.
"You take care for baby inside." Birdie crooned, slipping Efia back into her sling and lightly touching Freddy's forehead. "I make warm tub." She began stroking Freddy's sore lower back in slow, circular motions.
"How do you always know precisely what to do?" Freddy whispered, her eyes again filling with tears.
CHAPTER 27
July 1655
Colin emerged from the captain's quarters on the sloop, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was early but he could already hear the men pounding as they worked on Lacoste's new, larger pirate ship, La Brunilda. It and the Alizé were tied side by side, anchored in a rocky cove on Isla Tortuga. He squinted up at a flock of screaming seagulls, grabbed his pewter ta
nkard from its nail, and ladled fresh water into it. After chugging some down, he poured the rest over his head and shook himself like a wet dog. Combing back his long hair with his fingers and brushing stray water drops from his blue breeches, he scanned the small bay. The morning sun, just clearing one cliff, turned his tanned face and torso a deep bronze. He perched on a barrel and looked over the sloop as waves rocked the two vessels. He shook his head again, amazed at his good fortune.
The Alizé was now his.
She was fast and true, easily able to outrun larger ships. He liked her single mast, her light agility, and her ability to enter shallow hideaways where larger vessels dared not go. Colin glanced over at the three-masted square-rigger Lacoste was altering into a pirate craft. La Brunilda was more seaworthy in a storm, and held more guns and crew. But hadn't the trusty sloop always carried them to safety?
Lacoste had long yearned for a bigger vessel. He finally got his wish when they'd stolen this Spanish warship in the waters near Jamaica. Colin had turned over a portion of his booty in exchange for the sloop. He had also promised to help convert the large vessel into a pirate ship. The men were tearing out compartments and bulkheads, carving gun ports, and mounting swivel cannons on the gunwales. They would make her light and fast, and create more space for the large crew.
Since the most recent round of raids, Colin had felt like a wealthy man. He was determined not to squander his booty in the taverns like most of the buccaneers. One plantation had yielded a surprise in a trunk that Lacoste had to chop open. The men split the rubies and emeralds inside, and sold them in Port Royal for astonishing prices. They also sold silverware, platters, bowls, and artwork from several estates, including the Whittingham Plantation.
They partied in Port Royal for weeks. Colin still felt dull from too much ale and rich food. He was bored with the drinking, really. The crew had voted to move on to Tortuga for the hurricane season. They preferred Tortuga for long stays because there were more women there. It was also said that Isla Tortuga women were more comely. Colin had to agree. However, the truth was, he had grown tired of even the most beautiful of the tavern harlots.
He must admit he was envious of Lacoste, who had happily placed a large ruby pendant from his booty around Dika's neck. They were as good as married. One night the captain confessed to Colin that he was getting too old for this life. As for Dika, the woman was happier than Colin had ever seen her. The two of them hoped to settle down, perhaps in Cuba, after a few more escapades. Colin would miss them, but stood ready to take charge of his own crew.
His plan was to take on escaped slaves like himself and create a strong esprit de corps among the sloop's buccaneers. Colin swore he would never sell slaves as captured booty, like some did. He would free them, put them to work, and see to it that his crew earned the title "Brethren of the Coast."
Loud banging from La Brunilda abruptly broke into his thoughts.
"Belay yer addled dreamin'!" Dika bellowed at him from the warship aft deck, hands on her hips and a wide grin on her handsome brown face. "Help us get this beauty shipshape!"
CHAPTER 28
July 1655
As the sun cleared the ridge, Freddy hoed the steamy dirt between the corn rows. She waved the swarming mosquitoes away, scratched an itchy bite on her neck, and lifted her apron skirt to wipe the sweat from her eyes. She and Birdie tried to work in the kitchen garden during the cool morning hours, even though that meant more mosquitoes. Birdie was squatting in the tomato patch, pulling weeds. The older babes sat off to one side, by the small orchard. At the moment they were busy making mud pies and smearing cool mud on each other's mosquito bites.
Freddy stretched her arms and arched her back, looking around. A heavy golden mist rose off ground that was still saturated from the storm two days ago. There had been no word of the men. The hours stretched on in a fever of numbing worry. The women knew that all they could do was wait. It was driving Freddy to distraction. She made a quick Sign of the Cross, sending up yet another fervent prayer for the men's safety. As the sun's rays hit the black dirt, a slight breeze picked up and the high-pitched whine of the mosquitoes died down.
Freddy had not been able to sleep the past two nights, without Kofi in her bed. Her exhaustion hit her with a dizzying punch and she leaned on the hoe, closing her eyes. God willing, he would return to her. The babe inside her abruptly kicked the front of her huge belly. She placed one hand on the place where she'd felt the little foot. The warmth of the sun dried her sticky face and neck.
From the orchard came the soft cooing of a wood dove. Freddy tilted her head, listening. The shrill screams of parrots high in the trees sliced the silence. Then a warbler let out a clear, soprano "sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet-than-sweet."
"Pssssst!"
Freddy whipped her head around toward the orchard. What the devil was that?
"Over here!" someone whispered hoarsely.
Freddy quickly moved to Laurie's side and peered down a row of banana trees.
"Birdie!" she hissed. "Someone's in the orchard!"
As her friend joined her, Father Tomas emerged from the trees. He beckoned to them and disappeared again.
"Father?" Freddy whispered, looking wide-eyed at Birdie. The priest was so filthy, she would not have recognized him. His tousled red hair was covered with dust and straggling out of a pony tail, his once-white shirt sleeves torn to shreds and blood-stained.
The women glanced toward the Big House, picked up the babes, and crept into the trees.
"Father Tomas!" Freddy murmured, touching his arm where it had been bleeding.
"Blessed Mary, but ye're a sight for these tired eyes." He sat down and leaned wearily against a tree trunk.
"And you as well, Father! We've been fretting over all of ye." She sank to the ground and held Laurie on her legs.
"I watch," Birdie whispered, squatting alongside them but keeping her dark eyes trained on the Big House.
"God love ye, Birdie," the priest whispered back.
"Thank the Lord ye're well," Freddy said softly. "May God and His Saints always keep ye. What happened to your arms?"
"Just bramble scratches. I was taken, but they released me once Whittingham confirmed my status as his blacksmith. I walked back, but stayed off the main road…" He cleared his throat and looked down at his dust-covered legs.
"Have you seen Kofi and Kazoola?"
Father Tomas nodded, avoiding Freddy's eyes. He fidgeted with one of his torn sleeves. "The arrested slaves have been appearing before a court martial."
The women waited, their eyes glued to the priest's reddening face as he continued to pick at the ripped sleeve. "Roughly half were executed," he finally said in a voice so low they could barely hear. "Some took their own lives."
Birdie dropped her head. Freddy continued to search his blushing countenance, trying to meet his brown eyes. He glanced at her but quickly averted his gaze again.
"Our men took their own lives?" she asked weakly.
"No, no, I – I saw them from the cage. They were pronounced guilty and then, well, er…I am loathe to say…"
Birdie raised her head and Freddy sat as still as a statue.
"…your men were flogged to death, may they rest in peace." He made the Sign of the Cross, closed his eyes, and folded his hands in prayer.
Freddy leaned back against a tree trunk. She held her aching belly. Birdie turned her back to them and sank cross-legged onto the dirt.
"I am so very sorry…" the priest was murmuring.
Freddy nodded, trying to breathe. She stared into space.
"I go…" Birdie whispered faintly. "Get him."
Father Tomas swallowed hard. "Their remains were carted away with the others, to a swamp on the edge of Bridgetown."
Freddy shook her head slowly. "It is not true. It cannot be! I would feel it if he were gone, I-I…would know…" She pressed her chest as if to quiet her heart, which was thumping so violently it hurt, and rocked slightly. Birdie and the others appeare
d strangely slow and liquid, as if they were under water. She looked around at the fruit trees, disoriented. Leaning back again, she felt the solid tree trunk against her upper back, through the thin layers of her gown and bodice. She closed her eyes and focused on the tree.
Birdie hugged Efia tight, then carefully put her back in the sling. Without a sound she pulled her glistening black braid over her shoulder, looked at it as if it belonged to someone else, and held it in one hand. She picked up the small knife she'd brought for harvesting tomatoes, her knuckles white where she clenched the handle.
She slashed at her hair.
Raz and Efia began crying at the same time. Birdie seemed not to hear as she held ragged chunks of her thick black tresses out to the side and sliced at them. Her movements were rough. Laurie whimpered as he watched Birdie.
Father Tomas tried to comfort Raz, who was squatting in the dirt next to his mother, crying feverishly. Efia wailed in her sling. All of them gaped at Birdie as she cut the hem of her gown into ragged strips. She blindly gashed the skin of her legs, bloodying the fabric, then slashed at her long sleeves, cutting her arms.
"Mama!" Raz screamed between sobs.
"No, Birdie!" The priest went to her and pressed a piece of her sleeve against the deepest arm cut, where dark red blood was dripping down. "Kazoola would not want this—"
"No say name!!" Birdie pushed the palm of her hand against Father Tomas's mouth. "No!" She yanked on the leather string of the African pendant she had worn every day since Kazoola had given it to her. Unable to break it, she quickly cut the string, pulled it off, and tossed it on the ground. She tugged at her bodice and chopped the lacing. Then she ripped it away from her. With a high, whimpering moan Birdie collapsed on her side in the dirt and lay there motionless.
*
Freddy tied the band of black cloth on Birdie's upper right arm and watched her disheveled friend nurse Efia. It was so quiet in her hut, she could hear the babe suckling and the two candles occasionally hissing. Birdie's head drooped over the tiny babe, her face hidden behind an uneven curtain of jaw-length black hair. The Indian woman sat motionless, as if in a trance. Freddy sat on a log stump at the plank table and quietly folded a larger square of the black fabric into a scarf. She covered the top of her own tangled mass of hair with it, then tied it at the nape of her neck.
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