Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish

by Maggie Plummer

  Raz was enraptured. He leaned back on his hands and fixed his brown eyes on his mother's face. Birdie wiped his hot forehead with a cool, wet rag. He smiled and she wiped the back of his neck, too, blowing on the dampness to refresh him.

  "We pray Creator Okee," she continued, "wear red, blue. Hair long. Men one side long, one side no hair. Bear fat." She made the motions of rubbing grease all over her body. Raz touched his mama's black arm band. She smiled tenderly at him, her eyes kind.

  "Hurry, hurry!" Mrs. Pratt's high-pitched voice was as shrill as a parrot's scream. She bustled in and stopped, staring at them, hands on her hips. "Master Whittingham awaits! Where is the juice?"

  Laurie and Raz rolled on the floor next to Efia, giggling and imitating her sucking her toes. The last of the day's sunshine slanted into the hut, painting all three children a rich shade of gold. Raz reached over to tickle his sister, and she grabbed his finger. She held on tight and would not let go. He sat up to remove his finger from her grip. As he pulled, Efia suddenly sat up for the first time. Startled, her round eyes surveyed the small room. Her face broke into a happy smile.

  "Gaaaaaaa!" she crowed.

  "Mama!" cried Raz.

  "Efia!" Birdie put down her sewing and scooted over to the babe.

  "Such a big girl," Freddy crooned.

  Birdie tickled the babe's brown feet and patted her back. Efia let loose a gurgling laugh and reached out to play with her mama's face. As she squeezed Birdie's nose, she looked around curiously. She leaned far forward, as if to crawl, stretched her arms up, and yawned.

  "Time for bed," Freddy told Laurie, wringing a wet rag to wipe his face.

  Efia yawned again, as if in agreement. She had just begun sleeping through the night.

  "Gaaaaa," she repeated, softly this time, as Birdie picked her up.

  In the glow of sunset they settled the children. The women had stayed together in each other's huts since the revolt. Master was not paying attention. He was still on an immense bout of drinking.

  Laurie and Efia were already half asleep.

  But Raz got up and came over. "No sleep," he whined.

  "No?" Birdie asked patiently.

  "Play more."

  "Hmmm." His mama watched him plop down stubbornly next to two toy blocks Kazoola had made.

  Freddy felt tired but not ready to sleep. Birdie lit a candle in the dusk and placed it on the table. She had tied up the sides of her chopped hair, to keep it out of her face. It accentuated her sharp cheekbones. The two women rested together, leaning against the wall opposite the open door. Raz yawned. Moments later he lay on the floor holding the blocks to his little chest, drifting off to sleep.

  Freddy rubbed her aching lower back. "Father Tomas wants us to go with him to Montserrat," she whispered.

  "Montserrat?" Birdie repeated, pronouncing it strangely.

  "Another island, where things are better."

  "I go home," Birdie murmured.

  "Perhaps Montserrat could be a step to get there?"

  "You come to mountain home."

  "Me?"

  Birdie nodded, gazing at Freddy with her sloping, wise eyes. "We, children, one."

  Freddy gulped. She had no words. Never had she known a friend like Birdie. Freddy was certain she would not have survived this plantation life without her. She grabbed one of Birdie's hands with both of her own and pressed it to her hot cheek. "I love you like a sister," she whispered.

  Birdie held her other hand in front of her, two fingers pressed tightly together. "Spirit twins. One. People honor Spirit twin."

  Spirit twins. She tried to absorb what Birdie was saying, that they should escape together to the wilderness of the Virginia colony. Freddy wondered how far away that was. Virginia sounded as remote and impossible to reach as her dear County Kilkenny home.

  "People make basket." Birdie jumped up, went outside, and got several charred sticks from the fire pit. Then she sat at the plank table and began sketching on it with the stick.

  "A flower," Freddy said, moving to the table.

  Birdie outlined a dome with waves radiating from it. In the candlelight her angular face was animated. "Steam help sick."

  Freddy watched, fascinated.

  Birdie drew a stick person with a tall headdress and added more dome shapes. "Village," she said in a soft voice. Around the domes she drew a circle of sticks pointing to the sky. "Babes safe. No English. No che-sha, no bad…"

  Freddy tried to imagine the place. "How would we get there?"

  Birdie sketched a boat on waves and added a long line curving up to the left. "Big water," she said, pointing to the waves. She moved her finger along the curving line, and added a smaller boat. "River."

  Staring at the rough drawing, Freddy remembered Colin's promise to return for her. "It would be dangerous…"

  The Indian woman nodded slowly. "Escape have danger."

  "True."

  "Must go."

  Freddy searched her friend's face. Her heart had begun the awful pounding again. "I understand. You must try."

  "Must try, yes."

  Freddy folded her arms. "Live in your mountains, among your people," she said pensively. "We could keep our babes safe, far from the cursed English."

  Birdie nodded excitedly. "Here, only che-sha, bad." She spread her arms wide.

  Could this be the answer? To disappear into the wilds and make a life with natives of the New World? Freddy tried to picture what that would mean for her and the children. She wondered if Birdie's people would despise her and Laurie for looking like the English settlers. Then there was the question of what Birdie's people would think of the African babes. Would they shun Africans, as everyone else did? Of course Birdie would not permit such a thing, but then, it was difficult to say how much influence Birdie would have among her people.

  Her mind reeling, Freddy reviewed what she knew for certain: she trusted Birdie with her life and the lives of her children; this was a true friend, one who had become a sister; and it was vital that they leave this place. At that moment the babe kicked. Freddy moved her hands to her belly. This unborn one and Efia needed the most protection. Their African blood sentenced them to monstrous suffering. Every day more captive Africans arrived on larger ships. Conditions for them were worsening. As time went by, African blood – especially Coromantee blood – meant being hated even more than the Irish were hated. She and Laurie could escape to another island and fade into the background due to their white skin. Not so for the others. Birdie would always be seen as different, and most likely inferior, due to her brown skin and native features. Efia and this babe could be torn from their mothers, no matter where they went – except, perhaps, into Birdie's Virginia wilderness.

  She would not sleep this night until she wrote to Colin. She must find out if such a voyage were indeed possible. Tomorrow she would locate Nathan Pease and ask him to deliver her important letter to Bridgetown. Then she would speak with Father Tomas about the idea.

  "You are right." Freddy finally turned and met her friend's eyes, which shone in the flickering light. They gripped each other's hands tightly. "We cannot change what happened to our men. But we must try to change our lives – for the children. We must hold hope in our hearts."

  Birdie nodded, swallowing hard.

  "I have something for you, my friend." Freddy went over to the shelf and reached into a gourd. "Close your eyes," she said. She took one of Birdie's hands and turned it palm up. Into it she gently placed the African bead pendant from Kazoola, which Birdie had thrown in the dirt that terrible day. Freddy had washed and polished it, then put the bead on a new leather string.

  The Indian woman gasped, covering her mouth with her free hand. Tears spilled from her sloping eyes as she held the necklace up. The cylindrical bead's bright blue and yellow colors sparkled in the candlelight. Birdie smiled at Freddy, slipped the necklace over her head, and wiped her tears away.

  CHAPTER 31

  September 1655

  Tortuga Bay w
as as flat as glass as Colin rowed, each dip of the dinghy's oars stirring silver-blue liquid trails in the moonlight. The sloop was a black silhouette in the glistening inlet. The almost-full moon slipped behind a black cloud. Colin raised his head and sniffed. He could smell the approaching rain. It was close to midnight as he tied the dinghy to the sloop, climbed the rope ladder, and strode heavily down the main deck to the captain's cabin. Situated under the quarter deck in the stern, the quarters were pitch black. He fumbled with the big key and unlocked the cabin door.

  Colin's mind was anything but calm. For hours he had been at Silky's Tavern, talking, eating pigeon pie, and sipping ale. Carlos, the bar man, had handed him the letter when he'd arrived at the pub. Retreating to a quiet corner, Colin had carefully read it twice, then tucked it away for safekeeping. Joining the others at the crowded bar, he bought the men drinks and made casual inquiries about sailing to the Virginia colony. Before long he had the names of several buccaneers who were seasoned veterans of voyages to that far northern coast.

  Colin lit the cabin's two wall-mounted candle lanterns and went to the oak cabinet for paper and pen and inkpot. He also grabbed a rolled map from the top shelf. At the table desk, bolted to the floor in front of the single arched window, he sank into the chair and pulled off his sweaty boots. Fastened onto the desktop were an empty copper fruit bowl and another candle lantern, which he lit. Behind him the small panes of window glass reflected the candlelight. Colin unrolled the navigation map and pored over it. Pulling Freddy's letter from his pocket, he read it again.

  He rose from the desk chair, stretched his arms, paced about the cabin, and settled on the sturdy window seat secured to the floor beneath the window. The rain was now beating against the glass. Carlos had said that Spanish Florida, especially the garrison town of San Agustín, was a strategic target for attacking heavily laden Spanish vessels sailing up the Gulf Stream. One old salt at Silky's had bent his ear with tales of being caught in the "Michaelmas storms" of late September. He said that sailors who arrived at the sugar ports in the fall wisely spent the winter in the warm Caribbean, and waited to ship the new sugar crop during the first quarter of the year.

  Colin got up, went back to his desk, and took up his sharpened quill. He dipped it in the inkpot and hesitated. With the quill poised above the parchment, he scratched his nose with his other hand. By this time, Freddy had probably given birth to the African's babe. Although Colin's mind buzzed with questions about the African and the babe, he dared not mention such things to her. Surely Whittingham had forced her to mate with the African. In time Colin would find answers. Whatever the circumstances, she was his true friend and he would help her.

  "Dear Freddy," he scratched slowly, his head bent toward the paper. After another pause, he wrote:

  "I hope you are faring well, my friend, in spite of it all. I am sorry to hear of your loss and your ensuing sadness.

  "Regarding your inquiry: yes, such an endeavor is possible. Your Father Tomas is most welcome..."

  Colin stopped to think. There was much to say, but he must take care. Should this letter end up in the wrong hands, woe be to them. One had no way of knowing whether all of the Quaker freight men who helped the slaves by transporting and delivering messages throughout the West Indies were trustworthy. There were many dangers in writing such a dispatch. He must not give them away. Freddy was no fool; she would understand his meaning.

  "The answer to your geographical question is: 2,000 miles," Colin continued. "I always stand ready to help you as you so generously helped me. Dear Freddy, I never forget that I owe you my very life – and a good life it is at present. I have managed to purchase a trusty vessel, and find myself in a rare position of financial comfort. Therefore, your inquiry is well-timed. I have the means to help, and will gladly do so.

  "Here is what I know thus far: we cannot plan with the usual strategy, due to the nature of this undertaking. Timing is critical."

  He stopped again, wanting to tell Freddy that the best time to voyage to Virginia would be in February. He wished to set sail from Barbados during the coming February, 1656. Colin scratched his jaw, then put his pen back to the parchment.

  "The month I propose follows three months after the anniversary of my own getaway, which you no doubt remember. As I write this, that month is a mere five moons away, as our friend would describe it. I have access to information about the more challenging parts of the venture. I must warn you of the dangers, particularly when it comes to the territory unknown to you and me. Our lives will depend on our friend's knowledge of the land.

  "One must be prepared to move with lightning speed. During the month described above, watch for my sloop, which flies a flag with an initial you will know. Then await instructions. If you do not receive a second letter, do not fear.

  "And now, Freddy, burn this correspondence, leaving not a scrap behind. I look forward to your reply.

  "Your faithful friend forever,

  Colin Shea Brophy"

  CHAPTER 32

  November 1655

  Freddy glanced around the cookhouse to make sure no one was about. Two-month-old Kofi was nestled securely against her chest, sucking on his hand and looking around. A heavy rain was pounding the roof as she dropped her grinding pestle into the mortar, pulled the folded letter from a special pocket she'd sewn inside her vest, and walked over to the hearth. She quickly tossed the note into the fire. Wrapping her arms around the warm bundle in the sling, Freddy watched the parchment burn, her eyes shining feverishly in the light of the leaping flames. The paper curled, turned black, and disappeared into gray dust.

  The words on that parchment, now a mere flake of crumbling ash, would alter their lives, God willing. This February, Colin had implied. That was only three months away. They must prepare to grab the babes and run.

  Freddy took a deep breath and ran her hand lightly over the infant's kinked brown hair. With her other hand she stroked his back through the fabric of the sling, gazing at his bronze face. She had named him Kofi even though in Akan it meant "born on a Friday" and he'd entered the world on a Wednesday. It was important to Freddy that he be named after his father, whose deep brow and wide-set eyes were clearly reflected in the child's features. But when little Kofi opened those eyes, they were the same startling green as Freddy's.

  She must hurry and grind the dried corn for supper. Birdie was in the yard, filleting fish in the pouring rain. After supper, more buckets of maize must be ground for tomorrow's mush. Freddy sighed, picked up the pestle, and started working with a throbbing rhythm, her arm muscles aching. If she never saw another kernel of dried corn she would be happy.

  But the truth was, for once Freddy was not bothered by any of this. Since reading Colin's letter, which Nathan had handed to her an hour earlier, her mind was racing. As her hands milled the grain, her thoughts were miles away. Freddy tried to picture Colin's sloop, and wondered where he was right now. She yearned to rush into the yard and blurt the news to Birdie, but knew she must wait for privacy. Freddy would ask her friend to join her at the cave pool this night, if the rain stopped. They could rinse the babes and themselves, cooling off before bed, and whisper together of Colin's plan.

  Even at the pool they must watch for Paulina, who lurked around every corner these days. Freddy shivered, thinking of the house slave and how she had behaved during the revolt. She would never understand that woman. Soon, God willing, Paulina would no longer matter in the least. She and Birdie and the children would be thousands of miles away, across the open sea. But they must be very careful. Paulina had a right uncanny way of knowing just when to spy on them.

  Kofi stirred. He had been Freddy's birthday gift this year, arriving as he did just before she turned sixteen. This babe was her latest reason to love September. It had always been her favorite month; this time of year the fields back home turned a rich gold, and harvest meant a rare abundance of food on the farm.

  Freddy sighed heavily. Her memories of home and Mam and Da were fading
, no matter how desperately she tried to hold on to them. It had been three and a half years since she had watched Aileen be led away by a different planter, to a different island. Here it was November again: a new rainy season. Yellow fever was on another deadly rampage, and the Great Gang was digging holes to plant more blasted cane shoots.

  Colin's message pierced the stifling gloom with a brilliant ray of hope. Was it truly possible to break out of this misery? Freddy crossed herself. Jesus and Mary, she prayed, please let it come to pass.

  Kofi had weighed almost ten pounds when he was born. It seemed to Freddy that he had doubled that weight already. Master was very pleased. He had big plans for her mulatto son. Little did he know that other plans were afoot. Freddy sent up another prayer, closing her eyes and asking God to bless them, watch over them, and send good winds to blow them quickly away from the wretched Whittingham.

  Freddy had her own dreams for this little tan-skinned one now gently stirring, and for Laurie, too. They would be no one's slaves, but would grow into good, strong men among Birdie's people. Her sons would take the best from the fierce O'Brennans. Silently Freddy vowed to spend every ounce of her strength making the dream come true. She clenched her jaw and attacked the corn with renewed vigor, sweat trickling between her breasts.

  "We must take care to hide our pleasure," Freddy said in a low voice as the cart dipped sharply into a puddle. She reached out to steady the crock. "No one must suspect."

  Birdie nodded, her expression serious as she steered the squeaky cart through cane that dripped in the soft rain. The narrow mud lane looked like a tunnel, winding its way under lofty cane leaves overhead. Laurie and Raz were tucked into the cart and the small babes rode snugly in their slings. Today the clouds were so low and heavy, the women hadn't been able to view the sea from the hilltop as they usually did. As they approached the steamy field where the Great Gang was planting, Freddy noticed Master sitting tall on his big horse, high above the field slaves who bent to their work, their bodies dripping with sweat and rain.