“That’s not possible … ” Robert’s voice trailed away and he gazed at the slaves before him. They would know something but he had tried the intimidation tactic before and he would get no results. They would just look at him blankly. Besides, the twelve that disappeared were living in the same hut. No witnesses, nobody to threaten after the fact.
How clever. He had felt deep within his bones that they would be trouble. John’s warning not to buy them came back to him and his anger melted somewhat. He couldn’t blame John.
“What is it dear?” Elizabeth came down the steps of the great house and headed toward the lawn, her frilly blue umbrella twirling flirtatiously. Mark walked behind her solemnly, his green eyes serious. As small as he was he could sense the tension in the air. However, Elizabeth was determined to be cheerful.
“Take the boy back to the house Elizabeth,” Robert roared, he was tired of his wife’s interfering in business that had nothing to do with her.
Elizabeth flinched, her green eyes filled with tears.
“I wanted to go to tea at the Williams’, Bridget invited me, I was looking for Mason to tell him to prepare the carriage when I saw you all out here.”
“Slaves ran away,” Robert said impatiently, “I am trying to get to the bottom of it. I will send Mason as soon as we sort this out.”
Elizabeth nodded and grabbed Mark’s hand. “Can Martha at least take care of Mark while you quiz the people, she wouldn’t know anything about runaway slaves.”
“She is a slave. Elizabeth,” Robert said through gritted teeth. “It's possible she heard something.”
Elizabeth stood her ground and tapped her foot.
“Okay, okay,” Robert sighed. Martha was a house slave and the slaves who ran away had been there for only two days.
“Martha go and help your Mistress.”
Martha who was standing near the front answered, “yes sar.”
“And Mamee too, I am hungry.” Elizabeth puckered her pink lips peevishly.
“Okay, Mamee too.” Robert sighed, Mamee was also a house slave and she had been in his house for close to ten years, she could not be involved, he reasoned.
“Jamilia,” Elizabeth said stubbornly referring to the cook.
“And Jamilia,” Robert nodded to the cook.
“Burnice needs to stitch the hem of my green frock, the one that brings out my eyes to wear to the tea.” Elizabeth said and before Robert could answer, “that’s all, no one else.”
“Very well, Burnice go help your mistress.”
As the slaves walked away behind Elizabeth, Robert looked at John, “split them up in groups and see if they know anything. Promise freedom if that is what it will take.”
John nodded vaguely; he was looking at Elizabeth’s retreating back; he was dazed at her beauty.
Chapter Ten
“That was close,” Mamee whispered in the kitchen at lunchtime, they were preparing the Massa’s food. Jamilia was whistling tunelessly over the pot and Burnice was chopping vegetables.
“She removed all the people that would know anything,” Burnice chuckled softly. “Massa John is so hot in the collar, over her, that he did not pick up on anything.”
“And Massa Robert was so frustrated with her, he allowed us to go.” Mamee shook her head. “I am glad they didn’t get to quiz Martha, she’s been pining over the little short one that they call Cudjoe ever since he left last night.”
“Its called love,” Jamilia said as she stirred a sprig of thyme in the pot and tasted it.
“You can’t love so quickly,” Mamee snorted, “she knew him for just one day.”
“It happens fast in this world,” Burnice was chopping carrots, her fat arms jiggling as she minced the orange vegetable. “You can’t afford to wait and see.”
“I agree,” Jamilia said reflectively, “as soon as you meet a good man they sell him or he runs away to the hills.” Her eyes misted over, “remember Minto?”
Everyone grunted. Burnice tightened her lips, and started chopping the vegetables in earnest. Mamee hummed tunelessly, hoping that Jamilia would not continue on her memories of Minto.
“He was a good man,” Jamilia stirred the soup and smacked her lips, “I did not have any complaints about that one … ”
“Stop,” Mamee held up her hands, “I'm not going to say this again to you Jamilia, Minto was little more than a stud horse. The Massa bought him to impregnate the women on the plantation so that he wouldn’t have to buy anymore slaves.”
Jamilia closed her eyes, “he loved me though.”
Burnice grunted in derision, she had two children for Minto but the Massa had sold them.
“What does that grunt mean, fat woman?” Jamilia asked snidely. “Don’t you believe that he loved me?”
“Don’t answer,” Mamee said before Burnice could retort, “they have stripped you of your dignity and any sense of family and you are about to argue over a man who was doing his job as dictated by the Massa; a job that robbed him of any self worth.”
Jamilia and Burnice looked at each other apologetically and silence reigned in the kitchen, each woman lost in thought.
“Why don’t you run away too if you hate this life so much?” Burnice asked Mamee in the silence.
Mamee buttered the bread she had in her hands and slapped them together. “I have to stay for Martha.”
“Why are you so concerned about the girl?” Jamilia asked curiously.
“She is my daughter.” Mamee said abruptly.
Burnice and Jamilia looked at each other with raised eyebrows.
“She doesn’t know that.” Jamilia said frowning, “she said her mother was sold … ”
“I was,” Mamee sighed, “I was so happy when I saw her again but by the time she arrived here she was too old to remember me and sometimes its better for us not to know how close we are to each other in these situations.”
“How do you know that she is your daughter?” Burnice asked curiously, she banged the wooden spoon against the big iron skillet twice and closed the pot.
“She looks like my mother. With the same mole on her chin, she even has my birth mark and she is the right age.”
“She is a good person,” Burnice said reassuringly, “she works hard, there is no way the Massa will sell her or you.”
“I hope so,” Mamee said abruptly, “could you pass the tea pot please?”
Chapter Eleven
“I hate this land, I want to go home I am bored.” Elizabeth Simmonds mumbled to her friend Bridget Williams. Her voluminous pink skirt with its myriad ruffles took up most of the chair space. They were having their weekly tea at the Simmonds’ plantation. At times they would alternate the tea venue as each woman would try to outdo the other.
“I can’t stand the heat,” Bridget said forcefully, she fanned herself with her dainty blue fan, which matched her peacock blue dress. Her hat was made of feathers and they would rustle in the limited breeze that the fan created.
“Let me call someone to fan you,” Elizabeth said instantly, last week Bridget had slaves attending them with palm leaves. She would not live it down if she did not do something similar. Elizabeth rang a bell and Mamee appeared in the sitting room almost instantly.
“Yes Ma’am.” She bowed her head slightly.
“Get Martha to fan us.”
Mamee nodded and silently left.
“I heard that Rob has been doing very well with planting his sugar cane,” Bridget took up the dainty teacup and barely sipped the liquid within.
“Yes, he is doing well,” Elizabeth sniffed, “I told him he would do well here if he took up sugar. I just hate the fact that he has the extra slaves.”
“I don’t like having slaves either … ” Bridget lowered her voice and then considered her confession to her friend. Her views were radical enough that it had cost her many friendships in the developing land of Jamaica. Her husband was very lenient with his slaves because of her influence. The plantation owners often remarked that the Wi
lliams’ didn't have many run-away slaves and they never lost any livestock to the maroons.
“I hate the fact that I have to be around so many people all the time, and pretending that they aren’t people,” Elizabeth said looking at Bridget closely. She was also cautious in airing her opinion, but after months of having tea with Bridget she had realised that her friend was highly intelligent and well read. She, like Elizabeth had gotten an unorthodox education because of their indulgent fathers. She had always wanted to broach the topic of slavery and also the topic of her husband’s bastard son by a black woman that was living on Bridget’s plantation.
Bridget glanced at Elizabeth’s cautious expression and sighed, “you know the two of us have been thinking the same thing but are afraid to broach the topic between us.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Will you … ”
“Have you … ”
They both started talking at the same time and laughed.
“You called Ma’am?” Martha entered the opulent sitting room with a huge folded fan made of silk.
“Yes,” Elizabeth pointed at Bridget, “she’s hot.”
Martha walked over and started fanning Bridget.
Bridget looked at the slightly rounded belly of the young girl called Martha. She was not obviously pregnant but it was faintly there.
“Since we are clear on where we stand in terms of friendship,” Bridget smiled and patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Is that stomach courtesy of your dear husband?”
Elizabeth choked on her daintily cut sandwich and started coughing, her green eyes filled with tears.
“Ask Martha.” Elizabeth choked out.
“So, is it?” Bridget asked Martha, her blonde curls bounced on her shoulders as she turned to the toffee coloured girl.
“Pardon ma’am,” Martha stammered.
“Stop acting as if you are a dumb slave,” Bridget snickered, “answer me.”
“No.” Martha mumbled.
“Oh … that’s a first, an attractive girl like you living in his house.” Bridget’s blue eyes were alight with mirth. “All of that olive skin and wavy black hair and big brown eyes and he is not interested.”
“He likes them darker,” Martha said, regretting her rejoinder as soon as she said it. She glanced at Miss Elizabeth and the woman looked really sad. What would she do now that Martha had spoken her mind?
“I agree,” Elizabeth said looking at Martha’s stricken expression and gave her a reassuring smile. She was more attuned to what transpired on plantations than everyone thought.
Martha was relieved. Both women were actually treating her as if she was one of them.
“So whose is it?” Bridget asked curiously.
Martha’s hand clenched over the fan, if she said Cudjoe, then it would not be hard for Miss Elizabeth to deduce that may be she had known more about the runaways than she was letting on.
“Er … ” she went blank, not being able to think of a name quickly.
“It belongs to a short slave that ran away from here two months ago that called himself Cudjoe.” Elizabeth said serenely. “Remember that time when the twelve slaves ran away?”
Bridget nodded.
Martha gasped.
“He was in it.” Elizabeth sipped her tea and raised a brow and looked at Martha. “I actually thought you would have gone.”
“I … I … Missis Sim ... Sim … ”
“You are shocking her with your revelations,” Bridget said somewhat awed at Elizabeth’s boldness. She had considered her a bit timid before this, somewhat overwhelmed with the newness of her situation in Jamaica but her friend was waking her up to her true character.
“I heard you telling Mamee that they were planning to run,” Elizabeth said looking at Martha, "slaves aren't the only ones who can listen in at doors and pretend to be dumb."
Martha smiled weakly, what would happen to her now? Would Elizabeth ask her where they were headed? Tell her husband and have him beat her to death? What would happen to Mamee?
“Stop worrying about it,” Elizabeth smiled at both women, “I called you away that morning purposely.”
“You did it on purpose?” Martha gasped.
“It's not as unselfish as it sounds, I hate the fact that my husband plays around with the young girls on the plantation, selling their children when they look too much like him. I thought I would punish him.”
“You know?” Both Bridget and Martha asked at the same time.
“Of course I know,” Elizabeth sighed, “who doesn’t? I also know that his slimy looking overseer pants like a dog in heat every time I pass by him. I don’t want my son to grow up here and be like his father. Robert wasn't this way when we just got married, this land has changed him. I'm so unhappy,” she put down the cup in the saucer and pressed her lips together.
“I'm tired of pretending that everything is alright, I just want to go back to England. I don’t care if the whole lot of you run away. I want my husband back to how he used to be.” Her eyes welled with tears and she sniffed.
Bridget got up and hugged her friend.
“Shhh … Liz … don’t cry. I would miss you if you leave.”
“I wanted Mark to get to know his father, he hardly ever saw him when he came to England on his brief yearly visits. So like a fool, I came to this country and found out things I didn’t want to know, like his affinity for black girls and his sick ways of torturing them before he rapes them.”
Bridget patted her friend’s back, her blue eyes were sad. “Robert is expanding his plantation now and would never let you take Mark back to England, his son and heir is very important to him you know.”
“I know,” Elizabeth blubbered, “now that I've come, I can’t leave. I'm little better than the slaves; I want Mark to learn good values from me. Is it a bad time to ask about his other son, the one on your plantation?”
Bridget smiled down into Elizabeth’s eyes, “I always wanted to talk to you about that.”
“What’s his name?” Elizabeth asked hoarsely.
“I named him Daniel. His mother died shortly after she came to us. He’s a sweet child.”
“But I thought that Daniel was your son.” Elizabeth said shocked “all this time he was Robert’s beget.”
Bridget went back around to her chair and looked into Elizabeth’s miserable face. “I can’t have children.”
She held up her hands at Elizabeth’s moue of sympathy.
“I'm okay with it now, and so is Harvey,” she said referring to her husband. “We treat Daniel as if he were ours. I got him as a baby and I love him. Robert asked us to set him free when he reached of age but he is already free.”
Martha stood beside the chair fanning. This was valuable information; the Williams’ had adopted the bastard child of Robert Simmonds and Pauline the diminutive black girl from Spain. If only she could fan the ladies every time they had tea. “Stop fanning Martha,” Bridget said almost in reaction to her thoughts. “From now on, you have tea with us when I come here.”
Elizabeth nodded, “that would be a splendid idea but it would have to remain our little secret.”
Martha sat on the brocade-covered chair and stared at the two white women in front of her in awe. She thought of all the times when she had to press her ears to the door or crawl along the landing of the stairs to hear what was going on. Now she had right here with both ladies treating her as an ‘equal’.
Chapter Twelve
After a month of walking, Nanny and her men had finally reached a spot on the blue looking mountain that they liked. It was ideal. They had plenty of level ground to plant cassava and yam and there were fruit trees everywhere. The place was picturesque and awe inspiring in its beauty, the undulating rolls of mountains towered over them, greens blended into greens and the thick canopies of trees sometimes showed a brightly coloured yellow plant or a dash of red. It was cool in the mountain; in the mornings, sometimes you could see your breath as a cloud in the air.
Nanny was h
appy and her slim body quivered with excitement. On the way to the blue mountains, as she liked to call the place in her mind, they had picked up ten more men, all run away slaves. They were grateful to be apart of a band of people that looked confident in what they were doing.
“This is it,” Nanny said, her slightly husky voice rang out in the morning. “This is the spot.”
“This is very thick bush,” Ibo snorted.
“We will have to clear some of the bush then.” Nanny looked at him fiercely without any formal word spoken, all the men had looked to her as the leader.
Ibo nodded, he was a bit afraid of the fierce look and the determined gleam he saw in her eyes.
“The trees are thick and go all the way to the bottom, we can post look outs along the way,” Nanny said clapping her hands gleefully, “the white man will never find us. We are going to build this village like the village back home.”
“There is a river down there.” Quao went to the ridge of the hill and looked way down into a green rush of water that was snaking itself to the other side of the hill.
“When can we go back to Spanish Town for Rita?” Adofo asked loudly. He was determined that he would retrieve his wife from the plantation in Spanish Town.
“Remember the maroon we picked up along the way said that they had extra guards. Be a little more patient,” Quao said looking at Adofo reprovingly. The man needed to understand that they were trying their best. They didn’t even have a village yet. Nanny was determined that if she couldn't go back to Africa she was going to create a piece of Africa right here in this land.
“The houses will be over there,” she pointed to an area densely covered with greenery, “over there will be where we farm.” She pointed to some trees in the distance. “We will get the same plants the plantation owners have and some clothes,” she rubbed her arms.
She was in a very threadbare dress, which was once white. Her attempts to keep it in its original condition had failed abysmally. As the only woman in the group of men, she was careful to cover herself as best as she could even though she knew they had too much respect and fear of her to even think of touching her.
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