The Pull Of Freedom

by Barrett, Brenda

  “He is?” Kes looked suitably impressed as he chewed his soup. The slightly thick liquid was rapidly congealing, making sipping an impossibility.

  “Did you know that my intended is cousin to an Earl?”

  Kes shook his head, he was wondering what Nanny and the others were doing. Did they think it was a good idea for him to spend the three days? What were they planning next? He was missing the maroon way of life already though he was in the house for just a day.

  “Did you know … ” Hilma was twirling her blonde hair around her finger her eyes dreamy.

  “No he doesn’t know.” Hilga snapped. Her face looked more colourful in the flickering lights of the candles, some of the spots standing out in sharp relief. “He doesn’t care and neither do I.”

  “If I never,” Hilma huffed, “you are being rude, we have a distinguished guest you know.”

  Hilga ignored her, the parents acted as if nothing happened.

  “So tell us more about you and your family Sir Floyd Kesington.” Paul Braithwaite asked him in the silence.

  He suddenly missed the self-centred prattling of Hilma. What was his story? The true one was that his mother an English lady fell in love with his father an African slave. After secretly meeting each other for years and planning to run off together and live on another island where people would believe she was the mistress of the house and the black man was her slave. Her cruel husband found out about their affair. His mother in a fit of passion admitted that her son was not his child. At the age of twelve he was sold into slavery, ill treated by blacks and whites alike because of his mixed heritage until he finally met people who accepted him for who he was. And now he was a maroon plotting to take whatever is needed from the plantations.

  He missed his mother though, her gentle smile, her unconditional love. He never understood why she was carted from the house in the night kicking and screaming. Her lover, the African slave called Kojo who had always been kind to him, who used to tell him stories about Africa and his adventures in the bushes had been castrated and hanged in the front yard. The man he had believed to be his father had ordered him to be sold the next day and there he had been separated from all that was familiar.

  “Sir Kesington?” Paul asked.

  Kes looked around, they were all looking at him, while he mused about his real story. What could he tell them?

  “Well, I grew up in London. My father died when I was small, I can’t remember him. My mother was the only child of a rich man so I pursued scholarly endeavours and became a barrister.”

  He paused and looked at them, Hilga was the first to smile, she was the sceptic so he relaxed.

  Serena leaned closer to him, “so that is why we couldn’t tempt you with half the money from Garfield. You are already rich.” She was smiling smugly and looking at Hilga.

  Warning bells went off in his head.

  He could see that they were already planning to marry him off to Satan’s spawn, as the slave girl had called her earlier today. Maybe he should have made up a story where he sounded a little poorer.

  Serena nudged Hilga confirming his fears.

  Hilma started to pout. He was suddenly more attractive to her and suddenly she was not the centre of attention in her own house.

  “I don’t think he likes us having slaves mother,” Hilga said smugly, “I wonder why.”

  Paul looked at him his thin eyebrows rising. Kes had the fleeting thought that he definitely had on his wife’s face paint and almost smiled—he should be concentrating. Why didn’t he like slavery?

  “My mother died when I was small and I was left in the care of a Negress. I grew fond of them.”

  “I thought it was your father that died when you were young?” Hilga asked frowning.

  “Yes. They … ” he was in trouble he needed to concentrate. “My mother died too. From a long illness.”

  Everybody nodded at this explanation.

  “That’s so tragic,” Serena exclaimed, “why couldn’t they find you a white nurse.”

  “I thought the tragedy would have been the passing of his mother,” Paul chastised his wife. He was angling to get the money from his long lost cousin and if he sounded sympathetic enough to this lawyer, regarding the plight of Negroes, who knew what could happen.

  They continued to eat in silence, until Hilma burst out, “I don’t want to marry Stoddard anymore.”

  “What?” Serena placed a hand over her heart, her face flushed. “What nonsense girl.”

  “I don’t know him,” Hilma whined, “and he is twice my age. Wasn’t that what you said father?”

  Paul grunted, he usually did not get involved in his daughter’s fits.

  “Everything is already arranged Hilma!” Serena put down her fork in the chicken stew; she hurriedly swallowed her food and nodded toward Kes. "We have a visitor, can you have an attack of the bridal nerves at another time.”

  “He is why I don’t want to get married,” Hilma’s blue eyes filled with tears, “I love him. I think destiny has thrown him in my path.”

  Kes felt warm all over as he stared at her pretty pouting face. This could cause trouble for his plans. This twist he had not foreseen. He should not have alluded to a rich grandfather.

  “He is mine,” Hilga screeched her blotched face pale. “I will not sit around for one more time and watch you get your own way.”

  Aha, Kes chewed on the succulent chicken, it was much deeper than family riches; this seemed like sibling rivalry at its worst. The ugly duckling and the beautiful swan and suddenly he was the prize.

  “Mother, Father, speak to her,” Hilma pointed down the table at her sister.

  “Now Hilma,” Paul started, “we already signed a contract that you would marry Captain Stoddard.”

  “Hilga you are acting like a fisherman’s wife,” Serena said almost at the same time.

  Hilma turned to Kes, her blue eyes bright, “I will marry you and bear your children and we can live on a plantation where there are no slaves, or back in England where we will dance together at the Queen’s balls.”

  “The Queen’s balls?” Kes smiled at her slightly. He was itching to laugh at the spoiled debutante but he could see that this was obviously a serious moment.

  “No,” Hilga screeched, “I am going to marry him. We are going to live on a plantation with slaves whom we pay and then we visit England twice a year for the season.”

  Even in her fantasies Hilga couldn't see herself without the slaves. He looked at her and treated her to the same half smile he gave her sister.

  “Ladies, stop it,” Paul finally chastised his brawling family, his wife looked as if she had fainted in the chair, her head rolling from side to side slackly. He had no choice but to be the disciplinarian.

  Both Hilma and Hilga glared at each other. Kes could almost feel the venom in the glances.

  The housekeeper came to the side of Serena with some smelling salts, that revived her and the meal went on silently.

  “I want you to forget about what happened at dinner,” Paul said to Kes as they shared a brandy in his library—the women had gone off to embroider.

  “What are you going to do about the slaves?” Kes asked hoping to get a good answer. He doubted he could last through the week with this family from hell.

  “I am looking into it dear man.” Paul said haughtily; his eyes shifted from Kes’ and gazed into the flickering candlelight. “Stay for the week, by then I will have my answer.”

  “With all due respect Paul,” Kes cleared his throat, “your daughters are on the war path and I am reluctant to get in the middle.”

  “They are always on the war path,” Paul said embarrassingly, “they were just looking for an excuse.”

  Kes grunted. “Even so I'm going to shorten my stay to three days.”

  Paul nodded, “fair enough, by then I will have an answer.”

  By then, I will know exactly how much you are worth. Kes thought silently.

  Chapter Twenty

&nbs
p; In the darkness of the night Ibo crept to the meeting place where Nanny and her men awaited him. He blew softly on the abeng and the lurid shadows into the bushes materialised into men.

  “Tomorrow is the third day,” Nanny said beside Ibo.

  Ibo tried not to show how nervous he was at her stealthy way of creeping up on him. He cleared his throat, “Kes said that one of the ladies wants to marry him.”

  There were snickers in the darkness.

  “He is too good a liar,” Quao mumbled. “Probably weaved a tale about his wealth and gains.”

  “So what’s the plan,” Aman asked impatiently.

  “The machetes are kept in the storage shed; there are no guns available, the men keep their guns close to their person.”

  “We will have to use fire,” Nanny sneezed and rubbed her arms, the nights were very chilly, even though she had captured one of the fat man’s coat she still felt as if she was freezing. The thought of fire filled her with anticipation, not only to burn down the plantation but for its significant warmth.

  “How many horses?” Quao asked.

  “Fifty,” Ibo was getting used to the shapes in the darkness.

  Quao was to his left, Nanny stood in front of him in a man’s jacket and Aman to his right. “Before I forget, here is the diagram of the plantation. Kes said you should look these over tonight and tell him what to do.”

  Nanny took the piece of paper from the Ibo’s hand and gestured for the men to follow her. They walked deeper into the bushes and one of the men lit a fire. Nanny hulked down in front of the fire and waited for her cold fingers to warm up.

  “The guardhouse is here,” she pointed to the diagram and Quao looked over her shoulders, “there are only eighteen of us if we count Kes and sixteen guards with guns.”

  “Four patrol the plantation at night with guns and dogs.” Ibo piped in, “if it weren’t for your herbs, Nanny, I couldn’t have come.”

  Nanny squinted over the paper, “how many slaves are there?”

  “Close to a hundred,” Ibo replied, “they are all ready to go free. The Braithwaites don't treat them right.”

  Nanny stood up and handed the paper to Quao, “tell Kes to give the guards the sleeping potion, all sixteen of them.”

  “How will he do that?” Ibo asked worriedly.

  “He will figure out a way,” Nanny said confidently. “You will have to give the potion to the dogs too.”

  Ibo nodded, “that would be easy, the man who feeds the dogs is very vocal about his plans to escape.”

  “We will take the guns from the guards,” Nanny continued, “when they are heavily asleep. Tell the slaves to carry their machetes and to destroy anything that we cannot carry with us. We will plant food in our new settlement, so ask Kes to pinpoint grains and seeds and all the household things that will be useful for one or two men to carry. I need new dresses too,” Nanny smiled.

  “What about the horses?” Quao asked, “we have to take the horses.”

  Nanny nodded, “assign the taking of the horses to the men who are able Ibo. We might need them for trading purposes.” Ibo nodded, “when will we attack?”

  “Tomorrow evening after sunset, I will blow the abeng. I will tell you where we are and you will tell me if the guards are down and if the people in the house are asleep.”

  “What about the people in the house?” Ibo asked excitedly.

  “Tell Kes to give them the potion,” Nanny replied, “a strong dose.”

  Ibo rubbed his hands together, “wouldn’t a strong dose kill them?”

  “Who knows?” Nanny answered nonchalantly, “they never cared if slavery would kill us.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The house was silent as Kes crept through the carpeted passageway that ran to the back of the house. After Ibo had relayed the message that he was to give the potion to the Braithwaites and the guards, he had suggested to Paul that he was going to give them the inheritance and that they needed to celebrate.

  He jovially suggested that the guards should at least get a drink. A slave in the kitchen pinpointed by Ibo doctored the drinks. The plan had gone smoothly as the whole bottle of liquor was laced with Nanny’s subtle poison.

  The time was now upon them, he slowly pushed the door that led to the sleeping quarters of Hilma and crept into her room. She had had only two glasses of laced wine but the substance had been potent enough to send her scurrying to bed earlier than everyone else.

  Kes looked down at her pretty face; her pink lips looked moist and kissable. He smiled at the faintly petulant look on her slumberous features. He smiled as he reached down and snatched the gold locket around her neck. He had been watching it all night as she talked around the dining table. It was encrusted with diamonds. She had told everyone that it had cost her grandmother thousands of pounds. Her sister had been green with envy, her jealousy had confirmed to him that Hilma had been telling the truth; he vowed at that moment that he would have it.

  Goodbye spoilt one, he thought to himself. She probably thought that he was attracted to her and couldn’t help himself because of her great beauty; he had leered at her bosom all night. He laughed silently as he dropped the gold chain in his pocket.

  Hilga’s door was next to her sister’s; he pushed it open and went inside. She was sleeping with a cap on her head, tendrils of hair escaped it and feathered across her cheeks. She looked innocent in sleep; her freckles that looked like they tried to out do each other in the day seemed somehow dormant in the pale moonlight that filtered in the room.

  Kes had made sure that she had more to drink than the others. He had even told Ibo to tell the cook to lace her food with Nanny’s potion. She seemed as if she was not breathing. Her chest was hardly moving. He tied her hands with the ropes that he had saved in his room especially for her.

  When they lit the house on fire he didn’t want her to escape, he stared down at her and waited for the remorse for what he was about to do—none was forthcoming; instead he saw the naked fear in the face of the slave girl that she was about to whip and the fear in the words when she uttered Satan’s spawn, this girl believed that black people were not human. He touched her hair and then turned away. Retribution did not fill him with joy but it sure was profitable, he spotted her jewellery box and scooped up the cosmetics that she had on her table. The women who escaped would appreciate them.

  Paul Braithwaite was sleeping on his back when he entered his room; a slave girl was curled into his side.

  Kes sighed and touched the girl. She jumped, her eyes fearful.

  “Get out,” he said harshly, disgusted by the look of fear on her youthful face. The girl could not be a day over twelve. Her young body was unripened and stick thin. She hurriedly dressed and then slipped out of the room as if she had much practice dressing in haste.

  Kes followed her and stopped her in the landing, “tell the men to come,” he was not careful of being heard; even the dogs were drugged. The plantation was easy pickings for the slaves waiting in their cabins with bated breath.

  The girl nodded, “tell Ibo to take the dresses and clothes that Nanny requested.” The girl nodded again and ran downstairs.

  Kes went back into Braithwaites room and found the chest that he kept his gold. The heavy iron container felt full, he tied a rope around it and hauled it to the stairs. Ibo was running toward him along with other men who had a crazed look of anger on their faces.

  “Plunder it all,” Kes said to Ibo grinning. “Do not burn down the house until you find everything that Nanny said you should find.”

  “Where are you going?” Ibo asked curiously.

  “I am going to get a gold studded mirror in the hall,” Kes said grinning, “and then I am going to take a ship to England where I will find my mother and we will live together in a moderate house and I will be a merchant or possibly go into shipping.”

  Ibo stood stunned, “but I thought you would join us in the hills.”

  Kes sighed, “staying here has taught me some thi
ngs Ibo, I am a man with different races running through me. For a while I was angry enough with my father for selling me into slavery that I was willing to stay here and fight, but I'm not cut out for the life of a maroon. My life is somewhere else. I will fight for the cause in a different way; in my heart I'm a maroon. I will never forget that.”

  Ibo swallowed, “Nanny said that you should meet her at the palm tree near the entrance.”

  Kes nodded and hauled the chest packed with gold to the bottom of the stairs. The raiding was now in full swing as men rushed everywhere searching for what they could use for their new settlement. He dreaded going to see the formidable Nanny but he knew that he had to say goodbye to the woman who no doubt would be remembered, sometime in the distant future, as a brave warrior.

  He approached her in the darkness; the plantation was a beehive of activity as slaves ran to and fro responding to the orders of Nanny’s loyal followers. She stood in the darkness and he panted as he hauled the heavy chest and sat on it away from the hectic activity.

  “I thought you would be participating,” Kes whispered his breath whistled through his lungs.

  “They know what to do,” Nanny said her voice husky and low, “I have no pleasure in robbing the white man but we have to eat.”

  They stared at each other’s outline in the darkness. Kes felt as if her eyes were boring into his very soul.

  “I … ” he cleared his throat and tried to speak again, “I … ” the silence dragged on, he felt as if he was betraying the maroons that he had grown to love, the little band of people who had fierce pride and the love of freedom flowing through their veins.

  “Kes,” Nanny moved close to him and touched his hand, “I knew you would leave, I knew that freedom to us was not the same as freedom to you.”

  “But I planned to stay and fight,” Kes said turning to her in the darkness, “I intended to live with your people in the blue hills and help with the cause but I thought about it and I realised that there are other aspects to me too and I … ”

  Nanny chuckled in the night and they both turned toward the house as fire illuminated the night’s sky.