by Sarah Lark
“We’ll do this everyday now until the wound is healed,” she told the slaves. “With the help of God, you won’t lose the foot. But don’t put any more weight on it, let them help you into your hut and keep the leg elevated. It is imperative that you get some rest. Adwea will bring your meals. Oh, and … Hardy, is it?” She gave the older man a questioning look. He nodded. “Hardy will take care of you as long as he is free. If in that time his cough heals, all the better.”
Nora urged the men onwards and went to wash up. She needed a moment before she took care of Akwasi’s back. Nora never admitted it, but the sight of maggots in a wound still made her queasy …
Nora looked in the mirror, saw that some of her hair had come out of its braids, and pulled it back with a headband adorned with silk flowers. She also grabbed the powder puff to make her flushed face look pale again. She by no means wanted to look troubled or confused if she crossed paths with an overseer on her way to the slave huts. It was bad enough that she was sweating, and that the lace sleeves of her shirt hung limp.
In the end, she only crossed paths with Adwea and the kitchen girls and boys when she walked through the cook’s realm. Adwea quickly pushed another pot of ointment into her hand. She had cooked it out of lard and very particular herbs or flowers.
“Send a boy to the distillery to replenish the liquor stores again,” Nora instructed her.
There was no lack of the stuff; after all, it was distilled on site. Nora just hoped that it needn’t be aged for years like good whiskey, but Adwea was able to dispel that fear. Nora was surprised that she not only answered without having to think it over, but also in much more fluent English than usual. Nora sensed that helping Toby with Adwea had given the woman a respect for her that hadn’t previously been there.
Akwasi lay on his stomach in the middle of the hut, where it looked like he lived with a few other young field slaves. The men must have dragged him in and simply left him there — no doubt at Truman’s direction, who had insisted on the fastest completion of Nora’s orders. Máanu was kneeling beside his lifeless body and crying. Between sobs, she continuously spoke to Akwasi, begged him to wake up, and tried clumsily to lift his head, and give him water.
“Let him sleep quietly, it’s much better for him if he remains unconscious until we have cared for his wounds,” Nora said. Máanu got up with a start, but then calmed down when she saw who had arrived. “The solution and the alcohol burn like hell, and he will have plenty of pain.”
Máanu composed herself and helped Nora wash the welts. Akwasi woke up with a groan when she let the liquor run down his lacerated back.
Akwasi hadn’t given the plantation’s new mistress a second look until now. As a fieldworker, he was hardly ever in her vicinity. Naturally, the women spoke of Nora Fortnam — in fact; Máanu spoke to Akwasi about her so continuously that he no longer listened. The girl clearly had a particular interest in him, but she was no more than a little sister to him. Besides, taking a wife was the last thing on Akwasi’s mind, and even then, he would surely not opt for a slave.
Akwasi was an angry young man. He kept as far away from the whites as possible — in order to not have to constantly be fighting the urge not to swing the machete at the overseer or the backra, and cut them into pieces. He would have had the strength to do it — and sometimes he wondered if the satisfaction he would feel wouldn’t actually be worth his own death. But then he willfully restrained himself — they wouldn’t only hang him, but, undoubtedly, all the others in his group, and to top it all off, no one knew if it would just be a hanging.
The planters had absolute power over the slaves. There were laws to regulate their punishment, but no one would care about that if a slave had committed an offense that the backra considered really terrible. Akwasi had heard of men being burned alive or slowly brought to death by having one limb chopped off after another. Akwasi didn’t want to die that way, nor had he wanted to take the risk of being beaten to death today. Naturally, he had expected a punishment. In fact, it was his own machete that Toby had stepped on when he had carelessly, and angrily, thrown it into the field. And now he felt guilty and responsible for his misfortune. But then Toby had lost his nerve and betrayed Akwasi when the supervisor came to his hut — instead of showing him the wound again as instructed, in an attempt to possibly touch his sympathies. Even a stupid man had to know that Toby would lose his leg, or even his life, if gangrene set in. But then seventy lashes …
Akwasi had already received ten several times, once fifteen, and once twenty. He knew that hardly anyone survived forty. When Truman began to beat him, he had parted ways with his life. And it was just as he had expected: first the blinding pain, which only grew when the whip cut into his open wounds. After that, there was a sort of numbness, followed by the merciful fainting, from which he had hoped to never awaken.
But then something intervened — just as Akwasi’s spirit was just about to leave his tortured body, a sort of angel appeared. Akwasi only had a hazy memory of it, but there was a bright figure, a light being … and now, when he opened his eyes, it had returned.
The young man stared in disbelief at Nora’s white face, which was framed by a wreath of flowers and shimmering golden brown hair. Her soft features, the warmth in her strange green eyes … Akwasi had never seen a person with such an eye color before. Being only half awake, he thought a heavenly vision was possible. He tried to smile.
“Here, drink!”
A friendly, encouraging voice spoke to him. Akwasi took a sip from the bottle that was being held up to his lips. He tasted a fiery liquid that fully awoke his spirits. And he couldn’t turn his eyes away from the woman who was supporting him. She was no angel or spirit — but a white woman! The Missis, the wife of his hated plantation master. And yet a woman that made his soul dance. The most beautiful creature that he had ever seen! A girl that he could not have even envisioned, even in his dreams.
Akwasi was ashamed of his feelings at that moment, since they had taken root within him, but he couldn’t help but stare at Nora. She responded with a friendly, but distanced smile.
“Now, don’t look at me as if I’d raised you from the dead. If you owe someone your life, then it should be Máanu. Come, Máanu, help me lift him up a bit and then—”
Akwasi pushed himself up. “I can alone …”
He reached for the bottle, but Nora now held out a jug of water.
“Just quench your thirst, boy, but don’t worry. I will leave the liquor here for you, it may relieve the pain. And now we must …”
She got ready to spread the ointment on his back, but he resisted both Nora and Máanu.
“Leave me be. I can alone.”
“And how do you plan to rub your back alone?” Máanu argued, while Nora willingly withdrew. Male pride: one thing in which the blacks apparently didn’t differ much from the whites. Nora remembered how difficult it had been to get Simon to take her help all the way to the end. Akwasi must have done similarly with Máanu — and he was certainly not dying. The young man was as strong as an ox; he overcame his unconsciousness quickly, and endured the pain without complaint. Nora thought about how he hadn’t cried out until the twenty-seventh lashing. Akwasi was strong and proud, and had every reason to be.
“Let’s just go, Máanu,” she said kindly. “And you lie down a while longer, Akwasi. Adwea will surely check on you again later.” Young men seemed to accept help from older women a bit more easily. “However, you should cover the wounds. The flies …”
Nora looked around the barren hut for a shirt or a bandage, but Máanu had already thought of it. She seemed ashamed and lowered her eyes when Nora saw the strips of cloth and recognized them. The girl had torn up the skirt that Nora had given her to make clean bandages for Akwasi.
“Missis not angry,” she whispered, shyly.
Nora shook her head. Instead, she felt a sort of affection for her. Máanu must truly love the young man. She hoped with all her heart that Akwasi felt the same.
CHAPTER 10
“Truman was not so completely wrong. Of course it happens that these fellows mutilate themselves!”
Nora had been lucky. She met Elias at dinner, before the overseer could offer his version of the incident from that afternoon. He listened to her calmly, without interrupting, or flying into a rage. Although he did admonish her, but even that was mild for him.
“The bastards think of nothing other than avoiding work. You’ve no idea, Nora, you don’t know what they’re really capable of when it comes to deceiving us about their ability to work! The older ones ram machetes into their legs, the younger ones think only of escape — and their wives have to be chained up when they’re pregnant. They would rather have their offspring torn out of them than to bear new workers for us, though it would be much easier to breed them than to have to keep domesticating new ones again and again.” Elias had finished his meal and served himself from the bottle of rum. “Truman’s punishment may have been a bit overdone, but he essentially knows what he’s doing. Just don’t look when he’s whipping the guys. He doesn’t hit anyone who doesn’t deserve it, believe me!”
“But Toby has been here for years and always served you faithfully!” Nora argued. She was determined to stay on the topic of Toby, even though Elias’s outburst made her blood run cold. Men who starved themselves to death on the ship, others who mutilated themselves, or risked other terrible penalties in order to flee; women who would rather let their children die than have them born as slaves … But Elias spoke of it all as if it were only a matter of maliciously depriving him of a service to which he was entitled by law! Nora had to force herself to keep calm. She had never loved Elias Fortnam, but had afforded him a certain amount of respect up until this point. Now she only felt disgust.
“He said he stepped on a knife, and the wound matched that description. It was an accident, Elias. No one could do anything about it.”
Elias huffed. “And who left the machete lying around? Why wasn’t Toby careful about where he walked? Surely that deserves a punishment!”
Nora forced herself to breathe calmly. “That might deserve a punishment, but certainly not one so severe. And it is also no reason to continue sending a man with such a wound back out to the fields. Elias, I have inquired about the worth of such a slave.” She hoped that he wouldn’t ask about whom she’d questioned. She had actually brought the question to Máanu and had been thoroughly informed on the prices of house and field slaves. The blacks were by no means so stupid that they didn’t know what the whites had paid for them. “A man like Toby costs as much as a good mule. And you surely wouldn’t send one of them out to fields with a lame leg — even if the wound had occurred in an attempt to jump over the paddock fence.”
Elias laughed. “I like you like this,” he praised Nora, and moved forward to stroke her hair. He must have been drinking quite a bit in the city, as a bit of wine with his meal and the single glass of rum he was having now, would hardly have made him so chatty. He usually held back his insults towards the blacks when he was around Nora.
“The daughter of a merchant. But what do you suggest? I know, I know, a few of the very large planters keep a doctor on the plantation. But that would be too expensive here. Not to mention the fact that the quack wouldn’t help anything, anyway.”
Nora took a deep breath. “I will inspect the lot in the future, Elias,” she then said firmly. “And surely anyone who thinks he’s too ill for a day’s work. I can judge very well who wants to shirk his responsibilities and who actually can’t manage, and I also often know what to do to make them healthy faster. You know, I worked in London caring for the poor. Mostly together with Dr. Mason, the only doctor in the East End. I’ve done and seen a lot.”
“And you cared for your former lover when he was on his death bed, isn’t that right, Nora?”
Elias laughed again. He had to be very drunk. Nora was taken aback by the remark. Of course, Elias must have known of a scandal involving his young wife when he married her, but she had not suspected that he would know the details. Other than her father, there was actually no one else who could have told him … but she pushed the thought that her father had been discussing her aside for now.
“Then you must know that I can manage it,” she said curtly, and stood up. “If you will now permit me to retire. I intend to start my work early tomorrow morning at the huts to check for possible absences due to illness or injury.”
Nora had hoped that he would spare her that evening, but a little while later, he was in her room to demand his conjugal rights. As of late, this had been happening more frequently after he had been drinking, although he barely touched her when he was sober. But this time lying with her husband was abhorrent. She was disgusted by his touch — and the image of the maggots that she had removed from Toby’s foot entered her mind as her husband lay on her. The planters feeding from the flesh of their slaves …
All the same, not another word was spoken about Nora’s plans, and in the morning, Elias left her undisturbed when she departed for the slave quarters. He rode past her when she was examining the first men — back in the direction of Kingston. Nora assumed that he intended to consult other planters about their thoughts on the matter. Her husband was clearly conflicted: on the one hand, it would be worthwhile for the plantation if fewer slaves died off from otherwise harmless ailments. On the other hand, there was no way he would let a shadow fall upon the image of the perfect lady that he had brought from England.
In the evening, he returned drunk again, however, he seemed quite good-tempered. Apparently, the other planters had approved of Nora’s suggestion — in the American colonies, it even seemed to be commonplace for the planter’s wives to look after the slaves — and certainly, the more distinguished she was, the more selfless and diligent it became.
Nora was relieved. She was determined to visit the huts in secret if there was a doubt, but naturally everything was easier with Elias’s approval. She smiled and nodded to his stories and gossip from Kingston, which he shared in good spirits. The harvest would soon be over, and the social life was already setting in. In the past few days, the Fortnams had received their first invitations to dinners and balls. Elias intended to accept them all and thoroughly parade his wife around.
“And also start thinking about the right time to have our own ball,” he then said. “Or shall we first invite company a few times? We could even invite our neighbors next week, when the last deliveries are out.”
Nora nodded again. The organization of such an invitation was no trouble at all. After all, there was an abundance of staff.
Toby recovered from his injury slowly, while the wounds on Akwasi’s back healed relatively quickly. Nora had sent the young man back to the field the following day — though she did so with a bleeding heart. She would have preferred granting him a day’s rest, but Truman would have undoubtedly complained to Elias, thus putting her entire plan at risk. Nora knew she’d be outvoted: if a slave could stand upright and move his arms and legs, then he was capable of cutting sugar.
Meanwhile Máanu seemed different, somehow, since Nora had helped Akwasi. She was downright euphoric when Nora asked her to accompany her to the slave quarters to assist in caring for the others. Nora’s English maid, Nellie, would have been appalled, and rejected such a request — indeed Nora wasn’t sure Máanu actually wanted to help, but rather, have another opportunity to see Akwasi.
Even the young fieldworker seemed to try to get closer to the girl. Nora often observed that he followed the mistress and servant with his eyes when they examined the sick in the morning or checked in on them again in the evenings. Then he sometimes offered to help Nora with little things here and there, presumably to be closer to Máanu.
Máanu showed he
r mistress such overflowing gratitude for Akwasi’s rescue that Nora was almost embarrassed by it. Surely this exuberance and eagerness to serve were just as put-on as her reserve was at the start. Nora was happy that it gave way to a certain familiarity, including a willingness to answer more sensitive questions.
“Of course there are weddings,” she said, with a hint of the old obstinacy, when Nora finally dared to address the question of love in the slave quarters. “Even for us, men and women love each other and would like to live together, if we are permitted.”
“Do they not let you?” Nora asked. “Are there no ceremonies that … unite two people?”
Máanu shrugged. “It depends. Some planters allow weddings, others do not. Sometimes they even give a gift or give the couple a bigger hut. If a man has a wife on the plantation, he is not as quick to run away.”
Nora wanted to ask more about children, but then she decided to save this more delicate subject for later.
“But … such a connection isn’t … blessed by God?” She bit her lip. It was a difficult question — she had already clashed with Elias about religious ministry for the blacks. Although he allowed the local reverend to proselytize to them, he did not want to have them baptized. With that, dearest Nora, I would have granted them an immortal soul. And that, as we surely agree, is rather questionable, he added, in explanation.
“The Obeah man can bless a man and wife,” Máanu said. “But it costs a chicken, as he has to awaken the spirits. And the backra doesn’t like it.”
Nora furrowed her brow. She had heard the Obeah man mentioned frequently, and Máanu also occasionally spoke of spirits. Nonetheless, great importance didn’t seem to be attached to the issue. Or was she just being careful because it was about things that the backra did not like? Nora remembered Lady Wentworth’s comment from back in London: they are rife with dreadful rituals, child! If they conjure their old gods …