by Sarah Lark
“You people do it all the time!” he replied and pointed to the Hollisters’ ballroom, where women were taking dances with men who were not their husbands. They smiled and winked, and some would hardly let go of their partner’s hand. “How you just smiled at old Keensley … I was downright jealous.”
“But thank goodness no one else is jealous of the old Lord Keensley!” Nora said. “The flirtations here are a sort of parlor game, and yes, one does it also with the young bachelors, otherwise there would be nothing to whisper about. But tomorrow all of the ladies are back on their own plantations and bored to death. You, on the other hand, live in the same house as me and accompany me on rides. That could seem suspicious to a few people — and especially one in particular!”
She scanned the room for Elias, but he had already retired to the smoking room with the other men. He hadn’t commented so far on Nora and Doug’s intimate relationship. How the two of them spent their days seemed to not matter to him. But that would quickly change if the people of Kingston began talking about Nora and her stepson. Nora knew that Elias would let her get away with nearly anything, only so long as her reputation as an impeccable lady and a chaste mistress of his household was not at risk.
Nora convinced herself that it would not be difficult for her to meet her husband’s expectations this time. Doug might sometimes flirt with her, but she never returned the compliments and teasing comments. Naturally she liked the young man, but she was not in love with him! How could she when he had absolutely nothing in common with Simon — apart, perhaps, from his talent in telling stories, but Simon had drawn Nora into his dreams, while Doug merely chatted. She had been thinking of her beloved more frequently whenever she saw Doug’s lean body in front of her on his horse or watched his muscles flex while climbing on rocks. In the evening she remembered the affections that she had exchanged with Simon, the feeling of nestling up to him, and being held and kissed.
In the beginning, she had tried to conjure up those feelings when Elias would lie with her, but as soon as she started seeing her husband as a miser and slave driver, she no longer bothered. It would feel like she was betraying her beloved, like the memory of her days and nights with him were being soiled. And now this memory had returned, coupled with a longing that Nora had not felt since her time with Simon. It must not have anything to do with Doug. It couldn’t have anything to do with him: after all, she dreamed of Simon.
Akwasi dreamed of Nora. Even more, much more, since Doug Fortnam had reappeared and all the more, since he’d noticed Nora and Doug together increasingly often. He didn’t exactly feel jealous, but rather validated: the missis didn’t love the backra; she had nothing in common with Elias Fortnam. So, she was together with Doug, which meant she could just as well be together with Akwasi. Doug had no advantage over him — of course, aside from being the backra’s son, but Akwasi didn’t want to think about that. He preferred to think about how often he had beaten his former friend. In races, wrestling, even in arithmetic! There was no discipline in which he feared competing against Doug Fortnam. Akwasi saw no reason why Nora should prefer the backra’s son to him.
He didn’t confide in anyone though. He could well imagine what Mama Adwe, Hardy, or Toby would say about it. Nora was white and he was black; he was a slave … but against all common sense, Akwasi believed that love could overcome all of these obstacles and so he continued to covet Nora with every fiber of his being. If she could even love him half as much … and she would, if she would just look at him once like a man, like a strong man who could protect her and fight for her, who could love her with strength and skill. She must have surely had enough of the backra’s old, flabby body! And Doug … well, Akwasi was also superior to him. Nora just had to look at him properly.
However, Nora never looked at Akwasi in the way he hoped she would. She looked at him like a friend. But all of his efforts to display his strength and ability to her had failed. Eventually, Akwasi saw no other way to win over Nora’s affections without help. His own attractiveness wasn’t enough — he needed the support of the spirits.
Akwasi trembled at the thought of the consequences if the whites caught him, but he ultimately decided that Nora was worth the risk. He crept out from his quarters in the night, walked to the stables — startled by every sound — and opened a crate of chickens as quietly as possible. The birds were perched on rods, instead of pecking around in their pen like they did during the day. That made it easier. With his heart pounding, Akwasi grabbed one of the chickens, and stuffed the protesting animal into the bag he’d brought along with him. Now he just had to keep it hidden until the next day, but he would manage. Then he could appeal to the Obeah man. Akwasi crept back into his hut with a sigh of relief. The first step was complete — he had the chicken.
Máanu dreamed of Akwasi. She had always loved him, but now that her relationship with the missis had cooled, she longed for his presence even more. She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t finally kissed her or knocked on the door of her cabin. After all, they saw each other every day and he was trying to get closer to her, she was certain of that. Why else would he risk getting whipped for staying with her longer to help prepare for nursing the sick? Why did he come to the kitchen garden when the missis negotiated with Adwea? Why did he bring Máanu rare flowers and herbs so that the missis could identify and dry them? But whenever she indicated that she was ready for him, he took no notice.
Eventually, Máanu started thinking that something was wrong with Akwasi. Maybe a spirit had entered his body and paralyzed his virility, or blinded him when Máanu smiled at him, or walked in front of him with her hips swaying. According to Mama Adwe, such a thing was possible. A man could be enchanted, usually by another woman.
“But who would that be?” she asked desperately.
Mama Adwe had suggested to her daughter that Akwasi might simply have another love. The cook was not overjoyed with Máanu’s desire to marry a field slave. She would prefer it be a stable hand or a house servant, for which even the backra and surely the missis would have given consent. Thus far, Elias Fortnam had never married two slaves before, but house slaves generally had a secure position. Maybe he would even condescend to giving them a shared hut and hosting a small party. Adwea dreamed of such a marriage for her daughter, but with Akwasi it was hopeless. As much as Adwea liked her foster son, a great future had not been in store for the eternally obstinate field slave. He would either be beaten to death or sold one day. Or he would talk Máanu into fleeing and where that led … The two slaves from the Hollister plantation had been found a week after their escape and had been made an example of. In front of all of the other slaves — Fortnam also had his team march over there, even though his son and his wife were outraged — he had the husband’s foot cut off and the wife whipped. The husband survived. The wife, however, died a few days later along with her unborn child.
“Man can love someone else,” Adwea replied vaguely to her daughter’s question. The cook had a crazy suspicion regarding Akwasi’s feeling for the missis, but she would never dare say it aloud. “Only one thing for sure: you, Máanu, he don’t love. Everyone with eyes can see that. You forget him, Máanu. Has many niggers on this plantation. Many good strong niggers.”
Adwea was constantly preaching the same thing, but Máanu wanted Akwasi and no one else. She was even entirely convinced that he just needed a push in order to learn to love her. Maybe even a freeing spell, just in case he really had been possessed by another. Máanu was slowly running out of ideas. Whatever she could do on her own to get Akwasi to pay attention to her, she had already done. She now needed help from the spirits! In order to summon them, however, she had to go against the grain. After all, Adwea had always considered thievery to be the worst sin.
Thus, Máanu had a very bad conscience when she crept out of her mother’s hut with a sack in hand.
But she fought it down with determination and walked toward the stables. With trembling hands, she opened the sack and lured the
hens toward her. They went to her willingly, since Máanu had often fed them. But now she was here to commit an irredeemable crime.
Máanu stole a chicken.
CHAPTER 6
The Obeah man sat in front of his hut when Máanu came to him in the shadows of night. As always, Kwadwo was busy and now his strong black hands were stirring a pot of lard that he was heating as a base for an ointment. He had been able to light the fire quite openly and didn’t need to steal the ingredients for his potions and pastes. Whatever he didn’t collect or cultivate himself, the backra readily provided. After all, it was officially for the benefit of the horses in his stables — the whites knew of the Obeah man, Kwadwo, as Peter, the coachman and stable master.
Among his own kind, however, Kwadwo insisted upon being called by his proper name. He had been caught on the Ivory Coast at a young age — white slave hunters; the blacks would have never touched the son of a medicine man. Of course, Kwadwo had not been very powerful at the time. His father had just begun to divulge his secrets to the boy — just as his own father had done with him many years before. The members of Kwadwo’s family spoke with the spirits; it had been so since the beginning of time and Kwadwo was determined not to break with that tradition, even in captivity.
He had quickly found another Obeah man to teach him. Kwadwo was confused at first, since the spirits on the island had different names and the incantations varied from those his father had used. But the whites’ ship had, of course, taken him far from the country of his tribe. It was quite possible that the spirits couldn’t or didn’t want to follow him. Maybe every country had different spirits. In any case, Kwadwo had been willing to accept that explanation and since the death of his teacher, he served as the Obeah priest for the slaves of the Fortnam plantation. He listened to the peoples’ needs, gave advice, and tried his hand as a medic, having more success with the horses than the slaves. In a manner of speaking, Kwadwo was happy that the missis had taken over that task, as he was more comfortable communicating with the spirits, than he was mixing potions and ointments.
However, he was not willing to frivolously perform rituals to call on the spirits. Kwadwo’s experience taught him that too much could go wrong, and he made that clear to the girl as she laid a sack with an indignantly clucking chicken in front of him, and resolutely demanded a spell.
“Ask the spirits to make Akwasi love me!”
The little house slave did not mince her words. She knew what she wanted.
“It is not that simple,” Kwadwo said. “It can’t be forced.”
“You demand a chicken, but give no guarantees?” Máanu asked, angrily.
Kwadwo shrugged. “We can perform the ritual, it is time anyway; we have long had no gathering to call upon the spirits. And I will call a Duppy who shares your hunger. He will join you, and if you then manage to bring about a meeting with the young man, then he will occupy his body. The young man will burn with love … at least one night.”
“Just one night?” Máanu asked, warily. For that, she would not have had to take the risk with the hen. A bottle of rum probably would have achieved the same result. “I want him to love me for ever — mind and body.”
Kwadwo shook his head. “I can’t promise that, girl. I can only compel a love-hungry spirit to enter the body of your friend and satisfy you. But if he takes residence there for ever or if the man’s soul will then burn for you after his body takes yours … only the gods know that.”
Máanu sighed. That did not sound very promising. But on the other hand, it was exactly what she wanted: Akwasi would pay attention to her; he would at least experience her love once. And she would do everything to make sure he never forgot! Máanu would succeed; she had to succeed!
“All right,” she eventually agreed. “When can we do it?”
Kwadwo smiled. “On Sunday. The backra will be in Kingston on Saturday and Sunday. But the missis won’t be; it’s a gentlemen’s evening or something like that.”
Kwadwo usually knew exactly what the master had planned. As stable master, he heard a lot, and the coachmen, whom he’d chosen himself, heard even more. Above all, the Obeah man spoke English just as well as Máanu and Akwasi — even if he let on far less in front of the whites. Where he had learned the language remained a secret and many of the slaves were filled with awe. “The missis is not a problem,” Máanu said. “She doesn’t spy and would not betray us. But the young backra—”
“He is accompanying his father,” Kwadwo said. “They will only fight more, but the backra can’t leave him behind without the others asking questions. This gentlemen’s evening probably has to do with the Maroons. They are planning to smoke out Queen Nanny again. And they need every man.”
“They won’t get her,” Máanu smiled. “All right then, Saturday. I will tell the house servants.”
Some time after Máanu had left, Akwasi approached the Obeah man’s hut. It was late, most of the slaves were already in their huts, but Akwasi needed the cover of darkness to get the bag with the chicken out from hiding. Fortunately, the animal was still alive.
“Great Obeah man, master of the spirits, I would like you to perform a ritual for me,” Akwasi asked, reverently.
Kwadwo furrowed his brow. “No one rules the spirits,” he replied. “But I can call them for you if you provide a sacrificial animal. Maybe you will tell me your desire?”
Akwasi nodded eagerly. “I am burning with love for a woman,” he said. “But she is blind and seems not to see me. I’d like to break this spell. I want her to love me.”
Kwadwo nearly smiled. “It is not that simple,” he nevertheless told this customer as well. “I can’t force anything. But I will call upon a Duppy that is driven by desire. He will join you and if you then manage to bring about a meeting with the young woman after the ceremony, he will occupy her body. The young woman will then burn with love … at least for one night.” Akwasi nodded. “That is enough,” he said. “Once she has felt me once, if she is close to me once, then she will fall for me. I am sure of it!”
Kwadwo was really smirking now. At least the towering field slave was not suffering from self-doubt. But in this case, he would hardly be disappointed. How strange that he and the girl hadn’t found each other without the help of the spirits.
“Saturday night,” he said, quietly.
Akwasi nodded again. “I will tell the field niggers.”
CHAPTER 7
Nora had now known her staff long enough to realize that something was going on. In the kitchen, there was much more whispering than usual — and the girls and house servants suddenly went quiet when they caught sight of the mistress. Nora had not forbidden them from singing or chatting while they worked, so there was really no reason for secrecy. Eventually, she tried to diplomatically and skillfully pump Máanu for information. Maybe it was about the Maroons and the expedition the planters were planning against them.
“Are you all worried about the free blacks?” she inquired.
Máanu characteristically shrugged. “We have our own worries,” she said. “Why should we concern ourselves with people who live far away and have nothing to do with us?”
Nora considered it. “But they … they take a stand for you. I think this Granny Nanny freed slaves.”
Máanu laughed bitterly. “Missis, they say she freed eight hundred slaves. That may be true, but not necessarily. And even if it were: on this plantation alone, there are 270, the Hollisters and Keensleys have just as many. They could free eight hundred in just three raids. And they go on many more raids …”
Máanu was right! She had never thought about it, but for the numerous raids that had been attributed to the Windward Maroons, eight hundred freed slaves was a low number.
Máanu shrugged again. “Many don’t have the courage. They fear the Maroons more than the backras. And the house slaves are usually not the first ones asked. They kill them, Missis, along with the backras. A few field niggers are left. But by the time they realize that they are being
offered the chance of a lifetime, the Maroons are usually already gone. At best, they can still run after them — and they will almost certainly get caught.”
Because of this new knowledge regarding the Maroons, Nora nearly forgot about the whispering and secrets in the kitchen. On Saturday morning, she brought up the topic of the expedition at breakfast.
“So … hmm … vigilantes were pulling together against the free blacks?” she inquired. “And you want to join in?”
“I certainly do not!” Elias muttered. “I’ve got enough to do keeping my own niggers where they are to run after the others. But him,” he pointed at Doug, “he might finally be able to make himself useful.”
Doug rubbed his forehead, a gesture that was characteristic of him and sometimes reminded Nora of her father. Thomas Reed was accustomed to composing himself by massaging his temples when he thought. Doug would also go through the motion to calm down — which he now only managed with difficulty.
“I’d gladly offer my services as an intermediary,” he eventually said. “Generally, the people are not averse to negotiations, and as a lawyer—”
“A lawyer!” Elias snorted.
“The Maroons will hardly ask after a certificate. But probably for someone who can draw up a contract that will satisfy all parties involved.”
Doug put sugar and milk in his tea. He had learned to appreciate the drink through Nora, and enjoyed its soothing effect, when it was adequately sweetened.
“Contracts!” Elias exclaimed. “Negotiations with thieves and murderers! That bunch has to be smoked out — the planters from the north coast are right about that that. If only it were just not so difficult. But from you, I expect that you’ll be a man, Doug! You’ll probably be able to fire a gun … or do you feel sorry for the nigger scum again?”
A cold fear stirred in Nora. She did not want Doug to go to war and possibly be shot or beaten.