Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish (6 page)

CHAPTER
11

September
1653

"Rassawek,"
Birdie said, pointing to her babe in his sling and taking a bite of pineapple.
While the Pratts were busy serving Master and Millicent their midday dinner,
she and Freddy had stolen outside for a brief rest. In the shade of the lofty
mahogany tree that presided over the cookhouse yard, they perched on a gigantic
log so old its bark was long gone and its wood was worn to a smooth, silky
finish.

       "Rassawek…"
Freddy repeated, raising her head to savor the fresh breeze. This was the first
time she'd heard the wee one's name. She took a chunk of juicy guava from the
plate on her lap and popped it into her mouth. It was leftover from Millicent's
breakfast. One of the best things about being kitchen slaves was that they
could share uneaten victuals left on the shiny gold plates from the Big House.
Freddy wiped the back of her neck with a cool, wet rag. 

       "Monacan
name, my father…'between two rivers.'"

       "Beautiful."

       Being
a kitchen slave was hard work. They both had blisters and calluses on their
palms from constantly grinding corn. Their hands were dry and cracked from
scrubbing pots. But Freddy knew there was much to be thankful for. Besides food
tidbits from the Big House, they always had clean water to drink. Thank the
Good Lord Mam had taught her to read and write English. That knowledge was the
only thing keeping her from slaving in the fields under the whip, starving and
abused like Dika and Colin.

       The
plantation paddle, however, was always present. Last week Birdie had been
paddled because a roast chicken wasn't ready in time for Master's supper. Even
though the native woman was huge with child, Mrs. Pratt saw to her severe
punishment. That night Freddy had soothed her new friend, carefully rubbing
mint ointment on her blistered backside.

       Freddy
was blessed to work with someone as kind as Birdie. Every day she taught the
native woman more English words. Gradually they were talking more easily.
Birdie was teaching her Monacan words, too. "How ko-lah" meant
"hello friend." The word for good was
"wash-teh," and
"she-cha" meant bad. When Birdie showed her a traditional
basket
she'd woven with her own unique flower design, Freddy surprised her by
exclaiming,
"Wash-teh!"

       Birdie was tugging on her sleeve. "You
help," she said, smiling as she tried to scoot herself off the log.

       Freddy stood, offered her hand, and pulled her
swollen-bellied friend up.

       "Ah," Birdie murmured, stretching her
back. "Corn, corn, corn."

       "She-cha!" Freddy answered.

Millicent
sat across from Freddy sniffing, her tongue sticking out between her lips as
she struggled to complete the spelling lesson. Under the big dining table the
child impatiently kicked her legs, almost catching Freddy's knee with the sharp
toe of her high-topped white shoe. Freddy bit her lip and eased her chair out
of the girl's kicking range. Carefully keeping her head down, she watched Millicent's
face, which was half hidden by blond curls. As she waited for her to finish,
Freddy pretended to review tomorrow's English lesson. She let her mind
wander.  

       During
the August gale that damaged some of the sugar crop, French buccaneers had
plundered two nearby plantations. In the dead of night the men had crept from
the beach, tied the planters and overseers to their beds, and pilfered weapons,
jewelry, artwork, and more. They'd raped the planters' wives, Una said, set
fire to the Big Houses, and made off with four Irish slaves. Freddy shuddered,
thinking about it. But she had to confess that she was intrigued by these
French buccaneers who so hated the English colonists.       

       Why
couldn't the French pirates have stolen this conniving brat? The devious child
repeatedly lied to her father, complaining that Freddy was late for their
lessons. That had resulted in three rigorous beatings with the paddle. Freddy's
backside still smarted from the last one. She was counting the days until next
summer, when Millicent would be shipped off to England for school. Meanwhile
she enjoyed daydreaming of brigands swooping in and whisking the nasty girl
away to a brutal fate…

       Once
the rains finally arrived, they would not stop. Slopping through slippery mud
and getting soaked by warm rain were now just daily life. So were dysentery and
yellow fever, especially among the field slaves. The downpours washed away some
of the slave huts and created miserable puddles in others. 

        The
wet season brought out the worst in many. Master's dark mood led him to regular
poker games and drinking more than usual. The more it rained, the harder Ben
drove the field slaves. The mulatto appeared to have it in for Colin, who
stared defiantly into Ben's eyes when the driver addressed him. Last week, as
she served Colin his mash, Freddy pleaded with him, whispering that he must
lower his eyes in a submissive manner. She feared what the driver would do to
him. Yesterday Ben had shredded Colin's back with his devil whip in the most
severe flogging she'd seen. The blood flowed all the way down his legs. Freddy
had stood next to the cart, yearning to run across the cane rows to Colin, to
comfort him and tend his wounds. When he fainted, Ben finally stopped. Today
Colin was back in the field toiling with his hoe.

       Una
swore Freddy to secrecy and revealed that Sean Gwynne, the estate carpenter,
was actually a priest in disguise, here to aid the slaves – especially the
Irish Catholic ones. "We can help him," Una said, warning that they
would be tortured and hung if discovered. "A knife stolen, a gold plate
stashed…I had best say no more…" Then she had succumbed to another horrid
coughing fit.

       Sometimes
Mrs. Pratt sent Una with Freddy to serve the rations.

       "Enough
of your flirtin' with that lad," she teased Freddy one afternoon as they
bounced back to the Big House in the cart. "Sneak down to his hut tonight
and show him how you feel." Una elbowed the younger girl. "If you
won't I will," she added. 

       "We're
friends, is all." Freddy had blushed. Sure, sometimes Colin smiled and
winked at her, cuffing her lightly on the chin with his thumb. But it was all
in good fun. She had to admit, though, when he turned his penetrating blue eyes
on her, it made her feel tingly and strange. It was as if he could see straight
inside her.

       Freddy
feared for Dika, too. One day she and Birdie were driving the cart through a
downpour and saw Ben grab the Gypsy woman, strip off her rain-soaked shift, and
violently ravish her in the muck, in full view of the rest of the Gang. Ben had
lifted his brown face into the hammering rain, appearing to relish Dika's
degradation.

       "No
look," Birdie had whispered.

       Freddy
nodded and fixed her eyes straight ahead. Cursing her own helplessness, she'd
hid her face and placed her hand on Birdie's steadying arm. 

       As
for the Millicent, she was her father's daughter. The more it rained the worse
her temper. When she wasn’t bullying Freddy, she was whining about her pinafore
ruffles going soggy and flat.

       Freddy
looked over at the girl, whose face was buried in her spelling book. Today Mrs.
Pratt had done her up in lavender and white. How was it possible that this
disagreeable creature was only two years younger than Aileen? Where was her
sweet sister now? Freddy had filched paper and pen during Millicent's lessons,
and had written long letters to Aileen and to Mam. But she had no way to send
them. She scribbled late at night in the kitchen alcove, by the meager light of
a single candle lantern, pouring her heart out in her native tongue. She
stashed the letters, paper, and pen behind the corn sacks.

       Today
Freddy felt peculiar, as if the constricting bodice was tighter than usual. Her
breasts hurt and she was tired. Tonight she would try to get some extra sleep.
She rose and moved behind Millicent to check the girl’s work. Her hip brushed
the sideboard, knocking a delicate china plate from its display mount and to
the floor. It shattered into tiny pieces.

       "That
was Mother's!" Millicent shrieked. She yanked off one of her shoes, sprang
from her chair, whirled around, and began pounding Freddy's legs with it.
"You stupid, stupid Irish cow! I
hate
you!"

After
supper that evening, Freddy stood at the kitchen work table scrubbing a crusty
pot. She stopped, wiped her hands dry, and felt her tender breasts. "Why
do they hurt?" she wondered aloud, again picking up the pot.

       Behind
her, Una and Birdie exchanged a quick glance.

       "Have
you had your monthly flow?" Una asked.

       Freddy
turned to them and hesitated. She couldn't remember the last time. "I
don't believe so." Why were they staring so?

       "My
dear," Una murmured, "you are with child!"

       Birdie
rushed across the room and gave her a quick hug. "You, me," she said
softly, placing a strong brown hand on each of their bellies and shining her
hopeful, radiant smile.

Sean
Gwynne's white hair glowed in the moonlight as the three of them knelt and
whispered prayers together by the window of his hut. For the moment the rains
had ceased and there was a break in the cloud cover. They couldn't risk lighting
a candle, he said, in case he was being watched. The thick stand of guava trees
behind the hut was alive with cicada song. The short, stocky priest finished
the prayer, made the Sign of the Cross, and rose. Una had said he was a Jesuit
who had managed to survive Cromwell's bloody attack on his native Drogheda.

       "Let
us sit," he murmured, lowering himself onto a stool next to his straw bed.

       "Thank
you, Father," Una whispered in her native tongue. "Freddy is in need
of counsel."

       "What
is it, my child?" the priest asked gently, turning his deep-set brown eyes
to her.

       "I
try to keep my faith," Freddy whispered. "But I am with child from
the rapes of Master…my heart fills with hatred…"

       "God
has sent us on a stony path, young Freddy," he answered softly in his
lilting voice. "But He also gives us strong shoes, that we may find our
way. You are stronger than you know. May you never fear the will of God."

       Freddy
nodded, mute, her eyes filling with tears.

       "Come
to me any time," he continued. "Some Sundays I ride into Bridgetown
to say secret Mass…"

       "Can
you dispatch letters?" Freddy asked, holding her breath.

       "I have done
so," he replied, smiling.

CHAPTER
12

October
1653

Freddy,
Birdie, and Una crept down to Colin's hut through the drenched, black night. He
had come down with a violent case of the bloody flux, which Mrs. Pratt called
dysentery. In the field Ben had withheld water from him. Desperately thirsty,
Colin had resorted to slurping contaminated water. Birdie was sure she could help
him.

       The
women knocked lightly, and tiptoed into the shack. Colin looked pale and thin
as he lay on a rag-and-straw pallet. Birdie lit a candle and set it on the
rough plank table. The deluge pounded on the primitively thatched roof. Rain
was dripping into two plate-sized pools on the dirt floor, next to the table.
Colin was quiet, the bloody diarrhea attacks having subsided for now. But he
had vomited blood on the dirt floor next to his pallet. Una set to work
cleaning it up.

       Freddy
gently lifted Colin's head so Birdie could spoon her traditional herbal
medicine into his mouth. The thick syrup the native woman had boiled up
contained wormwood, rhubarb, garlic, aloe vera, rosehips, dandelion, slippery
elm, and more. 

       "Wha—?"
he mumbled incoherently, rocking his head side to side.

       "It's
only us, Colin," Freddy crooned. "Birdie has medicine."

       He
sighed deeply as Freddy moved onto the pallet to prop his feverish head on her
lap. She noticed how his cheekbones protruded sharply now, making him look
older than his seventeen years. Stroking Colin's hot, dry forehead, she watched
Birdie spoon the medicine. Deep in her stomach Freddy felt a twinge of fear.
Would this young man die here on this hellish plantation, like this? Why did
her stomach contract at the thought of him passing from this life? She studied
his strong face in the candlelight. His black hair streamed back from his
forehead, revealing a marked widow's peak. He had a prominent brow, with heavy
black eyebrows. She liked them. It was that brow that made his eyes so
piercing. As he weakly swallowed the herbal syrup, his nostrils flared and his
Adam's apple jumped up and down.    

       Una
was unusually quiet. Freddy glanced over at her. She stood by the plank table,
leaning on it, her pale face shiny with sweat. Suddenly Una left the hut
without a word.

       Birdie
and Freddy carefully rolled Colin onto his side and inspected his back, holding
the candle closer. Birdie gently ran her long brown fingers over the
angry-looking whip wounds. Freddy held Colin's shoulder up as the Indian woman
spread a thick layer of ointment on his shredded back and covered the injured
skin with cheesecloth. They eased him onto his back.

       "Heal
good," Birdie said. 

       A
rush of cooler night air blew in as Una burst through the door with Father
Sean. The priest knelt alongside the pallet, his eyes closed, praying in Latin.
The women bowed their heads. When Father Sean finished they all moved over to
the table, where they stood in a sort of huddle. 

       "He
must get away from this place, or die," the priest whispered in his native
language.

       "But
how, Father?" Una asked, wiping sweat from her brow. 

       "A
dinghy is stashed in the jungle near the beach," he answered. "But
there is much to do…"

       "We'll
do anything, Father," Freddy murmured anxiously. She knew that he was
absolutely right. If this illness didn't kill Colin, Ben would soon find a way
to finish the job.

       "Whittingham
plans to travel overnight to Christ Church parish," the priest whispered.
"We must find out exactly when and get Colin well quickly. Someone must
slip a sleeping potion to the driver on the appointed night. We need knives and
valuables…"

Una
could not rise from her pallet in the kitchen. In the glow of pre-dawn, as
Freddy and Birdie began grinding the day's corn, they checked on her and gave
her water as best they could.  Sweating and shaking with fever, she tossed from
side to side.

       "Mam,
I'm cold! I need my woolly jumper!" Una suddenly cried out in a little
girl voice, shivering more violently. Freddy ran and gathered the three light
blankets they had in the cookhouse. "Ooh, my head hurts…I hurt all over,
Mam."

       "It's
only me," Freddy murmured as she covered her with the blankets. She pulled
the covers up to Una's chin and tucked the edges in around her. Looking closely
at her friend's face, she realized that her skin was yellow. "Birdie, come
look. Perhaps we should get Mrs. Pratt…"

Birdie
believed that mobby, the popular island drink, would help Colin and Una more
than anything else. She and Freddy set to work making a colossal batch of it.
They boiled sweet potatoes in massive iron pots, then mashed and soaked them.
Then they strained the liquid off through a woolen bag into stone crocks, added
sugar and lemon juice, and set it aside on a shelf to ferment. That night they
would sneak some of it to Colin and Una.

       Birdie
also wanted to feed Colin some perino – a drink made from the cassava plant –
that had been fermenting in barrels in the cool cistern. It tasted like strong
beer, and was Birdie's favorite drink.

       "We
to feed him papaya," the native woman told Freddy. "It heal."

       The
sooner Colin could keep down solid food, the better.

       As
they worked in the steamy kitchen, they kept watch over Una. She was still out
of her head with fever, begging her Mam to help her. But occasionally she
seemed to rest more easily now. The yellow tint of her face frightened Freddy.
Mrs. Pratt had sent for the plantation doctor, for all the slaves who had taken
ill with fever and dysentery. The doctor was across the island, but would be
here as soon as he could, the housekeeper said.

Colin
was sitting up on his pallet, leaning against the wall and waiting for them
that night. In the candlelight he was still terribly pale and emaciated, but
appeared alert. The rain had let up and was no longer dripping into the hut.

       "The
doctor is coming soon," Freddy told him, setting down the bowl and jug
she'd carried. "Una has also taken ill…"

       "Is
it the rains that bring on so much illness?" he asked faintly, shaking his
head.

       The
two women sat on the damp dirt floor next to his pallet. Colin grabbed each of
them by the hand. "Thank the good Lord for you two, for your friendship
and for your health, your strength." His face creased into a wide grin.
"…and Freddy here with the bloom of the rose in her cheeks." 

       She
smiled at him, unable to hide the two bright red circles that appeared high on
her cheekbones. "Ah, Colin, that sterling tongue tells me you're much
improved this night. Thank the good Lord is right, may we all pull through."
Freddy touched her own forehead, chest, and shoulders in a rapid Sign of the
Cross.

       "Drink,"
Birdie mumbled, leaning forward and handing Colin a coconut bowl that held
herbal syrup. "Then mobby."

       "Mobby?"
Colin grinned again and sipped the medicine. He was sweating, which meant his
fever had broken. "I have a terrible thirst."

       "We
make much mobby, lucky boy." Birdie grinned back.

       "How
is your stomach?" Freddy asked him. 

       "Better,"
he said. "But it still hurts." 

       "Mmmm."
The Indian woman reached over and pressed the palm of her hand into his swollen
belly.

       "Oww!"

       "This."
Birdie handed him the ceramic jug of perino.

       Colin
took a swig and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

       Birdie
held up the papaya she'd brought.

       "I
have no appetite—" he began.

       "You
eat, see?" The native woman cut him off, scooping some papaya with a
wooden spoon. "Heal quick."

"God
and John the Baptist grant this brave soul long life and happiness,"
Father Sean murmured in Irish, kneeling at Una's side in the kitchen
candlelight. "The strength of St. Brigid to her, in Jesus' name.
Amen."

       The
doctor could not rouse Una. She had been in a deep, still sleep for two days.
The yellow coloring of her skin had deepened. Freddy found herself constantly
asking God to please, please make Una better. There was so much more that
Freddy yearned to know about her. Their time of friendship had been far too
short.

       Father
Sean rose stiffly.

       "Mobby,
Father?" Freddy held a coconut bowl out to him and filled one for herself.
Birdie had gone to Colin's hut alone this time. Freddy was hoping to speak with
Father Sean about a matter weighing heavily on her mind. She sat on a stool.

       "Bless
you." The priest put the bowl on the work table, lowered himself onto the
other stool, and sighed.

       "To
your health and to Una getting better!" Freddy toasted in Irish. They
lifted their cups and drank. "There is something I must say…"

       "Go
on, child."

       "There
is a Gypsy slave here named Dika. I fear she is in grave danger, like
Colin." She dropped her voice to a whisper, even though she was speaking
in her native tongue. "Father, how she suffers in the cane…"

Dika
sat cross-legged on the dirt floor of the shack, her legs tucked under her
shift. Her black eyes gleamed and flickered, reflecting the candle flame.
Freddy would not have recognized her from the slave ship, she had lost so much
weight. Her hair was pulled straight back into a bun. Her face was now so
angular, it made her shadowy eyes huge. She looked like a hungry cat. Freddy
wished she had thought to pinch some tidbits of food for the woman.

       "Why
me?" Dika was asking, shifting her gaze from Freddy to Father Sean.
"I am not one of you…"

       "That
does not matter," Freddy told her. "We can help you, you can help
us."

       "How?"
The suspicious Dika was not the sort to mince words.

       "We
must swear you to secrecy," Father Sean murmured.

       "You
have my word." Dika crossed her heart with her right hand.

       The
priest glanced at Freddy.

       "I
believe Dika can be trusted, Father." 

       "Very
well," he said in a barely audible whisper. "On the assigned night,
somehow you would slip a sleeping potion to Ben in a drink, making certain that
he suspects nothing. Whittingham will be away, but the driver must not be
about…we have a dinghy ready, for five lads who must get away. Freddy hopes you
will join them in running away…"

       Dika
turned her dark, questioning countenance to the younger girl.

       "I,
I have seen what Ben does to you," Freddy stammered, embarrassed. She
dropped her eyes. "I fear for you."

       "I
see," the Gypsy woman said, nodding. "Yes, Ben delights in torturing
me...and I grow weaker…Running away is dangerous. But staying is also
dangerous, perhaps more so. The dinghy is large enough?"

       "It
will be crowded," Father Sean whispered. "The lads will catch the
current to Montserrat."

       "Montserrat,"
Dika repeated slowly, nodding again. "I have heard that things are good
there." She paused, sitting very still. "Yes, I will do it. Yes, I
will help you, and take my chances in that dinghy on the sea."

Late
that night Una silently slipped away, never awakening from the coma. Freddy was
suddenly awakened just before dawn by a strange, high-pitched wailing.

       It
was Birdie. She was squatting in the gloom next to Una's pallet, weeping loudly
and rocking back and forth, her hands tightly clasping her knees. On the floor
beside her was a knife, and next to it lay several curled locks of Birdie's
thick black hair.

       Freddy
sank to the floor and took one of Birdie's hands. With her other hand Freddy
touched Una's cool cheek. It was not possible. Through red-rimmed, aching eyes
she searched Una's still face. Freddy was too stunned to weep. People died
every day on this muddy, disease-ridden island, but never before someone close
to her. How could brave, smart Una be gone? Where was her rebellious spirit
now?

       In
a shocked daze, Freddy looked up through the cookhouse window at the eastern
sky, now clear and glowing cobalt blue where the sunrise would soon inflame the
horizon. Suddenly a bright, long shooting star streaked diagonally through the
indigo. Freddy's jaw dropped.

       "Ohhh, Una," she breathed.
"Go with God."