The Price of Freedom
Read The Price of Freedom Online
Authors: Donna Every
The Price of Freedom
By Donna Every
The Price of Freedom
Copyright
© 2013 by Donna Every.
All rights reserved.
No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in
any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise
without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright
law.
This book is a work
of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover
design © 2013 by Simone Davis.
All rights reserved.
Cover photography by
Andre Williams
Model: Sarah Lambert
Dedication
This book is
dedicated to my dad who died before it was finished.
He was my biggest
salesman and greatest supporter.
May he rest in
peace.
Acknowledgements
I would like to
acknowledge all the people who helped to make this book a reality.
Morris
Greenidge
, noted Barbadian historian, who shared his great
knowledge of Barbados’ history with me. Thanks also to Penny
Hynam
who loaned me books from her substantial library and
did a wonderful job of editing the manuscript. I would like to thank those who
helped to create the beautiful cover: Andre William, the photographer, Sarah
Lambert, the cover model and Simone Davis the designer. Thanks also to my
dear friend Hudson Husbands who loaned me his copy of Richard
Ligon’s
“The
True and Exact History of the island of
Barbadoes
1657”
which I drew on heavily. And last but
not least, my wonderful husband, Stephen who cooked many meals while I wrote
and my friends Alastair Dent, Rachel Read, Maureen Earle and
Kashka
Haynes who read the manuscript and gave me feedback.
June 1694
The Acreage Plantation, Barbados
Deborah practically ran from the
dining room in her haste to escape William’s smoldering gaze that burned into
her more hotly with each course. Her heart pummeled her ribs as fear and anger
battled for supremacy and she fled out to the kitchen where she could have a
brief respite until it was time to serve the next course.
The plain servant's dress she wore
did nothing to deter him. She had felt him mentally stripping it from her
vulnerable body and knew she was as powerless to stop his thoughts as she would
be to stop him when he chose to act.
She was a chattel in his father's
house and if he wanted her there was nothing she could do about it, short of
running away. But she had seen what happened to those that ran away. Besides
she couldn’t leave her mother and where would they go anyway? How would they
survive? So she would have to stay and endure; at least for now. They may own
her body but they would never own her soul.
The Edwards were hosting a dinner
party, plantation style, and the five of them were joined by a family from a
neighboring plantation with some visiting relatives from England. The long
mahogany table could easily seat eighteen but tonight there were just fourteen
at dinner and the amount of food she and Cassie, the other house slave, had served
could have surely fed the entire slave population of The Acreage, if they were
ever so fortunate to taste the delicacies that were presented tonight.
They had already brought in beef,
stewed chicken and a leg of pork, followed by pickled oysters, anchovies,
caviar and olives, potato pudding, cassava cakes and all sorts of vegetables
accompanied by vast quantities of wine and brandy for the men and
non
-alcoholic drinks for the ladies.
Deborah took several breaths to
compose
herself
before heading to the small table in
the corner where the house slaves were eating their corn soup. Cassie had said
that she would wait by the dining room so that she could let Deborah know when
it was time for the last course which was dessert, so she folded her arms on
the table to create a pillow for her head and lay down.
"Deborah, what is wrong with
you child?" her mother asked from across the table.
"Nothing.
I'm just tired," she answered raising her head slightly. The last thing
she wanted was to add to her mother’s burdens.
Sarah, her mother, was a mulatto
whose light brown skin and curly hair were a testimony of the fate that many
African slave women suffered at the
hands
of a white
overseer or master. At thirty-four she was still very beautiful and it
was well known that she had commanded the high price of £50 when the master
bought her from another plantation seventeen years ago, to help his wife with
the children.
William had been four, Mary two
and Rachel had just been born. After they had grown up, Sarah was given the responsibility
for doing the laundry, the ironing and sewing for the household. Deborah
saw genuine tiredness on her mother’s face and felt justified for the lie she’d
told.
She knew that the mistress made
her mother’s life difficult since it was no secret in the household that she
was the master’s favorite.
Her own fair skin paled as her
thoughts led her back to William and it was only the attractive tinge of olive
that saved her face from looking chalky. The green eyes that darkened with
renewed anger and the stubborn chin which she now lifted, gave her a greater
resemblance to the master than his two daughters, a fact that was a source of
consternation to the mistress. William on the other hand, favored his
father with a ruggedly handsome face and thick dark brown hair but cold flat
eyes.
"Deborah, they’re ready for
the next course," Cassie announced, bringing in empty plates on a trolley.
She reluctantly got to her feet
and moved to load another trolley with plates of custard, stewed guava and
cheese cake that the cook had put out.
Her mother rose and came behind
her, saying quietly: “I know that William has been bothering you but don’t
worry, I’m going talk to the master when he sends for me.”
Deborah nodded without answering.
She didn’t know what talking to the master would do. She knew that if William
wanted her he would have her. After all, he always got what he wanted.
She served the master first and
she and Cassie moved down opposite sides of the table. On her side were the girls,
who were separated by two of their girlfriends and strategically seated across
the table from the younger male visitors. They favored their mother with
roundish faces, blue eyes and dark blonde hair which they wore high up on their
heads in elaborate styles with tendrils teasing their cheeks. Who would believe
that she had played and learned how to read and write with them? Now that they
were nineteen and seventeen and she was sixteen, she was no longer a playmate,
she was their slave.
"What’s that Deborah?"
William asked from the foot of the table, drawing her attention. As if he
couldn't see, she thought angrily. “It looks tempting,” he added with a falsely
innocent look.
"Custard, stewed guava and
cheese cake," she answered shortly, dropping a plate in front of him. Her
attitude could have earned her a slap but he just smiled and replied: "My
favorites. I can hardly wait to taste them," he added softly.
His cold green eyes slid to her
bosom leaving her in no doubt that he didn’t mean the dessert. She turned away
abruptly as fear and anger battled in her. He had been content to stalk her
before, but she could tell that he was getting ready for the kill.
William wanted Deborah.
Every time she served dinner, her graceful movements enticed him and her long
elegant neck seemed to beckon him to taste it. He wasn’t even deterred by
her off-putting manner. If anything it was a challenge for him and he needed
some kind of challenge in his life lest he died of boredom. Although it was fun
to play with her he didn’t intend to wait much longer.
He couldn’t remember ever being
denied anything in his life. As the first born and only son, his mother
lavished her attention on him and gave him whatever he wanted. He hardly ever
saw his father when he was growing up since he was more focused on bringing the
plantation back to profitability, than on his children or his wife for that
matter.
That didn’t stop him from finding
time to enjoy the beautiful slave women that his plantation was famous for,
William thought resentfully. After Sarah had been there for a while the other
house slaves started calling her Mistress Sarah but he didn’t understand why,
until he got older and realized that she was his father’s mistress and
therefore enjoyed an elevated status among them.
His father was therefore in no
position to tell him anything when he started to follow in his footsteps with
his own enjoyment of the slave girls on the plantation.
He resented the fact that his
father didn’t bother to hide his preference for slave women, and Sarah in
particular, and it angered him to see the humiliation his mother suffered as a
result.
He couldn’t do anything about
that, after all his father was lord and master of the plantation for now, but
he would extract his revenge on Deborah. He knew that her mother
protected her and used her influence with his father to prevent her from being
sold or offered to any of the visitors who often stayed at the plantation. That
was fine with him though because, as far as he was concerned, she was just
saving her precious daughter for him.
“I’d like to get my hands on that one.”
A voice interrupted his thoughts. His longtime friend Henry
Bowyer
who lived on the neighboring plantation, leaned over
and whispered in his ear as Deborah left the room.
“Not before me, my friend.”
“You mean to say you haven’t
sampled it yet? That’s not like you,” he teased.
“I haven’t been able to get her
alone. The mother watches her like a hawk and my father favors her, so it
hasn’t been easy.”
“Next time he’s off the plantation
why don’t you pretend to be sick and ask for her to bring your dinner to your
room?”
“Brilliant!” praised William,
smiling slowly. The thought made him shift in his chair with
anticipation. “Yes. That’s what I’ll do.”
“Since it was my idea, I want all
the details.”
William began to feel much
better. From the time Deborah had turned sixteen, he’d given himself
permission to have her; not that he really needed to wait until she was
sixteen, but it gave him something to look forward to.
He and Henry had taken to spending
a weekend in Town from time to time to relieve their boredom. Between drinking
and gambling in the taverns and patronizing the best brothels, they usually
came home with barely two shillings to rub together.
It would be at least two months
before they would be able to enjoy another weekend so he had to create some
form of entertainment for himself and he couldn’t think of anything more
entertaining than overcoming Deborah’s resistance.
Four weeks earlier
“Wake up, wake up, Deborah,” urged
her mother shaking her shoulder.
Deborah cracked one eye open and
saw through the tiny window that it was still dark outside and turned over to
get a few more minutes of sleep. The pallet she was lying on was not the
most comfortable, but at least it was warmer than the chilliness of the morning
outside of the hut where she slept.
“Wake up!” her mother repeated.
“It’s your birthday! You’re sixteen today,” she added excitedly.
That roused Deborah from her sleep
but no excitement filled her at the thought of turning sixteen, instead an
uncharacteristic hopelessness came over her until she ruthlessly pushed it
aside and made way for the customary resilience to rise up in her, giving her
the strength to face another day.
“So what?” she asked her mother
huskily, her voice rough with sleep. “All it means is that I’ve been a slave
for sixteen years!”
She pushed the thin sheet off her
shapely body and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She felt bad the moment the words
left her mouth as she saw her mother’s excited face fall but she found it hard
to apologize for saying what she meant.
“I have something for you,” her
mother said quietly, ignoring her outburst. After all, she couldn’t argue or
reason with the truth. “The master gave me some material he bought from town
and I made this for you.”
With that she held out a beautiful
dress of green satin enhanced by an overskirt of the palest cream with the same
material trimming the sleeves. Around the modest neckline tiny flowers were
beautifully embroidered in the same cream color. It looked as fashionable as
any dress a free woman would wear.
“Thank you, mama. It is
beautiful. When did you make it?” She softened her voice. What was
the point of upsetting her mother; it wasn’t her fault that they were slaves.
“I worked on it after you went to
sleep at night.” Deborah was touched by the effort her mother had gone to
so she held back the words that were on her tongue to ask where she would wear
it.
“I’ll put it in the trunk that the
master gave me,” Deborah said getting up.
“I warmed up some water in the
front room for you,” her mother said, making her way through the partition to
the front of the hut that she and Deborah shared. Deborah wondered how long she
had been up since she was dressed for the day and her hair was already covered
by its customary handkerchief.
The cocks began to crow signaling
that dawn was approaching. Since she had to help get breakfast for the
family she washed quickly, while her mother made her way to the big house,
pulled on a drab brown dress and cleaned her teeth with a chew stick which made
her teeth white and her breath fresh.
