The Pull Of Freedom (9 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Here we go again,” Martha mumbled as she packed Elizabeth’s cases.

Elizabeth was on the bed howling and incoherently mumbling. “I don’t want to leave my son but I have to,” she looked up at Martha with blood shot eyes.

Martha continued to pack her cases ambling slowly around the room, she was seven months pregnant and felt as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her body. She felt tiny contractions around her middle and a niggling pain at her back, she wanted to shout at Elizabeth and tell her to grow up and face the world. Slave women were forced to give up their children every day and not one white woman would lift their soft lily white hands to convince their men of the errors of their ways. But of course she couldn’t say that to her owner.

She had to listen and nod and pretend that she was not in pain so that Elizabeth could escape her husband who found young black girls more pleasurable than he found her.

Not for the first time, Martha wondered what life would have been like to be free with Cudjoe. She rubbed her back as she reached for one of Elizabeth’s dresses resentment boiling in her.

She was going to give birth to another slave, another property of Robert Simmonds.

If her child is of a certain shade then he or she could work in the house, if not she was going to have a field slave. Back breaking labour would be the fate of her offspring. She wished she could pack her bags and take a journey to somewhere she could call home.

“Promise me, you will take care of him Martha.” Elizabeth sniffed and came off the bed; “I'm going to stay with Bridget tonight and then in the morrow I'm going to get a ship to England.”

Martha nodded.

“Tell him about me, lest he forget,” Elizabeth sniffed. “I will pray to God every night that he does not become a monster like his father.”

A slice of pain gripped Martha and she nodded biting her lips.

“Mommy,” Mark ran into the room and looked at his mother’s cases. “Are we going somewhere?”

“No dear,” Elizabeth sat on the bed and lifted him unto her lap. “I am going to England for a long visit.”

“When are you coming back?” He asked worried.

“Whenever you miss me enough to want me back,” Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears, “I love you honey. I always will.”

She kissed his forehead. “Daddy thinks you should stay with him while I go to England. Is that alright with you?”

Mark nodded wide eyed, “I will take care of Daddy till you get back,” he whispered to his mother, “I shan’t be bad, I will do my chores and listen keenly to Miss Primrose when she comes to do my lessons.”

“That’s a good boy,” Elizabeth said getting up abruptly, “now run along and play.”

Mark stared at her for a long while before he left the room, his little heart was constricting, he knew that Mommy was not telling the truth, he could hear her crying through the closed door.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Nanny and her maroons had a system of work going, they chopped down trees and cleared the area for a large village. For weeks they slept under make shift shacks made from palm trees and leaves. They were cold and were often times wet because of the frequent rainfall.

Nanny would mix up different herbs to offset coughs and colds and the frequent fevers that seemed to overtake some of the women and children. There were no complaints from the band of escaped slaves. They worked together, mindful that they were in a tenuous situation where they were still considered the property of others.

It took them days to reach Nanny’s spot. The spot that she said was the perfect place to be. They were laden with the different things that would make life a little easier for them and had eagerly attacked the building up process. Nanny was the chief advisor, and as young as she was, she enjoyed the deference of older men and the courtesies of children. She was often touted as the saviour of the slaves and had courage and determination as hard as the rocks in the Stony River below their village.

They had horses in a coral, near the coral was the chicken coop; Nanny was standing with Quao and looking at the animals.

“They eat enough for two men every day,” Nanny said to Quao, “we need more supplies from town, we will have to trade them until we gradually sell them all.”

Quao nodded, “remember how we promised Adofo we would get his wife from the Spanish Town Plantation?”

Nanny grunted, the mornings were especially chilly in the mountain and she could see Quao’s breath in the air as he talked.

“I think we should go and get her now?” Quao phrased the statement like a question; he was a little in awe of his sister and her strategies of war.

Twice the military had tried to follow their tracks since the attack on the Braithwaite plantation and twice Nanny had foiled them. She had designed such simple plots to confuse the military men and take their weapons that they had stopped looking for them.

That could be because they had not raided a plantation in a long while because they still had supplies. Nanny thought that it was safer that they grew their own produce so that they could be independent of the plantations. She had seen to it that everyone had their own little garden and a good system of bartering was taking place in the village. It looked more and more like a village every day. Men and women would pair up and live together, children without parents were adopted into families and it felt like a typical African village.

Nanny looked at Quao and smiled, “yes it is time to help Adofo our brother. Let us plan the strategy for his wife’s return and in the process collect some supplies.”

A bird hooted in the bushes and it echoed through the mountains; an abeng responded in the stillness of the morning.

Nanny laughed, “those white men will never learn,” she said to Quao, “we will not be defeated or enslaved. Why are they still trying to find us?”

Quao looked pensive, “I wonder if Cudjoe, Cuffy, Accompong and Jelani are doing well.”

“Yes they are,” Nanny said, “haven’t you heard about the raiding in the west, that it's causing a major upset among the white men? ”

That’s definitely Cudjoe. He has always been a fighter. Likewise, he knows that we are fine and I'm sure that he is proud of us too.”

“It’s a good thing we are not all together,” Quao said looking over at the greenery and the rolling hills. “The white men would have no peace.”

He glanced over at his sister. She was still, very still. Her eyes were glazed and she had her ear cocked to one side as if she was listening to something.

“What is it Nanny?” Quao asked urgently. The village was awakening, he could here children crying, women jostling pots and pans, fires were being lit for breakfast. Men were sharpening their cutlasses. The cleared area where the houses were was fairly large and encircled a meetinghouse in the middle, which was larger than the individual houses. That was where the villagers gathered in the evenings around a huge fire telling stories and eating.

“Nanny?” Quao prompted, her stillness was unsettling.

“Cudjoe’s offspring is about to enter the world,” Nanny said her voice flat, “but death is on the heels of gladness.”

“What do you mean?” Quao asked confused, “which offspring of Cudjoe’s?”

“Life is about to make herself known.” Nanny answered cryptically and walked toward her house.

Chapter Twenty-Five

They waved as Elizabeth sat stiff backed in the carriage that would take her to the Williams’ plantation. From there she would leave on a ship to England. She had cried all day until a tired Martha had finished packing her trunks.

Robert stood on the lawn and watched the carriage as his wife left. He had seen the disappointment in her eyes as she stared at him; a twinge akin to sadness gripped him.

Mark stood beside him gripping his pant leg and howling for his mother, he patted Mark on his head and watched as the boy sank to the ground. He slumped beside his son and whispered, “don’t cry little one, I would never leave you.”

He sighed as he rubbed his son’s stiff shoulders. He was becoming bored with his son’s crying and could only think of his work. He wanted to tell Mark that Elizabeth was probably better off in England with its myriads of entertainment and her doting father pondering to her every whim.

He turned when he heard a scream and Martha who was standing on the veranda collapsed on the ground, Mamee ran to take her up, her movements frantic. He shrugged and went into his office passing the frantic activity on his front porch; he was tired of females and their problems.

“Quick, get Mother Esther,” Mamee cried as a footman and the butler lifted Martha and brought her to their quarters behind the kitchen. “I think the baby is coming. It’s too early.” Tears came to Mamee’s eyes as she watched Martha writhing in the narrow bed.

Mark stood in the doorway his eyes round.

“What’s wrong Mamee?” He asked fearfully his eyes wide and tear filled.

“Get him out of here,” Mamee said to one of the girls hovering in the doorway.

“Boil some water Jamilia,” Mamee commanded, frantically tearing off Martha’s clothes and wrapping her in a sheet.

They waited as Martha deliriously growled and clutched her belly.

Mother Esther came into the room with a bag filled with herbs and other pungent smelling herbs.

Martha could barely speak she was sweating and gasping, “I should have gone,” she whispered to Mamee, “I should have gone with ‘im.”

“No,” Mamee whispered, “I would have wanted to go with you. It is not safe out there.”

Martha screamed as the pains in her back met the pains in her front, her body tightened in defence as the pain wrapped its tentacles around her small frame.

“Pant,” Mother Esther said her booming voice irreverently loud in the room. She was a big woman her coffee coloured skin in contrast with her pearly whites.

Mamee clutched Martha’s hands; she was her only child, if only she knew it. She wanted to tell her so much and yet she couldn’t, Martha needed all her strength if she was going to pull through.

Please God let her lose the baby and save her. Mamee prayed quietly, I don’t have anything to live for if she dies. She looked up at the crudely constructed roof. No effort was taken with their quarters, they were only slaves absorbed in a land called Jamaica, used and abused as women and now on the verge of death. Tears ran unchecked down Mamee’s cheeks, her heartbeat raced at every scream uttered from Martha. The girl was suffering, she was panting and could barely breathe; barely able to ingest the herbs that Mother Esther kept trying to shove down her throat.

For hours the plantation was still; knowing the threat of death was at the door. Martha began to push, her pain-hazed body wanting to expel its burden. Her pulse slowed to a crawl and she was gasping for air. She looked over at Mamee who was sitting beside her, sweat gathered on her face.

“Mamee,” Martha whispered, when she got a brief respite from the pain.

“Yes,” Mamee choked out.

“If it’s a girl, her name is Asha okay ... ”

“Yes,” Mamee murmured, “save your strength to push.”

“Listen,” Martha whispered, “it's an Ashanti word which means life, she will not be a coward like me. She will be as brave as her father and as free as the wind.”

She panted and pushed, then looked up through her tears and sweat, “Mamee,” she groaned, “I always knew that you loved me best.”

Mamee squeezed her hand and tears clouded her eyes as Mother Esther wrapped the small baby that came from Martha, they cleared her nasal passages and she mewled.

“She’s alive,” Mother Esther whispered. “She will be a house slave.”

They looked at her skin tone and breathed a sigh of relief. They both looked down at Martha and knew that she hadn't suffered the same fate; she was still in the darkness her face twisted in pain.

Mother Esther arranged her hand over her chest and dragged the sheet to cover her face.

“Give her to me,” Mamee said shuddering as she took the baby from Mother Esther, “this is my granddaughter her name is Asha. It means life.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“There was a death on your plantation last night,” Bridget said to Elizabeth as they stood at the pier waiting to go on a ship. Fortunately for Elizabeth, she had gotten passage on the prestigious Lady Bird.

They stood under their parasols, both women looking forlorn. The place smelt fishy; the human waste and hustle and bustle was depressing.

“Who?” Elizabeth asked alarmed. Everybody seemed okay when she left the evening before.

“Our friend Martha,” Bridget said sadly, “she died giving birth to a little girl.”

Elizabeth closed her swollen eyes.  She wished Bridget had not told her so that she could imagine Martha, who was so good with her son, playing with him and making him happy. It was too much for her to bear and she hugged Bridget briefly as she stepped aboard the ship.

“Write me,” she said hoarsely, her voice low and raw. “Please check up on Mark.”

Bridget nodded, the two of them knowing that Mark was losing his mother and his dearest friend Martha all in one day.

“Never let anything happen to Mamee or Martha’s girl,” Elizabeth clutched Bridget’s hands.

“I promise,” Bridget said solemnly.

Elizabeth went on board a broken woman as she left behind all she held dear. She sat on the bottom bunk bed in her cabin and cried great hacking sobs, her roommate a young girl named Hilma Braithwaite Stoddard looked at her dispassionately and waited until she was finished.

“That’s my bed,” she said to Elizabeth. “I am sleeping on the bottom bunk and you will have to sleep up top.” She fluffed her long blonde hair; her blue eyes cold and glassy.

“I am s... so..sorry,” Elizabeth said, “I just left my husband and son and I learnt that a friend of mine died in childbirth.”

Hilma looked at her coldly, “that’s nothing to be wailing about, my parents died in a fire set by the creatures they call slaves, my twin also perished along with our friend the barrister who was supposed to endow my father with thousands of pounds. One of the slaves stole my priceless chain given to me by my grandmother that is worth thousands of pounds. Somebody took my father’s chest filled with gold. Half of that was to be my dowry.”

She paused for a breath and looked at Elizabeth, disdain still in her eyes. “My property was burned to the ground, all our livestock stolen. I got married with naught a penny to my name and my husband, God bless his heart, decided to overlook my lack of dowry in exchange for a dead estate. I am returning to England to stay with my family until my husband who is a captain in the queen’s army can meet me there.”

Elizabeth looked at the girl in front of her dumbfounded. She was so wrapped up in her own problems she didn’t realise how petty they were.

“I am sorry,” she whispered to the girl.

“The name is Hilma Braithwaite Stoddard,” Hilma said haughtily, she was happy that she had shocked her new roommate into reality; she was not in the mood to hear anybody’s sob story. She was used to being the centre of attention and what better way to get it than to show that she had an even sadder story than the paltry concoction the girl in front of her had.

“I am Elizabeth Howard Simmonds.” Liz said sniffling, “I remember hearing about your plantation.”

“Are you related to Lord Newton Howard?” Hilma asked eagerly, as she searched her brain for royal connections, might be Elizabeth Simmonds was well connected; it wouldn’t hurt to make friends with the affluent.

“He is my father,” Elizabeth wiped her eyes daintily with a hanky and missed the look of glee that passed over Hilma’s face.

“I think I should not have snapped at you earlier,” Hilma said gently, “what’s wrong?”

Liz told her and fresh tears sprang to her eyes.

“Now, now, now,” Hilma said avarice gleaming in her eyes. “I think you should forget the slaves and your husband, in time your little boy will grow to be just like him, a carbon copy of his evil father and it would just break your heart if you were around to see it.”

Elizabeth happy to make a friend nodded. “I wanted to take him with me. I feel like such a bad mother.”

“I know,” Hilma said sympathy oozing from her, as she mouthed platitudes to the daughter of Lord Newton Howard, he was a Count.

She couldn’t believe her luck; she was rubbing shoulders with royalty. By the time she finished with Elizabeth she would be thinking she was better off at home in England entertaining the well-to-do. If Elizabeth decided to include her in her circle she could solicit enough funds to fight the war against the rebellious slaves who had robbed her of everything she held dear.