The Sugar Planter's Daughter (8 page)

I
n order to
keep the meetings truly secret, the People for Justice group met at a different place each Saturday night, that place only revealed through word of mouth on the Saturday morning. Tonight the meeting place was on one of the playing fields near the Sea Wall.

I couldn't help the colour of my skin, but I had to prove that I was not of a different ilk, and I had to take the distrust and sometimes blatant dislike I attracted as part of my heritage. I had to earn first their trust and then, if that went well, perhaps also their respect and their affection. And so, attending that first rally after my marriage, I went in disguise; I wore a black veil that hid my pale face, and kept my hands concealed.

George and I went together; I rode on the crossbar of his bicycle, and he let me down when we were near the field so that I could walk the remaining short distance. George himself wore a mask; just a half-hood that covered the top part of his face, with slits for his eyes. His work was becoming more and more dangerous, and it was vital that his identity be kept secret. Theo X had committed no crime that was in the book; but he was working to destabilise the colony's government, and that, in the eyes of the British, was indeed a crime.

I arrived in good time, and quietly merged with the crowd and found a place to sit on the hard ground. All around me, others took their seats; mostly men, some couples, but no other women alone as I was. But I spotted a group of three young women, sitting near me. I longed to be part of such a group; to have a friend, another female, who thought as I did, felt as I did! Someone to share my hopes and aspirations with! I had had few friends back on the plantation; Emily Stewart, in fact, was the only girl I could regard as a true friend, but I had lost touch with her since my engagement. What a shock that must have been to her! And so I was on my own here in Georgetown. But I must be patient; one day, I would find friends.

Meanwhile, I edged nearer to those three ladies. As a single woman in that crowd of mostly men I was an anomaly, and I noticed that I was indeed drawing attention. Heads turned to look at me; the fact that I was wearing a veil made me a mystery woman, and I understood their curiosity. How I wished I could tear away that veil, and sit there open-faced as did the three women in that group!

They put their heads together, and one of them glanced back at me: they were talking about me! I had attracted their attention, just as they had attracted mine. In that moment I made a bold decision: I stood up, walked over to the little group and sat down.

‘Hello!' I said. ‘May I sit with you?'

One of them giggled, and they shuffled to make room for me. ‘Yes of course – sit down,' said the girl who had giggled.

Another said, ‘Why you wearin' a veil?'

I looked around to make sure we were not being watched – we weren't; it seemed the fact that I was now part of a group had assuaged people's curiosity – and gestured for them to gather closer. Once they had shuffled near to me I lifted my veil, and quickly dropped it again. They all gasped.

My face was well known. During the trial – less than six months ago – it had been splashed all across the newspapers, on the front pages. I was as much a public figure as my father had been: he the villain of that story, I the heroine. That was the very reason I had to keep my presence here a secret, the reason George feared for my safety.

‘Winnie Cox?' said one of the ladies at last, as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

‘I am she,' I said. ‘But I'm now Winnie Quint.'

One of the ladies held out her hand for me to shake. ‘So pleased to meet you,' she said. ‘My name is Kitty – Kitty MacGonigal.'

‘I'm Eliza Woodcock,' said another, and I shook her hand too.

‘Matilda Barnett,' said the third. ‘Call me Tilly. You are very brave to come here!'

‘You were very brave to do what you did,' said Eliza. ‘At the trial, I mean.'

I shrugged. I didn't want to resurrect the past, and so I changed the subject. ‘Do you go to all the PFJ meetings?'

‘Most of them,' said Kitty. ‘If we can all three get away, we come. We would never come alone, like you did.'

‘Ssssh!' said Tilly. ‘They've arrived.'

The buzz of chatter that had been hovering over the field hushed into an expectant silence; one or two people clapped, but apparently this was frowned upon for they were isolated, and no one joined in. Three men walked to the front of the field and climbed up on what must have been a low dais, although I couldn't see it from my spot on the ground. Now their heads were all visible – all masked, but for those who knew them, still easily identifiable. My new friends craned their necks to see better.

‘The one on the right,' Eliza whispered to me, ‘that's Theo X – the youngest.'

‘And the handsomest!' giggled Kitty.

‘How you know that?' Eliza scolded, ‘you ever see him without the mask?'

‘No – but I got a sixth sense for handsome men!'

‘Oh, you! Is time you got married!'

I smiled to myself. I longed to tell them the truth – that yes indeed, Theo X was very handsome; and that I shared his table, his bed, his home. I was his wife! My heart swelled with pride. One day, I would share my secret with these ladies. They would be my first friends in my new life. Kitty, Tilly and Eliza.

Tilly turned to me. ‘Are you married?'

I nodded. ‘Yes,' I said.

‘And your husband allowed you to come? All by yourself?'

‘He – he couldn't come himself,' I said. ‘But he supports the cause.'

‘A white man supports the cause? That don't make sense! You – we know about you and why you did it.'

‘You weren't married then!' said Eliza ‘I remember! You were Miss Cox.'

‘It's true – I only married recently.'

‘So then, you're not Winnie Cox any more!' said Eliza. ‘What's your name now?'

‘Quint,' I said. ‘Winnie Quint.'

I began to sweat. I was getting dangerously close to breaking my promise to George.

Kitty wrinkled her forehead. ‘Quint? I know a Miss Bernice Quint. She brings clothes for my mother to sew. My mother's a seamstress,' she added for my benefit. ‘Bernice – she lives in Lacytown, near Bourda Market. A coloured woman. Any relation to your husband?'

All three ladies stared at me, curiosity in their eyes, but also accusation. The truth was, I had indeed heard George mention Aunty Bernice. I thought she was a cousin of his mother. I hadn't met her yet; she hadn't come to the wedding. And I still found it hard to lie.

I was saved by the megaphone.

‘Ladies and gentlemen!' a voice boomed out above our heads, ‘thank you all for coming. We shall begin.'

I
had told
Winnie I would pick her up after the meeting; to meet me at the entrance to the sports pavilion. I would pick her up and take her home the way I had brought her, on the crossbar of my bicycle. I prayed she had waited for me. At least thirty minutes had passed since I had fled the stage, and people would have started heading for home immediately – my talk was always the last on the programme, the finishing touch. I was the one the crowds came for, my leaders had told me.
We want you to speak last, so that they will stay.

I ran to the pavilion and, indeed, there was Winnie, just as we had agreed, waiting for me. The panic in my heart subsided.

She was not alone. Three women stood with her. I stopped running and strode up to her, my hands stretched out.

‘Where were you?' she asked. ‘I've been waiting ages!'

‘I'm sorry – I'm so sorry! I'll explain!'

I would – but not in front of these strangers. Who were they?

‘These are my new friends,' said Winnie, and one by one she introduced them: ‘Kitty MacGonigal. Eliza Woodcock. Tilly Barnett.'

‘You need to take better care of your wife, Mr Theo X!' said Tilly as I shook her hand.

‘How you could leave her out here in the dark? You forget she or what?' That was Eliza.

‘Is a good thing she got friends. Bad men out there you know!' Kitty said.

‘I know, I know, I'm sorry. Winnie, you coming? Let's go home!'

I practically prised Winnie away from those women. Of course they were right, but I certainly wasn't going to explain myself to them in the middle of the night. I grabbed Winnie's hand and turned to go. Winnie, though, was reluctant. She turned back to the women.

‘Tomorrow, then? Two o'clock?'

‘Yes! You can find the house?'

‘I'll find it,' Winnie called back, and then she turned to me. ‘What's going on, George? Where did you run off to? What happened? Why did you'

‘I'll explain. I promise. Let's just find my bicycle.'

We found it, leaning against the fence where I had left it. Winnie eased herself onto the crossbar and I rode off, towards Albouystown. Annoyance was practically oozing from her body, and with good reason. What I had done was unforgivable – but she would forgive me, I thought. Surely she would forgive me when she knew.

But would she? Winnie revered Theo X. He was one of the reasons she had married me. Tonight I had discarded the persona of Theo X. He was no more – a skin I had cast off. Underneath that skin was me – plain old George. Would she love me just as much? It was a test we should have done before our wedding. But how could I have known? Theo X had not pre-announced his demise. He had simply dropped dead.

W
e quarrelled all
the way home – our first quarrel. She was vexed with me for killing Theo X, and for being late, and, most of all, for not telling her of my plan; for Winnie loved Theo X. And that was precisely why I had killed him.

‘But why – why? Theo was – he is – magnificent! Everybody loves Theo! I love Theo!'

‘Exactly!' I said. ‘You love Theo, not George. Winnie – Theo isn't a real person. He's a construction. I don't want you to love him. I want you to love me!'

‘But I do – I do! Theo is part of you, part of what I so love about you – that passion, that resolve! Remember what you told me once? It's not about you and me, it's bigger than us – it's about the movement! The people!'

‘I changed my mind – there are more ways than one to serve the people. My family comes first. You come first. If you are in love with this made-up revolutionary called Theo the two of us can't have a marriage. I want a real marriage, a good marriage.'

‘How can we have a good marriage when you forget my existence and leave me to wait hours for you to come and pick me up – in the night? How?'

She was right. I should not have forgotten her.

‘I'm sorry, all right? It was wrong. I admit it. It won't ever happen again.'

‘It better not, George Quint! I won't forgive you so quickly next time!'

I should have left it at that – after all, she said she had forgiven me. But I had to have my say: I was vexed with her for revealing to those ladies that I was Theo X, and told her so.

‘Well, what does it matter, if Theo X is finished anyway!'

‘It's still confidential. What if the British find out that I used to be him? I'd lose my job. You women don't know how to keep a secret!'

‘What? I was the one who spied in my father's house for two whole years. Keeping you a secret and keeping the whole worker rebellion a secret. Uncle Jim said I was the most discreet person he'd ever known, man
or
woman!'

She was right about that. Winnie had worked for us, secretly; listening at doors, rummaging in her father's desk for news, and reporting it all to Uncle Jim. All while pretending to be a sweet naïve planter's daughter who wouldn't hurt a fly. Winnie had kept her lips tight for the longest time. But still: ‘You can't just go blurting out my identity to any stranger you meet on the road!'

‘They aren't some strangers I met on the road! They're my friends!'

‘You only just met them!'

‘I make friends quickly. I'm friendly! And – and… George, I'm lonely!'

When she said that my heart just burst. I pulled on the brake handles so sharply the bicycle jolted and she almost fell off, but I leapt off the seat and caught her in time, and I held on to her, squeezed her to me, kissed her cheeks.

‘Oh Winnie, Winnie – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have thought . All alone in that house, with my mother, no friends. I'm sorry my darling. You can have as many friends as you want. Go and visit them – or bring them home. I want you to be happy. If that's what makes you happy.'

‘You make me happy,' she murmured into my collar, and squeezed my waist.

It was such a relief to make up with her. Loving Winnie felt like a clear sun-drenched sky with not a single cloud. Quarrelling with her was as if a heavy black raincloud had drifted across that sky, covering it completely, so that all the light was gone. Unbearable! Now, it was as if a black cloud fled from my mind. That, I realised, was marriage: noticing when the clouds came and returning to the original love, the original clear sky. Because the clear sky was real – the clouds weren't. The clouds were alien things – dark emotions that separated us into two so that we no longer shared the infinite expanse of Love. I harboured that thought so that I could share it with her later, when we lay in bed, wrapped in each other's arms, breathing in each other's substance. Winnie would like that idea, that imagery. It was something she might have come up with herself. Winnie – so sensitive, so aware of the movements of the heart, so wise for her age. I squeezed her again, lifted her back on to the crossbar, and we wheeled away.

That was the night I learned what it meant to return to Love. Love is an act, a conscious decision, a constant call back to itself. I put aside the clamour and vexation of my own little self, and here I was, happy again. Home again.

M
onths passed
, and more and more Winnie adapted to life in Albouystown. I was away at work all day, so I didn't see much of the process, but I did see the results. The biggest result was Ma's complete turnaround regarding her daughter-in-law. She who had rejected Winnie sight unseen, now loved her with a startling and unconditional love – and it was all Winnie's doing. Winnie had decided that she loved to cook, and that Ma was the best teacher on earth. She threw herself into the daily task, and Pa and I were the beneficiaries, for every evening we came home to some new creation concocted by the two of them. Cow-heel soup, pepperpot, cook-up rice – all these delicacies served up at the end of a long day, and everyone happy and satisfied afterwards. Ma and Pa always went to bed soon after dinner. Winnie and I would wash the wares by the light of the kerosene lamp, and then we would sit in the gallery and play cards and chat about the past day until we too felt the urge for bed.

Winnie soon began to expand her talents. Little side dishes would appear on the table: mango chutney, lime pickle, pepper sauce. ‘To spice things up,' Winnie said, and they were good, so good. After she had perfected her recipes Winnie began to make larger quantities and, just as she had done with the guava jelly, fill up jars and sell it in the shop. Once a week she made coconut oil. She'd buy a donkey cart full of mature coconuts, dumped in the front garden. Crack them open with a cutlass – Winnie could wield a cutlass as well as any water-coconut vendor. Remove the hard white coconut meat, grate it, squeeze it to produce the milk, let it stand for a day, then scoop away the curd to reveal the oil. Bottle the oil, and sell it in the market.

And she had won over the people of Albouystown. Winnie has a natural charm, a winning smile and a warmth that others, once they open up just a crack, cannot resist. It all happened so naturally. The cottages in Albouytoun might be small, but the yards they stood in were spacious and verdant, full of trees and bushes. Winnie would peer over the fences and, if what she saw looked promising, she would enter the yard, climb the stairs to the front door and ask the woman of the house if she had anything to sell. Guavas, mangoes, peppers, limes: Winnie took all that was on offer, and paid a good price. She would chat to the lady, ask after her children, talk about cooking and husbands and mothers-in-law. She would walk with the women into the backyard and they would point to whatever they had that was beyond their own needs, and Winnie would buy it. Before long she knew the first names of all the women in the street. By the end of the first month they were smiling at her when they passed her on the street, waving to her from their front windows, calling out to her as she passed by. Mistrust melted, Albouystown opened its arms and Winnie stepped into them.

B
ut the biggest
change of all came after only four months.

After dinner she and I sat ourselves down in the gallery as usual, and I opened the top drawer in the gallery table to remove the cards, but Winnie placed a hand on mine.

‘Not tonight, George,' she said. I looked up in surprise. Winnie's face, caught in the flickering light of the lamp, beamed back at me. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile was the most radiant I had ever seen.

‘George – we're going to have a baby!' she said.