The Price of Freedom (8 page)

Sarah was walking from the drying
yard to the house with her arms full of sheets when Richard and his uncle rode
into the yard heading towards the stable.

"Sarah," his uncle
called. "Come to my room tonight."

"Yes, master Thomas,"
she said lowering her head demurely as she saw that he was with the nephew. She
groaned silently to herself. The last thing she wanted was to go to the master
tonight. She was so tired and her back was hurting badly, but could she tell
the master that? After all he owned her and she was there for his use, no
matter how she felt.

So this was Sarah, Richard
observed. He could see where Deborah got her beauty from, although his uncle
had contributed as well. Her skin was the color of milky coffee and though he
couldn't see her figure behind the sheets she carried he had no doubt that she
would be well formed. His uncle certainly has good taste in slave women.

He wondered how his aunt felt
about her husband blatantly sharing his bed with his mistress under the same
roof as her.

"So is that how you do it,
uncle? Just tell them to come to your room?"

"Well yes, my boy."

"What if they’re not
willing?"

"Not willing? They're slaves,
they don’t have any choice. But any man worth his salt can encourage them to be
willing once they get there," he added with a knowing laugh as they handed
the reins of the horses over to the stable boy.

Richard was amazed at all he had
seen so far. If his uncle's life was any indication, the large plantation
owners in Barbados lived like lords; no expense was spared to make life on the
island easy and no desire was left unsatisfied.

He recognized how easy it would be
to adopt the life of the Barbadian planter. Would he want to leave when it was
time to go back to Carolina?

Dinner was a more elaborate affair
that night. Richard was once again disappointed to see that Deborah was absent
and he wondered if it was by her own choice or whether his aunt had
deliberately arranged it.

It was probably just as well, he
thought, as he cut into his succulent baked pork which was accompanied by
chicken, cassava cakes, fried plantain, sweet potato and a large assortment of
vegetables. His uncle had opened a bottle of fine French brandy and poured him
a generous glass.

"What did you think of the
plantation, Richard?" asked his aunt.

"It's beautiful and I can see
that it’s extremely well run."

"Yes it is. It's one of the
best in the island," she boasted. "We'll have to throw a party to
introduce you to some of our friends from other plantations."

"We'll help you plan
it," his cousins said excitedly. They didn't say much in his presence and
he assumed that they were still a bit shy around him.

"The women will use any
excuse to throw a party," his uncle complained good-naturedly, “but it
will be good for you to meet some of the other planters and settlers on the
island.”

"We can have another one to
celebrate the end of the crop," his aunt continued.

"Yes but we still have the
harvesting and boiling to get through," his uncle reminded her. "We
may need to borrow a couple of girls from the house to help this year and
Jethro too. We need all hands to help out during harvest," he told
Richard.

"Well I'll certainly do my
part. Just tell me what you want me to do," offered Richard.

"Thank you,
son.
I'll definitely take you up on that." Thomas already liked
Richard a great deal. He wished that William was more like him.

The combination of the sumptuous
meal and the brandy made him wonderfully content and having had that hunger
satisfied, he began to wonder how he could discreetly arrange to have the other
dealt with. He couldn't just invite Hattie to his room with his aunt there. How
was he to do it?

"Richard, join me in my
office so that we can plan tomorrow. Ladies excuse us." His uncle rose and
Richard did the same, asking the ladies to excuse him as well.

"Tomorrow I'll take you to
the far side of the plantation and into Jamestown where I have some
business," said his uncle opening the door to his office.

"Fine.
I stopped in Jamestown on the way up. It has an interesting history."

"Yes, indeed. It’s where the
first settlers landed. Have another drink." His uncle poured him another
large brandy. The retreat to the office was obviously more intended to drink
brandy than to talk about the next day.

Richard had heard that drinking
was another pastime on the island that was greatly indulged. While he did not
have a problem with having a drink he did not like the feeling of losing
control which accompanied imbibing vast quantities of spirits, so he tended to
be moderate in his drinking.

"By the way, uncle, I was
trying to think how best to discreetly tell Hattie to come to my room."

His uncle laughed. "Just tell
her."

“But I cannot do so in front of
the ladies,” protested Richard.

“They are well aware of what the
girls are used for, you know.  But if you’re shy about it, I will take
care of it for you,” assured his uncle.

Richard was happy to allow his
uncle to deal with that particular issue.

Deborah settled down under one of
the trees in her favorite spot with a sigh of contentment. It was Sunday, the
day that all the slaves looked forward to, as it was their only day of
rest.  The house slaves alternated their days off since someone always had
to be available to look after the family’s needs.  There was breakfast to
be prepared before they left for church and as they were to have lunch out
today, only a light snack would need to be prepared for later in the evening
when they returned.

Deborah was relieved that she was
not on duty today and could wash her hair. Sunday was the only day that she had
the opportunity to do it and
she
always came out to
her spot, as she thought of it, to dry it.  She pulled her brush through
the damp tresses, working out the tangles before she spread it over the front
of her blouse for the warm sun and the brisk breeze to dry. The scrap of towel
that she had draped over her shoulders did little to protect her blouse from
the damp that seeped through it.

Task finished, she leaned back
against the smooth trunk of the tree and enjoyed the view and the solitude that
the spot afforded her. The sound of the wind gently disturbing the leaves was a
welcome relief from the constant chatter and gossiping of the house slaves.

Hattie was the worst. Thursday
morning she had come into the kitchen late, blaming the fact that she had
overslept on the nephew who had called for her the night before.  Yawning
and stretching contentedly she told them, with a satisfied smile, that it was
very late when she left his room and that he had given her a shilling. Deborah
wasn’t sure who she was more disgusted with; the nephew who was betrothed and
still bedding Hattie or Hattie for thinking it a privilege to be bedded by him
for a shilling.

Picking up the book she had
borrowed from the master's office she found where she had left off before and
then flipped back a few pages to refresh her memory before reading on.

Although slaves were not
encouraged to read and write, the master knew that she had learned along with
the girls and he had never objected.  He had even consented when she had
courageously broached the subject of borrowing books from his office, provided,
he had said, that she was discreet.

She soon became lost in the pages
of Shakespeare’s First Folio and the final scenes of Romeo and Juliet. Before
long Juliet had thrust a dagger into her breast when she discovered that her
husband Romeo was dead.

Deborah was not moved by the
tragedy; in fact she was annoyed that Juliet would chose to take her life
rather than live without Romeo.  What sense was that?  She had the
one thing that Deborah desired – freedom, and she chose to end her life because
of love? Did such love exist outside of plays? She had never seen it and she
would probably never experience it, even if it did exist.

Richard had declined his aunt’s
offer to accompany them to church the night before.  This was one day that
he could laze in bed for a change and besides he had wanted to explore the
grounds of the house at his leisure.  Walking around to the eastern side
where he had not been before, he saw in the distance a small grove of trees
that appeared to be on the edge of a cliff and he was interested to see the
view from there.

He was almost upon the grove when
he noticed a woman sitting under a tree reading.  His heart gave a jolt of
anticipation as he drew nearer and realized that it was Deborah, with her wavy
brown hair released from the confines of the ever present handkerchief and
falling over her shoulders to just graze the top of her breasts.

He strolled towards her quietly
and unhurriedly, not wanting to alert her to his presence before he got closer
to her. He had almost succeeded when he caused a pair of wood doves to suddenly
take to flight as he passed by them.

Startled eyes swung in his
direction and he noticed that she surreptitiously tried to hide the book she
was reading under her skirt. She seemed undecided whether to stand up as he
approached or remain seated where she could hide the book.  He solved her
dilemma by saying: “Don’t get up on my account.”

Deborah did not answer. Her heart
had increased its pace as soon as she saw who had invaded her private
spot.  As a slave she knew that she should get up but she didn’t want him
to see the book and she was relieved when he took the decision away from her.
What was he doing in her spot, anyway?

He was dressed simply in a pair of
well fitted breeches and a cotton shirt opened at the neck.  His longish
dark hair was secured at his neck with a ribbon but a few strands had come
loose and swung by his ear. He really was too good looking for his own good. He
looked down at her from his great height making her wish now that she had stood
up.  She briefly glanced at his face and found his eyes on her hair.

His gaze made her feel suddenly
vulnerable and the seclusion of the grove that was restful only minutes before
now seemed threatening. Her hands began to shake and she hid them in the folds
of her skirt, furious with herself for the fear that was beginning to rise in
her. 

There would be no-one to hear her
if he chose to take advantage of her out here. She hoped that Hattie was enough
to satisfy his needs. She wondered if she had been to his room again last
night.

“What are you reading?” he asked.

“Reading?” she repeated
stalling. 

“Yes. I saw you with a
book.”  Deborah couldn’t deny it so she reluctantly pulled the book from
under her skirt.

“Shakespeare’s First Folio,” she
disclosed. “Master Thomas allows me to borrow books from his office,” she added
defensively.

“I didn’t think you’d stolen it.
Besides he told me you could read.”

They had discussed her? 
Deborah wondered what they had said.  She hoped Master Thomas had warned
him to stay away from her.

“So which of the plays were you
reading?”

“I just finished Romeo and
Juliet,” she grudgingly admitted.

“Ah, yes, the
romantic tragedy.
I saw it once in England. Were you able to understand
it?” he asked.

She immediately bristled. 
Just because she was a slave did he think she was lacking in understanding? How
she hated his air of superiority. How superior was he when he was betrothed and
yet would still
bed
another, even if she was a
slave.  His morals certainly were not superior.

“Yes, thank you,” she answered
sarcastically and immediately froze at her insolence, wondering what punishment
it would bring.

To her surprise he laughed.
Richard knew that she had overstepped the bounds with her sarcasm but he
admired her spirit. Just to provoke her he added, “Yes, thank you, Master
Richard.”

He was surprised to see her face
blanch but he did not know that his words, so close to those that William had
used before dragging her to his bed, had the power to shake Deborah and remind
her of her vulnerable position.

“Yes thank you, Master Richard,”
she forced a demure tone and he was disappointed that she had backed down so
easily.

“So what did you think of Mr.
Shakespeare’s play?”

He really wanted to discuss the
play with her?  Deborah was immediately suspicious.  Slave women and
free white men did not converse, far less discuss plays. Any interaction they
had was purely physical. Why was he asking her thoughts about the play? She
hesitated, remembering that this was the mistress’ nephew.  Would he tell
the mistress that he had caught her reading the master’s books?

Richard’s eyes roved over her
face, seeing the suspicion and hesitation before she schooled her features so
that her face was like a blank page. He was surprised how much he disliked that
blank look which hid all her emotions.

His eyes continued to travel the
length of her hair, following it to the contours of her breasts and he had the
sudden desire to run his fingers through the wild tresses and pull her close so
that he could taste her temptingly full lips.

His mouth watered as he wondered if
hers would be as sweet to the taste as they looked. Desire darkened his eyes to
almost black and he looked away towards the horizon as he struggled to marshal
his wayward thoughts, lest he forget his promise to his uncle.

Deborah saw him looking at her hair
again and had the sudden urge to plait it and hide it under her towel. If she
gave in to the urge he would know that he disturbed her and she didn’t want to
give him that satisfaction.  Besides she didn’t want to draw any further
attention to herself.

“I think that Juliet was a stupid
girl,” she answered his question almost harshly, seeking to break the tension
that was thick in the air. “She was foolish to take her own life when she was
young, wealthy and free.”

“She obviously preferred to be
dead rather than live without her husband. You fault her for that?”

“I fault her for taking her life
for such a reason. Many people go on living after they lose loved ones.”
 She thought of the slaves whose daughter had been taken from them weeks
ago and who was as good as dead to them. “But I do believe there are some
things we should be willing to die for,” she added.

“Like what?” he couldn’t help
asking.

“Freedom.”
The word slipped out before she had time to think about the implications of
answering so honestly.

“You yearn for freedom?”

“There is no slave that does not
yearn for freedom.” She immediately realized the dangerous nature of their
conversion and closed her lips, determined not to say anything else.  How
did this man manage to make her reveal her thoughts?

“But what would you do if you were
free?” he persisted. “Where would you go?  Here you have food, clothing
and shelter provided for you.  You have everything you need,” he reasoned.

“Everything but freedom,” she
amended, even as his questions made her search for her own answers.

She was glad when he walked
towards the edge of the cliff and gestured to the landscape asking, “Where is
that?” effectively changing the subject to a safer topic.

“It’s the East Coast of the
island.  Just below this cliff, the parish of St. Andrew starts and goes
all the way down to the sea.”

 “Have you ever been there?”
Deborah looked at him in surprise. Had he forgotten that she was a slave? What
call would she have to go to the East Coast?

“The only places I have been
recently are St. Michael’s Town and Jamestown. When I was a child the girls
would ask for me to be allowed to go with them when the family visited friends
on other plantations but I have never been to the East Coast.”

“You were born on the plantation?”

Deborah became cautious again.

“Yes.”

Richard wanted to ask her more but
he sensed that this was not a topic that she wanted to discuss. Many topics
were off limits to them.

“How old are you?”

“Nearly
eighteen.”

“You seem a lot older,” he
remarked.

“Being a slave ages you,” Deborah
was quick to return.

“It’s not that you look old, you
act older.”  Deborah wondered how old he was but didn’t have the freedom
to ask.

“I’m seven years older than you,
if you were wondering,” he teased.

“I wasn’t,” she lied.

"I am feeling famished,"
he confessed, changing the subject again. "Could you prepare something for
me to eat?"

‘It's my day off. Get it
yourself,’ Deborah thought and wished she could utter the words out loud.

“Some of the girls are working
today.  I’m sure any of them would get you something to eat.”  That
was as close as she could come to saying what she really wanted to.

“I prefer you to get it for me.”

Deborah could not believe how
selfish he was being but then she shouldn’t be surprised at anything these
people did.  Why did she expect him to be different? She took a deep
breath to control her anger and resentment, raised herself from the ground and
said formally, “Right away, Master Richard,” before walking with great dignity
towards the house.

Inside she was seething. How could
she let his conversation make her forget that in his eyes she was nothing more
than a slave? It didn't matter to him if it was her day off. It didn't matter
if the only day she got to read and lose
herself
in
stories was on Sunday. Whatever Master Richard wanted, he got. How she hated
him for giving her the feeling of freedom and then snatching it away again.
When would she ever be able to get what she wanted? Even if it was just time to
read a book in peace.

As Richard watched her walk
purposefully towards the house, something akin to guilt pricked his conscience
before he deliberately pushed it aside and focused instead on the tempting sway
of her hips.  As his gaze travelled up to the long wavy hair bouncing
against her back, he was keenly aware that her beauty and spirit stirred him
like no other woman and he knew that the promise he had made to his uncle was
already in jeopardy.