Apalachee

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

‘‘Carolina has been a blessing for me, that’s for certain,’’ said Isaac. ‘‘I’ve just got the papers today for a plantation in Saint Paul’s Parish. The land is cleared and ready for rice. The previous owner died last fall of the fever.’’ ‘‘Do his slaves come with it?’’ asked Moore. ‘‘What there are of them. I’ll be adding more. I intend to ship a great deal of rice through this harbor.’’ ‘‘And I’m sure you will. What will you be calling your place?’’ ‘‘Spring Hope,’’ said Isaac, flushing a little with pride. He suddenly felt very happy with himself. He had become a man of substance, with a plantation , a shipping firm, a lovely wife, and a fine town house. How much of it all did he owe to Theophilus Swade for sending him here to Carolina? More than he had ever expressed to the man. He would try to express it now in the letter he would send with the slaves. Indeed, he would send these two slaves to Swade without charge, as tokens of his gratitude. That would be just the thing. It would tie it all up quite neatly. He looked at Moore with a smile. ‘‘You’ll have to come pay us a visit at Spring Hope when we’ve settled in.’’ ‘‘I will,’’ said Moore. ‘‘I would like to see your plantation.’’ He picked up his hat and opened the front door, pausing for Isaac to go out before him. Isaac made him a little bow and then led the way out into the street. 390 chapter forty-seven Dawn rose in a spreading arch above the sea, casting its red light over the brooding surface of the dark water. Lucia sat on the deck of the rolling ship, her blanket wrapped around both herself and the child, who sat between her legs, leaning back against her, slumped down in sleep. As the light rose, Lucia could see the land behind them, a thin strip of darkness barely visible above the western horizon. Her initial fear had subsided, the terror she had felt in the moonlight as the ship had crossed the bar and moved out onto the open sea, the water dark and vast, endlessly moving, the sails taut and billowing with the driving power of the wind, the small ship rising and falling with the sea, and the land lost from sight in the darkness. She and Blue were the only slaves on the ship. There was a place for them to sleep in the hold, but there was no requirement that they stay down there. They could be on the deck, the captain’s mate had told her, so long as they kept out of the way of the sailors. It was better up here, though the wind was cold and blew relentlessly. On deck her stomach did not heave so much with the rolling of the ship and Blue was not so terrified as she had been in the dark closeness of the hold. Blue was finally sleeping now, and that was good. She would awake in daylight and be happy again. The sun would be warm and the sky blue. The sails and ropes would enthrall her, and so would the water splashing by. It was only the nights that were hard for Blue. She was fortunate in that. The ignorance of children protected them from care. Looking down at the little girl, Lucia stroked her dark hair and then rested a hand on her small, warm head. They were going to Jamaica, the same island where Ana had been sent. Ana would surely be dead after all this time. But Timboe had also been sent there, hardly more than a year ago. Jamaica was a large island, Doll had said. Even though he was probably still alive, she was not likely to see him. Not unless he had escaped to the mountains. She might see him there, in the free towns of the runaway slaves, if she could make her own escape. Though escaping would not be easy. Not with Blue to carry along. But Blue was the reason she would have to try it, no matter what the danger. She would not watch this child grow up into slavery. Not this one. Not Blue Heron’s Mother. The sky was growing brighter, yellow light chasing away the streaks of red. She turned and looked back toward land. It had vanished. Nothing but...