Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish by Maggie Plummer

the
edge of the field to ladle and slurp water from a wide barrel. Then they headed
for the rations cart. Birdie readied the calabash bowls. 
           "I'm
Colin Shea Brophy, do you remember me?" a young man whispered in Irish as
Freddy ladled his mash. She gave him a slight nod, careful to keep her eyes on
her work. The driver, Ben, stood at the water barrel, splashing his face and
watching them. "From the wagon after the auction," Colin continued.
"You had eyes for no one but your wee sister…"
           Freddy
met his piercing blue eyes. They were startling, set off by his bronze skin and
thick black eyebrows. He was about five inches taller than her, with a broad
chest and wide shoulders. He had a sharp chin, strong nose, and a prominently
ridged brow. His wavy hair was pulled back into a black ribbon. She quickly
dropped her eyes again. He leaned in and Freddy detected a faintly musky scent.
           "I
will live to drink the blood of these English weasels," he murmured in his
native tongue, grabbing his bowl and sauntering off to find some shade. 
     
     
    Freddy
leaned back in the silky water and sucked on a piece of cane, amazed by its
sweetness. Through the trees an almost-full moon lit the spring pool, dappling
it with silver streaks. Situated between two rock outcroppings on the hill
above the cookhouse, the small pool was perfect for bathing. A stream trickled
from a narrow cave into the pool. This was a refreshing relief, after a long
day of sweaty work. She would try to bathe here every night. Although the sun
had gone down several hours ago, the air was hot and humid. The weather seemed
muffled, as if waiting for something.
           The
cool water had already calmed Freddy's annoying mosquito bites. This night, to
keep the bloody mosquitoes away, the women had blown out the candle lantern.
Freddy watched Birdie scoop water and carefully pour it over the babe she held
in one arm. He gurgled happily. Una dunked her head under the water and blew
bubbles. She and Freddy had each draped themselves with sheets of wet muslin.
The native woman was nude. Freddy could see a dark tattoo on one of Birdie's
shoulders, but could not make out what it was. She finished the cane and slid
down, arching her neck to dip the top of her head into the water. She sighed
from its delightful chill. The only sounds were the babe's gurgle and Una's
occasional cough, from deep in her chest. In the moonlight, the woman's sharp
features were paler than ever.
           A
loud scream pierced the night. It came from the direction of the slave
compound. Freddy jerked upright, looking around in alarm. Birdie shook her
head, covered her ears, and hugged the babe to her breast.
           "Wha—?"
Freddy began.
           A
series of jagged shrieks again ripped through the night.
           "The
whipping post," Una said in a resigned tone, resting her head on a
poolside rock.
           Freddy
rubbed the goose bumps on her own arms. Now came deep moaning. Freddy
shuddered, her hair prickling on her scalp.
           "Probably
the African, Tuma," Una murmured, staring up into the trees. "He
returned this afternoon. Master broke up his family and he keeps running away
to see his wife and son across the island."
           A
nighttime bird burst into a warbled solo. Its song combined with Tuma's
haunting moans to create an eerie duet.
           Birdie
was perfectly still, staring wide-eyed in the direction of the compound.
           Freddy
lay back, letting the water fill her ears and muffle the horrible moans. It was
darker now. She gazed at the moon, now barely visible behind heavy clouds.
After a while she sat up. All was quiet again.
           "Even
Tuma isn't flogged as hard as the Irish slaves are," Una whispered.
"The planters pay more for Africans. We are sold cheap, like flotsam. They
hate us. They torture and flog Irish slaves to death."
           Freddy
hugged her knees. Birdie