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

stretching her
back. "Corn, corn, corn."
           "She-cha!" Freddy answered.
     
     
    Millicent
sat across from Freddy sniffing, her tongue sticking out between her lips as
she struggled to complete the spelling lesson. Under the big dining table the
child impatiently kicked her legs, almost catching Freddy's knee with the sharp
toe of her high-topped white shoe. Freddy bit her lip and eased her chair out
of the girl's kicking range. Carefully keeping her head down, she watched Millicent's
face, which was half hidden by blond curls. As she waited for her to finish,
Freddy pretended to review tomorrow's English lesson. She let her mind
wander.  
           During
the August gale that damaged some of the sugar crop, French buccaneers had
plundered two nearby plantations. In the dead of night the men had crept from
the beach, tied the planters and overseers to their beds, and pilfered weapons,
jewelry, artwork, and more. They'd raped the planters' wives, Una said, set
fire to the Big Houses, and made off with four Irish slaves. Freddy shuddered,
thinking about it. But she had to confess that she was intrigued by these
French buccaneers who so hated the English colonists.       
           Why
couldn't the French pirates have stolen this conniving brat? The devious child
repeatedly lied to her father, complaining that Freddy was late for their
lessons. That had resulted in three rigorous beatings with the paddle. Freddy's
backside still smarted from the last one. She was counting the days until next
summer, when Millicent would be shipped off to England for school. Meanwhile
she enjoyed daydreaming of brigands swooping in and whisking the nasty girl
away to a brutal fate…
           Once
the rains finally arrived, they would not stop. Slopping through slippery mud
and getting soaked by warm rain were now just daily life. So were dysentery and
yellow fever, especially among the field slaves. The downpours washed away some
of the slave huts and created miserable puddles in others. 
            The
wet season brought out the worst in many. Master's dark mood led him to regular
poker games and drinking more than usual. The more it rained, the harder Ben
drove the field slaves. The mulatto appeared to have it in for Colin, who
stared defiantly into Ben's eyes when the driver addressed him. Last week, as
she served Colin his mash, Freddy pleaded with him, whispering that he must
lower his eyes in a submissive manner. She feared what the driver would do to
him. Yesterday Ben had shredded Colin's back with his devil whip in the most
severe flogging she'd seen. The blood flowed all the way down his legs. Freddy
had stood next to the cart, yearning to run across the cane rows to Colin, to
comfort him and tend his wounds. When he fainted, Ben finally stopped. Today
Colin was back in the field toiling with his hoe.
           Una
swore Freddy to secrecy and revealed that Sean Gwynne, the estate carpenter,
was actually a priest in disguise, here to aid the slaves – especially the
Irish Catholic ones. "We can help him," Una said, warning that they
would be tortured and hung if discovered. "A knife stolen, a gold plate
stashed…I had best say no more…" Then she had succumbed to another horrid
coughing fit.
           Sometimes
Mrs. Pratt sent Una with Freddy to serve the rations.
           "Enough
of your flirtin' with that lad," she teased Freddy one afternoon as they
bounced back to the Big House in the cart. "Sneak down to his hut tonight
and show him how you feel." Una elbowed the younger girl. "If you
won't I will," she added. 
           "We're
friends, is all." Freddy had blushed. Sure, sometimes Colin smiled and
winked at her, cuffing her lightly on the chin with his thumb. But it was all
in good fun. She had to admit, though, when he turned his penetrating blue eyes
on her, it made her feel tingly and strange. It was as if he could see straight
inside her.
           Freddy
feared for