Page 39 of It Happened in the Highlands
A single tear slid down Jo’s cheek. She loved Wynne. And she’d never stopped loving him. Never. Not through all the years when hope was gone.
* * *
When Wynne first approached his son, he thought they wouldn’t speak at all. But Jo was right. Cuffe wanted to talk to him, to someone, and once he began, the floodgates burst open.
He only needed to ask about Jamaica, about the village in the mountainous forests above Falmouth. About the house Cuffe lived in with his grandmother. He didn’t need to say anything else, for his son talked of Nanny until homesickness and grief nearly choked him.
The trees, the grass, the pond, the dark hair resting against Wynne’s shoulder became a blur as he struggled against the raw emotion his son’s words and tears unleashed in him. He waited, allowing the tranquility of the woods and the water to calm Cuffe’s sobs before he spoke.
“You want to be there with her, I know. You feel your place is to help your grandmother.” Wynne forced the words out through the tightness in his throat. “But Nanny’s last letter before I sent for you convinced me that her sole hope, her greatest prayer, was that you come to live here.”
“But why?”
“Because she was worried about you.”
“But I’m worried abouther!” he cried.
“Your Nanny saw more trouble coming on the island, and she was afraid you’d be caught up in it.”
“I’ll stay out of it. I won’t do anything to make her worry.”
“Nanny has lived through troubles before. She knows how young men and boys get swept up in it, whether they mean to or not. It’s the nature of war, and she said war is coming between the Maroons and the plantation owners.” Wynne rubbed his son’s back. “Nanny told me she’d die if you were taken by the authorities or hurt for tagging along.”
“If you let me go back, I swear I won’t do any of those things.” Cuffe pulled away and turned his pleading eyes on him. “I’ll stay close to her, I promise. I won’t even leave the village.”
He knew his son was mature far beyond his years. Cuffe had grown up hearing about or witnessing with his own eyes the ruthlessness of the landowners. The injustice would inevitably drive him to resist.
It had been more than seven years since slave-trading was made illegal, but little had changed in the islands. Wynne was a military man and he believed in the Maroon’s fight. He too had seen the evils of slavery firsthand. Too many in England profited by the exploitation of human beings, and too many turned a blind eye to it.
More than the fair-weather abolitionists and the idealists in Parliament, the Maroons were the strongest force resisting the evil of slavery in Jamaica. In the sugar islands, they were known as the Children of the Mist. And they were feared. Emerging from nowhere, they’d attack a slave trader, free a shipment of slaves bound for a plantation, and then disappear. When retaliations came, everyone was dragged into battle—every man, woman, and child. And this is what Cuffe’s grandmother feared most.
Wynne respected the fight, but he couldn’t allow his son to take part in it at his age.
“I’m not saying this well,” he said, searching for the words that might help Cuffe understand. “The decision to bring you to Scotland was to give you a safe home, but that’s not all. Having you here is as much about your Nanny and me. It’s about being a grandmother and a father. It’s about caring so much that you would die before allowing your son to be hurt.”
He pulled Cuffe to him again, and to his relief, the boy allowed it. Wynne hadn’t been the father he should have been, but he would make up for it now.
“Until you’re grown,” he told him, “your place is with me. But I promise you this, I’ll teach you all you need to know to survive in the world you choose to live in. You’ll learn to think and ride and fight. You’ll train your mind and your body. You’ll become strong and sharp and clear thinking. You’ll be a leader that men can trust. And when you’re ready, when you’re old enough, you can choose where you want to be.”
Wynne knew this wasn’t the answer Cuffe hoped for.
“I know you miss your grandmother,” he said softly. “You can write to her. I know she’ll write back to you.”
“But the time between is slow,” Cuffe said, pulling away again. “If I don’t see her, I’m afraid I’ll forget her.”
“Never. Nanny raised you. She made you the fine, strong lad you are. For as long as you live, she’ll be a part of who you are and a part of all you’ll do.”
Cuffe stretched his legs out in front of him and stared at the line of trees beyond the pond. His tears had dried and the sobs had subsided, but his sorrow still showed in his face.
Jo told him to listen and talk to his son. He’d listened and then he’d talked, as well. He hoped Cuffe knew that he understood his son’s pain.
They’d made a great leap forward in a very short time, but he knew that this moment was just one step on a long road.
“So much of life requires making difficult choices,” Wynne said quietly. “You have many ahead of you.”
He was surprised when Cuffe’s gaze swung around to him.
“What difficult choices have you made?”
