Page 18 of Freedom's Kiss
Scipio reached up and pulled the turban from his head, revealing a thick patch of disheveled hair. He rotated the head covering around and around in his hands. Where the others lacked emotion, he showed signs of feeling. Grief. Regret. Anger. “A cannonball hit the fort’s powder magazine. An explosion killed almost everyone inside. Nearly three hundred lives lost, blacks and Seminoles alike.”
Asa’s head tilted back as he put his face to the sky. His knees buckled, but he remained upright as a guttural sound tore from his throat. His fists lifted and shook in the air, emotion rocking him back and forth. Was he thinking of Temperance and William? Of the sacrifice made to get this far only to have freedom ripped from him again? Letting his hands drop in defeat, he said, “We ain’t goin’ back. No matter what, we ain’t goin’ back.”
Scipio nodded, then turned and addressed his friends in a strange language, his hands making wide, sweeping gestures. Finally, he turned back to address Asa again.
“A ways from here be two settlements. Side by side, though about a mile apart. One for Seminoles”—he gestured to the men beside him—“the other, Negros like us. Black Seminoles. We farm the land and share the harvest. We fight with them. Live like them.” His gaze swept to include Winnie and Isaac for the first time. “Sometimes even marry them.”
Unbidden, her eyes lifted and collided with the third warrior. Nothing about him had softened during the entire exchange, and he stared at her with his penetrating, unreadable gaze. What must he think of her? Of them? She looked down, noting the long tear in the hem of her skirt and petticoat, the mud stains that circled all the way past her knees. Stench drifted from her body, and a twig dangled from her hair in her peripheral vision.
Her immediate response was to shrink. To hide. Make herself small and invisible. But that was a reaction that had been pounded into her.ThatWinnie she’d left behind on a Georgia plantation.ThisWinnie was a fighter. A survivor. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
With that reminder, she lifted her chin and met the warrior’s gaze with all the dignity that had been due her and never received. Every evil that should have been a kindness. Every harsh word that should have been spoken in love. Every inequality that should have been made equal.
He continued to stare, to scrutinize, to study. Then with a small tic in his cheek, one side of his mouth lifted.
Asa dipped his chin in a decisive nod. “We’ll join you.”
Scipio smiled, revealing the loss of a front tooth. “Good.” He reached out and clapped Asa on the back, pushing him toward the Indians. “This is Hachi and his brother Holata.”
The two who bore a resemblance to one another stepped forward and greeted her father with a firm grip to his forearm. “Istonko.”
Scipio moved to the last man. “And this is Nokosi. We are of the Panther clan.”
Nokosi stepped forward and gripped not just Asa’s forearm, but Isaac’s as well, holding the younger man’s arm a span longer before he turned and walked away into the woods, the brothers trailing.
“Come,” Scipio said. “Our camp’s not far from here. We were just about to settle down to some food when we heard your footsteps in the distance. There’ll be provisions, and you can rest.”
“Thank you.” Winnie couldn’t let a moment longer go by without the words. They’d fled to freedom, and at last it seemed they’d found it.
Scipio looked over his shoulder and offered her a small smile. “We were lookin’ for survivors of the fort. The army’s out there now, pickin’ them up one by one.” He shook his head. “It ain’t right.”
“What’s…” Isaac voice shook. He wobbled on his legs as he took a high step over a fallen log. “What’s it like, livin’ with Indians?”
“Don’t believe everythin’ you hear. You got nothin’ to fear with them. White folk no doubt filled your head with lies. They like to think they’re superior to any other. Take whatever they want whether it belong to them or not.” He cackled, though Winnie wasn’t sure what he found so funny. “Don’t like it none when someone’s brave enough to fight them back.”
“So they ain’t murderin’ thieves that’ll scalp you in your sleep?”
Scipio hooted. “They’re warriors, don’t get me wrong. Butyoudon’t have nothin’ to fear.”
The light of a fire drew them closer, Isaac near collapsing by the time they reached it.
What would it be like to live without fear? Though Scipio assured they need not feel the emotion, Winnie’s pulse had yet to return to a normal rhythm. They’d gone looking for a new life, and they’d found it—albeit an unexpected one. She’d spent the drudging hours of their flight alternating between remembering her mother’s soft songs and imagining what her future would look like within the confines of the fort.
She lowered herself beside her brother, making sure to sit close so he could lean on her if need be. Once he had food in his belly again, his strength would return and he’d not be in threat of embarrassment by showing his weakness to the other men. Until then she’d shield him as best she could.
A log in the fire cracked, sending a spray of red sparks into the air. Across her shoulder, a canteen entered her line of sight. She turned her head and met the friendly gaze of one of the brothers. Nodding her thanks, she took the canteen and tilted the contents to her mouth. Sweet water touched her tongue, and a thirst exploded within her. Taming the want, she pulled the lip of the container away from her mouth and offered it to her brother.
Prickles crawled along her skin, those caused by being watched. Lifting her eyes, she once again collided with the silent warrior’s gaze. Nokosi dipped his chin in deference, and she felt his pleasure over her like an accolade, though she didn’t know why. What had she done to gain his favor? And what did being in favor with an Indian mean?
The other brother held out a pouch to her, and she took it with a smile of gratitude at not only the offering but also of being rescued. Lifting the pouch to her face, she sniffed at its contents. Immediately her stomach clenched as the smoked scent of dried meat taunted her appetite. Placing a hand at her middle to silence the growls, she offered the pouch to Isaac first. After he withdrew his hand, strips of meat in his palm, she stood and made her way to Asa, who sat farther away, his elbows planted on his thighs and head bent and supported between his open palms.
She’d never seen him like this—on the verge of brokenness. She’d thought if anything would’ve done it, the sight of his eldest daughter going beneath the rapids would have. But he’d stood stalwart then, if a bit bent by the winds of sadness. Now, however, he looked about felled, an axe taken at his base.
Winnie sat on the log beside him, sharing his space, silently shouldering the pain that throbbed around his large frame. She tilted her head and rested her temple on his upper arm. Silent sobs racked through his body as he swayed back and forth. A tear slipped past her own lid and trailed down her cheek.
They sat like that, side by side, until with a deep sigh, Asa stood and swiped a large paw down his streaked face. “This is our turning point, girl.” He looked down at her, making sure she understood the meaning behind his words. From then on, their lives would be different. With Asa, there’d be no more looking at the past. He’d buried it in Georgia so deep, he wouldn’t unearth it again.
She watched his back as he walked away, the pouch of jerky heavy in her hand. Reaching in, she withdrew a piece and bit off a chunk of the chewy, salty morsel. How could he do it? How could he shut out everything that had happened up to that point, rebirth himself in the moment? How could he forget the joy of the good along with the pain of the bad? Did they not both have a hand in weaving together his existence?
She swallowed and stood, placed her feet on the path her father had followed, for he needed food as well. Her head hurt, and her heart weighed heavy in her chest. She prayed to God for a full night’s sleep and clarity with the dawning sun.
