Page 25 of Freedom's Kiss
Nokosi pointed to the trail that had led her to the lake. “Come. I’ll see you safely back to the harvest fields.”
* * *
Winnie had never seen so many people gathered in one spot. She imagined it must be similar to the masses who flocked to hear the preachers at the tent revivals held in the foothills of Tennessee, but she’d never attended one. Mistress Rawlings had gone with her fancy friends, but considering the fact none of those who’d returned had signed certificates of freedom for any of the men and women they considered their property, Winnie hadn’t put much stock in the event.
She leaned against the post of her chickee and watched as the newest wave of travelers erected their campsite along the square ceremonial grounds. Groups of Seminoles who lived dispersed throughout the territory gathered together to celebrate the new year and to thankHsaketumese, the Breath Maker, for the firstfruits of harvest.
“Winnie!”
She pushed off the cypress post and headed toward Martha, who waved her arm over her head. The smell of smoke permeated the air as fire pits burned all over the grassland as women baked flat bread made of corn flour, roasted meat over turning spits, and cooked a feast for all from the remaining stores of the previous year’s crops.
“Can you watch the food for a moment?” Martha grabbed Winnie’s hands. “Timothy fell from a tree and is crying for me somethin’ fierce.”
“See to your son.” Winnie picked up the ladle and stirred the contents in the pot. “And give the precious boy a kiss for me,” she called to Martha’s retreating back.
Steam rose, and beads of sweat clinging to her hairline fell and trailed down the side of her cheek. She swiped at the liquid with the back of her hand. Tonight they’d all feast, and then the fasting for the men would begin.
Isaac ambled over to her, his teeth tearing into a piece of bread.
She pressed a hand to her cocked hip. “Where’d you get that? The feast hasn’t even begun yet.”
He grinned around a mouthful. “I got my ways.”
“Mark my words, your ways are gonna see you jumpin’ the broom with Sarah before the year ends.” The potatoes and corn swirled in the boiling water as she trailed the ladle through the vegetables.
Popping the rest of the flat bread into his mouth, he smirked as he chewed. “A pretty gal to call my wife? Can’t think of nothin’ wrong with that.”
“Nothin’ at all.”
“Winnie.” He said her name without a trace of tease, the seriousness and softness as effective as a hand to her chin raising her head. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you bein’ a wife to a lovin’ husband either.”
She swallowed down raw emotion. “Someone would have to want me, Isaac. To ask me to marry him.” No matter how many times she’d caught Nokosi watching her, no matter how hard her heart pumped at his nearness, he’d never once indicated he wanted to take on the role of her husband. “No one has ever spoken such words to me.”
“A man wants a future with his woman, Winnie. As long as you live in the past, what kind of future can he carve out with you? You’ve gotta let it go. Embrace the freedom of life before you instead of clinging to the resentment that still holds you within chains.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to her cheek before walking away, whistling a jaunty tune.
Winnie watched him go, dazed by his words. She’d watched the men as they hunted deer once. Instead of tracking the sure-footed animal through the woods, they’d set a large patch of grass on fire and burned it to the ground. They’d bidden their time until new grass started to grow on the darkened earth, and then they waited for the deer to arrive and feast on the young shoots. Some of the beautiful creatures were felled without even a hint that danger lurked so near, but Winnie still remembered the look in one buck’s eye as his head popped up from grazing to spot the warrior with bow and arrow in hand—round, fearful, caught. He knew his options—take a chance and run to the safety the woods afforded, or be as still as possible and hope his predator wouldn’t detect him.
She felt like that buck, caught with nowhere to run.
Everyone made moving on sound so easy—Isaac, Asa, Martha, even Nokosi. But nightmares still visited her under star-flung skies, and memories pricked at a raw heart. There were no woods to which she could flee to find safety, for hadn’t she already run away in search of freedom? But her brother was right. Though her body was now her own to do with as she pleased, her spirit remained shackled so tight that her soul bled.
Winnie blinked back the heat rushing into her eyes and took a shaky breath. What was she going to do? Whatcouldshe do?
Martha emerged from behind a group of women, wiping her hands on her apron.
Winnie exhaled, forcing control back into her limbs. “How’s Timothy?”
“A few bruises and scratches, but nothin’ seemed to be broke.” She planted her hands at her trim waist and surveyed their surroundings. “Looks like they’re about to start. Help me carry this to the eating house.”
Using their aprons to protect their hands from the heat of the pot, they each took a handle and carried it to the eating house, where food was piled, the smells all the invitation the people needed to gather about.
Winnie and Martha set down their pot among the other prepared dishes and took a spot in the crowd. Hushed voices threaded through the people standing around the large central eating house. Winnie picked up some of the words spoken in Muskogee and recognized the weave of the English and African language known as Gullah. She detected other dialects but couldn’t understand the meaning.
Themekkos—chiefs—stood under the thatched roof, the feast steaming behind them as they faced the crowd and bowed their heads in respect, every man and woman following their lead. The mood changed from that of anticipation to reverence as a man Winnie hadn’t seen before began to speak.
He gave thanks for the plentiful rain that gave the earth drink. The rays of the golden sun that gave the earth nourishment. The corn and good harvest that would sustain life. For the animals that roamed the land. The men and women who multiplied their numbers. For the goodness in making the forest and trees and the branches that grew shadows for their shelters. For the persons who sang the Great Spirit’s music and those who performed the ceremonies on that occasion.
Heads rose, and people moved to fill their bellies with food. Eating and laughing and giving thanks for the bounty around them even though political tension pulled taut the edges of their existence.
