Page 55 of Freedom's Kiss
Chapter 23
Florida, 1824
Winnie used the back of her wrist to stop the bead of sweat trailing down her forehead and into her eyes. The hot day was made hotter by the stoked fire and boiling water sending steam careening through the air. Martha stood at the large pot, using a stick in her hand to swirl the garments within. Winnie bent over Nokosi’s shirt and scrubbed a bar of soap across the faded material.
“The other women and I could’ve handled your wash.” Martha’s chin poked her shoulder as she looked back at Winnie.
“It’s been five weeks. More’n enough time for my body to heal from birth and me to start workin’ again, though I thank you for yer help since little Otter’s birth.”
Martha’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny before her face softened. “You miss him, don’t you? Even bein’ gone less than an hour, your arms ache to hold him again. I was the same way with Timothy.”
It was true. As Nokosi had made it a habit of staying close, his shadow no farther than the edges of her vision, Winnie’d stayed even nearer to her son, not letting him out of her sight for a moment. She’d fashioned a sling to wear him close to her heart as she went about her responsibilities, but today she’d lost the battle to keep him by her side. “Hispusademanded time with him, and you know how Nokosi’s mother can be.” Winnie smiled, for she truly loved the older woman and how she doted on Otter, but her mother’s heart would be happy when the familiar weight of her son was once again safe in her arms.
The other women chatted amicably as they scrubbed or rinsed clothes alongside the lake. Rather than tote the water to the village, they’d built a fire and hauled their empty basins to the lake. Both the villages of the natives and blacks were close by, but even so, Winnie felt her heartstrings tug.
Gripping the bar of soap more firmly, she scrubbed it along the material in front of her. The faster they could finish the chore, the sooner she could return to Otter.
A twig snapped behind her, and she stilled, ear pricked to hear another footfall as a small smile spread across her lips. Often the young boys would practice walking on ghost feet and jump out to scare their mothers or older sisters. She released the lathered bar from her hand and punched to her feet, twirling around to beat the little scamp at his own game.
The smile froze on her lips as her gaze slammed not into a little boy honing his skills of manhood, but into the blue uniform of a soldier, a musket held firmly in his grasp.
Winnie took a step back and slammed into unforgiving flesh, two meaty paws coming up to grip her upper arms. She spun, and the hands fell from her. The small hope that Nokosi or another clan warrior had emerged to come to their rescue against the soldier died as she met the merciless gaze of a towering man, blond beard scraggly against sun-beaten cheeks and eyes the like she’d only seen once when a slave catcher had returned Nehemiah with barely a breath left in his body.
The man scratched at his beard with the tip of a pistol, cold steel glinting in the sunlight. “Looks like we’ve found ourselves a little bit of gold, Corporal. And without a rainbow too.”
All blood drained from Winnie’s face as he sneered and revealed rotting teeth to match his black heart.
The soldier dipped his chin. “Round them up, and let’s get out of here. You never know what savages lurk in the woods.”
The catcher turned his disgust on the young infantryman. “Scared, are you?”
“I’ve seen how these devil men fight.” He lifted the flap of a messenger bag slung over one shoulder and retrieved a knot of rope. Tossing it to the other man, he commanded, “Hurry up.”
Lifting a hand, the catcher waved his pistol in the air. “You heard the man. Get to it. Lest you need a bit of encouragement from old Jeb.” His tongue darted across chapped lips.
Winnie’s stomach revolted.
She didn’t move but felt the bodies of the other women as they sidled up behind her. Casting furtive glances around the perimeter of the wood, she searched for a sign of Nokosi’s nearness. That any moment a war cry would tear from his throat and he’d jump from the shadows and inflict justice on these two callous souls. A bird took flight from a high branch of a needle-nosed pine, but no warrior emerged into the sunlight.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again. She couldn’t return to Master Rowlings. Couldn’t be ripped away from her newborn son.
Terror clawed at her with the force of a bear ripping open his kill. It feasted upon her heart until she thought she’d be consumed alive. With all the strength she possessed and a war cry of her own, she raised both fists and charged the soldier, catching him off guard and pushing him aside. Her gaze focused in front of her and her mind picked out a path to weave among the trees and underbrush. All she had to do was outrun them. Get close enough to the village to alert a watchman.
Pain seared across her skull as her head whipped back. She fell hard onto her backside, though the tug of her hair had her scrambling quickly back to her feet only for her left cheek to meet a solid fist. She spun. Fell again to the ground, her head pounding and gaze blurring. Her cheek stung, and she lifted her hand to cradle the burning side of her face.
Jeb the slave catcher thrust his face in front of her, the smell of rancid breath and unwashed man mixing with the throb that started at her crown and worked its way through every sinew of her body, causing nausea to roll in her belly.
“I get paid good money to return you vermin dead or alive. Makes no never mind to me which it be. You hear?” He patted her uninjured cheek like an adult would a child. “Better remember that.” He gripped her elbow and hauled her to her feet, wrenching her hands in front of her and latching them together with a length of rope.
Winnie stared down the line of women, all vestiges of the self-assured and free women she’d come to know stomped beneath the bootheel of the one who tied them together like cattle. A mirror of who they’d been in slavery—downtrodden, hopeless, submissive—caused their heads to bow and their shoulders to sag. She couldn’t rely on them to fight back and break free. Each one appeared a sheep headed toward her own slaughter.
Winnie’s lips curled back as a growl built in her throat. Jeb might not care if he hauled her in dead or alive, but she did. As long as she had breath in her body, she’d fight. To get back to her son. To Nokosi. To freedom.
The soldier moved to the back of the line, his musket slung over his shoulder instead of primed in his hand. Jeb picked up a lead of rope that attached to Winnie’s bound hands and jerked her forward. She stumbled but took advantage of her bent knees. With all the strength she possessed, she launched herself onto the slave catcher’s back, bringing her bound wrists over his head and pulling them with all her might against his throat. The rope dragged against her skin, ripping into her flesh as the women she was tethered to fell forward from her sudden movements.
Their weight hauled her down. Jeb on top of her. An elbow jammed into her middle, forcing air from her lungs and not allowing her to suck any back in. Her arms shook, but still she pulled back, hoping her strength would be enough to either break his neck or strangle him. His arm raised, this time landing in her ribs. His fingers encased the bones of her wrists, and he squeezed until she thought they’d snap. Her strength was no match for a man of his size, and though he came up choking and red faced, he still came up, towering over her.
His boot swung back, and he kicked her in the side. She curled, trying to protect herself as much as possible. But each swift kick landed in an explosion of pain until she felt herself slipping into blackness.
