though, when I wasn’t able to keep quiet.
In a wistful voice, Lola was telling me how different Young Massa was to his uncle. Young Massa treated her with respect, not like pervy old Josiah, blatantly paying visits to the slave-women’s huts at night.
“Ever see dem yella-skin pickney runnin’ round di plantation?” my friend asked abruptly. “Bright Eyes and dem?”
I figured “yella-skin pickney” meant “light-skinned children” and quickly nodded.
Lola gave me a meaningful look.
I was horrified. “You’re not serious! Bright Eyes is old Master Bexford’s little girl?”
“An’ Jewel an’ Precious.” Lola gave a bleak little shrug. “Precious gone now. Ole Massa sell her las’ month.”
I had to wrap my arms around myself so as not to feel the sudden ache inside. I thought of a slave mother choosing the most beautiful names she knew. I thought of her having to stand by helplessly as her master sold their little daughter like you’d sell a puppy. And I understood why Brice thought he had to buy the guns and ammunition.
When Lola finally stopped talking, it wasn’t because she’d run out of stories, it was pure exhaustion.
I poured water into the bowl and washed my face. After checking carefully for lizards, I started struggling into my seventeenth-century clothes.
Lola looked stricken. “You go leave me now, miss?”
I gave her a tired grin. “No way! I’m taking you to breakfast.”
It was more peaceful than you’d think in the courtyard at Diego’s. The high walls kept out most of the street noise. Only sporadic gunshots in the distance reminded me we were in pirate territory. We were sitting in the shade of an old mango tree. Sunlight filtered through star-shaped leaves sending starry patterns flitting across our faces.
It was more brunch than breakfast as it was past midday, but we seemed to be the only guests up and about. We didn’t talk much. I think we both felt like limp rags. When we’d finished our roast breadfruit and ackee and saltfish, the girl came to see if we wanted anything else.
I had a sudden longing for something sweet. “I don’t suppose you have hot chocolate?” I asked impulsively.
The hot chocolate at Diego’s was so thick you practically had to eat it with a spoon. It smelled of nutmeg and cinnamon and something I couldn’t place.
I kept catching Lola looking at me with a baffled expression. It was the same way she’d looked at me that day we first met in Heaven. Like she was thinking, who IS this girl?
I cleared my throat. “Remember that place I told you about? We drink hot chocolate there all the time.”
She gave me a wan smile. “Dey have streets pave wid gold in dat place too? Girl-chile, you always talkin’ wild!”
“We’re friends there,” I insisted. “And no one thinks it’s strange.”
My friend sighed. “Dat place sound nice-nice. Mi have a dream ‘bout a place like dat.”
I grabbed her hand. “Lola, I swear to you. It wasn’t a dream!”
She shook her head vehemently. “Mi wake in dat stinking lickle hut, all bruise an’ mash-up from Massa’s beating. An’ mi know dat other place not real.”
I didn’t ask Lola any more about her dream of Heaven. It was too painful for both of us.
And even if I could get a message back to the Agency, going back home was out of the question. We couldn’t leave without Brice.
My friend and I sat at our table under the mango tree for a long time. Neither of us spoke, but it wasn’t unfriendly.
And as we sat there, a daring plan formed in my mind.
I took a breath. “Last night, when they put that map on the table, I managed to get a look.”
Lola sat up straight. “You know where dem go?”
“Not exactly. But that city isn’t in the jungle, like people thought. It’s in the middle of something called the Black Morass. No, sorry, the Black River Morass. Whatever a ‘morass’ is,” I added sheepishly.
Lola shook her head. “Morass a bad ting. You get suck under di
In a wistful voice, Lola was telling me how different Young Massa was to his uncle. Young Massa treated her with respect, not like pervy old Josiah, blatantly paying visits to the slave-women’s huts at night.
“Ever see dem yella-skin pickney runnin’ round di plantation?” my friend asked abruptly. “Bright Eyes and dem?”
I figured “yella-skin pickney” meant “light-skinned children” and quickly nodded.
Lola gave me a meaningful look.
I was horrified. “You’re not serious! Bright Eyes is old Master Bexford’s little girl?”
“An’ Jewel an’ Precious.” Lola gave a bleak little shrug. “Precious gone now. Ole Massa sell her las’ month.”
I had to wrap my arms around myself so as not to feel the sudden ache inside. I thought of a slave mother choosing the most beautiful names she knew. I thought of her having to stand by helplessly as her master sold their little daughter like you’d sell a puppy. And I understood why Brice thought he had to buy the guns and ammunition.
When Lola finally stopped talking, it wasn’t because she’d run out of stories, it was pure exhaustion.
I poured water into the bowl and washed my face. After checking carefully for lizards, I started struggling into my seventeenth-century clothes.
Lola looked stricken. “You go leave me now, miss?”
I gave her a tired grin. “No way! I’m taking you to breakfast.”
It was more peaceful than you’d think in the courtyard at Diego’s. The high walls kept out most of the street noise. Only sporadic gunshots in the distance reminded me we were in pirate territory. We were sitting in the shade of an old mango tree. Sunlight filtered through star-shaped leaves sending starry patterns flitting across our faces.
It was more brunch than breakfast as it was past midday, but we seemed to be the only guests up and about. We didn’t talk much. I think we both felt like limp rags. When we’d finished our roast breadfruit and ackee and saltfish, the girl came to see if we wanted anything else.
I had a sudden longing for something sweet. “I don’t suppose you have hot chocolate?” I asked impulsively.
The hot chocolate at Diego’s was so thick you practically had to eat it with a spoon. It smelled of nutmeg and cinnamon and something I couldn’t place.
I kept catching Lola looking at me with a baffled expression. It was the same way she’d looked at me that day we first met in Heaven. Like she was thinking, who IS this girl?
I cleared my throat. “Remember that place I told you about? We drink hot chocolate there all the time.”
She gave me a wan smile. “Dey have streets pave wid gold in dat place too? Girl-chile, you always talkin’ wild!”
“We’re friends there,” I insisted. “And no one thinks it’s strange.”
My friend sighed. “Dat place sound nice-nice. Mi have a dream ‘bout a place like dat.”
I grabbed her hand. “Lola, I swear to you. It wasn’t a dream!”
She shook her head vehemently. “Mi wake in dat stinking lickle hut, all bruise an’ mash-up from Massa’s beating. An’ mi know dat other place not real.”
I didn’t ask Lola any more about her dream of Heaven. It was too painful for both of us.
And even if I could get a message back to the Agency, going back home was out of the question. We couldn’t leave without Brice.
My friend and I sat at our table under the mango tree for a long time. Neither of us spoke, but it wasn’t unfriendly.
And as we sat there, a daring plan formed in my mind.
I took a breath. “Last night, when they put that map on the table, I managed to get a look.”
Lola sat up straight. “You know where dem go?”
“Not exactly. But that city isn’t in the jungle, like people thought. It’s in the middle of something called the Black Morass. No, sorry, the Black River Morass. Whatever a ‘morass’ is,” I added sheepishly.
Lola shook her head. “Morass a bad ting. You get suck under di
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