The Price of Freedom Read online

  The Price of Freedom

  By Donna Every

  The Price of Freedom

  Copyright © 2013 by Donna Every. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design © 2013 by Simone Davis. All rights reserved.

  Cover photography by Andre Williams

  Model: Sarah Lambert

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my dad who died before it was finished.

  He was my biggest salesman and greatest supporter.

  May he rest in peace.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to acknowledge all the people who helped to make this book a reality.

  Morris Greenidge, noted Barbadian historian, who shared his great knowledge of Barbados’ history with me. Thanks also to Penny Hynam who loaned me books from her substantial library and did a wonderful job of editing the manuscript. I would like to thank those who helped to create the beautiful cover: Andre William, the photographer, Sarah Lambert, the cover model and Simone Davis the designer. Thanks also to my dear friend Hudson Husbands who loaned me his copy of Richard Ligon’s “The True and Exact History of the island of Barbadoes 1657” which I drew on heavily. And last but not least, my wonderful husband, Stephen who cooked many meals while I wrote and my friends Alastair Dent, Rachel Read, Maureen Earle and Kashka Haynes who read the manuscript and gave me feedback.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  June 1694

  The Acreage Plantation, Barbados

  Deborah practically ran from the dining room in her haste to escape William’s smoldering gaze that burned into her more hotly with each course. Her heart pummeled her ribs as fear and anger battled for supremacy and she fled out to the kitchen where she could have a brief respite until it was time to serve the next course.

  The plain servant's dress she wore did nothing to deter him. She had felt him mentally stripping it from her vulnerable body and knew she was as powerless to stop his thoughts as she would be to stop him when he chose to act.

  She was a chattel in his father's house and if he wanted her there was nothing she could do about it, short of running away. But she had seen what happened to those that ran away. Besides she couldn’t leave her mother and where would they go anyway? How would they survive? So she would have to stay and endure; at least for now. They may own her body but they would never own her soul.

  The Edwards were hosting a dinner party, plantation style, and the five of them were joined by a family from a neighboring plantation with some visiting relatives from England. The long mahogany table could easily seat eighteen but tonight there were just fourteen at dinner and the amount of food she and Cassie, the other house slave, had served could have surely fed the entire slave population of The Acreage, if they were ever so fortunate to taste the delicacies that were presented tonight.

  They had already brought in beef, stewed chicken and a leg of pork, followed by pickled oysters, anchovies, caviar and olives, potato pudding, cassava cakes and all sorts of vegetables accompanied by vast quantities of wine and brandy for the men and non-alcoholic drinks for the ladies.

  Deborah took several breaths to compose herself before heading to the small table in the corner where the house slaves were eating their corn soup. Cassie had said that she would wait by the dining room so that she could let Deborah know when it was time for the last course which was dessert, so she folded her arms on the table to create a pillow for her head and lay down.

  "Deborah, what is wrong with you child?" her mother asked from across the table.

  "Nothing. I'm just tired," she answered raising her head slightly. The last thing she wanted was to add to her mother’s burdens.

  Sarah, her mother, was a mulatto whose light brown skin and curly hair were a testimony of the fate that many African slave women suffered at the hands of a white overseer or master. At thirty-four she was still very beautiful and it was well known that she had commanded the high price of £50 when the master bought her from another plantation seventeen years ago, to help his wife with the children.

  William had been four, Mary two and Rachel had just been born. After they had grown up, Sarah was given the responsibility for doing the laundry, the ironing and sewing for the household. Deborah saw genuine tiredness on her mother’s face and felt justified for the lie she’d told.

  She knew that the mistress made her mother’s life difficult since it was no secret in the household that she was the master’s favorite.

  Her own fair skin paled as her thoughts led her back to William and it was only the attractive tinge of olive that saved her face from looking chalky. The green eyes that darkened with renewed anger and the stubborn chin which she now lifted, gave her a greater resemblance to the master than his two daughters, a fact that was a source of consternation to the mistress. William on the other hand, favored his father with a ruggedly handsome face and thick dark brown hair but cold flat eyes.

  "Deborah, they’re ready for the next course," Cassie announced, bringing in empty plates on a trolley.

  She reluctantly got to her feet and moved to load another trolley with plates of custard, stewed guava and cheese cake that the cook had put out.

  Her mother rose and came behind her, saying quietly: “I know that William has been bothering you but don’t worry, I’m going talk to the master when he sends for me.”

  Deborah nodded without answering. She didn’t know what talking to the master would do. She knew that if William wanted her he would have her. After all, he always got what he wanted.

  She served the master first and she and Cassie moved down opposite sides of the table. On her side were the girls, who were separated by two of their girlfriends and strategically seated across the table from the younger male visitors. They favored their mother with roundish faces, blue eyes and dark blonde hair which they wore high up on their heads in elaborate styles with tendrils teasing their cheeks. Who would believe that she had played and learned how to read and write with them? Now that they were nineteen and seventeen and she was sixteen, she was no longer a playmate, she was their slave.

  "What’s that Deborah?" William asked from the foot of the table, drawing her attention. As if he couldn't see, she thought angrily. “It looks tempting,” he added with a falsely innocent look.

  "Custard, stewed guava and cheese cake," she answered shortly, dropping a plate in front of him. Her attitude could have earned her a slap but he just smiled and replied: "My favorites. I can hardly wait to taste them," he added so
ftly.

  His cold green eyes slid to her bosom leaving her in no doubt that he didn’t mean the dessert. She turned away abruptly as fear and anger battled in her. He had been content to stalk her before, but she could tell that he was getting ready for the kill.

  William wanted Deborah. Every time she served dinner, her graceful movements enticed him and her long elegant neck seemed to beckon him to taste it. He wasn’t even deterred by her off-putting manner. If anything it was a challenge for him and he needed some kind of challenge in his life lest he died of boredom. Although it was fun to play with her he didn’t intend to wait much longer.

  He couldn’t remember ever being denied anything in his life. As the first born and only son, his mother lavished her attention on him and gave him whatever he wanted. He hardly ever saw his father when he was growing up since he was more focused on bringing the plantation back to profitability, than on his children or his wife for that matter.

  That didn’t stop him from finding time to enjoy the beautiful slave women that his plantation was famous for, William thought resentfully. After Sarah had been there for a while the other house slaves started calling her Mistress Sarah but he didn’t understand why, until he got older and realized that she was his father’s mistress and therefore enjoyed an elevated status among them.

  His father was therefore in no position to tell him anything when he started to follow in his footsteps with his own enjoyment of the slave girls on the plantation.

  He resented the fact that his father didn’t bother to hide his preference for slave women, and Sarah in particular, and it angered him to see the humiliation his mother suffered as a result.

  He couldn’t do anything about that, after all his father was lord and master of the plantation for now, but he would extract his revenge on Deborah. He knew that her mother protected her and used her influence with his father to prevent her from being sold or offered to any of the visitors who often stayed at the plantation. That was fine with him though because, as far as he was concerned, she was just saving her precious daughter for him.

  “I’d like to get my hands on that one.” A voice interrupted his thoughts. His longtime friend Henry Bowyer who lived on the neighboring plantation, leaned over and whispered in his ear as Deborah left the room.

  “Not before me, my friend.”

  “You mean to say you haven’t sampled it yet? That’s not like you,” he teased.

  “I haven’t been able to get her alone. The mother watches her like a hawk and my father favors her, so it hasn’t been easy.”

  “Next time he’s off the plantation why don’t you pretend to be sick and ask for her to bring your dinner to your room?”

  “Brilliant!” praised William, smiling slowly. The thought made him shift in his chair with anticipation. “Yes. That’s what I’ll do.”

  “Since it was my idea, I want all the details.”

  William began to feel much better. From the time Deborah had turned sixteen, he’d given himself permission to have her; not that he really needed to wait until she was sixteen, but it gave him something to look forward to.

  He and Henry had taken to spending a weekend in Town from time to time to relieve their boredom. Between drinking and gambling in the taverns and patronizing the best brothels, they usually came home with barely two shillings to rub together.

  It would be at least two months before they would be able to enjoy another weekend so he had to create some form of entertainment for himself and he couldn’t think of anything more entertaining than overcoming Deborah’s resistance.

  Four weeks earlier

  “Wake up, wake up, Deborah,” urged her mother shaking her shoulder.

  Deborah cracked one eye open and saw through the tiny window that it was still dark outside and turned over to get a few more minutes of sleep. The pallet she was lying on was not the most comfortable, but at least it was warmer than the chilliness of the morning outside of the hut where she slept.

  “Wake up!” her mother repeated. “It’s your birthday! You’re sixteen today,” she added excitedly.

  That roused Deborah from her sleep but no excitement filled her at the thought of turning sixteen, instead an uncharacteristic hopelessness came over her until she ruthlessly pushed it aside and made way for the customary resilience to rise up in her, giving her the strength to face another day.

  “So what?” she asked her mother huskily, her voice rough with sleep. “All it means is that I’ve been a slave for sixteen years!”

  She pushed the thin sheet off her shapely body and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She felt bad the moment the words left her mouth as she saw her mother’s excited face fall but she found it hard to apologize for saying what she meant.

  “I have something for you,” her mother said quietly, ignoring her outburst. After all, she couldn’t argue or reason with the truth. “The master gave me some material he bought from town and I made this for you.”

  With that she held out a beautiful dress of green satin enhanced by an overskirt of the palest cream with the same material trimming the sleeves. Around the modest neckline tiny flowers were beautifully embroidered in the same cream color. It looked as fashionable as any dress a free woman would wear.

  “Thank you, mama. It is beautiful. When did you make it?” She softened her voice. What was the point of upsetting her mother; it wasn’t her fault that they were slaves.

  “I worked on it after you went to sleep at night.” Deborah was touched by the effort her mother had gone to so she held back the words that were on her tongue to ask where she would wear it.

  “I’ll put it in the trunk that the master gave me,” Deborah said getting up.

  “I warmed up some water in the front room for you,” her mother said, making her way through the partition to the front of the hut that she and Deborah shared. Deborah wondered how long she had been up since she was dressed for the day and her hair was already covered by its customary handkerchief.

  The cocks began to crow signaling that dawn was approaching. Since she had to help get breakfast for the family she washed quickly, while her mother made her way to the big house, pulled on a drab brown dress and cleaned her teeth with a chew stick which made her teeth white and her breath fresh.

  Efficiently unraveling her long plait which fell past her shoulders, she pulled a brush hastily through the soft brown waves and plaited it again, piling it on her head and wrapping it in a large handkerchief before heading to the kitchen to help with the breakfast.

  “Good morning, Master Thomas,” said Deborah, putting his plate of eggs, fried pork and fried plantain in front of him.

  “Good morning Deborah,” he answered with a warm smile. “Happy birthday,” he said handing her a small beaded purse that felt quite heavy.

  “Thank you, Master,” she said, slipping the gift into her pocket to examine later. Deborah was surprised that he had remembered her birthday, but maybe her mother had told him. In any case the birth of all slaves on the plantation were recorded so he may have come across it as he was adding in the new one that had been born that week.

  "Your mother told me she made a dress for your birthday with some material that I gave her. Did you like it?"

  "Yes, master. Thank you." Deborah was surprised that he and her mother talked about such things. She had not thought that they talked at all.

  Thomas Edwards was a tall, handsome man in his early fifties with short thick hair almost the same brown as Deborah’s, although it was now sprinkled with grey. He was still very fit and trim from his active involvement on the plantation. It was one of the largest in Barbados covering over 500 acres, of which more than half was planted with the precious Muscovado sugar that had made the island rich. His father had visited Barbados and purchased the plantation in the 50’s and returned to England, appointing a manager to run it.

  For several years it appeared to be doing well but within twenty years the plantation was struggling under a heavy burden of debt and on his father’s
death he had moved to Barbados to run it himself. It was then he discovered that the manager had mismanaged the property and had absconded with much of the profits.

  He had to sell off most of the slaves and servants and start afresh, running the plantation with a minimal amount of labor until it began to prosper again and he was able to increase his slaveholding and now had two overseers to help him. To diversify his investments he had invested in a ship with two other planters and he had recently started distilling rum.

  William came in a few minutes later, followed by the mistress and the two girls. Deborah was surprised to see the women at breakfast so early. They were dressed in fancy clothes so she assumed they were going out.

  Looking up as the women came in, Thomas absently noted that they were dressed attractively for the day but they paled in comparison to Deborah, with her beautiful olive skin and exotic looks.

  “I will let the cook know that you’re ready for breakfast,” offered Deborah heading out to the kitchen and giving William a wide berth. His eyes followed her as she left the room.

  “I hope you haven’t forgotten that we had planned to go into Town today,” Elizabeth said to her husband taking her place at the table. “We will take Cassie and Jethro.”

  “This is not the best time to take staff into town. You know that we’re in the midst of harvest. You should take Deborah instead. It’s her birthday.”

  “It is? Then the last thing she would want to be doing on her birthday is traipsing all through Town carrying parcels for us,” said the mistress dismissively as Deborah returned carrying three plates on a tray.

  “I didn’t know it was your birthday,” said William lazily, looking her up and down. She quickly looked at the master who must have mentioned it to them but he was eating his breakfast.