~ Twelve ~
BARBADOS! HEATHER STOOD ON BOARD the Liberté as it was safely docked in Bridgetown Harbor. The market was full with color. Women carried baskets on their heads filled with produce, hawking their wares as they made their way down the busy avenues.
Sailors laughed and jested with one another. Wagonloads of products were being loaded onto ships that would travel back to Europe. The warm air enveloped her, and Heather found herself mesmerized by this new and vibrant land.
Swan and Broad Streets dominated Bridgetown, as did the central marketplace, which was constructed in a spacious quadrangle. Hucksters took up their places there and their cries of “fish, hey, dolphin, useful limes” could be heard even over the noise of turning wheels.
Mingling bodies, men and women calling out to one another in good spirits captured the eye and Heather thought she had entered a fantasyland.
She watched shoppers enter an open center, which accommodated the more bulky foodstuffs, such as red and yellow yams, potatoes, coconuts, and so many exotic things she couldn’t count them all. This center afforded both sellers and shoppers shade from the burning sun because of rows upon rows of bearded fig trees. It was from these trees, Maurice told her, that the island received its name from the Portuguese. He said that when they found the island abundant with these fig trees, they christened it Los Barbados, meaning The Bearded.
Heather absorbed it all, noting the scantily clad black women. They appeared beautiful as they gracefully managed the crowded avenue in their charming and colorful dresses.
She watched fishermen in the harbor as they put away their nets, pocketed the cash they had earned from the day’s catch, and made their way towards a tavern down the street.
“Maurice, where is Bunky?”
“I sent him ahead with my man. Bunky tells me he has a way with horses. I asked them to buy a couple of gentle mares, for my sister and you to use while…you are with us.”
“Oh, how kind you are, Maurice, and thoughtful,” Heather said on a sigh when something caught her eye and riveted her in place.
Heather’s eyes opened wide then and she found herself horrified as she saw human flesh, black human flesh, being peddled on a stage as though they were products for sale.
“Ah, my man has seen us come in and sent out the carriage,” Maurice said as he took his sister and Heather in hand.
“Maurice!” Heather objected. “Do you see that? They are selling people. We must do something. We must put a stop to it. Maurice, this is wrong. It is indecent and certainly not Christian. You—we must do something.”
She was stunned by what she saw, but Maurice seemed to ignore her as he ushered her and Louise into his curricle with the Brabant crest emblazoned on its doors.
“Jem, my dear Jem,” Maurice greeted the driver warmly and introduced the females to him, “Jem Starkes, my sister, Louise, and our good friend, Miss Heather Martin.”
The Englishman was young and nodded shyly as he held the door open for them and said, “It is good to have you home again, my lord.”
Heather sat beside Maurice, Louise sat across from them and spread her skirts.
Louise had been watching the sale of black men and women and turned to her brother, an accusation in her tone. “Heather is quite correct, mon frère. This situation is unacceptable. Maurice. I never thought you of all people would turn a cheek to such practices. Slaves. They are selling slaves in the market. Non. Can it be you approve?”
Heather waited for the answer, glad that his sister had taken up her cause.
“It is not what you think,” he said softly. “Nothing is ever just what it seems.”
“What is it then?” Louise interjected. “Slavery is not what I can ever approve of.”
Heather gasped. “Oh no, never say you are a slave owner?”
“I am not a slave master as are the other plantation owners. I bought my people, oui, but I do not treat them as slaves. I had no choice, as here in Barbados it is a way of life that one cannot fight. I would not have been allowed to farm my plantation had I put up an argument against slavery. So, instead, I don’t take as much profit and I pay my workers small amounts…nothing that the other plantation owners would notice. I allow them to be married, and argue this with the leading ministers who are beginning to agree with me. I even allow them and their children some schooling. More than that, I cannot do in this environment and still run a plantation here.”
“You must try and make the other owners see they are wrong—that slavery is indecent. You must,” Heather cried out.
Maurice hung his head. “I have tried, and I do believe some of the better plantation owners are beginning to agree, but financing a plantation always wins out, and slavery goes on and on. I am but one man, and at the moment, the political climate would not allow me to win this argument. If I continue to balk the system, the council would revoke my permit, and it would be the end of my plantation. What then of the people who work for me? Non, I do the best I can.”
Heather sat back and silently contemplated what he had said. He was right. One man alone could not win. How then to evoke change? With a movement? With women who felt the same as she and Louise? With Christian ministers who might sympathize with this point of view? If she lived here, she would work to abolish slavery, yes, she would.
But you have decided to return to England, she told herself. She would leave Louise to take up the cause, that is what she would do.
She took to watching the passing scenery as her mind mapped out a way to begin the process to abolish slavery. She was not uninformed. She knew that many of the plantations in the Indies used slaves to work their crops.
In the past, it was only a story. It was words that she had heard, but now, now up close, she was utterly dismayed. It wouldn’t be easy for a woman to effect change. As it happened, women did not have any rights. What could she do but organize the good wives to plead their case with the men in their families? Yes, but Maurice wasn’t family? She had no right to criticize his way of life. She went back to concentrating on the scenery, the wide fields covered in sugar cane, not yet fully grown. The land seemed browner, flatter than she had imagined it would be.
As though reading her mind, Maurice said, “Our rainfall occurs from June to November, petite, and even then, we are not drowned with rain as are our neighboring isles. The land is low, and much of it was deforested over one hundred years ago by your own countrymen.” He reached over to Jem driving the horses forward and touched his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Jem?”
“Aye,” Jem answered happily. “What trees there were have long been felled to make way for our main crop…the sugar.”
“But what a waste…?” Heather cried.
“No, ma’am,” Jem answered. “No waste. We shipped tons of Barbados cedar, fustic, and logwood to England.” He stopped himself and shyly returned his attention to the horses and the road.
“Go on, Jem,” Maurice encouraged.
“‘Scuse…I did not want to overstep,” he answered.
“Nonsense. Tell my ladies more,” Maurice scoffed.
“If you look there, my lord…ladies,” the lad pointed to a lowland field sprouting sugar cane no more than two feet high, “I think, my lord, you will be pleased.”
“Mon dieu, Jem. You did it,” Maurice said with some excitement, evidently well pleased.
“It was as hard as I expected, but, I think, worth the sweat.” Jem turned and grinned at the comte. “Getting rid of some of those old stumps took a bit of time, but everyone pitched in and we got it done.”
Heather listened quietly to their continued exchange. Everything about Maurice convinced her that he was a good man. She had known that from the start, and thought his only fault was pride. She realized she was wrong. Yes, he was proud of his heritage, of his capabilities, of the home he had built here on the island, and it must have hurt him to beg her to be his wife, and then be rejected, yet he took it with grace and composure.
Was she a fool? Any other woman in her predicament would have jumped at the chance. What did the future offer her child? If she managed to make it home safely, and before the baby was born, what would they face?
She wasn’t concerned for herself, but that was selfish. Her child would be illegitimate and ridiculed as such. How could she do that to her baby?
Maurice was such a fine man and life here with him would be peaceful. Something in her logic and heart shifted. Her heart still cried for Godwin, but the babe kicking in her belly told her she had to think of only that child.
Maurice looked her way and she saw his eyes light up. Could she learn to more than like him? Was that possible?
* * * * *
The comte felt a warmth engulf his heart. Was it a trick of the mind? He looked into her eyes and saw something there, was it merely friendship, or something more? Dare he hope?
She did not look away but met his gaze. He stared into her violet eyes, those magnificent eyes that said so very much, and his hopes lifted. Silently, gently, imploringly, he made love to her in that glance. He wanted her both physically and spiritually. He wanted her in a way he was certain no man had ever wanted a woman before. Ah, she knew and turned away. She did not want to lead him on, he knew this and still, he had hope.
His sister raised an eyebrow at him and gave him an encouraging smile. “Mon frère, c’est bon,” she said, getting their attention. “Can it be I am here with you, away from the Reign of Terror? Life takes its turns, does it not, m’belle?” she said to Heather. “One moment, we are headed for…a fate most horrific, and then the fates take us to a better place. Here, m’belle,” she leaned over and patted Heather’s hands, “is a better place.”
The comte knew his sister adored Heather and wanted her to be his bride and her sister. She had made this clear. He appreciated Louise’s concerns, but did not want Heather pushed. He wanted her of her own accord.
“Ah,” he said, taking attention away from his sister’s obvious attempt to help him in his effort to win Heather over. “Our home…Brabant Plantation!”
They had turned onto the drive that began its long approach to Brabant. Heather stared at the large island house which sat high on the crest of a rolling hill.
“You see its position?” he said with absolute love. “It was the first thing to catch my eye. Eight years ago, it was a run-down and bankrupt estate. I knew at once what it needed when I purchased it. When we arrive…when you look out from the windows, you will see a great deal of the land we farm. I learned from my brother the need to view one’s land from one’s home, but also…the satisfaction and enjoyment one can derive from watching an investment succeed.”
“Why, Maurice, it is magnificent,” Louise said as she stared.
“Indeed, if you say it was run-down, you have managed to succeed beautifully,” Heather said as they neared. She could see the tropical flowers in garden beds and the exquisite landscaping around both the house and the courtyard.
The house itself was a Bordeaux Chateau. Its paned windows, its smoothly elegant lines, its mellow butter-colored sandstone, and its foundation plantings certainly caught and held the eye. However, it was the plantation’s whole that caught, fascinated, and securely riveted both women’s attention as they stared.
Two windmills, also on the peak of the hill, caught the wind and loomed large but charmingly so in the distance.
Maurice pointed and explained enthusiastically, “The wind turns the blades and creates the power to grind our grain, and gives us fresh water as well. And look there, the carts we use pulled by our oxen were made from trees we felled to clear the ground for planting. No waste, you see, no waste. Here at Brabant we train those who have shown an aptitude to be blacksmiths. One day, when voices like mine are heard and slavery is at an end…my people will have skilled jobs to fall back on.”
Heather smiled as Louise remarked on her brother’s beautiful plantation. She saw a young boy at the oxen’s head, steering the animal and calling, “Gee, cum, cum hai!”
“He is so young,” Heather objected. “Surely too young to work?”
“He is a leader boy, and enjoys his time with the oxen. He also has school time, where though it is against the law here in Barbados, we quietly teach the children their letters. We also make certain all the children have free time here on the plantation, with none the wiser. Such things must be kept secret.” Maurice was proud of his accomplishments and this was displayed in the tone of his voice. “On the last day of the crop, he and the other oxen will wear necklaces of flowers. The children enjoy it immensely.”
Heather could not help but feel some fascination for it all as she looked out on the working plantation. She was dazzled with the beauty as she saw coconut palms stretched out thirty feet into the air and neatly laid out, as were lush hibiscus plants, their flowers in vibrant bloom.
The house loomed as they got closer, but Heather stared at the rows of cabins that eased through the landscaping. She realized, at once, the cabins housed slaves. She was leaving this fascinating island, and this way of life would be left behind her. Yes, but the slavery would continue to be a way of life. Someone had to stop it. She had to trust Maurice, who was a good man, to fight the use of slavery for financial gain. It was unchristian, it was inhuman. Indeed, but she would not be here to take up the fight.
It occurred to her that Brabant was a thriving community, a self-sufficient place, just as any feudal parish in England had been four hundred years past. She thought that if she stayed, Brabant could be held up as an example to other plantations. Indeed, if she stayed, she would begin her work to free the slaves.