Day Dreamer by Jill Marie Landis

Author:Jill Marie Landis [Landis, Jill Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 0515119482
Published: 2012-10-03T14:00:00+00:00

Twelve

Cord stood in the shade of a stand of banana trees watching the inhabitants of the slave village go about the business of life. Although none of them paused to stare at him directly, he could feel their eyes watching him—the eyes of those he owned through a mere circumstance of birth.

Overhead, the tattered leaves of the banana trees whispered on the trades as naked children of dusky hues played in the dirt among the cluster of crude shacks gathered near the sugar mill. The children spoke in a mixed patois of African words long ago corrupted by English and Carib. Cord could not help but call to mind other words that bespoke the origins of the slaves—Ashanti, Fanti, Dahoman—names of languages and tribes intermingled and mistakenly used by slavers to identify people brought to these islands in chains.

From where he stood, Cord could see women tilling the soil in gardens of corn, sweet potatoes and cassava planted behind their homes. In a lean-to not far away, three women sat on a grass mat weaving baskets while a man beside them fashioned a length of rope.

His grandfather, Cord knew, would never understand the Caribbean planters’ custom of giving their slaves house plots on which to grow their own cash crops and raise small livestock and poultry. On Sundays the slaves were allowed to move freely about the island, to take their extra produce to the marketplace to sell or barter for clothes, rum or cash. Nor would Henre understand his need to draw up the paperwork to set these people free as soon as his father’s solicitor returned.

Cord moved out of the shade and crossed the open space before the mill. The main house was visible at the crest of the hill behind him, but out of necessity, he put it and Celine out of his mind for the moment. A few of the children stopped playing and ran over to him, while others stood shyly watching from afar. Within a few seconds, he saw a tall, well-built man in his early thirties duck below the doorjamb of a shack and begin walking toward him.

The man was dressed in blue, coarse canvas pants cut short at the knee. Although some of the men wore shirts on Sunday, this one was bare-chested. He was thick-necked, with powerful shoulders and arms. There was mild curiosity on his face, but no greeting smile.

“You are Moreau, owner of Dunstain Place,” he said. It was not a question.

“I am,” Cord replied.

“I am Bobo. Chief gang boss and boiler.”

“My aunt says that since the manager left you have been overseeing things here.” Cord watched Bobo carefully. He wanted to be accepted without upsetting the workings of the place. His success depended upon how he dealt with this man.

“Miss Ada been runnin’ dis place.”

Cord could not fathom any such thing, but for the moment he was content to go along with what Bobo said.

“How many slaves are still here?”

Bobo looked up at a passing cloud that stood out in white relief against the azure sky.

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