Lyncoya: Andrew Jackson's Adopted Indian Son by Mary S. Payne

Author:Mary S. Payne [Payne, Mary S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Safe Harbor Publishing
Published: 2021-11-15T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

The next morning, Lyncoya followed the rich aroma of coffee wafting from the basement. When he stepped inside the kitchen, Betty was alone, stirring the fire. A coffee pot hung in the fireplace. The barrel of oranges stood in a corner. An invisible force pulled him toward it.

His lips puckered—craving another taste of the tangy fruit.

Lyncoya turned away from the cask and folded his hands behind his back. His fingers searched for the edge of the lid. There. Yielding to gentle pressure, the top proved to be loose. It hadn’t been nailed.

He couldn’t have planned it better if he tried.

Innocent-like, he smiled at Betty’s backside. “Where is everyone?”

Startled, she flipped the mixing spoon into the air. It clattered across the counter.

Lyncoya burst out laughing at the small globs of light-colored batter stuck to her round face.

“Pshaw.” Betty glared at him. “I didn’t hear you come in. I ain’t heard nobody. Your mama is down the road helping birth Mistress Sally.”

He swallowed his laughter. “Mama’s not here?”

“She been waiting a long time for Sally to need her.”

The muscles in his jaw slackened. It’d be easier to swipe the oranges without Mama’s watchfulness. Still, her absence pinched his heart. “Oh.” When Mama was gone, he always feared she wouldn’t come back.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and spread his fingers. There was enough room in each one for an orange.

Betty walked toward the door. “I got to get milk from the spring house.”

Lyncoya nodded and waved.

When Betty was gone, he quickly removed the lid from the large barrel. The oranges lay on the bottom. He moved a chair next to the container and climbed aboard. Reaching into the large cask, he picked out two plump pieces of fruit, one for each pocket.

When he heard Betty’s footsteps at the top of the stairs, he stepped down, moved the lid into place, and quickly put the chair back.

Andy loped into the kitchen. “What are you doing up so early?”

Lyncoya stared at the ceiling. “I woke up, so here I am.” His words were clipped.

Andy looked at him sideways. “Have you been in the barrel of oranges?”

Lyncoya nearly choked. He wondered if anyone counted the remaining oranges.

“Oh, no. We have to share them equal,” Lyncoya said.

“If you did, you’ll get a whipping.” Andy taunted him.

“Well, I didn’t,” Lyncoya said.

Betty shook her finger at the brothers. “Now, boys, let’s not be fighting before breakfast.”

Andy sat at the table waiting for his pancakes. Sausage sizzled in the cast iron skillet. Lyncoya’s stomach rumbled. He hurried up the stairs to hide the forbidden fruit in his bedroom.

After everyone went to bed that night, Lyncoya placed the oranges in his pockets and tiptoed away from the house.

Outside the slave quarters, he picked up a small stone. When he pitched it toward Albert’s window, the gravel landed with a clink against the open frame. In a few minutes, Lyncoya saw Albert’s teeth framed with a smile. His black skin blended into the darkness.

Lyncoya put his finger to his lips and motioned for Albert to come with him.

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