“If they’re going to spread tales, they should at least get the facts right.”
“Oh?”
“We’re not getting married until we return to England so that I can meet his family.” Rachel made up the last bit as she went. Meeting his parents first did make a lot of sense, although she prayed she’d never have to face that particular gauntlet.
“But then your father won’t be there to perform the service.” He cocked his head and gave her a skeptical look she knew meant he was on to their hastily conceived plan for her to cry off on their engagement when they finally returned to England.
She sighed. “We can’t have everything we want in life. Can we?”
He chuckled and stroked his reddish, silver-streaked beard. “No, we certainly cannot. Now tell me the real reason you’re here. Your medicine chest can’t be empty already.” He took a cursive look out his open doorway. “You’ve come unaccompanied? You know better than that, Rachel Berry. I’ll have to walk you back home.”
“Well, I do need a few willow bark packets for Mrs Chelly, but I came here alone at your slow time of the day so that we could talk in private.”
“What can I tell you that I haven’t told you many times before? What is it you came here to find out?” The knowing look in his eyes encouraged her to continue. She almost suspected he knew what she’d come about.
She took a deep breath and almost lost her nerve, but plunged ahead into her plea. “Before I leave for England I have to know. Where was my mother taken before she ended up in my father’s barracoon? If you know anything about my mother’s family - anything - I have to know. I can’t leave Africa without at least trying to search for them.”
A long silence passed. He paced toward the door and actually stood outside for a few moments before coming back inside and locking the front door. He led her behind the counter and down a long hallway toward his living quarters at the rear of his shop.
After putting a kettle of water on to boil on a hob over a small fire pit in the enclosed garden behind the apothecary, he busied himself with pulling out some tea things. After he’d finally prepared their tea and produced a few biscuits on a metal plate, he sat down and began the story.
“I knew your father many years ago. His barracoon is somewhere up the Rio Pongas, a long way up the Rio Pongas. He takes on slaves from all over Africa, but especially north of there. So, if I had to guess, I’d say your mother came from the Yoruba tribe. But to find her family now would be next to impossible.”
“So you think they would be somewhere north of the river?”
“After all these years, probably not. All the inter-tribal fighting has forced them farther south. And they’re not as powerful as they once were. Families have had to find land wherever they can. And then they get to enjoy a few years of peace before there’s another war and they have to move again.”
“You’re sure she was of the Yoruba tribe?”
“No, of course not.” His blunt answer stunned Rachel.
“Why not?”
“Because your father gathers slaves from all over. He always has a lot of Yoruba prisoners, since the American planters pay top prices for them, for their expertise in growing rice. But he runs thousands of slaves through his barracoon every year.”
Rachel hung her head. “You’re telling me there’s no hope.”
When he was strangely silent for a long time, she raised her head. “You know something you’re not telling me.”
“Rachel, your father is a dangerous man. If he knew you were trying to find your mother’s people, he’d kill you.”
Chris stoodin front of a semi-circle of young fishermen Governor MacCarthy had ordered to attend his sailing and rigging class. His carpenter and carpenter’s mate stood to the side with a stack of boxes, some hemp rope, patched piles of canvas, and several long, shaped wooden poles.
There was a limit to what he and his crew could come up with on such short notice, but he wanted to show the fisherman how to do their own rigging after he and his carpenters made several of the existing flat boats work.
He’d determined to start with the basics and so sank to the narrow spit of beach and drew a large circle in the sand. He traced a big arrow pointing down at the top of the circle, and one in an opposing direction at the bottom side of the circle.
“Tell them those arrows represent the wind,” he said to the interpreter the Governor had provided and then waited until the man explained what he’d just said, although it seemed as though whatever he was telling the men was taking a lot longer than what Chris had just said. This was going to be a long afternoon.
He nodded at his carpenters, and they took the boxes to begin the process of making a few of the fishing boats sail-ready. After that, they’d have to put the young men in the boats and make sure they could get out to their fishing grounds, and then back safely at night.
Chris was nearly in despair at the daunting task he faced when one young man separated himself from the rest of the semi-circle and joined the carpenters. He seemed to know what to do with the tools they’d brought and fell into the rhythm of attaching the wooden rectangles at the forward third of the flatboats. Chris took a deep breath and let it out in relief. These men had skills beyond fishing. Maybe the Governor’s order was not going to be that difficult to fulfill after all.
12
Dr. Peregrine walked with Rachel as far as the back gate to the vicarage. “Please don’t come down to the apothecary again without bringing some students along for protection.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have taken more care, but I didn’t want anyone overhearing our conversation today.” Her hens raced to the gate in a loud swirl of scolding squawks. She’d forgotten their morning treat.
