Free Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish by Maggie Plummer

brought.
           "I
have no appetite—" he began.
           "You
eat, see?" The native woman cut him off, scooping some papaya with a
wooden spoon. "Heal quick."
     
     
    "God
and John the Baptist grant this brave soul long life and happiness,"
Father Sean murmured in Irish, kneeling at Una's side in the kitchen
candlelight. "The strength of St. Brigid to her, in Jesus' name.
Amen."
           The
doctor could not rouse Una. She had been in a deep, still sleep for two days.
The yellow coloring of her skin had deepened. Freddy found herself constantly
asking God to please, please make Una better. There was so much more that
Freddy yearned to know about her. Their time of friendship had been far too
short.
           Father
Sean rose stiffly.
           "Mobby,
Father?" Freddy held a coconut bowl out to him and filled one for herself.
Birdie had gone to Colin's hut alone this time. Freddy was hoping to speak with
Father Sean about a matter weighing heavily on her mind. She sat on a stool.
           "Bless
you." The priest put the bowl on the work table, lowered himself onto the
other stool, and sighed.
           "To
your health and to Una getting better!" Freddy toasted in Irish. They
lifted their cups and drank. "There is something I must say…"
           "Go
on, child."
           "There
is a Gypsy slave here named Dika. I fear she is in grave danger, like
Colin." She dropped her voice to a whisper, even though she was speaking
in her native tongue. "Father, how she suffers in the cane…"
     
     
    Dika
sat cross-legged on the dirt floor of the shack, her legs tucked under her
shift. Her black eyes gleamed and flickered, reflecting the candle flame.
Freddy would not have recognized her from the slave ship, she had lost so much
weight. Her hair was pulled straight back into a bun. Her face was now so
angular, it made her shadowy eyes huge. She looked like a hungry cat. Freddy
wished she had thought to pinch some tidbits of food for the woman.
           "Why
me?" Dika was asking, shifting her gaze from Freddy to Father Sean.
"I am not one of you…"
           "That
does not matter," Freddy told her. "We can help you, you can help
us."
           "How?"
The suspicious Dika was not the sort to mince words.
           "We
must swear you to secrecy," Father Sean murmured.
           "You
have my word." Dika crossed her heart with her right hand.
           The
priest glanced at Freddy.
           "I
believe Dika can be trusted, Father." 
           "Very
well," he said in a barely audible whisper. "On the assigned night,
somehow you would slip a sleeping potion to Ben in a drink, making certain that
he suspects nothing. Whittingham will be away, but the driver must not be
about…we have a dinghy ready, for five lads who must get away. Freddy hopes you
will join them in running away…"
           Dika
turned her dark, questioning countenance to the younger girl.
           "I,
I have seen what Ben does to you," Freddy stammered, embarrassed. She
dropped her eyes. "I fear for you."
           "I
see," the Gypsy woman said, nodding. "Yes, Ben delights in torturing
me...and I grow weaker…Running away is dangerous. But staying is also
dangerous, perhaps more so. The dinghy is large enough?"
           "It
will be crowded," Father Sean whispered. "The lads will catch the
current to Montserrat."
           "Montserrat,"
Dika repeated slowly, nodding again. "I have heard that things are good
there." She paused, sitting very still. "Yes, I will do it. Yes, I
will help you, and take my chances in that dinghy on the sea."
     
     
    Late
that night Una silently slipped away, never awakening from the coma. Freddy was
suddenly awakened just before dawn by a strange, high-pitched wailing.
           It
was Birdie. She was squatting in the gloom next to Una's pallet, weeping loudly
and rocking back and forth, her hands tightly clasping her knees. On the floor
beside