Her religious beliefs were as varied as her ethnic background. Mercy grew up hearing bedtime stories from the Bible interspersed with African tribal lore. Christian prayers and native spells carried equal weight. Sairy was a rarity on the island – a free woman who was a paid servant rather than a slave. In truth, Mercy’s parents had always treated her as a member of the family. To Mercy she’d been like a doting grandmother, always patient, always loving.
Earlier, Mercy had bid a tearful goodbye to her beloved mother and father, though they were so deep in the grip of the fever they no longer knew who she was. She and Sairy had been preparing for this night for years. Neither of them had known when it would come, but that it would, they had no doubt.
Gently, her nanny pulled away from the hug. “Ye must be brave, chile. Be strong. Remember all ye’ve learnt – and over all else, trust yer heart. I’ll see ye agin. I promise. Ye’ll be back to this island afore long.”
Sairy handed her a bundle of clothes, hustling her into a small room off the parlor to change. “We’d best do this away from pryin’ eyes. I don’t want the servants to tell the tale of how their mistress ran away. Since I’m the only one who sets foot in the sick room, all they’ll know is in three days there’ll be a third coffin to carry into the great hall, nailed shut like the others.”
The old woman’s face became a mask of grief, her voice quavering. “Ah’ll wail an’ moan for me young mistress I raised up from a baby girl, taken so sudden like. Ever’one will hear how ye just let the fever take ye. Gave up on livin’ cuz ye wuz grievin’ so bad over losin’ yer poor mammy an pappy, all in one whack.”
She helped Mercy into the unfamiliar garments, then handed her a worn leather satchel. “Here’s some provisions ye’ll be needin’. Keep it close.”
Sairy bustled her out through the kitchen, deserted at that hour, and boosted her into the back of a wagon loaded with sacks of vegetables. After arranging several dirt-streaked burlap bags over Mercy’s tall frame, Sairy climbed onto the front seat of the old wagon and urged the horse into a trot.
The ride down the mountain road to the harbor seemed to take forever, but full darkness had not yet fallen when Mercy felt the wagon lurch to a stop. She heard Sairy calling out to the crew member of a ship nearly ready to set sail, offering to sell fresh yams at a price not to be believed.
“Ye’ll not regret addin’ these plump beauties to yer stores below deck.” Though she spoke the King’s English as well as Mercy’s mother, Sairy’s accent came and went, depending on the circumstances. “An’ sech a bargain! Ah reckon ah must be teched inna head ta be lettin’ em go. But me lazy man dun drunk up alla his pay an’ ah need ta buy me a sack a flour.”
Jumping off the wagon, Sairy drew the sailor’s attention to a bag of dirt-encrusted yams, spilling them out in front of the wagon. Laughing and chattering, she pulled out a razor-sharp machete nearly half her size. She’d brought it along prepared to defend her young mistress if necessary. Raising the hilt above her head, she brought the blade down with a triumphant cry, slitting one of the huge yams open to reveal the bright-orange flesh inside. Her show drew the other deckhands to the rail, and soon she had them bantering with her.
Mercy dropped unseen from the other side of the wagon and crept up onto the ship. Sairy had made inquiries in town over the last two days regarding all the ships in port. They chose this vessel because the English captain, though rumored to be a descendant of the infamous Blackbeard himself, was outspoken in his refusal to fill the hold with slaves, preferring to make his fortune trading in scarce commodities rather than human lives.
“I heerd he’s a gentleman, least as much as ye can expect any of ’em to be,” Sairy had explained. “Keep yerself hidden till yer well away from port. With the storm comin’, he won’t be turnin’ back when he finds ye. He’s heading for Port Au Prince. He’ll likely put ye off there, and ye kin go to the house of the guvnor. He was a dear friend to yer pappy, and he’s a good man. He’ll keep ye under his protection till it’s safe to come back here.”
Mercy slipped into a longboat lashed to the outside of the ship just below the deck. Lying flat with her face pressed against the rough boards, she knew unless someone looked closely, the black garments would render her nearly invisible in the gathering darkness.
Their plan was crude, conceived in haste, but it was her only hope.