Read Online Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish by Maggie Plummer - Free Book Online Page A

"Come
to me any time," he continued. "Some Sundays I ride into Bridgetown
to say secret Mass…"
           "Can
you dispatch letters?" Freddy asked, holding her breath.
           "I have done
so," he replied, smiling.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER
12
     
    October
1653
          
    Freddy,
Birdie, and Una crept down to Colin's hut through the drenched, black night. He
had come down with a violent case of the bloody flux, which Mrs. Pratt called
dysentery. In the field Ben had withheld water from him. Desperately thirsty,
Colin had resorted to slurping contaminated water. Birdie was sure she could help
him.
           The
women knocked lightly, and tiptoed into the shack. Colin looked pale and thin
as he lay on a rag-and-straw pallet. Birdie lit a candle and set it on the
rough plank table. The deluge pounded on the primitively thatched roof. Rain
was dripping into two plate-sized pools on the dirt floor, next to the table.
Colin was quiet, the bloody diarrhea attacks having subsided for now. But he
had vomited blood on the dirt floor next to his pallet. Una set to work
cleaning it up.
           Freddy
gently lifted Colin's head so Birdie could spoon her traditional herbal
medicine into his mouth. The thick syrup the native woman had boiled up
contained wormwood, rhubarb, garlic, aloe vera, rosehips, dandelion, slippery
elm, and more. 
           "Wha—?"
he mumbled incoherently, rocking his head side to side.
           "It's
only us, Colin," Freddy crooned. "Birdie has medicine."
           He
sighed deeply as Freddy moved onto the pallet to prop his feverish head on her
lap. She noticed how his cheekbones protruded sharply now, making him look
older than his seventeen years. Stroking Colin's hot, dry forehead, she watched
Birdie spoon the medicine. Deep in her stomach Freddy felt a twinge of fear.
Would this young man die here on this hellish plantation, like this? Why did
her stomach contract at the thought of him passing from this life? She studied
his strong face in the candlelight. His black hair streamed back from his
forehead, revealing a marked widow's peak. He had a prominent brow, with heavy
black eyebrows. She liked them. It was that brow that made his eyes so
piercing. As he weakly swallowed the herbal syrup, his nostrils flared and his
Adam's apple jumped up and down.    
           Una
was unusually quiet. Freddy glanced over at her. She stood by the plank table,
leaning on it, her pale face shiny with sweat. Suddenly Una left the hut
without a word.
           Birdie
and Freddy carefully rolled Colin onto his side and inspected his back, holding
the candle closer. Birdie gently ran her long brown fingers over the
angry-looking whip wounds. Freddy held Colin's shoulder up as the Indian woman
spread a thick layer of ointment on his shredded back and covered the injured
skin with cheesecloth. They eased him onto his back.
           "Heal
good," Birdie said. 
           A
rush of cooler night air blew in as Una burst through the door with Father
Sean. The priest knelt alongside the pallet, his eyes closed, praying in Latin.
The women bowed their heads. When Father Sean finished they all moved over to
the table, where they stood in a sort of huddle. 
           "He
must get away from this place, or die," the priest whispered in his native
language.
           "But
how, Father?" Una asked, wiping sweat from her brow. 
           "A
dinghy is stashed in the jungle near the beach," he answered. "But
there is much to do…"
           "We'll
do anything, Father," Freddy murmured anxiously. She knew that he was
absolutely right. If this illness didn't kill Colin, Ben would soon find a way
to finish the job.
           "Whittingham
plans to travel overnight to Christ Church parish," the priest whispered.
"We must find out exactly when and get Colin well quickly. Someone must
slip a sleeping potion to the driver on the appointed night. We need