AUTHOR NOTE: My humblest apologies I keep telling myself that I won't start a story until I finish a few I already have posted. My muse just raspberried me. This is Trevin Tanner's story. The main story will be set just before and during the American Revolutionary War. Whispers of Freedom is basicaly a prequel to the main story. Hope you enjoy this.
My heartfelt thanks go out to those wonderful people that keep my stories readable. Pookwana of the many questions. K.T. the opionated and of course The Sound of the Flute who gets these whipped into a readable form.
As usual if it is between the //it indicates telepathy or something similar// if it is Italics it's thoughts some which are better off unspoken.
This story will deal with a few ugly issues. Slavery, abuse, discipline of a slave amoung other things. Keep in mind it was a different world at that time.
Whispers of Freedom
It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours that we are fighting, but for freedom — for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself.
The Declaration of Arbroath Arbroath Abbey, Scotland 1320ad
1756
mid summer
Albemarle County, Virginia Colony
The tall, powerfully built Peter Jefferson placed himself protectively between his son Thomas and the unfamiliar doeskin clad natives.
"Tad?" twelve year old Thomas asked in awe, still young enough not to comprehend the potential danger.
The silver haired old man's gaze sharpened, studying the pair. Giving a gesture, he looked back to the wooded hillside. A rustle from the under brush and a warrior led out a tiny boy hardly bigger than a toddler. Sandy hair hung loose to his shoulders in soft ringlets. Large sapphire blue eyes in a well tanned face studied the Jeffersons, father and son. A friendly smile and the boy turned loose of the warrior's hand and trotted over to stand before the wide eyed Welshman, staring back in fascination.
"Who are ye little one and where came you?" Peter breathed in dismay. A captive? Mayhap I can trade for the boy.
The little boy tilted his head questioningly, obviously not understanding the words. Thomas peered around his father, curiously studying the stranger.
"He's hungry." Thomas pushed past Peter and calmly accepted an enthusiastic hug. "Are there any biscuits left from our lunch?"
"In the basket," Peter answered softly, studying the strangers worriedly. Their garments were not cut in the same pattern that he had seen among the local tribes or even among the tribes over the mountains that he had come in contact with.
"Come on." Thomas tugged on the little one's hand leading him over to the basket. Soon, the pair were sharing the biscuits. "Stop that," Thomas giggled as the smaller boy snuffled him.
Peter relaxed slightly as the warriors watched the two boys interact. The stoic expressions lifted, revealing faint smiles and open curiosity.
Little fingers examined Thomas' face and hands thoroughly. "Here, you can have another biscuit. You don't need to lick the crumbs off my fingers," Thomas protested faintly as he led his charge back over to the older men.
"Do you speak English?" Peter spoke to the elder. He's white! His eyes are as blue as the boy's. A grandson perhaps? Near a third of these braves have light colored eyes. Are these the white Indians that the locals speak of in whispers?
"Tadig, cystal." The little boy trotted over, holding out the cookie to share.
Peter's eyes widened as the words registered. Indians that speak WELSH?
"You are of the Cymry?" Peter asked, carefully enunciating the words.
Voices were raised in excited tones and the warriors moved closer.
"He speaks real words."
"They have red hair like the old ones."
"So fair skinned like the inside of a potato."
"Don't be rude. They can't help it if the Hanging God has not finished baking them."
"Hush children," the old warrior huffed. "Sit, talk as men."
"I am Daffyd ap Rhys," the old man said.
"Peter Jefferson," the planter replied. "My son Thomas named for my father."
"The boy is Trevin ap Tannah ap Daffyd," ap Rhys answered and began to introduce his companions.
The men sat under the branches of the chestnut tree studying each other. The long day caught up with the little boy and he was soon curled up on the blanket from the picnic basket, sleeping soundly, a little hand tightly clasping Thomas' fingers.
"The grandfathers said long ago we came from the east in great boats, seeking to be free of a Chieftan without honor who would sell his people to the Outlanders. There were spotted buffalos and long haired, short legged deer with us. Bad times came and they died or were eaten." The old man spoke. Peter and Thomas listened closely some of the words were unfamiliar or a pronunciation had changed over the long years making it more difficult to understand. "The old ones said we came from a place of mountains and narrow valleys with falling waters."
"Aye, Cymru is such a land my grandfather said," Peter agreed. Cattle and sheep? "Why have you come?"
We have traveled many moons seeking the pale men," Daffyd explained.
Jefferson studied the small boy. "Shouldn't his mother be with him? He's still small enough to nurse yet." Peter scowled, paternal instincts coming to the fore.
"His mother died at his birthing. His father, Tannah, gone before that. Three days ago, his foster mother was bitten by a black snake in the water and died. It is our hope among you we will find a companion for the little one." Worry was clearly seen on the old man's face.
"Come with me back to my home. I have a slave woman who birthed a child that did not live, she will nurse the boy for now," Jefferson offered.
"I thank you. Would you sell this slave woman?" The old man asked.
"Tabitha has a son as well. I do not sell mothers away from their children," Jefferson refused.
"It is not a good thing to separate mother and child," the old man sighed..
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The wide eyed 'Indians' studied the big house and many buildings. Fascinated whispers filled the air as they saw their first black people.
"Nathan, run and tell your mother I have need of her," Peter ordered a black child of about 8 years.
"Yes suh, Master Jefferson." The boy sped off.
Soon, a sad eyed slave woman approached. "You wanted me Master Jefferson?" The regal woman asked softly.
"Tabitha, this is Trevin, his mother has died." Peter lifted the sleeping boy out of Daffyd's arms.
"Poor baby." Tabitha moved a bit closer, nervously watching the 'wild' Indians. "This baby is white Master Jefferson," she hissed in surprise.
"And he's hungry. Take him to nurse," Peter ordered softly.
The little boy woke and rubbed his eyes, looking around in wonder.
"I'll take him, Suh." Tabitha held out her arms for the boy.
Willingly, the child went to the woman. Curious blue eyes examined Tabitha. Tiny fingers traced the three diagonal scars on each of the woman's cheeks, a lopsided smile was offered before he ducked his head shyly.
"You're a sweet child sure enough," Tabitha crooned.
"No!" Daffydd shook his head as Tabitha started around the side of the house. "My grandson stays with me," he protested in Welsh.
"Tabitha stay, my guests prefer that the child stays with them," Peter explained quietly.
The boy snuffled loudly, pressing his face against Tabitha's breast, little fingers pulled at the fabric entreatingly, frustrated little whimpers rose as he was kept from his goal. Flushing, the woman turned her back and loosened her dress. Positioning the boy, she flinched as the ravenous child latched on. A gentle hand took her elbow and helped her settle to the steps. A soft fur mantle was cast over her shoulder, covering the exposed flesh and the nursing child.
"Thank you, Suh." Tabitha raised her eyes and froze as she looked into the warrior's face.
"Beautiful earth woman, dark like fertile soil," the brave breathed softly in his own language.
"Momma," Nathan hissed worriedly, moving protectively closer.
"Peace, little warrior." The brave nodded to the boy and stepped away. "Tell the boy that I, Eban, would not harm his mother," the warrior ordered Peter Jefferson.
"Eban wants you to know he intends no harm to your mother, Nathan," Peter soothed. "He was making her more comfortable."
Nathan nodded nervously and moved closer to Tabitha.
Politely, the men and young Thomas ignored the nursing woman and the hovering boy and continued their conversation.
"Why did they give him to you, Momma?" Nathan scowled.
"He's very hungry Nathan," Tabitha sighed. "He's too little to just eat travel rations."
"I thought Indians was red men? His hair is like corn silks." Nathan moved closer, curiously studying the small intruder.
"Soft like rabbit fur," Tabitha mused, stroking a shaking hand over the silky curls.
"He got to many fingers." Nathan hesitantly touched a small hand. The baby stopped nursing and turned to look at Nathan. A sweet crooked smile greeted Nathan; little fingers curled trustingly around the boy's finger and held on before the baby turned back to his interrupted meal.
"He's a nice baby, Momma," Nathan giggled.
"Most babies are Nathan," Tabitha smiled sadly. Her heart ached for her son and his future. Nathari my son, you should have been a king, instead you are a slave. May Cyirima your uncle die in pain and shame. Selling his brother's unborn son and widow to the Arabs. Looking down at the stranger's child in her arms, she sighed. This one is a blessing child. Master Jefferson is a kind man, a wise man even, but do I trust the knowledge of what this child is to him? Is it my Nathari you're here for little warrior? Maybe this is the reason the lioness told me to live instead of dying from shame.
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The Welsh Indians camped on Peter Jefferson's land for the next several days. Obviously Tabitha's milk agreed with the boy, for he seemed to grow overnight. A sunny natured child, Trevin was remarkably quiet for a little boy. He was friendly with the other children on the plantation, even protective of Jefferson's young daughters, much to Peter's amusement when the boy growled at his wife when she tried to discipline them. But he would become restless and search until he found either Nathan or Thomas. Despite the adults efforts, Trevin would stubbornly go after his chosen boys. The bright eyed little warrior proved to be both stubborn and determined as well as an escape artist. Peter gave up and reassigned Nathan's duties when he discovered the baby trying to keep up in the long rows of tobacco while Nathan carried water to the field slaves, giving Nathan the job of keeping up with ever so active Trevin.
Daffydd grasped Peter's arm and pulled him back around the barn. The two men suppressed sniggers as they listened to Nathan lecturing the baby on why he couldn't climb into the loft in a mixed speech of English, mangled Welsh and what might have been an African dialect.
"I may have given Nathan a job too big for him," Peter chuckled.
"Trevin will obey him. Nathan is a companion," Daffydd smiled.
Peter's laughter trailed off as he struggled to remember something Daffydd's words had triggered. It must be hearing the Welsh. What is it about a companion that is so important? I can almost hear Tad's voice telling old stories while we settled into our beds.
"No, yah don't climb. You is to little, you'll fall and get hurt bad. You got ta wait down here while I fetch the eggs for Cook," Nathan ordered. "Don't you stick out that lip at me. I done tolt yah no. Now mind me." Nathan began to climb, only to hurry back down when Trevin started up the ladder.
"Nathan has his hands full. My grandson is most determined to follow," Daffydd snorted. "I wish him luck. The little falcon has flown his own course since drawing his first breath. Once he is assured of his way there is no turning him from it."
"I tolt you NO! Now yah's gonna get me in trouble," Nathan fussed, becoming desperate. "I got ta do mah chores and you is gonna mind me. Now sit your little behind down and don't you get up 'till I says yah can," Nathan ordered sharply.
The two men exchanged smiles and started on their way.
Nathan began to climb the ladder, breathing a sigh of relief as the baby stayed where he had been put. Quickly, the young slave gathered the eggs and hurried back to the ladder. Trevin sat in the clean straw exactly where he had been left.
"Hey you done gone ta sleep?" Nathan chuckled as his feet reached the ground and the boy didn't react. "You kin get up now. Baby? What's wrong with yah!" Nathan voice rose in concern.
Hearing Nathan's frightened voice, Daffydd spun around and hurried into the barn followed by a bewildered Peter.
Nathan raised fearful, tear-filled eyes. "I don' know what happened Massah."
Peter looked between the young boys and Daffydd. What had just happened? He had heard nothing . . . how could Daffydd have heard Nathan?
"Hush," Daffyd stroked Nathan's head calmingly. "It is part of Trevin's specialness. He waits for you. Here hold him on your lap. Yes like that, now breathe on his face. Yes, see he wakes for you." Daffydd gave a sigh of relief. We have found a companion for our Draig. No, we have found two companions, but which is Trevin's shield brother? Is either of them his other self?
"Is he sick? He's gonna die?" Nathan asked tearfully, leaning into the comforting touch while clinging tightly to the squirming baby.
Trevin seemed distressed, trying to wipe away the older boy's tears and licking the stains from his cheeks.
"He is not sick. It is part of him, like blue eyes and sticky fingers," Daffydd chuckled.
"Why's he always lickin' on stuff?" Nathan asked in disgust, wiping his face with his sleeve.
"That's how babies learn. Touch, taste, smell; they investigate things that way. Trevin more so than most." Daffydd lifted the baby into his arms.
"Now I will watch my grandson, you deliver those eggs. Tell them that I delayed you. Go now." Daffydd shooed the boy off.
"So my grandson, what do you think?" Daffydd bounced the boy.
"Nate? Tom?" Trevin wriggled to get down.
"No, you stay with me for now. Time for a nap," Daffydd chuckled.
"Not sleepy," Trevin protested as he relaxed against his grandfather's broad chest.
"Yes you are," Daffydd rocked a moment. "Told you so." He smiled down at the sleeping baby.
"What happened to Trevin?" Peter asked in concern, studying the sleeping child.
"He tried too hard. Not old enough yet to control where his ears would take him." Daffydd snuggled the boy closer. Worry drew the older man's face into serious lines. "Most learn control while at their mother's breast. He has never had a birth bond. It is dangerous for him to be without one."
Must be a difference in word meanings. I thought he said the baby's ears took him someplace. Peter chuckled to himself.
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The native warriors were well mannered and provided venison and other food from the surrounding forest, even provided some assistance in building a new smoke house. They seemed to be waiting for something. Three of the warriors disappeared only to return without fanfare carrying heavy packs.
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Trevin was playing with a carved wooden horse when he abruptly sprang to his feet snarling, and sped off as quickly as his little legs would take him, leaving Thomas looking bewildered.
"He's angry for some reason," Thomas yelled in response to his father's questioning call as he took off after the amazingly fast child.
Daffydd wasted no time in following his grandson and the older boy. Peter and Eban followed closely. A man's angry voice carried clearly as they came around the corner of the house.
Picking up speed, Thomas and the three grown men rushed towards the unfolding situation.
"Don't you be gettin' no airs boy. You ain't nothin' but a field nigger; that's all you is and all you ever gonna be." The huge black man towered over the young boy laying in the dust. Big hands curled around a wooden stave. "Master give that bitch and you to me so's I can do with you as I please." Drawing back his bare foot, the angry man kicked the boy in the ribs while raising his club to strike Nathan.
A tiny enraged snarl sounded and Trevin's little teeth sank into flesh as the boy attacked.
"What the hell?!" The furious man swung the billet of wood into the little warrior with a sickening crunch.
Nathan scrambled to his feet and swung a heavy wooden bucket into the man's back, staggering him.
"I'll kill you for that, boy," the giant hissed.
"Warrior woman," Eban breathed in admiration as Tabitha made her presence known. The tall powerful woman held an empty meat spit in her hand as she crouched protectively between the children and the huge man.
"Can't even give me children, worthless woman! Get back before I hit you too," the field slave hissed, swinging his club menacingly.
"Maybe your children would live if you didn't beat them out of me, pig," Tabitha snarled.
The big man charged only to fall into the dust as Tabitha dodged gracefully and swung the spit into his head with a hollow thump.
"Stupid man," Eban chuckled as he pulled a couple of strips of leather from his pouch and securely bound the groggy slave.
"I'm sorry Master Daffydd," Tabitha choked gently, gathering Trevin out of the frightened Nathan's arms.
"I felt bones moving in his chest where they aren't supposed to Momma," Nathan sobbed as he stroked a limp little arm.
"Are you hurt my son?" Tabitha asked calmly.
"Just a bloody lip and some bruises," Nathan answered in a calmer tone. "What about Trevin, Momma?"
"That is good, now run and bring me my medicine chest and a roll of bandages. And we will check the boy's injuries together," Tabitha ordered, taking the time to stroke her son's cheek tenderly before sending him to the house.
Trevin gave several pained gasps before he finally caught his breath and a frightened wail filled the air.
"Hush, hush, now brave little man. You have courage, but temper it with some good sense. Don't go hunting lions before rabbits," Tabitha crooned as she rocked the baby on her lap. Gentle fingers tenderly wiped blood off the boy's face. "My Nathari has a might protector. Now where did this blood come from, hey?" The woman examined the child but couldn't find any broken skin.
Daffydd hovered closely, finally laying a gentle hand on the dusty curls and kneeling down to face Tabitha.
"It isn't his," Eban growled. "The wolf cub marked his prey even if he wasn't big enough to pull down his buffalo."
"Eban is right Tad. Look at this bite. Do you think he was trying to hamstring Toby?" Thomas asked in amazement.
"I don't know," Peter answered shortly before turning to Tabitha. "How badly is the baby injured?"
"Sh, sh, Momma's got yah baby. I got you little man," Tabitha calmed Trevin enough to nurse. Gentle hands explored the tiny body.
"Might be he's got some broken ribs; hard to tell with him being so small. Baby's bones move different than a grown person. He might be hurt inside, but I don't think so. He's not bleedin' from his nose or mouth and his breathing seems fine. Toby didn't get a good swing at him the way he latched on in back that way. Mostly he's got the wind knocked out of him and scared bad," Tabitha answered in a calm tone.
"Tabitha, has Toby been mistreating you and Nathan?" Peter demanded.
"He been hitting us, Master Jefferson," Tabitha sighed.
"Why didn't you tell me? I would have put an end to it," Peter said sadly.
"He knowed better than going after Nathan much. I could handle it, he was careful so's not to keep me from work," Tabitha answered emotionlessly.
"Why didn't you come to me or the Mistress?" Peter demanded gently.
"You give me to him to be his woman," Tabitha reminded.
"I didn't know he hurt you," Peter sighed.
"If you took me away from him. Toby would loose face. Then he'd have been even meaner when he took the girls," Tabitha answered.
"What girls?" Peter felt his stomach lurch.
"You made Toby taskmaster, Master Jefferson. Toby figured it was his right to break in the girls once they's women," Tabitha whispered.
Peter Jefferson straightened with a suppressed oath. "I strictly forbade such behavior. That is why I gave him a wife," Jefferson snarled.
"Amos, James, take Toby to the smithy and secure him. I will be there shortly," Peter ordered two of the gathered slaves.
"Son . . . Thomas, keep the women and the children well away from the smithy, please," Peter ordered calmly.
"Here Momma," Nathan panted as he sat down the small wooden chest beside his mother after rushing back from the house.
"Thank you, son. Now what should we use on these bruises?" She coaxed.
Nathan was soon absorbed in the world of healing while Daffydd and Eban hovered protectively over the pair.
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"Jacob, bring your knife and come with me," Peter ordered his stable master in a soft voice as he passed the man.
"Yes Massah Jefferson." Jacob paled and gulped.
"Get some water and some of those fresh apples than get back to work," Peter ordered the field hands as he stalked away.
"Jacob, what's tha Massah gonna do?" A soft voice asked in a frightened tone. "I never saw tha Massah so angry."
"Massah done warned that stupid man when he bought him offen the Matherlys. Massah Jefferson don't abide the meanness that Massah Matherly does. You all git back to work. Things is gonna git ugly," Jacob sighed, dragging his feet he headed for the Blacksmith shop.
Toby was struggling in his bonds when Peter arrived. "Amos, pump up the bellows and put an iron in the fire," Peter ordered sharply.
"Massah Jefferson, whatcha gonna do?" James asked softly.
"If he lives, I'll sell him off," Jefferson answered coldly.
"You give me that woman and boy, Massah Jefferson," Toby wailed.
"Fool! You hit a baby. A WHITE child," Amos hissed.
"This is about you disobeying me Toby. You've been hurting my children. You raped little girls not much older than my daughters," Peter hissed. "I gave you charge over people I treasure and you hurt them. You are no kind of a man. Today will end that illusion."
"You gonna cut him Massah Jefferson?" Amos squeaked in horror, cupping himself protectively.
"Yes," Peter growled angrily. "Did you know he was raping the children and beating Tabitha and Nathan?" Peter growled.
"Yes Massah Peter," Jacob admitted.
"Why didn't one of you come to me? I work in the fields with you everyday," Peter demanded.
"We was afraid. If we tolt you, you'd have punished Toby, then sent him back to the slave quarters." Jacob rubbed his head with a shaking hand.
"Is Toby the only one hurting people?" Peter demanded with a tired sigh.
"Yes suh, he's the only one what's hurtin' folks," Jacob said.
"Jacob, you're a good man. I've watched you, your hand is gentle. Who would you suggest putting over my people?" Peter asked curiously.
"Ben, Massah. I know he's young, but he's a fair man," Jacob answered after a long moment.
"James, Amos do you think Ben would make a good taskmaster?" Jefferson asked calmly.
"Yes suh, we does. We had to tie young Ben last time Toby went prowlin' in the women's quaters."
"I never want this to happen again. Do you hear me? These are your wives and children. If any man tries to take advantage of them I will sell him. If I discover you knew and didn't put a stop to it, I will sell you. Are we clear on that?"
"Yes Suh, Massah Jefferson," voices chorused.
"Is that iron hot yet Amos?"
"Yes suh," Amos answered faintly.
"Then, let's get this over with," Peter sighed.
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The pained squeals finally fell silent. An unusual silence hung over the working men. No one spoke unless it was absolutely necessary and then only in whispers.
"Ben," Peter called as he stalked out into the field.
"Yes suh, Massah Jefferson," Ben straightened immediately.
"You are the new task master," Peter ordered.
"Yes suh," Ben frowned.
"Take care of my people, Ben," Peter ordered sadly, looking down at his bloody hands.
"Oh suh," Ben whispered. "You come with me Massah Jefferson and we'll get you cleaned up. No reason to take this bit of business up where tha children can see."
Peter vomited into the dirt and silent tears ran down his face as Ben scrubbed his hands clean.
"Massah Jefferson, maybe it won't ease your sorrow, but I thank you suh for what you did to Toby. Amy isn't but eleven, suh she cried most awful after Toby visited with her. She's my baby sister and they tied me up so's I couldn't stop him," Ben said calmly. "Said I'd only make things worse for ever'body."
"Your first job as taskmaster is to assign punishment; that includes yourself. You could have come to me any one of you," Peter Jefferson sighed.
"Yes suh." Ben nodded and looked at his feet shamefaced.
"No one has the right to do that to children Ben, no one. If you see one of our girls being misused you come and tell me. Even if it is a white man. If the girl's willing, then that's her business, but she's not to be forced," Peter sighed tiredly.
"I'll see to it Suh. Massah Jefferson, I ain't sure suh, would a month not being with they's families be a good punishment? I wouldn't want not to spend time with my momma and sisters for that long," Ben asked nervously.
"I think it would be a very good punishment Ben. Maybe it will make folks think on how precious their family is." Peter sighed and patted Ben's shoulder as he headed back to the big house.
"Massah Jefferson?"
"Yes Ben?"
"That baby, is he gonna be alright?" Ben chewed his lip.
"Tabitha thinks so."
"That's good, that's real good," Ben smiled.
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Daffydd was waiting when Peter walked toward the house. Silently, the two men strode beside each other.
"A difficult thing," Daffydd sighed.
"Most difficult. I just can't understand why a man would do such things," Jefferson said.
"Because you are a good man. Teach your Thomas well, so much depends upon it," Daffydd spoke seriously.
"What depends on it?" Peter stopped in his tracks.
"There will be a new way of things. A good way and your Thomas will be part of it," Daffydd answered clearly.
Peter's skin goosebumped in a sudden chill. Second sight?
"Gone now," Daffydd huffed, shaking his head. "Strange things and mists. Hard times are coming for your colonies, Peter. I see raised swords. Letters on paper and your Thomas standing tall among proud men. His weapon will be a pen more deadly than a sword. They will make a new world, it will take more than one lifetime. In that world, no man may own another."
"Being Chieftain is not an easy thing, Peter. Sometimes it is a very heavy burden. Do not let today eat at your spirit. It is done, learn from it so there will be no second time," Daffydd counseled as they began walking again.
"I'm sorry your Trevin was hurt," Jefferson started to run his fingers through his hair and flinched away from his own hand.
"Peter," Daffydd took the large hand in his smaller ones. "I see no evil here. It is a father's sorrow. It is time to let it go."