Child of War; Revolutionary OC

Chapter 6. Numbing Pains

It had been a year since my last tussle with those boys. I remember well the feeling I had, but now I can put a name to it. 

Unadulterated hatred; fury.

The same feeling I held towards my father.

Things have changed over the year. Willow barely survived winter- I had to pull strings to keep her inside an inn. The innkeeper, thankfully, was a considerate young man. He seemed friendly, raising two little ones of his own. His wife could've competed with a noblewoman with her looks. She styled herself in everyday clothing- a dress that hid her ankles, yet a corset that seemed to squeeze too tightly. 

I never understood why women put themselves through so much. 

But this family took Willow in as if she was their own. They were kind-spirited towards me, but four children were too many to care for over the winter. That left me prowling the streets, struggling with frostbite. 

I'd spend my evening in the market, watching whalers do their jobs. I began to notice patterns in their schedules- which group often returned first. It was a group that consisted of an Irishman- an uncle of Hugh's- they shared the same-shaped nose, a couple of Englishman, and a few African men. I was pleased to learn that they were free men. And being a curious twelve-year-old, I discovered I asked more questions than I answered. 

Yet, those whalers didn't mind me asking. It's a dangerous job, and they seemed happy to share. I remember them each by name. The Irishman was a jolly fellow named Micheal; the Englishmen were Bartholomuel and Jacob, and the African men were the most interestingly named. Jacco and Juba- brothers, Macco was a child around my age- perhaps two years older, and Moses. 

They all had such stories to tell about their names. 

"Mine," Jacco explained, "was given to me by former masters. The first time I ran away, I failed. They whipped me twice over the back and gave me the name. Leg-puller was the intended idea." 

I was furious. Jacco had been so kind- he didn't deserve such a thing. I remember vividly how angry I had been- Hugh's uncle calling me red-faced even though I was frostbitten. 

"Well, I have a biblical name," Moses explained. "Granted by my mother at birth. She told me one day, I "will rise and lead my people home," and I wish to fulfill her wishes."

A brave man, Moses was in his late thirties and had taken Barbados pirates in combat- that's what he had claimed. 

"I was born on Monday, and the name seemed fitting to my father," Juba explained. He was a well-mannered man, thin too. He was a couple of years younger than his brother but held the same bravery.

Macco, on the other hand, was mute. He had a long scar that traced his face, blinding his right eye. An abusive household resided in his past- we all knew. 

Yet, the whalers always enjoyed my strong opinions. And I enjoyed listening to theirs. They were a group of abolitionists- one of the topics I've read about over the years. They wrote propaganda- publishing their ideals under an alias. I adored such a thing. I began to hope Hugh followed in Micheal's footsteps. 

Of course, as spring arrived, the men set out for longer trips, and it's been many months since I've been able to speak to them.

Willow returned to me in mid-April, claiming she was tired of living with the family. I couldn't believe such a thing- they were too kind- but she told me it wasn't the same without me. Our bond had become unbreakable- that's why I'd visit once every week or so throughout winter.