First Stella walked round and round eyeing off this cloth and that. Picked one that cost a lot. Never the one she wanted. Started to higgle till the price went right down. And when she had Mister Jacob cornered, she smiled her snake smile and pounced on the one she wanted. Him had to start the asking price well below the price she done bargain for. Stella always walked out with a smile on her face, except when Mister Jacob son was looking after the shop. Crowd got even bigger to watch. Was like a fight between mongoose and snake. Him was a mean, hard seller. Still is. Stella had to higgle harder and longer, but she usually got her way.

On market days, she used to tell me how is best to put some coins aside, hide them, save them for the future. Lowered her voice when she said, ‘Every coin me save, open the road a little wider to freedom. And when me buy it, me going work even harder, save enough to free you.’

Some slaves, when them Massa dead and the will get read, him set aside money to pay for them freedom. But even back then, I knew Stella fooling herself. Massa never going let her go free. She his prize possession. Is onto death till them two part.

When all the selling was finally done, Stella used to take me to the rum shop owned by Molly, a tall, big-hipped mulatto woman. After her massa free her, she set up the shop special for slave them to come spend them hard-earnt market coins in. Stella would buy us a treat – a piece of bread and saltfish. For herself, a quarter calabash of rum she’d mix up with a little water. And whenever we used to go visit the rum shop, I noticed how Stella always had a special visitor. The Maroon man, Robert McKellar, the friend of old cripple Jonnie. Must be how them meet, when Robert was passing through Rock Pleasant. Robert lived in the Maroon village hidden high up in the hills. And in between the eating and drinking, I learnt a lot when Stella and Robert talked.

‘Dat Sydney women still causing you trouble?’ Robert asked.

Stella nodded, took some rum.

‘She always running to Mistress Margaret, telling her any little thing she see. Specially if it bout me. Make up lies, keep saying it till Mistress Margaret believe her. Then Mistress Margaret go tell Massa, and all hell brek loose. Massa carry on, shouting angry words from morning till night, then him march down the path into me hut, into me bed still shouting. Sydney one big misery in me life. Me tell you, one of dem days, she going bring me down. Bring me down for good. Wish she was dead.’