When Eliza see me, she ask what happen, but the pastor words struck me too deep to say much. And the rest of the morning I go bout in a daze. I don’t even really hear the sermon, not this first time. Later, I will live off him every word, but this morning, all I do is watch. See the way the people round me change as him plant seeds inside each and every one of us. Watch how the seeds start to grow and blossom with each hallelujah, till the seeds become a jungle of longing, for all things better.

After the sermon the pastor stand outside beside the deacon shaking hands with the congregation. Smiling, laughing, calling each one by name. No one making a move to leave. Everybody hovering but Sister Jacinta, lead singer in the choir, hovering the closest.

‘What a good service, Reverend!’

‘Thank you, Sister.’

‘Will you be stopping by later? Me daughter can prepare you a lovely meal. Have a little saltfish from Christmas time. Fry it up good with onions, lots of pepper. Put aside a little rum me save up special …’

‘Your generosity shows no bounds, Sister Jacinta, but I have a long trip back to Montego Bay and then a midnight service to attend to. My visit will have to wait until next time.’

‘Next time, Reverend Sharpe.’

‘Next time it is, Sister Jacinta.’

Then the man of dreams set out on him mule, up the dirt track behind the church and disappear.

That was the first time I meet Sam Sharpe, first time I hear him preach. Him word them help me to enter a new world. Instead of the watching and waiting, collecting up stories of other people, start to think bout the kind of life I want to live. Where it going take me? What him mean when him say, we must break the silence of slavery? I don’t have answers. Not yet, but I keep the words of Sam Sharpe alive in me searching heart. Keep them burning.

New Skills

Late one afternoon, me down at the river filling the last of the water barrels and fastening them to the mule when Eliza come running up.

‘Massa want you. Come wait outside the front verandah.’ She don’t know what for, but she tell me, ‘Mek haste!’

By the time I make it up to the Great House verandah, a tall, grey-haired gentleman I never seen before is standing beside Massa. They looking and measuring, standing over a piece of paper laid out on a big table, and the gentleman making the word and number them in him notebook.

I go stand at the bottom of the steps, buck up me courage.

‘You want to see me, Massa?’