‘Love dem different. McKellar, him come to be more like friend. The only one she can trust. Massa, she learn to love. Is how she survive. It go right back to when dem was little,’ Calla say, lighting up her pipe. ‘If you see Stella, you going see Massa trailing behind. Dem run round the yard, chase after chickens. Climb trees, raced each other to the top. Pick fruit, teased the dogs, till the time come for the parting of the ways. Stella, she must learn her path not the same as Massa. Him must understand him going be her massa one day.’

A few weeks go by. The plantation start return to normal, just as if Massa still alive. The canefield them get weeded, clothes get washed, food cooked, cows taken out to pasture. Busha Davis keep running the plantation till Mistress Margaret can decide what she going do, and it seem like finally, all is laid to rest. Underneath though, I have this churning feeling. Like when storm skies come up over the horizon and they get darker the closer them get.

Dark like the jackets of the militia men when them come snooping round the plantation again. Rumours start flying everywhere. And before you know it, after all the questions finish, plenty finger pointing going on.

One morning, me guarding the plantain walk when I see Eliza running down the path. She all out of breath.

‘Soldiers come looking for Stella. They also looking for you,’ she tell me. ‘They pass by the canefield marching in a row. Winston get up on him horse. Come riding up to the Great House to give the news. Cause a big ruckus. One of dem – must be the captain – him spend long time talking to Busha Davis. Then him call out Stella. She put on a clean apron, go stand on the verandah all nice and quiet-like. You should see Stella face,’ Eliza say, wringing her hands. ‘When the captain call out they going arrest her for the murder of Massa. They coming here next,’ Eliza tell me. ‘You must run, escape. Get on that mule. Ride far, far away.’

Trial

The young cane in the field them already starting to ripen. Is the dry season, not too hot, not too windy. Soon the fierce heat of summer set in. But Stella and me, we not going see it.

What we doing? Waiting for the trial to begin.

We been locked in a gaol cell for bout a month. Stella in the next cell beside me, but they won’t let me see her. Only see her when the legal man, Mister Grignon, come and him sometimes question us together.

‘To prepare the case,’ him say.

Some days they let me out the back to walk, stretch me legs. But no amount of leg stretching going stop me from feeling all hemmed in like what we do to the animal them.