Chapter 2

The cook met me at the door.

“Is it true? They’re all dead?” she asked.

“Well, yes ... but who told you?”

“We found Ivan’s body on the beach...” she said.

“Who is WE?”

“Come out, girls ... they’re dead.”

Assorted iterations of Are you sure?, came from where ever and every window, closet and doorway in the house. Some of the voices were farther away and some were close by. But they all were seeking assurances.

The cook said, “I’m sure. She’s here and they’re not.”

“Are they really dead?” and that was spoken by the multitude.

I spoke up, “They’re all dead ... even the banker. This is MY house now.”

They trickled in ... most of them used to be pretty for Chaos ... a few had been downright beautiful. Now it was bruises, black eyes and casts.

“Where’s your master?”

“He is my brother ... he was never my master ... and the wretch left me here. From the looks of things ... it might not have been all that bad.”

“Who killed our owners?”

“That would be me.” I said ... with my right hand up ... as if I was in court and swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And I was ... and pretty proud of it.

“My hero!” that was from 29 women and girls.

That might not be true ... was I noble of mind and purpose? No.

Courageous? Not a bit ... I was scared pissless.

Selflessness? Nope ... well maybe ... nope. I was in it to fuck with my brother’s head. I was positive ... I mean absolutely certain ... he was full of shit. Then IT happened ... I tried to get away. I mean ... that mirror sucked me in and no manner of pulling back worked.

Humility? Not on your life! Sure I read that damn book ... I just didn’t believe it. I might be a tiny bit humble now ... give it a think, girl ... nah.

Patience? Ha ... I didn’t even wait to find out if those guys had the high moral ground ... Kill ‘em all and let the All-Mother sort ‘em out. Not that I really felt that way ... if I get outta this alive I’m never coming back. Put THAT in your pipe and smoke it!

Did I care that I released these women from durance vile? Maybe ... but it wasn’t my idea...

Ah, well ... I’m here ... I might be stuck here. If David doesn’t show up in a month...

What do women do when there’s nothing to Do? Cook. WE all pitched in and it was a smoothly ordered machine. People were stepping and fetching like nobody’s business ... and it was done ... on time and not a smidgen of it was soggy or burnt. It was better than good.

They smelled like southern fried chicken ... they tasted like southern fried chicken ... they just didn’t Look like southern fried chicken. It was some kind of bird that didn’t smell fishy. On an island that in itself was unusual.

There were corn dodgers ... corn bread with a liberal serving of whole corn and sweet onion done up in deep batter fried in lard that had a bit of bacon grease mixed in.

The greens were sweet and salty with a vinegar under taste.

There was fresh from the oven hot bread made with a grain a lot like wheat but the taste was enough different to notice.

Somebody had churned and there was cold sweet buttermilk and a local wine that had a zip.

It was all served country style ... big bowls and platters. Whoever was handy fetched more when the bowl or platter ran empty.

This was a freedom party. Right now ... this moment ... these women were free. Tomorrow might bring disaster but life is like that. Live in the now.

The clean up done ... somebody brought out the hard stuff. Long fermentation mead (fermented honey)is frozen in the winter. The ice is scooped out and the alcohol stored in charred oak barrels. The good stuff is aged at least three years in the dark.