It was the summer of Isabelle's seventeenth year. Isabelle was a
mature woman by then; allowed to wear long skirts and pin up her hair.
She was definitely considered old enough to be married.
Isabelle's family owned a large plantation and kept many slaves.
It was easy to understand why so many gentleman sought Isabelle for
their wife. It was never for who she was, but for her father's wealth.
The gentlemen began visiting Isabelle's home only two weeks after
she turned seventeen. A bride of sixteen was considered too young; but
a woman of seventeen was in her prime. It had always been the
tradition in her family that the mother and father would be the ones to
choose the husbands for their daughters. Her two older sisters had
been married in such a fashion. Granted, she would have some say in
the matter, but ultimately the decision was her parents.
The gentlemen came and went. Some Isabelle talked to, others were
sent away immediately. On the most part, her parents had not found a
man who was wealthy enough for their liking. It was never about
whether they loved Isabelle or were good, honest men. It was always
about how much they owned.
It was a beautiful summer day when it all happened. Another
gentleman caller was at the house. One who had stopped in before. In
fact Isabelle had spoken to him often, at her parents request. She
found him a horrible man with no compassion, who was twice her age.
She did not like him in the slightest. But on this visit he did not
seek out Isabelle as he usually did; he went straight inside the house
to speak with Isabelle's parents. Isabelle hoped that would be the
last that she would see of him.
When the small negro girl came to tell her that her parents wished
to see her in the house Isabelle was standing near the cotton field
watching the slaves at work. It always amazed Isabelle to watch them ,
their dark skin shining under the hot sun. They were a mystery to her,
as they had always been, and would have to remain so; for she was
forbidden to speak to any of them except in command. Isabelle sighed
softly to herself and walked back up to the house. The little negro
girl shuffling behind her submissively.
When Isabelle opened the door to the sitting room her parents were
drinking wine with Mister Smythe, the frequent gentleman caller.
Isabelle felt ill when she looked at him. A man twice her age with a
grin on his face from ear to ear, and a small velvet box in his hand.
Isabelle knew her fate had been sealed.
"Isabelle darling," her mother called to her,"Mister Smythe has
some wonderful news to tell you."
Isabelle's heart filled with fear and she felt sure that she would
faint from the overwhelming feeling of disgust. She turned her head
politely and looked at him, refusing to smile.
He handed the small box to her father and took Isabelle's hand in
his as he spoke.
"My darling Isabelle, your parents have consented to our
Is that not wonderful news?"
He then opened the box and took from it a horribly oversized ring
and placed it upon her finger, placing his dirty lips upon her cheek as
he did so.
Isabelle couldn't speak. She thought surely that she would be
ill. What could she do? She was trapped.
Her mother spoke happily. "Look! She is too pleased to speak!
This is a wonderful day indeed. Let us all celebrate with another
glass of wine!"
A wine glass was placed in front of Isabelle and she took a sip.
Isabelle could feel her eyes welling up with tears already.
"I feel a bit faint" Isabelle said softly, so as not to begin
crying. "I am going outside for a bit of fresh air." She got up and
curtsied to her parents and to the horrid Mister Smythe.
"I shall escort you then my dear." Mister Smyth said, struggling
to get out of his chair.
"Oh, no. Do not trouble yourself, enjoy the wine," Isabelle
called out as she started out down the hall.
Isabelle saw him shrug and sit back down. Her footsteps quickened
as she fought back tears. She pushed the door open and began to run.
Her long skirts rustling noisily, her bright golden curls falling from
their pins to hang around her face raggedly.
It had already begun to become dark, the slaves were beginning to
return to their cabins. Isabelle ran to the middle of the cotton field
and flung herself down, hidden by the plants. She sobbed heavily. The
thought of being married to that disgusting boar made her physically
ill. She cried even harder. As she opened her eyes a bit to try to
wipe away the tears,she saw a dark shadow looming over her. Isabelle
gasped and turned around. A tall, thin, negro boy about her own age
loomed over her, his face looked as startled as her own. He
immediately began to apologize.
"Boy, I shure am sorry Miss." His voice was apologetic, but his
eyes were fearful. There was something in them, something human.
Isabelle picked up her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
Isabelle couldn't bare to be angry with him when his eyes were so
afraid.
"Oh, it is alright, I just was not expecting anyone to be here."
Isabelle said quietly, trying to control her wavering voice. She then
tried to stand up, but she felt as it her limbs had turned to porridge,
for she had neither the inner strength nor the energy to return to the
house. Isabelle stumbled and fell back down.
The boy reached out to help her, but as his dark hand neared her
own light coloured arm he withdrew, the fear returning to his eyes.
His voice was quiet and gentle as he spoke.
"Do you need some help Miss?" His eyes were so kind that her own
fears began to melt. All the terrible stories she had heard as a child
began to disappear.
Isabelle nodded, the tears falling from her eyes again. She held
one hand up so as he could help her up by it, her other hand held her
handkerchief which she used to dab at her eyes furiously.
He knelt down closer to Isabelle and took her hand in his,
nervously, for she could feel his body trembling with fear as he did
so. How odd it looked to see his dark, dark skin against her own fair
hand, which now seemed an eerie white in the moonlight. He then took
his other arm and wrapped it around her waist, helping her to stand.
How thin he seemed compared to the white boys her age. It was almost
as if he had not been fed in weeks. She shuddered at the thought of
it. He looked no different than any boy her age, except for his
horrifying slimness and dark colour.
Now upon her feet Isabelle turned to look at him. His eyes seemed
fearful again. Her heart ached a bit to see it. Isabelle tried to
push back the thoughts of Mister Smythe and turned her attention to the
boy before her. Isabelle looked around to make sure no one was
watching, for surely if she was seen speaking with a negro she would be
harshly scolded and the boy would be severely beaten. Satisfied that
they were alone Isabelle looked into his eyes. Deep brown eyes, like
she had seen on the faces of some white men. Surely they could not be
so different if they had the same eyes.
"What's your name?" Isabelle asked.
He seemed shocked and looked down at his feet in respect for her
as he answered.
"Jerome, Miss"
Isabelle noticed his gaze and smiled softly as she spoke.
"It's alright, you can look at me. My name is Isabelle and please
call me by that."
"Yes, Miss Isabelle" he replied looking back up at her.
Isabelle sighed softly to herself, having meant that he needed not
to call her "Miss". She decided that perhaps it was best not to
correct the mistake, partly because it had the potential to get them
both in trouble.
"How long were you standing there?" She asked, quite curious as to
why he was there at all.
He answered nervously. His face looked terrified, his eyes like
those of a trapped animal.
"Since you ran into the field Miss Isabelle. I saw you fall down
and thought ya might be hurt. I shure didn't mean no harm, honest Miss
Isabelle."
Jerome's answer stabbed right at her heart. The poor boy wanted
only to help and was now afraid that she might hurt him because of it.
Isabelle smiled softly and looked at him as she spoke.
"It's fine, I will not hurt you. I promise. I just want to talk
to you, that is all. How old are you?"
"Seventeen summers, Miss Isabelle." He replied.
"That is how old I am as well. We are the same age." Isabelle
replied.
He nodded, then looked back down at the ground, then up at her
handkerchief. Curiosity seemed to replace the fear in his eyes.
"You are wondering why I was crying." Isabelle stated upon
noticing his curious expression.
He nodded, lowering his head again as if ashamed of his curiosity.
"I am engaged," She sighed. The tears welled up in her eyes
again.
Jerome's face filled with confusion as he looked up at her. He
spoke, his voice trembling, as if he was afraid to ask.
"But ain't that a good thing Miss Isabelle?"
Isabelle sobbed as she replied. "No! I am engaged to a terrible
pig who loves only my father's wealth, not me. I loathe him
completely, he makes me ill!" Isabelle continued to cry as she
finished babbling.
"There now Miss Isabelle, that shure is terrible, but there must
be something good about it. It could be lots worse." He replied
carefully, in a quiet voice.
"No, nothing about it is good. Nothing could possibly be wor-"
Isabelle stopped in mid-sentence as she looked at him. She could see
the outline of his ribs and collarbone. She quickly realized that
things could be much worse.
"Oh my, I am sorry," Isabelle said softly.
He looked up at her with intense confusion as he asked.
"What fer Miss Isabelle?"
Isabelle looked at him again. His confused face, his horribly
thin body. It almost made her begin to cry again.
"When was the last time you had something to eat?" She asked,
avoiding his question.
"I had my soup for the day this morn Miss Isabelle," he replied.
Isabelle gasped in horror, only soup for an entire day!
"You must be so hungry!" Isabelle exclaimed.
He nodded, his eyes sad. She felt incredibly sorry for him.
Immediately she wished to help ease his pain. Then suddenly light
flooded the porch of the grand building.
"Isabelle?" A voice called out. Isabelle soon recognized it as
her father's voice.
She looked at Jerome and whispered, "Hide!"
Quickly, Isabelle pinned her hair back up gracefully. Jerome
ducked down amongst the plants as Isabelle walked out from the field,
stepping into the light.
"I am right here Father," she said, taking his arm as he lead her
back into the house. She looked over her shoulder once more to see
Jerome's dark shadow creep into one of the many slave cabins.
"Are you well Isabelle?" her Father asked as they walked back to
the house. "You look a little pale."
"I am fine Father, just a little tired is all. Could I be
permitted to bid Mister Smythe good eve and go to bed? I am sure I
shall feel much better after getting some sleep," Isabelle answered,
smiling sweetly in hopes that she could avoid speaking with Mister
Smythe further.
Her father looked at her sternly as he spoke.
"Isabelle, this is a very good match for you and I will not have
you ruining it with such rudeness. You shall share a drink with your
fiance, and then and only then may you retire for the night."
Isabelle sighed to herself and allowed him to lead her into the
house, and finally into the sitting room, where he looked at Isabelle
sternly once more as he shut the door, leaving Isabelle and Mister
Smythe alone with the wine bottle. Isabelle watched the door close and
knew how truly trapped she was.
Isabelle sat down across from Mister Smythe and picked up a glass,
filling it with wine for herself, not bothering to offer him any.
"You are so beautiful Isabelle" He said breaking the silence.
Isabelle simply nodded and drank heavily from the wine glass.
"We will be very happy together." He stated.
Isabelle nearly choked on her wine and began to laugh, muttering
to herself
"Who is we? You and I, or you and my father's money?"
"Pardon my dear?" He asked.
"Oh nothing," she said. The wine beginning to go to her head. "I
was just wondering which you love better, myself or my father's
wealth."
He looked at her, shocked at her outspoken words.
"I will not have you speaking to me in such a manner! I will be
your husband and you shall learn to obey me now!"
Isabelle's head cleared a bit, as she looked fearfully at his red
angry face. His angry words frightening her to the point where her
body began to tremble with fear. He then reached towards her and drew
his hand back, bringing it down hard across her cheek, knocking her
back in her chair with the force of the blow.
"You shall obey," he said, drinking from his own wine glass.
Isabelle touched her smarting cheek as a small tear rolled down
her cheek. She bit her lip to numb the pain and hold back the tears,
lowering her gaze, her spirit broken.
"Yes Mister Smythe." Isabelle replied weakly
"I have a name," he said, "It is Ralph, and you shall me by it
until the wedding. There after you shall call me `husband', is that
clear?"
"Yes Ralph," Isabelle replied coldly.
He looked at her and shook his head.
"Remember whose home you shall be living in. You shall be an
obedient wife."
He then took his fat fingers and wedged them under her chin,
pushing her face up to look into her eyes. He then pressed his
horribly disgusting lips to hers and left.
Isabelle spat upon the floor and wiped furiously at her lips. She
began to cry. She needed desperately to talk to someone, but who? All
of her friends were long since married and would probably be more
thrilled over the match than her parents. Isabelle wiped away the
tears and pulled herself up from her chair. She wandered out of the
room and down the hall to her bedroom.
Isabelle opened her bedroom door and flung herself down on her
bed, sobbing. The thought of obeying that monster ate away at her
soul. The side of her face still ached with the bitter pain of the
blow. She needed to escape. Escape from that horrid man, from her
unsympathetic parents, from her life in general.
Isabelle dabbed at her tears with her handkerchief and got up to
stare out of her large window. The thought then struck her. Isabelle
realized that there was someone that would understand how trapped she
felt.
She quickly changed into her darkest gown and locked her bedroom
door, knowing that no one would disturb her until the morn. She filled
the pockets of her gown with oranges, apples and other fruits that sat
uneaten in the fruit basket upon her dresser. She then walked back to
the window and opened it, leaving it slightly ajar as she slipped
through the window opening into the night.
Isabelle hoped desperately that the overseer was not about as she
crept amongst the trees. Soon she noticed the slave cabins come into
view. Isabelle wasn't quite sure how to go about finding him so she
simply called his name quietly as she passed each cabin. Eventually
she saw a dark figure appear at the entrance to one of the cabins.
"Jerome?" Isabelle hissed softly.
The figure turned to face her direction.
"Miss Isabelle?" the figure replied.
Isabelle smiled, knowing it was him and motioned for him to come
to her and sit down, hidden in the shadow of the cabin.
"Sit with me a moment Jerome," she said softly.
He nodded and sat down behind the cabin, not close to her but
within speaking distance.
"Miss Isabelle, what are you doing here?" He looked at her
genuinely perplexed.
Isabelle started to cry again and dabbed at her tears. Finally
managing to control her voice.
"Please do not call me `Miss'. You can just call me Isabelle now
that we are alone," she said looking at him. "I needed someone to
talk to, and I think that you might understand. But you need to trust
me. I am not going to hurt you. I am not the same as the others."
He looked at her in amazement. He spoke in a quiet and shocked
voice.
"Shure if that's what ya want Mi-, I mean Isabelle."
Isabelle shook her head gently.
"No, not what I want, I will only stay if you wish me to stay. It
is completely your choice."
He looked at her, shocked once again for being given a choice.
Isabelle smiled a bit at his look. He was so much kinder, so much more
human than any of the men Isabelle had ever met.
"I... uh... want ya to stay Isabelle," Jerome said with what
seemed to be a hint of a smile.
"Do you ever feel trapped?" Isabelle asked, knowing the answer
before she asked the question.
He nodded as he answered, "Yes, always."
Isabelle looked at him, her eyes filled with compassion.
"I feel trapped in this marriage," she said.
Jerome nodded to her listening as she finished speaking, her
sentence ending in a quiet whisper. "He hit me."
Jerome looked at her with shock in his eyes. The moonlight fell
upon the pair, catching the light of their eyes in the soft glow.
"That shure ain't right to hit a light skinned lady."
Isabelle looked at him.
"It is wrong to hit anyone, light or dark." She stared into his
eyes, glimpsing again at his true humanity. His eyes were so kind and
sympathetic. It felt to her that Jerome was more her equal that Ralph
Smythe would ever be. "You truly are the same as us. Your face shows
more compassion than any other man I know. I trust you so."
Jerome smiled gently, "Thank you, I like you. You ain't like the
other white folk." he said.
She smiled at him, her worries having melted as she spoke with
him. She began to feel differently about Jerome. Perhaps it was
because of her terrible sorrow and need for understanding, but she was
beginning to feel a certain affection for Jerome. The man who cared
enough to help her when she collapsed in the field. The man whose eyes
filled with compassion for her although his problems were by far worse.
She looked at him in the darkness, his thin shadowy figure blended so
well with the night. She suddenly remembered the fruit in her pockets
and handed it to him, speaking softly.
"Here, I thought you and your family might need this more than I."
Jerome smiled brightly and looked at the fruit, which he set down
on the ground beside him as he looked up at her, he looked visibly
touched by the act of kindness. He looked at her with grateful eyes as
he quietly whispered the words, "Thank you."
Isabelle moved over slightly and touched his arm gently, as she
spoke, "No it is I who owes you thanks. I can not thank you enough for
letting me talk to you. I've never met anyone so kind, anyone who
bothered to listen to me, or bother to try to understand how I feel. I
am so fond of you for it."
He smiled at her, although his eyes widened a bit in shock at the
touch.
"I only did what anyone would do for a pritty lady like yourself.
Ya looked so sad. I just, I just wanted to help."
She smiled, her eyes watering with tears.
"That is one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me, no
one has ever cared about me like that."
A small joyful tear rolled down her cheek and she smiled at him,
her affection growing deeper by his kind words. She leaned over a bit
closer to him, and then, acting half on impulse and half on the demands
of her heart she leaned even closer and without hesitation kissed him
upon the lips.
Jerome moved back, shocked by the kiss. He touched his dark
fingertips to his lips. He looked at her, one so different that the
others with such radiant beauty. But his eyes filled with amazement
and fear.
"Is that a good idea?" he asked gently.
Isabelle sighed softly and began to speak quietly.
"Forgive me, but after your kind words and your understanding, I
cannot look at you without thinking about how much I care about you.
How much I want you to hold me. How much I want you to kiss me with
love and affection. Not like how the one I am promised to does, with
such force and desire to break my spirit. I am sorry. I acted on my
own desires and emotion. I realize that you might not feel the same."
Jerome looked at her and smiled gently.
"I do care for you. Isabelle you shure are different from the
others. You don't treat me like a dog. Ya even came here and brought
me food for me and my family, when all the other ones yell at us and
tell us one bowl of broth is too much for our kind. I don't know
nothin' 'bout the holdin' and the kisses. I ain't never held a girl
before. But as much as I care for ya Isabelle, it ain't right is it?
With you bein' light and me bein' a darkie. It can't be right can it?"
"I do not care!" Isabelle spoke as loudly as possible without
giving herself away. "I care for you more than any light coloured
person in the world. You have more compassion and kindness than any of
them and I believe that I love you for it."
Jerome looked at her too stunned to speak as she leaned forward
once more and kissed him again. This time he did not move away but
returned the kiss, gingerly reaching his arms around her small waist in
a soft embrace.
The moon overlooked a scene of gentle, sweet passion and love.
As the moon began to flee from the warm sun, moments before dawn
broke, Isabelle's shadowy figure slipped back into her grand home. The
grass behind the slave cabin pressed down against the hard earth.
Other nights passed in which Isabelle fled from her home to call
behind the small cramped slave cabins, tears flowing down her cheeks,
the sting of Ralph's violent hand still upon her body and as he had the
first night, Jerome would console her with the understanding that only
he held.
The day of the wedding arrived. Isabelle noticed her wedding gown
had grown tighter around her middle. Tighter than it had been when the
gown was first made. She had also noticed other changes in herself,
such as an odd illness she felt only in the morn. She had bid Jerome a
tearful farewell the night prior, as upon her wedding day she would
leave to live with her new husband. She looked down at her slightly
swollen stomach and smiled softly, knowing that although Jerome and
herself would be apart she would always be able to remember him through
the child she was to bare.
Isabelle held her head up high as she spoke her vows to the man
she loathed with all her soul. She kept trying to remember Jerome's
compassionate eyes, for the memories were all that kept the tears back
from her eyes.
Isabelle had not been married a year before her belly swelled with
child. Ralph seemed pleased, believing the child to be his. Yet the
fateful day came all to soon when the child was born.
Isabelle lay motionless on the bed, exhausted as the midwife
placed the baby boy in her arms muttering, "utterly shameful."
Isabelle looked down at the baby, his skin the colour of the soft
earth, lighter than that of his father's, but definitely dark.
"My baby Jerome" Isabelle softly cooed to the child. "You look
like your father. I love you so. You shall be as good and kind as he.
I shall see to that."
The baby ceased it's wailing for but a moment and seemed to look
up at her. The room was peaceful and tranquil.
Suddenly the door burst open and Ralph appeared, his face red with
anger as he ripped the child from her arms.
"What is this?!" He screamed. "My wife share a bed with a
nigger?!"
He took his free hand and hit Isabelle hard across her face.
"I should have seen it coming from you! You ungrateful wench! I
am going to tear this child limb from limb, slit his throat and dash
his head upon a stone!!!"
Isabelle sobbed heavily, using all of her energy reaching for the
child. Ralph stormed out of the room and soon the babe's screams
ceased. Isabelle tumbled from the bed, staggering out of the bedroom
to the bathing room, where she saw her beloved child bleeding from a
fatal cut to his throat, his soul already having departed.
Isabelle sobbed. As she bent down kissing her dead baby's face,
her salty tears mixing with the blood, her eyes caught the glare from
the blade of the knife which her husband used to murder her innocent
babe. She grabbed the knife and tore open the front of her night gown,
plunging the knife deep into her own breast with her last drop of
strength. Her body fell to the floor, the blood from her own dying
heart pooling out, mingling with the blood of her murdered son.
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