slr_europa@yahoo.com
http://www.geocities.com/slr_europa
AIM :: ropachan
***********************************************
Love Through Time ~ A Serena and Darien Saga
Volume III, Chapter v
By Sailor Europa
"Selena darling, what time did you return last night?"
I turned bloodshot eyes to my mother, 8am the next morning, and blinked
obliviously.
"Pardon?" I replied. She sighed.
"You were gone quite a while yesterday. We were worried." She put a
comforting arm around me and I exhaled in relief. Letting some of my stance lean into
her, I relaxed a bit. "You were so adamant that you could handle the task. Did you get
lost?" I shook my head wearily.
"No, but I got tied up."
"All right then. Please try to be swifter next time, though. At least for your
mother's sake." She smiled sincerely down at me and I returned it as best I could. She left
my side no more than a few seconds later and my form sagged immediately.
Completely exhausted and emotionally burnt out, I was having trouble
experiencing the day I was presently in. Pulling myself out of bed had been a chore, for it
wasn't until the sun gently caressed the horizon that morning that I was able to leave
those images and sounds behind me. I had lie awake for the whole night, the moon
casting horrid shadows that I imagined as bloody arms and battered, open muscles. With
each gust of Southern wind that blew rustling branches against my windows, I heard
those screams, ones that had once been held in for so long. The pain and anguish being
released not just from the present sting of attention and nourishment, but the lingering
feel of leather on the soul.
I cringed at the thought involuntarily, stopping at the crest of the stairs that
stretched out now in front of me. Why was I so afraid all of a sudden? The events last
night had certainly been out of the ordinary, but I was convinced that it wasn't anything I
couldn't forget. I wasn't blind. I had seen, even aided, the punishment of disobedient
slaves. Papa even kept a whip on hand for just such occasions. They had all wailed
horribly at the time, and rightfully so; I'm sure it was quite painful. But each and every
night I was able to let my head quiet the morbid thoughts, invaded by exhaustion and
sweet dreams. The raucous cries and solitary screams never replayed themselves,
torturing my brain and nerves. I had never allowed it.
The sobs had been the voice of the guilty. Bad servants who wouldn't do their
work would, of course, be punished. It was only logical. I had never given a second
thought to the flesh ripping open before my eyes. It was a consequence of their own
actions and had to be dealt with. No questions asked.
But the writhing muscles I had seen last night were different. The tears that
moistened the soil were of an innocent nature. I watched them fall passively enough,
ignorant to the reasons that such anguish was caused. The sobs that poured from her heart
were honest and sincere, as ignorant as I was as to their origins. Not one single soul in
attendance understood or accepted her punishment as right, or even normal for that
matter. Not a stitch in the tapestry of the previous evening even laid claim to the poor
girls suffering, nor did it affirm it. Last night was pure redemption, and not a mouth dared
question what had happened prior to the meeting. It was obvious how trivial the cause
was; it was the effect that mattered.
But the girl last night had to be an unusual case. It didn't make sense in my
mind; something was missing from this numbing puzzle. Adding up each factor, both
from previous knowledge and recent revelations, I still came up short. Nothing fit. And I
was beginning to think that trying to unravel this mystery was going to drive me
completely insane.
"Selena! Come here for a moment!"
I looked down the staircase splayed out before me and blinked. My fathers
voice echoed inside my ears and I inhaled. I tried to will the thoughts away, knowing that
it was futile to try to hide my emotions from my family, at least in the long run. Sucking
in a large breath, I put on my best face and trotted down the stairs, concentrating hard on
making it through the journey without screaming, or tripping.
*****
"There you are! Lovely as ever, my darling." I beamed under Papa's
unwarranted praise, and felt my cares fall to the floor. I grinned widely at both my father
and his younger companion, a man I had never seen around before. Tall and slim faced,
he was the picture of the South. Fair-hair framed a taught jaw-line, and large gray
marbles posing as eyes hid under an array of thick lashes. He could have been a statue; he
looked physically perfect.
"Good morning, Papa." I said merrily, only a twinge of anxiety escaping my
lips, the rest flown away with the entrance of another's presence. I gave him a peck on the
cheek and he chuckled. Smiling, I linked my arm through his as I turned towards the
other man, pretending to just have noticed him. I flashed an innocent expression at him,
and he returned the favor with a broad, pleased grin.
"Dearest, this is Patrick Harris, from Charleston. He's just bought land about ten
miles east and has come to meet his new neighbors."
"The pleasure is mine." A thick Southern accent drolled out, falling over my
skin and bare shoulders, raising goose pimples from head to foot. He reached smoothly
for my hand and I could feel my lungs constrict as his lips pressed against the clamminess
of it, in almost obvious formality. He raised his eyes alone to meet my gaze and I
managed to keep my emotions in check and offer a small, content smile. He replied with
a lop-sided, knowing grin. His eyes twinkled and I felt something familiar stir inside me.
"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Harris. I assume you've taken a
liking to our side of Georgia?" I asked, careful to keep the conversation as rigged and
fenced as possible while my father stood by. He didn't say a word, just smiled at the two
of us expectantly, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything that might give him
hope. I could feel the waves of thought lapse into each other in my mind, and I wondered
if this man had visited to meet us as Father had said, or if, in actuality, a casual invitation
had been extended on my behalf. Just the thought made me wish to sigh in exasperation,
but I kept my tongue in check.
"Quite. I'm looking to start up my own workers within the next few weeks." He
grinned, shocking my thoughts back to the present. I added my own smile, much to my
fathers delight, and nodded for good measure. "I'd like to have my plantation in working
order by the end of the year."
"Lofty goals for someone who is just getting started in the late summer." I
remarked. He didn't take to the ribbing too well; his eyes remained a stony quality,
despite the constant smile just below them.
"Mr. Harris is looking to possibly borrow our overseer for a little while, until he
can find one as decent." Father chuckled. "Jack Reeves won't let you down, I promise
you that. Best care-taker in Atlanta. Hell, in Georgia!"
"Well, I think I will leave you gentlemen to talk of work." I gave hearty smile to
Mr. Harris, and then a warm, sincere embrace to my father. "It was nice to meet you, Mr.
Harris. I hope we'll see more of you." I lied.
"As do I hope as well." He spoke smoothly, each syllable meant to lure me in
deeper. But with the ice in his gaze still remaining, I refrained for going too far. I held
back, my nerves disliking something in his disposition.
"Good day."
*****
"Selena!"
I pulled my lips into a tighter line, staring farther out into the serene, placid lake
that stretched in front of me. I ignored the calls. I just wanted to be alone. I'd had enough
to think about this afternoon. It had been almost a week since that wretched night and I'd
had as little sleep as humanly possible. Each eve the darkness brought horrid nightmares,
frightening images that threatened to steal my sanity. But then the dawn would touch the
sills of my windows and the fear retreated. The sun seemed to shake me to my senses
with its warmth, and I would be set in the patterns of before.
I brushed the lace out from my dress and picked at an imaginary piece of lint on
the coats, sighing. I was completely exhausted after the incident had stalked me each
sleepless night and found my nerves worn to the bone. I snapped at almost every pair of
eyes that dared look my way, and I knew that my household was beginning to become
suspicious. So that afternoon I had escaped to the lake and surrounding trees that
enveloped our land, just to the left of our groves. I purposely kept my back to the short,
stalked little orchard trees, in an effort to keep my mind from traveling to those same
thoughts. Yet every so often my back would bristle and I would feel shivers race up and
down my spine; I couldn't hide from the anxiety all the time, it was bound to find me
sooner or later.
*****
"But Papa..." I pleaded, my eyes wide in horror.
My father gave me the most curious look, confused at my sudden defiance to
his orders.
"Selena, Peter Hawkins is expecting those papers tonight, and I hadn't the time
to ride down there this morning, nor did I get away from town in time to deliver them this
afternoon." His voice rose slightly as he barreled over me, his impatience growing.
I stared out the window at the darkening sky beyond the fields. If I journeyed
out now, I'd have to cross the same path I had not 10 days ago. The thought of setting
foot on those clods of dirt made my skin crawl. I wouldn't sleep at all tonight.
"You know my eye site is poor, especially in the twilight." He sighed, pulling
off his jacket. I knew then I wasn't going to back out of this. Lila was too young, and I
had made the unfortunate decision to meet him as he came back this evening. I had made
myself available. "You'll be fine. Besides, you've a much more diplomatic nature than
I." He chuckled, but I bit back tears. "I won't have to worry about you offending
anyone."
He gave me that loving, fatherly look of disapproval and I sighed in obedience.
I would just give in and avoid any more confrontations. I would not win this argument.
"All right Papa." I glanced at the brass clock near the blazing fireplace and
sighed. 6:30 PM. It would take at least three hours to finish the errand. Perhaps I would
be exhausted afterwards; too exhausted to let the restless fits of unrest over take me once
again.
I left as soon as Papa went to his study to retrieve the papers, and changed into a
warmer dress. I dressed hurriedly, throwing a few frantic looks towards my two-story
window, and praying for God to let the sun remain on the horizon a few minutes longer.
But I let the fear and despair creep into my bones as I watched my last hope sink farther
and farther into oblivion.
*****
"It was a pleasant surprise to see you at our door this evening, Selena. Please
give your father my regards, and thank him for these." Mr. Hawkins smiled warmly at
me, and I returned the gesture. Peter Hawkins was one of my favorite neighbors. He was
a kindly old plantation owner, all his family deceased, save a 22 year old son. But he was
off to war, and I was in awe at this mans ascended spirits. I was in agony with my brother
away and in such danger; imagine the remnants of your entire family in the same
situation.
"I will, Mr. Hawkins. It was lovely to see you again." I replied, giving a polite
curtsey. He glanced at the raven sky beyond his front porch and frowned visibly.
"Are you sure you won't reconsider and let me send you home in a carriage? I
hate to think of you traveling unescorted in such an environment."
I felt the fear grip my trembling heart once again and I wanted desperately to
accept, but I knew better. Papa would give me a sound scolding should I trouble this
kindly old man to such an extent. So with all the courage I could muster under my
shaking knees, I shook my head, smiling merrily.
"Oh no, I'm perfectly all right. I've walked these woods hundreds of times." I
gave him a reassuring smile as proof, and hoped he didn't notice the shudder in my
stance. His grin reappeared and he nodded in agreement.
"I suppose you're right." He chuckled. "You've always been a pistol, Selena. A
wild animal would have to be out of sorts to mess with you."
I smirked in reply, and gave a final wave in his direction. However I let my
expression grow grave as I journeyed down the steps and allowed my figure to be
swallowed up by the darkness.
If only it were the wild animals I was frightened of.
*****
"Just a few hundred more feet, Selena." I muttered to myself between jagged
breaths. I stepped quickly over the tall brush and cast a quick glance over my right
shoulder towards the orchards, and the invisible line that kept our groves from the
Hawkins'. There was a small ravine that made for a makeshift separation, and would
eventually lead the follower to the large open field which housed the helps' quarters, and
the groundskeepers cottages for both plots of land. I paused instinctively and weighed the
journey. It was well after working hours, and the chances of running into any of the
slaves were rather low. I bit my lip nervously as I gazed absently towards the narrow
path. To take it would mean running the same course I had that fateful night, and I
admitted to myself that the mere thought of walking those same passageways was enough
to make me faint on the spot. Yet the circumstances had been different, and I was
intelligent enough to know that with the activities that group had been performing were
immoral, if not illegal; therefore the participants would not be so naive to lead the events
to the same location each time, so the likelihood that I would run into the same situation
was lessened.
I inhaled deeply and gazed at the dusty ditch to my side, then turned my eyes to
the blazed road ahead of me. It was in a split second decision that I swallowed my fear
and doubt. Turning on my heel, I picked up my skirt and headed between the mesh of
groves. My brow became increasingly more wrinkled as I concentrated on keeping
myself upright and the sounds of the grass brushing my petticoats; anything to keep my
thoughts from wandering. I trained my eyes on the few flickering lights ahead of me that
twinkled like tiny little stars through the windows of the cabins hundreds of feet in front
of me. They danced as my jilted body movements trudged closer and closer. I could feel
my quickened breaths slow with each step as I erased the gap that hung between me and
my home. As soon as I was within the vicinity of the cabins, I could let my weary nerves
rest; things would get easier.
Within 20 minutes the groves were to my back, and I was making my way
through the tall cloves of cotton yet to be picked until the sun called on the workers again
the next morning. It rose to my knees, and I had to let my pace decrease in order to avoid
cuts and scrapes from the plants as they grazed my shins and ankles. Cringing in
unavoidable pain, I bent down to touch a wound I had received from a sharp leaf. As I
knelt to wipe away the touches of blood, I let my eyes roam around freely. To the
northwest I could see the plantation loom over the hills and fields; I smiled grimly. Just
knowing it was within my reach was enough.
I let the muscles in my back relax and the tension flow from my legs as I let my
walk grow more leisurely after my brief pause. I kept a watchful eye on the slaves
quarters, and was relieved to find all lights extinguished from the windows, with no glow
whatsoever emitting from the blurred glass. I exhaled a shallow, ragged breath and
continued onward, slightly to the south of the groundskeeper's cottage that Papa kept for
Jared Wilson. My gaze trailed from the open door on the porch to the small dirt trail that
lead a quarter of a mile southward, hidden by a few trees and shrubs. I blinked,
wondering if he and his family, all gathered and huddled around the center of the
platform, could spot me from this far back. With the illuminated open doorway as a
backdrop, I had no trouble picking each of them out but after light speculation, decided
that I was not visible to their eyes.
As I picked up the pace, a small shudder danced down my spine as my ears
picked up the faint voices and phrases that one could only use in an intense argument. I
recognized Jared's tone and inflection immediately, but it was after some time I found the
responder to be that of a young man. I tilted my head; Mr. Wilson's eldest son was a
solemn figure known for keeping to himself, and after the broken and shrieking wail he
repeated, I wondered what could have possibly caused such a ruckus. Harsh words
were spouted from the older, taller man, and from my vantage point I could already tell
that the boy was in for the beating of his life. There was a reason Mr. Wilson had been
revered as one of the counties best work leaders; he didn't let anyone talk back to him,
and his itchy trigger finger proved it.
I wasn't even aware that I had begun to move forward along the walk leading to
their door until I found myself less than a hundred feet from the scene. My heart was
throbbing for the poor boy who was huddled and shaking helplessly on the floor at the
feet of a merciless predator. I let my hands graze the rough bark belonging to the tree I
hid behind as I watched, wide-eyed with horror. Screams assaulted my ears, and I shook
my head, wiping a few lone tears that sprung up in sympathy. I felt my skin grow cold
and my blood begin to race through my veins as the sight progressed; I wasn't sure how
much more I would be able to take.
I shut my eyes tightly against the scene and quickly turned to go. I tried to
maneuver my way around the brush quietly, although through all the commotion I was
fairly sure that no one would ever notice had I made a sound. I could feel my breath catch
in my throat with each octave the voices rose, and I had to struggle to keep my feet from
running. I was in hell for what seemed like hours until I was past the cottage and over the
east of the porch, no longer hidden by precarious oak and burch.
And that's when I heard it. A shard snap, followed by an ear-shattering shriek,
muffled by the hoarse, unintelligible cries of mercy, begging for sympathy. But instead
the crack sounded again and again until the figure could no longer support the weight of
his body any longer, and crumbled obliviously to the floor. He curled into a fetal position,
the audience on the porch now clutching each other fearfully, unable to turn away from
the horrifying scene just inches from them.
He was using the whip... on his son. And no one was trying to stop him. The
whip that hung as a warning by the front door, serving to frightening even the most
rebellious slave…
The air raced from my lungs in a second, and I found my mouth dry and unable
to speak. The slaves. It wasn't his family that was weeping beside the forlorn boy, it was
the help… And that boy was...
My eyes darted to the heap that he made on the floor, his body shaking
involuntarily from silent, searching sobs. The meager clothing he'd been wearing was all
but ripped to shreds, and I watched as the overpowering man drew closer and closer to
him with each thrust of the leather. I switched my gaze to the family as a female voice
rose in fear over the slashes. She hid her face in the bosom of her mother, and I shook my
head in utter awe. My eyes were burning with unshed tears, but I couldn't look away. I
didn't want to see this sight anymore. My ignorance and innocence were being stripped
away with each slap of the whip as they echoed inside my head. I heard Darien calling
me "soulless" and "spoiled" and I felt the sobs fill my chest. The tears built to the
breaking point, finally spilling over my cheeks in sheets. I wanted to deny everything I
was seeing displayed in such vivid detail before my eyes, but I couldn't. Not any longer.
Then, suddenly, everything stopped to breathe. The warm breeze even hissed to
a standstill, and I watched from my extreme view as Mr. Wilson inhaled deeply, out of
breath and exhausted from his work, standing directly over the lifeless body below
him. The group on the porch waited in silence, sobs being strangled in vain, sniffles
unable to stop. I blinked, wondering if the world had stopped before my very eyes.
Perhaps God Himself had witnessed the punishment and moved to save the soul of the
innocent, as if to salvage what the man had left to rot. I couldn't feel my own shallow
breathing when Mr. Wilson finally walked away, not even casting a respectful glance to
the family that cowered behind him. My heavy heart filled with remorse and I prayed to
anything that might be listening to keep the boy safe and alive; he couldn't die.
But as he stepped over the limp form wallowing in the dust and mud, his boot
caught the beaten, bloodied and bruised arm of the young boy and pulled the body to its
back. And with unseeing eyes wide in horror and disbelief and a small trickle of blood
streaming from his hollow lips, the boy stared into the bleak, star-filled heavens above. I
didn't need to hear any words, or see any movements; the cries of those who loved him
reverberated into my soul and I felt them in my heart. His family knelt by his corpse and
wept unabashedly for the son they lost, at the hands of a man who would sleep soundly
tonight.
I fell to my knees, my legs unable to support the dead-weight I was compiled of
any longer. With a hollow heart and a rotting soul, I gripped the land that I greeted
gratefully. I succumbed to my darkening emotions, and let the blackness sweep into my
brain.
Freedom….
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slr_europa@yahoo.com
http://www.geocities.com/slr_europa/
AIM :: ropachan
(
geocities.com/slr_europa)