Story: The Secret Slave. Part 13.

by Camille Langtry

Elizabeth spent the rest of the day in a state of near panic as she contemplated the possible consequences of what had happened to Sophie. If there was any consolation it was that her secret slave was relatively safe given the circumstances. Caroline made it abundantly clear when she spoke to that nasty-looking overseer that she did not want Sophie marked or hurt excessively and Elizabeth could not imagine his disobeying his strict and demanding employer - it did seem that, like Philip and everyone else in this household, he would follow her orders unconditionally. Or so Elizabeth hoped.

Still, that did not prevent her from imagining potential horror scenarios. Indeed, so much could go wrong and Elizabeth was thinking over the possible repercussions again and again until she could think of nothing else.

Eventually she made up her mind. She had to do something to free Sophie as soon as possible. Caroline did promise she’d be let go tomorrow evening after another day in the fields, but even that seemed too long. That meant Sophie not only had to spend the night securely chained in some cabin but then work another full day in the searing heat of the summer sun. Even if everything went smoothly and she did everything she was told as best as she could, that was too much for someone who until a couple of weeks ago knew nothing about the duties even of a housemaid let alone the back-breaking work of a field-hand.

At the same time - as much as Elizabeth hated to admit it to herself - she did find Sophie’s punishment fitting - and exciting. After all, as far as Caroline and everyone else here was concerned, her friend was nothing but a slave girl. Furthermore, it was Sophie’s idea to begin with and it was nobody’s fault but her own that it had come to this. If you pretend that you are a slave then you should expect to be treated as one. Or, perhaps, that’s a sign you want to be treated as one, no matter what other explanations, like mere curiosity, you come up with?

She couldn’t imagine ever agreeing to anything like that for herself, but Sophie went into this with her eyes wide open, only offering occasional complaints that came across as half-sincere at best. Elizabeth sensed that, deep inside, Sophie did want this experience to be as true-to-life as possible and, truth be told, she found perverse pleasure in seeing her slave punished like this. Of course, she did not want her hurt, but just imagining her secret slave out there in the fields like a common nigra girl filled her with both excitement - and dread.

It was hard for her to make sense of these conflicting feelings. Her attachment to Sophie - both as a friend and as her pretend personal slave - was undeniable. She did not want anything bad to happen to her. On the contrary, it was her duty as a friend and as her Mistress to protect her. Yet, despite this, she barely protested when Sophie was dragged out and just spent the day as normal, doing nothing to free her. Her excuse was that Caroline made it very clear she wouldn't let her go until her punishment was up and it was useless to protest further- or it could even make things worse. Yet, deep inside she took her cousin’s direct words to heart: “You will thank me for this and when you get home you will find her a much better slave than when she arrived here.” 

Yes, she did want her Sophie to become a better slave and if punishing her was the way to achieve that, so be it! She managed to convince herself everything was under control well enough to go to bed with a clear conscience. If anything, Sophie’s detour to the fields even enhanced their joint excitement from their game. However, when she woke up the following morning, that whirlwind of uneasy thoughts about Sophie’s fate was back and Elizabeth went to breakfast determined to force Caroline to let “her girl” go early.

***

While her mistress was still asleep in the big house, Sophie was woken by a heavy knock on the wooden door of her cabin. The door swung open and one of the overseers came with a rusty key to unchain her from the metal bar on the wall. Thankfully, her chain was long enough for her to cuddle on the dusty floor almost the moment Jones locked her up and left her alone for the night.

He prodded her with his foot as he unchained her from the bar.

“On yer feet now. And don’t ya think of anything stupid again, girl,’’ said the overseer, an unshaven man with an unpleasant, rusty voice of a heavy smoker.

Sophie rose up and waited patiently as the man hung the chain to a hook on the wall and then led her out. It was pleasantly chilly and if she hadn't been so tired and unrested from the day before she may have even enjoyed that fine morning. Sophie was led to a small square where a few dozen slaves were waiting to be led to the fields for their day’s work. The overseer pushed her to walk faster and she squealed from the sharp pain that reminded her of the fateful events of the previous night.

No sooner had she made three quick steps toward the woods in her ill-planned escape than she was grabbed by one of Jones’s men who appeared out of the shadows and knocked her down. She tried to get to her feet but it was too late: the man squeezed her hand painfully, forcing her to squeak. However, to her surprise, he did not hit her further and even took the whole incident with a hearty laugh: “And where do you think you going, girl? Lost your way? Surely, even a slave like you can’t be dumb enough to try running away with so many people around?”

“Sorry, suh. Please let me go, suh,” Sophie responded, cursing herself for her own stupidity. Indeed, she should have, at the very least, looked around her before making this escape attempt!

“Go back to the rest of them. You owe me, girl. I’ll find you tomorrow,’’ he released her arm and let her off with a slap on her ass.

Thankfully Jones was too occupied with the whipping to pay much attention to Sophie’s ill-fated freedom run and she continued waiting for her fate, this time with the subservience and obedience that the whole situation required. A few minutes later he let his latest weeping victim rise to her feet and pointed the butt of his whip at the trembling novice field slave: “You, come here.”

Sophie lowered her eyes and moved forward slowly.

“Sophie’s yer name, right?”

“Yes, suh,’’ she responded quietly, her eyes still downcast.

“Your mistress said no whipping for yer and I am happy to oblige. For now,’’ he said and made a dramatic pause. Sophie exhaled, relieved that she would not be punished the way the other slaves had been. On the other hand - and that was a novel feeling for her - she felt a strange feeling of betraying “her own kind”. Naturally, she did not want to be punished, but, on the other hand, she did not want to be looked down upon by the other slaves as someone who had special privileges either.

“Well, tis’ yer lucky night, Sophie. It’s full moon. This means you can continue working until you get the other fifty pounds you owe me today. This goes for you too, lazy niggers,’’ he pointed at four slaves that were standing behind Sophie waiting for their punishment. “Go back to the field and do your job. I just can’t be bothered to deal with yer anyway. Baxter, take them all back now.”

A thick-built, red-haired overseer, clearly unhappy he had to spend a few more hours in the fields at night instead of getting some well-deserved rest, tried to say something only to be interrupted by Jones.

“What yer mumbling there, Baxter? It’s yer turn now. Walter did it yesterday and Clemence the day before that. Feel free to use yer strap on them if they get lazy again, just don’t overdo it like last time,’’ Jones said through his teeth.

Baxter, still visibly unhappy, nodded and motioned to the slaves to pick their baskets again. Sophie was not sure if she should be happy that she escaped the whipping. She had so little strength left in her it was uncertain if she could remain standing for a few more hours, not to mention continue picking cotton. Still, when they were brought back to the moon-lit field, she started picking the fluffy flowers again, doing her best to fill the dreaded basket as fast as she could.

Her hands were numb and her tired eyes were closing, but Baxter’s grunts and occasional hits with a short leather strap forced her to keep up with the others. She wasn’t sure herself how she managed to do it, but about two hours later her basket was full and she was led to her little cabin, where she was chained to the wall like an animal and finally allowed some rest - if sleeping on the floor with a small wooden log as her pillow could be called that.

She put her eyes together almost immediately, saving her a sleepless night of powerless reflection, but now, as she walked back to the field surrounded by a river of slaves, her mind kept returning to Elizabeth. Yesterday she was quick to come up with excuses for her mistress’s apparent lack of action on her behalf, but this was her second day as a field slave already and there was no indication that her fate would change for the better. If anything, it could only get worse - she could barely survive half-a-day picking cotton yesterday, today she was in for a full day of back-breaking and humiliating work, ready to be hit and shouted at by the overseers, who relished in their apparently limitless power to order around and abuse the slaves.

The simple breakfast of cold bacon and molasses she was given helped her recover some of her strength but she could already feel - even before reaching the fields - that she would not survive another day under the sun. Why wasn’t Elizabeth doing anything to save her from this fate? She couldn’t possibly have forgotten about her existence, could she? That was a scary thought indeed. She imagined Elizabeth and Caroline sitting on the veranda, sipping cold lemonade and chatting happily about something a lot more pressing than the fate of a mere housemaid, like the latest Paris fashions or plans for their next shopping trip. No, this couldn’t be!

Still, the truth was that Elizabeth was nowhere in sight and that meant that Sophie was stuck as a field slave for God knows how long. With her long bag across her shoulder again, she started picking the fluffy flowers, careful not to draw any attention to herself. The other slaves barely looked in her direction, concentrating on their task instead, but Sophie could not help but glance at her fellow workers to learn some of the picking techniques from them. If she had to do it, she might as well do in the fastest and most efficient way and not get punished for being slow again - her aching shoulder and hip were painful reminders of her poor performance the previous day.

One little trick she learned was plucking as many cotton bolls as her hand could carry before tossing them in her long cotton sack - doing them one at a time, as she had been yesterday, was too time-consuming. She was extra careful not to break any branches even as the dried bristles off the plant were painfully cutting her fingers and wrists, leaving very visible red lines and scratches. It was surprising to her how much quicker her work was moving once she understood some of the basic tricks of the trade. Even more surprising was that she actually felt a small amount of pride in her performance. Yet, an overseer that she saw approaching clearly did not share her sentiment. Her “savior” from last night stopped in front of her, an irritated expression on his unshaven face.

“You. Show me yer bag,’’ he barked and strongly pulled the strap off Sophie’s shoulder, almost knocking her down. He delved into the bag and took out a cotton boll. “What is this?! You trying to cheat? This one’s not blossomed yet. You leave those for later when they are full, you dumb nigra.”

“Sorry, suh. I didn't know, suh,’’ was all Sophie could say.

“What yer stupid, you didn’t know?! Any halfwit nigger knows that you don’t pick those. Show me your hands.”

Sophie extended her scratched hands to him, waiting for whatever punishment he had in store for her. She didn’t have to wait long as the man took out a short whip and hit her wrists, forcing her to cry out in pain and hide her hands instinctively.

“Your hands. Now!’’ he grumbled and Sophie obeyed, extending her trembling palms, fearing that he might hit her face if she disobeyed leaving her permanently scarred.

He hit her hands again and then put his whip under the belt.

“Now back to work, no time to rest. I’ll find ye later. You still owe me from yesterday, remember? Looks like yer need some educatin’, girl,” he said and painfully squeezed her buttocks.

He walked off, whistling a cheery tune, leaving Sophie to contemplate her fate. She returned to her picking but her arms were now aching badly, severely constraining her speed. Why did he have to do this? He could have just told her, she would have understood. She fought back tears, her earlier pride at how well she could pick cotton was now completely gone. And his warning that he’d find her later! What did he have in mind? Did Jones give him Miss Caroline’s instructions about her? And what if not? She was clearly on her own here and she had to act before it was too late. She looked around the field, noting what route each of the overseers was taking and how far her row was from the edge of the wood.

***

Sophie had already been working in the fields for three hours when Elizabeth opened her eyes and reached for the bell. Ruby promptly entered - she was assigned as a stand-in maid in Sophie’s absence - and assisted her mistress’s guest with her toilette. Dressed in a pastel-blue morning dress, a Paisley shawl on her shoulders, Elizabeth descended the stairs ready to finally have her conversation with Caroline.

The mistress of the house was already in the garden and greeted her guest with a kiss on the cheek as if nothing out of the extraordinary was happening.

“How did you sleep, Elizabeth?” she asked matter-of-factly and motioned for Rosa to set the table for breakfast with a wave of her right hand.

“Caroline, we need to talk,’’ Elizabeth answered and sat next to her cousin, hoping that she’d find the right words to convince her this time.

“Don’t tell me it’s about your precious little housemaid. I don’t want to hear about it again,’’ Caroline stated.

“But Caroline. Don’t you think she’s been punished enough already? She’s never worked the fields in her life. You’ve seen her: she’s no more cut out for it than you or I!”

“Nonsense. Any slave is cut out for it. I don’t understand why you defend her so much. She’s just a slave. We are not asking her to do anything that other slaves don’t do every day. What’s so special about her?” Caroline inquired and then her expression changed to a mischievous grin. “Oh, I think I know what it is. Why didn’t I think of it earlier? With her soft looks and fair skin. She’s more than just a slave to you, is that right?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Caroline. She’s just my slave, there is nothing more to it. I just don’t want her to get hurt, that’s all,” Elizabeth responded, feeling a shiver running down her spine.

“Oh, is that so? Or could it be that she’s… how to put it… your family’s secret? Your cher papa had a bit of a reputation when it came to pretty slaves, haven’t you heard? She is your half-sister, is she not?”

“Caroline! This is the most preposterous suggestion. Why makes you think that?”

“Well, you certainly treat her like family. Why would any sensible Mistress worry about her slave spending a couple of days in the fields? Especially if this punishment was well-deserved?” Caroline declared triumphantly, almost certain that she was right about the real relationship between Elizabeth and her slave.

“I assure you that Sophie’s not my sister,’’ Elizabeth said adamantly even though she could see that Caroline did not find her protests very convincing.

“Then stop treating her like one. If you bring it up again I’ll be even more convinced that something’s afoot. She’ll work the fields today and then she'll be allowed back into the house. I am confident you'll be amazed by the changes for the better in her. Nothing cures slaves of their attitude better than some good ol’ cotton picking.”

Elizabeth hung her head, hating herself for not being able to convince Caroline. However, persisting would only make things worse - she already came pretty close to guessing that Sophie was not just a regular slave and the last thing the two of them needed was for her cousin to continue thinking in that direction. That meant accepting the punishment and just waiting for the day to be over.

“I’ll tell you what,’’ Caroline said after a minute’s silence as she studied Elizabeth’s grim facial expression. “We can go horse riding again and we can stop by the fields if you want to check how she’d doing. Would you like that? I am sure she’s just fine. The cotton in full bloom is so pretty!”

“Yes, Caroline, I would like that. That would be a load off my mind,” Elizabeth responded. At the very least she could hint to Sophie that today was her last day - right now she  must be under the assumption it was indefinite.

“It’s settled then. Anything not to see that expression of yours again!” Caroline said and chuckled.

Time dragged on as they first finished breakfast and then sat on the veranda chatting as their horses were being saddled. When they finally rode off, Caroline picked the opposite direction from the fields - as if she was deliberately testing Elizabeth’s patience. The latter just bit her lip and followed her galloping friend along the river. They rode for half an hour until they finally made a turn toward the white fields. As they approached, Elizabeth started looking around hoping to spot Sophie in one of the rows, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Miss,’’ Jones approached Caroline, who remained mounted, and removed his straw hat. “How can I be of service?”

“How’s the harvesting going?” she asked as she glanced over the sea of white flowers.

“It’s going fine, Miss, you shouldn’t worry bout nothin’.”

“Very well. How’s that Sophie girl doing by the way?”

“She’s a bit slow and lazy I must say. But we make sure she’s doin’ her best, like you said, Miss,” he responded with a grin.

“I am glad to hear that. Where is she now?”

“Oh, she was in the third row before the break. Don’t see her now. Give me a minute,” Jones made a few quick steps, looking around to find Sophie.

“Well, where is she?”  Caroline asked impatiently.

“I am not sure, Ma’am. She was right there, I swear. Let me ask my boys,’’ Jones responded and ran off toward Baxter, who was standing under a tree smoking a pipe.

***

Sophie has been walking for close to two hours and was now almost certain she got lost. The road back to Cypress Hill was supposed to be somewhere very close to where they had been picking cotton, but it looked like she had chosen the wrong direction and was now wondering endlessly through the sun-drenched fields, occasionally ducking if she heard someone or something.

She was really surprised how flawlessly her escape plan worked this time: all she had to do was wait for the break and ask if she could relieve herself in the bushes. All the overseers were gathered in the shadow, paying her very little attention, so she wasn’t even sure how soon her absence was detected. Still, she walked as fast as she could, losing her over-sized and uncomfortable shoes in the process.

Her plan was to get back to the house undetected, hide somewhere until dark and then find Elizabeth in her room. This stupid charade had to end. She could not endure it a minute longer. Now, with Cypress Hill nowhere in sight and Sophie's feet bruised and swelling from all the walking, it was clear she had to come up with a different plan soon. It was just a matter of time before her strength would completely abandon her. Was the house even upstream or downstream from here? If she knew that she could just follow the river’s bank.

It was then that she noticed a covered wagon and two men standing by it - one was old and burly, well over 60 by the look of things, and the other was tall and skinny. It looked like they were trying to fix a broken wheel, but Sophie could not quite tell from the distance. They seemed harmless enough to her - at least they looked a lot more like travelling salesmen than field overseers. That was her chance to at least get some directions - or she’d be wandering aimlessly until dark. She stepped out of the bushes and waved her hand.

“How do you do, gentlemen?”  she said in her normal Sophia voice. There was no point continuing her slave game with them. “Do you happen to know the way to Cypress Hill?”

The two stopped whatever they were doing to the large wheel and turned their heads to her, an expression of utter surprise on their tanned and dusty faces.

“Well, well, well. Are slaves allowed to walk unattended these parts, girl?” said the older man and wiped sweat from his forehead.

"You don't understand. I am not a slave. My name is Sophia Serano and my family owns a large plantation in South Carolina."

The burly man looked at his skinny companion and winked.

"Ooh. A plantation. And not just any plantation. A large one! That certainly changes things, " he lifted his wide-brimmed hat to reveal uncombed sweaty mass of hair that looked like a clown's wig. "Mr. Polk, the president of the United States, at your service. And this right here is Mr. Dallas, my… vice president. Isn't that right, Mr. Dallas?"

"You bet it is. When it comes to all things vice, I am right here for you, Mr. President," the skinny one said and the pair laughed heartily at the joke.

"This is not funny. I am telling the truth. Listen, you take me to my home and you'd be very handsomely rewarded," Sophie interjected to save the situation. The two were clearly not taking her words seriously.

"The President" inspected the young girl in front of him again. In his thirty years in the trade he'd seen them in all colors - from the fresh-off-the boat pitch black African savages whose English was limited to "yes massa" to fair skinned well-trained house maids who could play the piano, dance minuets and speak French and were for most purposes indistinguishable from their mistresses.

This girl could certainly pass for white, but if there was anything his illustrious career of a slave dealer taught him, it was that looks were even more deceiving than words. She could definitely talk genteel, but she was dressed like a typical field slave - from the tip of her cotton turban to her bare feet peeking from underneath her well-worn skirt. Not to mention that her arms and wrists were covered by scratches - an unmistakable sign that she’d been working the fields - and she wore an iron collar that could only be interpreted as that of a slave. No free woman would ever wear anything as degrading as that willingly.

Sophie caught the man's eye, instinctively lifted her arm to touch her rough metal collar and was quick to offer an explanation: "You see, this is just a masquerade. I dressed like that for… a party."

"Never heard of no parties like that. I say you look like a runaway slave to me. What do you think, Mr. Vice President?"

"Damn right. I say we turn her in for a reward. I bet the masters have been looking all over for this pretty little thing," the skinny one answered with a wide smile.

Sophie stepped back, ready to run from the two, but her bare foot stepped on a broken tree branch that painfully pushed into her toes. She squealed and lost her balance, falling on the ground. Before she could stand up, the skinny man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her forcefully toward the covered wagon.

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