Story: The Secret Slave. Part 14.

Sorry for the long hiatus. Here's the next chapter of Sophie's long journey. Never have I felt such affinity for a character and it saddens me to see where this is headed. I honestly did try to go easy on her and to help her out - resulting in me dragging my feet for days and weeks - but the story just wrote itself, taking her to the point of no return.

by Camille Langtry

Sophie sat quietly in the corner of the covered wagon. Her hands were painfully tied behind her back, forcing her into an uncomfortable position on the narrow wooden bench. She had tried to protest as she was unceremoniously dragged by her captor, but her insistence that she was not a slave was summarily ignored.

"One more word from yer and I'd put this in yer mouth, girl," the younger of the slave catchers barked and showed her what looked like a rope gag, dark and gnawed from repeated use. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, suh. I be quiet suh," she replied, switching back to her negro slave talk without even thinking about it. Given the circumstances it seemed futile to convince them of her real identity. Neither did it seem particularly wise. Perhaps the best way out of her situation was just getting a hold of Miss Elizabeth, who would somehow solve this mess for her.

She listened attentively to what the two men were saying to each other and was relieved to discover that their plan was to deliver her to the sheriff in Augusta and claim a reward from her owners. That calmed her down just a little bit - at least they were not planning to take her very far and once they heard the news in Cypress Hill she’d be free in no time - or so she thought as she had no knowledge of what the procedure was for runaway slaves was, for this is who she was in the eyes of the law now. At the very least, it seemed logical to presume that they’d notify her owners first thing.

She shifted around on the rough bench, trying to find a comfortable position so that she could get at least some rest but it was no use: the road on which the creaking wagon was slowly moving was far from smooth and she could feel every little and not so little bump with her tired body. Still, Sophie closed her eyes and it was not long before the monotonous sound of the rumbling wheels put her in a state of an uneasy semi-sleep, the unyielding heat only adding to her drowsiness.

About three hours must had passed when the wagon stopped in a circular courtyard in front of the sheriff’s office. Sophie heard some commotion through the thin cloth wall and then a slow, drawling voice of a man.

“Well, well, well. I’ll be damned. We haven’t seen you in these parts for a long time, Doyle. You back in this fine business of yours, you old fella?”

“A man’s gotta feed the family, Sheriff Clark.  This business is no worse than any other,” Doyle - Sophie recognized the voice of the “President” - replied in a rather irritated manner.

“Easy there, Doyle. You know I mean no disrespect,’’ the Sheriff replied, drawling his words even more - it did seem that the two went way back and the memories were hardly pleasant for either of them. “You got anything good for me?”

“Bob, get her out, will ya?’’ Doyle ordered and a moment later the younger slave-catcher, “The Vice President”, jumped inside the wagon and dragged Sophie out.

The sheriff, a middle-aged man with a thin moustache on a disgruntled face, made a step toward her and sharply pulled Sophie’s collar closer so that he could read the inscription.

“A Cranstone girl? Isn’t this my lucky day?” he said and a sly smile crossed his rough face. “Hey, Murphy. Ride to Cypress Hill, boy, and tell Miss Caroline Cranstone that we got one of her slaves here. And tell her she better have all the papers in order this time, you understand? She’ll know what you’d be talking about.”

“Very well, sir,’’ a man standing behind the sheriff turned around and went toward the stables. Sophie, her eyes downcast, did not see his face, but his ringing voice sounded very young, like that of a boy barely out of puberty. 

“At least she was dumb enough to run away with a collar with her master’s name on it. Can you believe that?” The Sheriff turned to Doyle, even though he clearly did not expect his visitor to weigh in. “Well, makes my life so much easier. With niggers it takes a lot of work before they tell you the truth.”

Sophie’s cotton field experience gave her some idea what that “work” could entail and she was relieved that, by the sound of it, at the very least she should not be exposed to the treatment that was reserved for unidentified runaways.

“What’s your name, girl?” the Sheriff lifted Sophie’s chin.

“Sophie, massa,” she replied, adding the referential address. It just seemed natural to call any superior a “massa” even though the brutish man in front of her was most definitely not a member of the planters’ class. He seemed pleased by her apparent submissiveness.

“I can’t believe they’d sent a pretty little thing like you to the fields. Sounds like a waste, if you ask me. Someone with your looks should be doing something... a lot more pleasant if you know what I mean. Did you do anything to upset your masters?” the Sheriff inquired with genuine curiosity and even a small hint of fatherly pity in his voice. 

“Yes, suh. Ah burn Miz Caroline’s party dress, suh. Dat mek her real mad,’’ Sophie replied.

Doyle chuckled and interjected: “No more a high and mighty lady, are you? What happened to your father’s plantation? You can’t fool someone like me, I can always tell a slave when I see one. Even if they dress you up in fine clothing and teach you manners, you’d still be a slave.”

“This girl here told me she was a lady in disguise when we met here on the road,’’ Doyle explained to the Sheriff. “Doesn't look like she thinks it makes sense to continue with her stupid lies.”

The sheriff shook his head in disbelief: “A real lady? Her? With her deep tan she got working the fields and whip marks on her hands? And her slave talk? And the way she quivers when a white man addresses her? She must be thinking us blind and deaf. Did you really say you were a lady, Sophie?”

For a brief second she considered telling them the truth but the repercussions of doing that were too grave. If they believed her, her secret would get out, ruining her - and her family’s - reputation forever. And if they didn’t believe her, she could get punished for being a liar. She already tried it with Doyle and it only made things worse In a sense, she was now thankful he didn’t take her words seriously - it was better to carry on in her slave persona until Elizabeth - her mistress - could rescue her. Doing anything else would be reckless and could have far-reaching consequences, all of them damaging to her future. She bit her lip and answered.

“Sorry, suh. Ah lied when I say I wuz real lady. Ah jus’ iz da housemaid for ma missus. Ah jus’ got real scared, dat all,’’ Sophie replied in a meek voice of a slave waiting for her punishment, hating herself for betraying her real self. “Please don tell da missus dat, suh.”

“I’ll see about that,’’ he replied and turned to Doyle again. “Let me lock her up and then we can see about your reward, old fella.”

The Sheriff led Sophie, whose hands were still tied behind her back, across the yard to a long one-storey building with tiny barred windows - a jail. The cell was a narrow room with a creaky wooden floor and no furniture. It didn’t look like it had been washed or even dusted since the day it was built. It was empty now, but undecipherable scribblings on the walls and the stifling all-pervading smell of unwashed bodies and God knows what else was a clear reminder that it was used often. The Sheriff made a wry face as he inhaled the room’s air.

“How many times do I need to tell that idiot to clean the place? It stinks like a dead coyote,” he declared angrily and turned to Sophie. “I say what. You clean it for me, and I’d promise not to tell Miss Cranstone that you were making silly stories up.  Your Mistress still owes me from last time so she won’t be in the mood already, you don’t want her to get her all fired up even more. How’s that for a deal?”

Sophie bowed her head in agreement. It didn’t seem like it was really a question, more like an order a superior might give to his subordinate, expecting total obedience in return.

“Very well, it’s for your own benefit, you know. You’ll be spending the time here, not me!” he continued in his drawling voice as he untied Sophie’s hands.  “I’ll have Tom bring you a mop and some water. Make sure you clean it real well, girl. Believe me, you don’t want to disappoint me. Understood?”

Sophie bowed again, adding her semi-automatic “yessuh”. The Sheriff nodded his head and, without saying anything else, locked her in the tiny cell. Five minutes later the door was opened again and Tom, a bandy-legged old man with a vacant stare, brought a large bucket of water, a scrubbing brush and a mop, uttered something under his nose, and left Sophie to do the task she was assigned.

She got on her knees and began scrubbing the dusty floor that was covered by sticky brownish spots and stains. The filthy odor was unbearable and soon both her well-worn clothing and her hands became smelly and filthy. The onerous task reminded her once again of her status in the eyes of her captors or anyone else unaware of her real identity. It was inconceivable to imagine that in her life as a lady she could ever come across someone like Doyle or the Sheriff and, if she did, they’d treat her with utmost respect.

Now, however, she was nothing but private property to them, she could be ordered around and asked to do disgusting tasks like getting on her knees to clean someone else’s muck. Her opinion on the matter was completely irrelevant, she was expected to accept their orders with no reservation. The ease with which she fell into this enforced role scared her. With every additional hour as a slave it seemed more and more natural to her to just do as she was told. There was an undeniable and all-prevailing fear of being punished again - something she’d never experiences in her previous life, even as a child - and a creeping realization that completely submitting to someone else’s will was the best way to avoid more trouble.

She thought back to the slaves at Cypress Hill, their passivity and submissiveness no matter what new humiliation Caroline and her ilk came up with. Was she gradually becoming like Rosa or other gals at the plantation in the way she looked at things? Eager to please and take orders from the “white folks”? Accept them as her betters who were entitled to order her around? Her disturbing thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door being unlocked. The Sheriff walked in and looked around the room.

“Now, that’s much better. Your Mistress won’t be here for a while. How about you clean the corridor and the other three cells too? Tom will feed you and then you can carry on with your work,’’ he stated bluntly, completely oblivious to the fact that Sophie was exhausted and her knees and back hurt from all the crawling and bending.

After a frugal meal consisting of lukewarm beans and a slice of stale bread, Sophie was given another bucket and led into a corridor which was blocked by an iron bar from a small office. Thankfully, it wasn’t nearly as dirty as her cell, but it was a lot longer and, she figured, would take her more time to finish. She got on her knees again and was soon lost in the mechanical task, doing her best to please the Sheriff with her performance as a cleaner. She was completely at his mercy and the last thing she needed was upsetting him in any way.

She had no way of knowing if enough time had passed for the messenger to reach her Mistress. Furthermore, what if she can’t come rescue her right away? What if she had to spend the night in this place? The Sheriff’s casual remark that Caroline “owed him from last time” also worried her. Could it complicate her situation even more? There was no way of knowing that, neither could she influence the events. Surely, it should be a simple enough procedure to deliver her back to her mistress? All she could do was wait and this complete uncertainty only added to her growing nervousness.
------

When earlier that day the overseer told them that Sophie had vanished, Elizabeth was overcome by a morbid sense of dread. She nearly fainted but held herself in the saddle at the last moment. Her apparent nervousness did not go unnoticed by her cousin who turned to her and said with a little smirk on her pretty face: “Just an ordinary slave to you, huh? Don’t worry, your precious treasure will be found in no time. She’s not from here so she doesn’t know where to go. Even if paddy rollers don’t catch her first, my boys will. Jones, get the dogs, she couldn’t have gone too far.”

“Wait, Caroline, please. No dogs. She’s probably just lost her way somewhere. Why would she run away? It must be a big misunderstanding. Let’s just wait, I’m sure she’d come back herself,’’ Elizabeth protested weakly, but that only added to Caroline’s resolve.

“This surely doesn’t look like a misunderstanding to me,” Caroline said dryly. “Jones, you heard me. Don’t waste time. And make sure the dogs are on a long leash, I don’t want my cousin to get all upset if her slave has something important bitten off. Report to me the moment you have news.”

Jones nodded and motioned to two other overseers to follow him.

Caroline put spurs to her horse and rode off at full speed toward Cypress Hill. Elizabeth, tears in her eyes, followed. Elizabeth couldn’t help but ask herself why Sophie would do such a thing. What was she thinking? Couldn’t she have just waited a few more hours before her punishment was over? It just seemed so childish and irresponsible. Not only did she put her life in danger, but she also put their secret arrangement in jeopardy and, therefore, Elizabeth’s reputation and societal standing at risk! As much as she hated to admit it, perhaps there was something to Caroline’s insistence that the girl desperately needed guidance and discipline. Like a little child or, indeed, a clueless slave.

They got back to Cypress Hill in no time and Elizabeth rushed back to her room without saying another word to her cousin: she didn’t want Caroline to see her tear-stained face. Still dressed in her riding habit she collapsed on the bed, no longer trying to fight back her weeping. An image of Sophie, her friend, being chased by dogs filled her with panic and she could only pray that everything might somehow end well and she wouldn’t get hurt. She lost track of time as thoughts, each scarier than the next, circled her tired brain. After what seemed like an eternity she heard voices downstairs. She jumped to her feet and slowly opened the door, trying to listen in.

She heard the unfamiliar voice of a man and then Elizabeth’s irritated response: “Tell Sheriff Clark that he should not be concerned about papers. The word of a Cranstone is worth a lot more that a stack of them.”

“Very well, Miss,’’ the young voice responded.
“You can go back to Augusta now. I’ll come pick her up myself later today.”

Elizabeth quietly locked the door, breathing heavily. Thank Heavens, they'd found her!

She heard the front door shut and then footstep sounds on the stairs, followed by an insistent knock on the door. Elizabeth, trying to hold back her anticipation, opened. The mistress of the house was there in person to deliver the news.

“Oh, Elizabeth, don’t tell me you’ve been crying all this time,’’ Caroline declared in a somewhat irritated manner and looked her cousin straight in the tear-reddened eyes. “She’s now with the Sheriff in Augusta, waiting for you to pick her up.”

“This is wonderful news, Caroline. Can we come now?” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I am really worried about her. Is she all right?”

“She’s fine. Unless she does something stupid again. She does have certain discipline problems, as you are aware. Let’s hope she behaves herself with Sheriff Clark, he can be quite brutal with disobedient slaves I am told,’’ Caroline said uninterestedly. “Just grab your papers for her and we can go.”

“Papers?”

“Yes. Anything to prove your ownership rights. A bill of sale will do,’’ Caroline answered and paused, examining her cousin’s worried facial expression. “Wait. Don’t tell me you don’t have it!”

“I… I didn’t… I didn’t think I’d need it. I... left at home,’’ Elizabeth said quietly, her eyes cast downcast as if she was hoping that the nonexistent bill of sale for Sophie would somehow magically appears on the floor. “Can we get it sorted some other way?”

“I am not sure what you mean, Elizabeth. Of course you need to prove she’s your slave. She is, is she not? I don’t think the Sheriff will just release her with no papers. I can send someone to pick them up for you if you’d like. Will only be a couple of days,” Caroline said and gave Elizabeth a smile of a friend just trying to help.

“She can’t be there for two more days!” Elizabeth cried out as she desperately tried to come up with a plausible explanation. “I don’t remember where they are. I am not even sure they are at the plantation. I don’t remember when I last saw them!”

“That’s a pity then,’’ Caroline continued and smiled again as she delivered her final blow. “If you don’t have it the Sheriff will have no choice but to put her up for sale.”

“No, no, no! Isn’t there anything we can do?” Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears again.

“I am not sure what you mean, Elizabeth. She’s your precious little slave, correct? It’s not my fault you are almost as irresponsible as your housemaid. Whenever I travel and have slaves with me, I always take their papers. Who knows what can happen?” Caroline lectured her crying cousin, clearly enjoying her power over her.

“Caroline, please! You have to help me!”

“Let’s send for the papers. We are just wasting time,” Caroline pressed on.

“I don’t have them!” Elizabeth broke down crying, wiping tears from her reddened face with both hands, and immediately regretted her honesty.

“Is that so? I don’t think that’s going to be good enough for Sheriff Clark. Off to auction block she goes,” Caroline turned around and reached for the door knob, ready to leave Elizabeth to her misery.

“You were almost right, Caroline,’’ Elizabeth suddenly said and quieted down. “She’s not just a slave to me. Will you help me please?”

“So, she is your sister,” Caroline declared triumphantly and added in excited semi-whisper as if anyone could hear them: “You papa’s illegitimate daughter?”

“No, Uncle Charles’s,’’ Elizabeth said, trying not to look Caroline in the eyes.

“Oh, that rascal! I should have known! He had quite a thing for pretty negras, did he not? Poor Aunt Polly, I don’t know how she could live with him.”

 “Please we have to help Sophie! She’s always been like family to me.”

“So, no papers for her? Nothing?” Caroline inquired again and after Elizabeth nodded her head no she continued: “Well, I think I might have something we can use.”

Caroline rushed to her study and soon returned with a few large envelopes, an inkwell and a quill. She took out a stack of papers from one of the envelopes and started going through it.

“Here it is. It’s perfect. Sookie. She died at childbirth last autumn, she was about same age as Sophie.” Caroline laid out the folded page on a small table cabinet. “K almost looks like an H here. Talk about bad handwriting. Let me see…”

She dipped the feather quill into the inkwell and added a very convincing tail to the second “o”, turning “a certain female negroe slave Sookie, of light complexion and about 18 years of age”, into Sophie, her twin in the eyes of the law. Like Sookie, Sophie, as well as “her future increase” was sold “for the use and benefit” of Caroline Cranstone and her heirs, warranted “sound in body and mind and slave for life”.

Pleased with herself, Caroline let the ink dry and handed the bill of sale to Elizabeth.

“I guess that makes Sophie my slave, at least as far as the Sheriff is concerned. I hope you don’t mind. I think it’s for the better if I do all the talking anyway,’’ she added. “We had a bit of a misunderstanding with him a few month ago with another runaway slave of mine. I believe he is under impression I owe him now. We’ll see about that.”

-------

Sophie, sweaty and exhausted, was on her fifth bucket when she heard the sound of horse hooves and creaking wheels. She rushed to the barred window of the cell she was cleaning and saw a familiar open carriage. It stopped by the porch and Caroline, a lacy parasol in her carefully-gloved hand, descended the short steps gracefully. She motioned for Elizabeth to remain in the carriage and headed to the main building.

Elizabeth turned around, her hands nervously clutching the carriage’s leather-bound backboard, and settled back into her seat after she saw no sign of Sophie. She’s most definitely somewhere inside, Elizabeth tried to calm herself. We’ll have it sorted and be on our way home. Caroline will see to that, she promised.

The Sheriff rose to his feet when he saw the beautiful mistress of Cypress Hill enter his little office.

“Good afternoon, Miss Cranstone.”

“Good afternoon, Sheriff Clark. I believe you have my slave Sophie. Let’s get all the formalities out of the way, shall we? I don’t have much time.”

“Show me the papers. I gather it Murphy told you gotta bring them this time? No more this “word of a Cranstone” rubbish, not after last time,’’ he said brusquely and took the folded bill of sale from Caroline.

“Well… You really paid just $250 for her? That’s quite a bargain. Someone like her could fetch $1,000 at the very least. $1,500 or $2,000 even!’’ the Sheriff inquired and continued inspecting the document suspiciously. “Why does it say her name is Sophie on top, but lower down it’s Sookie?”

Caroline cursed herself: in her haste she completely forgot that a slave’s name is often mentioned twice in a bill of sale - in the beginning and then closer to the end. She tried to salvage the situation and answered matter-of-factly: “You know how sometimes the slaves have two names. We’ve always called her Sophie, but her previous masters called her Sookie. I can’t be bothered with trivial things like that!”

The Sheriff did not answer and suspiciously raised the paper to the light.

“I’ll be damned. Don’t tell me you were trying to fool me again! Let me guess. Forging documents so that you don’t pay the right compensation?” he spitted out angrily and threw the fake bill on the table.

“Sheriff, are you accusing me of being a liar? How dare you?” Caroline declared indignantly and so naturally that she almost believed herself she was telling the truth.

“Do you seriously expect me to believe you paid $250 for her? I say you didn’t bring her real papers showing the real price and this one is for another nigger. With her fair skin and gentle face she must have cost a fortune.”

“That’s exactly what I paid. I am not into spending exuberant amounts on simple house help. This is complete waste of money. You must have mistaken me for someone else,’’ Caroline continued.

“Very well then,’’ the Sheriff stated, drawling his words. “If that is the case I hope you don’t mind it if we treat her to a branding iron the way we treat other runaways. I thought she was special for you. If not, I see no reason to be lenient. ”

He looked at Caroline, fully expecting her to give up or, at least, to plead him to change his mind. Surely, she didn’t want her beautiful slave to be subject to the treatment typically reserved for rough field hands? They both knew she was very valuable and mutilating her young flesh with a brand will make her a lot cheaper when sold. But if there was one thing Caroline Cranstone hated doing it was admitting defeat, no matter the consequences.

“Do what you have to do. I am not paying you more than I have to,’’ Caroline declared and looked the Sheriff straight in the eyes. Surely, he wouldn’t be so vain as to brand a slave just to prove a point to her mistress?  However, it did look as if she underestimated Sheriff Clark.

Clark’s face turned red with anger and he rushed out of the room and shouted a few orders to Murphy. The Sheriff crossed the small courtyard without paying Elizabeth, who was still sitting in the carriage, any attention and entered the jail. A moment later he dragged out Sophie, who did not understand what was going on. Elizabeth, equally oblivious, rushed to her friend only to be rudely told by the Sheriff to stay out of the way. In the corner of the yard Murphy was starting a small fire.

The Sheriff, acting very fast as if he feared that if he slowed down he’d change his mind, tied Sophie to a post with ropes and looked at the porch. Caroline exited the building and was looking at the scene calmly. Her apparent lack of interest seemed to infuriate the Sheriff even more: he stooped over the fire and with a pair of tongs lifted a hot piece of iron shaped as letter “R”.

“What is going on?!” Elizabeth raised her voice but it was too late.

The Sheriff pushed Sophie’s dress off the shoulder and, holding the long handle firmly, pressed the iron against her left shoulder blade. The hissing sound on her sizzling flesh was overwhelmed by a scream of agony. 

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