Chapter 1- Lydia
I woke up this morning in my bed, the sun shining through my windows. I put on one of my dresses and braided my hair. I walked down to the second floor and saw my mother and father getting ready too. I kept skipping down the stairs into the parlor room where breakfast was waiting for me. Beside my breakfast was Mary. She is one of our slaves. I enjoy Mary very much. She is one of my favorites. Sometimes Mary will sneak me a little cookie or treat. It pains me when I see Father punish the slaves. They have been so nice to me and I don’t like to see them hurt. Sometimes if Mary is around she will try to cover my eyes from the gruesome scene. She always says to me, “Lydia, I don’t like to see your face so sour and pained. Do not look when someone is getting hurt if it tortures you so much.” She must be right. I don’t know why I look, but when I do, It’s horrid.
I have two sisters and two brothers. One of my brothers’ name is Patrick. He is eight years old. One year older than me. The other one is named Abraham and he is only six months old. My sisters are both four. They are twins. They’re names are Henrietta and Phoebe. I just adore the name Phoebe. Sometimes I wish Mother and Father named me Phoebe. But I guess Lydia will do. I love playing with dolls with my sisters. We each have our own dolls. Sometimes we will pretend that we are princesses and Patrick is the handsome prince that will come save us. Patrick doesn’t really like that game.
During the day my tutor comes. I learn about religion, reading, writing and more. I am even starting to learn how to speak French. After my tutor leaves I play with Phoebe and Henrietta and sometimes jump rope. When I am not doing any of that, Mother teaches me how to cook a little bit. Only as much as she knows. The slaves do most of the cooking. Mother also teaches me herbal remedies for when I am sick, or one day, when my husband or children are sick. Sometimes Father will even take me to town or the docks with him to sell tobacco. That’s what we grow on our plantation. Father normally brings Patrick because Father says that Patrick needs to learn how to get the best deal for when he is working.
When you first come through the gates to our house, there is the game shed where we put games and store other things that we don’t need. If you keep walking you will reach our house. To the right and left of our house there are two guest houses. That’s where our guests stay if they are visiting. And then of course there is our house. There are three levels to the house. On the first level there is the parlor room, the dining room, the kitchen and any other rooms for dining and recreation. The second level is my parents level. There is their bedroom, Father’s study, and the powder room. The third level is where my bedroom is. Patrick also has a bedroom of his own, and Phoebe and Henrietta share a bedroom. There is also the other room where we have our lessons. That is where the tutor teaches us. We spend most of our time on the third level, outside, or in the parlor room. Sometimes Mother and Father will have guests over for dinner, but we are never invited. We never go into the dining room. Mother says we are too clumsy and we will break something. I don’t understand why we are allowed in every other room if we’re “too clumsy.” Behind the house are the fields. That is where the slaves go and work. Mary doesn’t normally work in the fields though. She helps take care of the slaves’ babies and cooks our food. I normally don’t see Mary a lot when we have guests over for dinner because she is so busy cooking the feast. If I try to talk to her or amuse her she will normally send me off to play where I won’t distract her.
During the day Father is normally in his study or out. Sometimes he is gone for several days at a time selling our tobacco. Mother is always busy with Abraham. She has to feed and take care of him. When Father is gone, she gets stressed out because she has to care for all of us at once. Mary is always cooking and caring for other babies. Sometimes if she isn’t busy and I’m not busy we will both sit down and talk. We talk about everything. My studies, my siblings, my dolls. If Mother ever catches us talking, she will say, “Lydia! Enough! You must study and you have to leave Mary to do her work. I bet she is plenty busy.” Mother always gives a glance at Mary after that. I know that Mother and Father think less of her, but who am I to argue? I just walk back up the stairs. I only skip when I’m happy, so I walk.
Chapter 2- Mary
I got up and went back into the kitchen. I don’t understand why Mrs. Wattson always gets to boss me around and give me that look. That look that travels deep into my soul making me feel helpless. Useless. Just because I am a black woman doesn’t mean that I should be treated any different. Sometimes I feel that Lydia is the only one that understands that. She is so young and innocent. Not knowing why things happen, and mostly, don’t even know the things that do happen. I am so fed up with it. Tonight I will talk to the other workers. Tonight I will plan my escape.
After another long day of working, I go back to the slave quarters. I stay up all night talking and planning how I will get out of here. I hate to leave poor Lydia behind, but sooner or later she will find her true hatred for blacks, just like everyone else. Mr. Wattson won’t be home until next week. I have plenty of time to leave. But just how will I do it? Will I say I’m going to get some food from the pantry and run? Or will I secretly sneak out at night? I think the night time will do. Less people to see me. I’ll do it tomorrow night, long before Mr. Wattson gets home. If he finds me he can’t beat me.
In the morning I get up at the crack of dawn and go into the kitchen. I prepare some bread and honey with porridge, Lydia’s favorite. I want to be extra nice to her so she will remember me this way when I am gone. As usual, Lydia comes down the stairs, her hair in some sort of braid, wearing one of her floral dresses. She hops into the parlor looking at her breakfast wide eyed. “Thank you so much Mary! My favorite!” I smile as I watch her greedily eat her delicious meal. I wish that I had meals like that. I have to eat the dinner scraps from the night before and spread it out between each meal. I am always hungry. I look at Lydia’s face. Her creamy skin and golden hair falling into her freckled face. Her blue eyes looked up at me and she smiled. “Mary why are you looking at me that way!” I smile again. “I was just admiring your beauty dear.” I respond. I wish I didn’t have to leave, but I had to. I was going to.
Finally it was night time. It was pitch dark and the only noise I could hear were the crickets chirping in the distance. I silently opened the door and snuck outside. The warm air hit me. The aroma of grass dew overfilled me. I kept walking, I looked in Lydia’s bedroom, the lights were out. I could of sworn I saw her lips move to a grin as I walked by. I couldn’t look at her anymore. It made me too sad, too guilty. I must go on. I kept walking until the house was out of sight. Soon enough I was in the town. In a short few miles I would be free. I saw a torch light quiver in the distance. I froze and tried to run. I heard a man scream at me. “Come back! Why are you out so late!” I just kept running. There was a blur of houses and trees. By breath was getting heavier but I couldn’t stop. I knew that I would be beaten soon. I knew that I could be killed. So I stopped. I waited. The men kept running after me, but I didn’t move. What was the point? If they didn’t hurt me than Mr. Wattson would. So I froze and waited until they finally caught up.
“What is this slave doing out here?” The first man said.
“I don’t know, but it must be from some plantation miles from here.” Said the second man. It. I am nothing but an object to them. Why am I surprised?
“Well what are we going to do with it?” The word burned inside of me. I stood up and waited. Listening to their words of hate being exchanged. I thought of Lydia. She always called me by my first name. ‘Hello there Mary.’ ‘Thank you Mary,’ ‘How was your day, Mary?’ They finally took me back to the plantation. Outside of the house was Mrs. Wattson looking at me in awe. Lydia started to cry. I couldn’t look at her, she was so upset. What have I done?
“Is this slave yours Ma’am?” One of the men asked.
“Ye-ye-yes.” Mrs. Wattson mustered. “I’ll ta-take her back. Th-thank you.” I felt so horrible. I had done something wrong. I had hurt Lydia, and of all people, I would never hurt her. Mrs. Wattson grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back into the house. She threw me into the parlor and started screaming. “What have you done?! You have brought so much shame on this family! How could you do this?! I can’t even look at you! This isn’t the end Mary. You are not allowed back in this house. You will work in the fields. You are not allowed to talk to my children or even look at them the wrong way. My husband will deal with you when he’s home. You disgust me.” A tear streaked my face. I sat there helpless. My body felt hollow and empty, it shook as I cried. And I cried and cried. “Get out!” She yelled. I stood up and ran. I ran to the fields and cried. I am going to die. I know that I am going to die.
Tonight I will plan my suicide. I don’t want it to be painful. I don’t want to kill myself, but I know that if I don’t do it, Mr. Wattson will, and that would hurt a lot more. I think I will drown myself. I can’t swim and it wouldn’t hurt. That seems like the obvious answer. I start to walk out to the field. It’s dark now and everyone is asleep. I walk past the fields and to the river. I take a deep breath and then jump. The water surrounds my body. My breaths getting smaller and smaller, until… Everything. Goes. Black.
Chapter 3- Lydia
I woke up this morning in my same bed. As usual, I braid my hair, put on one of my dresses, and skip down the stairs. I go into the parlor. I look up, but Mary isn’t there. I look at the table and see no breakfast waiting for me. I get nervous. I run up the stairs to Mother and Father’s room. “Where is Mary?” I ask impatiently.
“What do you mean ‘where is Mary?’” Mother asks.
“She’s not here.” I say panicked. My lip is starting to quiver.
“Don’t worry.” Mother says sympathetically. “We will find her.” I nod and run back upstairs. I go outside and look around. No Mary. I go into the pantry. She’s not there. I go into the guest houses, she’s not there either. I go into the game house, she’s not there. I go into the fields. “Mary! Mary!” I yell. “Has anyone seen Mary?” The other slaves shake their heads.
“She’s been gone since last night.” One of the slaves said.
“I checked her bed, she wasn’t there.” Another one said. I started to run towards the river. “Mary! Mary! Please answer me Mary!” I scream. I look down at the river. I see a body lying there motionless. I struggle to take it out of the water. I drag and drag screaming for help, but no one answers. I finally got the body out and I plop it onto the grassy ground. I wipe the soaking black hair away. I recognized the face. “Mary,” I whisper. I sit there, on top of her, sobbing.