Living Secrets

I am Cuff, a slave, a man dwelling in his cold, dark sorrow.
Today I woke up in my hard cold bed, my feet numb from the frost outside. I have no blanket and sleep on a straw bed. Outside it was snowing, I looked out my drapes and saw my master sitting by the fireplace, playing cards with his wife. I ask myself what did I do to deserve this? I didn’t do anything wrong. I looked back at master, sitting in his velvet chair while laughing with his wife. The food me and the other slaves in the room have is crap compared to the normal African food at home. I’ve been working in these tobacco fields for 1 month, every day for 14 hours. Even though I have only worked in the fields for 1 month, I have already been scarred, emotionally and physically. Master calls us objects, it seems like hurting us is enjoyable for him as he laughs every time we are hurt. On my 17th day working in the fields, I was farming the tobacco like I normally would, when master asked me “why didn’t you cover up the seeds”? I said “They need sunlight to germinate.” He got his whip and hit me with it 6 times until I had a scar. He chuckled and said “You don’t cover up the seeds, idiot.” He asked the other slaves do you cover up the seeds and they all said “no.”He did not even know how to farm but still hurt me. After that he responded “oh then that’s too bad for your little friend.”I hate working at the plantation in America but about 6 months ago I was having a great life in Africa. I had a brother and a great life, my parents are still with me but are always working. But one day that changed I lost home and my brother, some English men put my head in a wool sack and carried me onto their ship. They took me and about 60 more black men and women and told us work by sweeping the decks. For the last month it has only been working in the cold wearing thin clothes and working for our master. Me and the other men on the plantation used music to keep us in rhythm while we work. Besides my family the most important thing to me is religion. The don’t let us black men into church so we sneak into the woods to practice religion. The law says we can’t be around more than 5 black men without supervision. But we do not care every night we sneak into the woods to pray and worship god. If someone of us slaves were caught being with other black men we would get in major trouble. Still every night I go into the woods because god is important to me and to all men, women and children. Every day is a living hell, it would be better to die than work your whole life on the plantation. Yet I stay alive because god is the only thing that keeps me sane. Every day there is something terrible and nothing good. I ask again, what did I do to deserve this?

II

That is the story of my friend Cuff’s life on the plantation. He worked all the time and received no respect. I am Ry Taylor, I am 16 years old and work at the Anglican church as a tour guide. You might think, oh since he works at the Anglican church he is Protestant, in addition it is mandatory to be protestant around here in the south. But I am actually a secret Quaker. In the south Quakers were accused of Witchcraft and executed. I am a Quaker but pretend to be Protestant by working at a Protestant based job. I know that my friend Cuff works very hard and lost everything he cares about and can’t even go to church. So I have decided to let him be a quaker and practice with us. Quakerism is the perfect religion for him as he is treated terribly and harshly. In Quakerism ever one is said to be equal so I thought it was a great fit for him. I asked him if he likes Quakerism and he said “yes” and said “thank you so much for changing my life Ry.” The way I met him is very interesting and no one knows besides Cuff and his parents. My parents owned the Taylor plantation they are farmers and make the Africans farm their resources. When I turned six my parents wanted me to see how the system works. While they were having tea and talking I was exploring the plantation and saw a boy about my age. I went up to him and asked if we could talk he said “yes master.” I was very confused, I said “I am no master my parents are, call me Ry.” I asked him “where are your parents”? He said “they are working in the tobacco fields like I was.” I said “But you are just a kid, why do you have to work”? He said that all of the Africans on the plantation had to work. He also said that you have to start working at five. He also said that his family was taken away from their home in Africa and were forced to work here. I said “that’s terrible, my parents told me lies and never told me how unfair they were.” I said “do they treat you well, are they sympathetic”? He said “Sadly not they treat us as objects and harm us for the fun of it.” I said “that is awful.” “I am a Quaker in secret because Quakers are accused of Witchcraft.” I said in Quakerism everyone is treated equal.” “I can sneak you and your parents into the church when I leave in secret too.” He said “Yes please, God bless you.” That is how I met Cuff and his family and changed their lives forever.

I am Aurora Jackson

“Aurora!” Ma called from the kitchen, “Come help me.” That was my wake up call. I jumped out of bed knowing that if she had to come in here, things would not be fun for me. I put on my old dress, tied the apron around my waist, and headed only a few steps to the kitchen. My mother wakes up everyday before me and when I was young I would ask her why she would wake up early and work so much. She always answers the same thing, “When you are a woman you will understand, you must work hard at everything you do, even if nobody is appreciative of it.” I am now older and I am beginning to understand what she means. My mother and I do all of the work around here, with the occasional help of my younger sister, and nobody seems to understand or appreciate. I often imagine what it would be like to be a wealthy woman. I would be able to get an education. On the other hand I often wonder if my life is better than theirs. Is that possible? Maybe, I remember just last week Alexis Montgomery was married off to just about the most horrible man I’d ever heard of, she was miserable, but she had no choice. Could my life be easier than the women sitting inside all day sewing and learning how to speak properly?

Although their lives seem pretty easy, they’re not. I have hard work to do everyday, but at least I have control over myself and some of my own freedom. Therefore I get to run around outside, no one cares how I speak, I won’t have to get married to a horrible being, and I have a family who cares about me as a person, not as just the wife in training of some random rich guy. I get to wake up to the same beautiful sounds everyday. The birds are chirping, chickens clucking, cows mooing, and Ma’s voice travels through the house. I have many, many jobs to do during the day. Some are, cooking, cleaning, sewing, candle making, fire starting, caring for my youngers siblings, and looking after ma. A bunch of these things that I have to do smell horrible so I like some better than others. These jobs aren’t hard for me, some of them I actually think are fun. For example, when I get to look after my little sister and brother, June and francis, it’s fun because we get to work together and laugh and have fun. My life overall isn’t as bad as some people think it is and I’m happy to be who I am.

Bread & Butter

My name is Katherine Turner, but you can call me Kate. I am 18 years old and a middling baker. I own a bakery with my friend Cecily Bond, but I call her Cece. Every day I wake up before dawn and walk to my bakery. This end-of-winter morning is just like the rest. The clouds are floating above the sky, drifting with the wind. The grass and trees are swaying from side to side, up and down. The sky is getting lighter as the sun starts to appear. I live five minutes away from my bakery which is very convenient for me. When I get to my bakery, I open the door and put on my apron and pull out a few candles, light them right away and place them eat different tables around the room. Cece isn’t there yet, just like every morning, but when she gets here, the room feels like  thousand more lights have appeared in the room, making everyone feel comfy and cozy. I start cleaning pots and pans that were left dirty the day before. After I’m done cleaning my pots and pans, I start mixing yeast and flour together, then I add water, and eggs to make wheat bread. When the dough is ready, I cover it with a bowl and leave it to rest on the counter. Then I start making another batch of wheat bread and let that rest just like the one before. When the first dough has risen all the way, I uncover it and start kneading the dough. Then I cut it in half and shape the two halves into circles. I make a slit in the middle of both dough circles and place them in the bread oven with my long handled, wooden paddle. I use my paddle to turn, and take out the bread from the bread oven so my hands don’t get too close to the fire and burn. After I’m done baking about a dozen big and small loaves of bread, I start making the filling for a savory pie with carrots, peas, spinach, and sausage.

I remember when my bakery first opened. The sky was surrounded with clouds, blocking the sun. The temperature was crisp, cold enough for a fire, maybe too cold to not have one. I’m bundled in what feels like a dozen coats, but I can still feel the cool air whispering in my ears, my face bright red from the cool atmosphere. It opened on a Friday when it had just started to get cold, right before  Cece was wiping down all of the pots and pans when I walked in. The aroma in the air smelled like bread dough and the warmth of the air made me feel cozy and like I had owned a bakery for years. I felt comfortable, almost like I was supposed to be here. I have wanted a bakery for years and years, and now I get to own one, and own it with a life long friend. I see two loaves of white and brown bread were already resting on the countertop, rising to it’s full size. I hung up my bag and coat and put on my apron as fast as I could because I knew there would be a lot of people scooping out our new restaurant. As I walked more into the room, I spotted where the bread was rising. It needed a few more minutes to rise so I started working on some more bread dough for rye bread. Once I was done mixing the ingredient for the rye bread, Cece was working on some filling for a few lemon pies, so I started kneading the bread dough and cut all of the dough rolls into quarters and put them in the bread oven. After the sun was up and making it’s way through the sky, the store was open and packed full of people, also considering our bakery wasn’t too big. Cecily and I had to make a dozen bread loaves, five lemon pies, five meat pies, a couple dozen ginger snaps, and a ton of other food. We made a good amount of money that day, but not every day after that has brought us that much business, but I love owning a bakery, even though it’s very stressful sometimes.

The Life of a Misunderstood Criminal

My husband was a cruel man. We had an arranged marriage so I had no other choice. My parents cared for me and thought that he would take care of me and I met him he seemed like a nice man so I told my parents that I liked him. But I soon realized what a cruel man that he was. We soon had two daughters and were supposed to have a third child when my I had a miscarriage. My husband was outraged, he started beating me and my children saying that that was going to be his first son. I knew that there was nothing else I could do, I had to take my children and run away.

One night when that awful man was sleeping, I woke up my daughters and we ran into the streets. We didn’t have any money and the only food that we had was the loaf of bread that I had packed with us. After two days we were starving, so I went out to find some work or a way to get some food. I started walking and soon came across a bakery. The delicious smell of cooking bread reeled me inside. There I found a table of bread laid out for people to purchase. I was so hungry and I was starting to feel dizzy, so quickly when I thought no one was looking I grabbed a loaf and snuck in under my dress. I quickly walked out of the bakery feeling guilty but relieved about what I had done. When I got back to the corner on the sidewalk where me and my daughters had been living in, I split the bread up into three uneven pieces, giving my daughters most of the bread. I would have given them all of it but I was so hungry I felt like I was going to pass out. I took I bite and felt the world becoming light again. As I regained my strength I started off to find work again. As I walked through the town I found myself receiving looks. Was this about the bread?

“There she is!” a man said pointing at me to two sheriffs trailing behind him. “That’s the women who killed her husband!” I started to panic, I didn’t kill my husband. I turned the other way and started to run as fast as I could, but not fast enough to get away from the man who was chasing me. They soon caught me and I was being dragged to the jailhouse.

“I didn’t do it!” I kept yelling, but it was no use. I was thrown into the jail cell and locked into shackles that were connected to the wall. I wondered what my daughters were doing. How would they feel when they realized that I wasn’t coming home? I had taken them away from their home and then left them in danger. What kind of mother am I? The next day I had my trial. I went into the big capitol building and they sat me in a stool facing all of the burgesses. I lost.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept thinking about how my daughters would be sitting there, just waiting for me. The room was small. All it had was a throne to do my business, my shackles and a big space for where my coffin would sit. The only light came from a small barred window on the side of my cell. A huge door, that covered the entire wall, shut me in on the other side. There was no way of getting out. In three weeks I would be hung.

The following week, the tailor came to measure my body for my coffin. I tried to ask him how my daughters were, if they were okay. He ignored me and quickly went back to his shop. He didn’t look me in the eyes once. I don’t understand how this happened! I didn’t kill my husband. I shouldn’t be being hung. I should be in the pillory if anything, as a punishment for stealing bread.

Today is December 16th, 1682. I am sitting on my coffin thinking about my daughters. Tomorrow I will be hung. Unfortunately it won’t be a quick death. I will be hung until I am almost dead, and then I will be drawn and quartered. Drawing, to draw out my blood. And quartering, to split me into quarters. I’m not upset about the execution, infact I’m glad to be leaving this horrible world. I’m just worried about my daughters, without me there is no one taking care of them.

I don’t think I will writing anymore. If you ever see my daughters, please tell them I’m innocent. Make sure that they are safe? Thank you. Goodbye.

A Day in The Life of the Apothecary’s Wife                                                           By: Lindsay O’Brien

I open my eyes, the sun streams through the windows, blinding me. I stumble out of bed in my shift, get my clothes on, and walk groggily downstairs.

I must introduce myself. I am the wife of the Apothecary, Robert North, and I help him with work. My name is Catherine North and I am 29 years old, and have four children. I am very lucky for a woman, instead of staying indoors all day sewing, I help my husband in the shop, grinding herbs for treatments that we have. I am also much stronger than a normal woman, I am often one of the people who holds down customers when they need something amputated.

Robert already must be at the shop, getting ready for today’s business. Walking in the kitchen, I slice the bread into thick slices spreading creamy butter over it, calling my eldest child, Eleanor, to help me. “Eleanor!” I call, hoping that she is awake.

“Yes Mother?” she asks, walking in the kitchen.

“Please set the table for five today, your father’s already left.” I am very proud of my daughter Eleanor, at the age of thirteen she is an accomplished young woman. Robert is thinking of marrying her off to a merchant went she reaches fifteen. I think of all of this when I am taking out the remaining muffins from yesterday morning. I hear the clink of the silverware against the wood of the table as I put the muffins in the pot over the fire, hoping I don’t burn them before they warm up.

I go upstairs, besides Eleanor and myself, no one is awake. Walking into the boy’s room, I wake Benjamin first, the elder boy, and if his father is to die one day, he will be the man of the house. Then James roles over, trying to deny the day as long as he can I suspect. When they finally drag themselves out of bed, I am already bustling to the girls room. I open the door, slowly, peering about the dark room, in the shadows, as if looking for a ghost.

In a way I am, my little girl Lucy, died at the age of seven a few months ago. She had not been looking when she was crossing the road. The rider tried to stop the mare, but the horse ran her over anyway. It was too late when we finally got to the doctor’s house. He said she had died the second the horse galloped over her, she had been dead.

I shuffle into the room, hoping that I don’t make a sound. Quietly I shake my youngest daughter, Eliza, awake. She moans, probably hoping she can stay in bed all day. “Hurry up” I say, opening the shutter. I walk quickly down the stairs. I set the muffins on the table, and Eleanor calls the children.

I hurry out the door after setting the girls on dish washing. Soon, the girls will leave for their class with Miss Deliverance Smith, they are learning how to be gentlewomen. As for boys, they are going over to Mister Warringtons house for lessons. I practically run to the shop, hiking up my skirts to halfway to my shins, scandalis! All of the people on Duke of Gloucester Street turn to stare at me, who is running like a mad woman to the Apothecary.

I burst through the door of the shop, stopping just inside the doorway. The smell of the room is always tinged with the stronger smelling herbs. Lavender, mint, lemongrass, and this is just what I need with my heavy breathing. I lift my gaze to my husband who’s already measuring and grinding herbs.

“The Governor’s errand boy already stopped by, he will be picking up a bottle of the ground white willow bark,” he says, I sigh. The Governor’s errand boy is a regular customer. He comes to pick up white willow bark, a substance that will relieve the pain of a headache.

“Also, there will be an amputation today,” I sigh, I always hate these days. There so much blood, shouting and pain. I take my apron off of the hooks behind the counter and put it on. Well, It’s another day at the shop.