The Cotton Daughter

Hey guys! This is my first EVER Historical Fiction story. So I'm sorry if it's strange or something.

And I got the inspiration from US History in class one day, no joke. I'm in 8th grade and we are learning about slavery. Well, we had a test on it today (I don't know my score yet) and we're almost at the Civil War. I am COMPLETELY AGAINST SLAVERY much like every American today.

And while I'm from the south, I'm from Kentucky not Alabama since there weren't any cotton plantations in Kentucky. Sorry if I get things wrong here!

And the language in here is NOT MEANT TO BE RACIST!! It's just how people talked back then though I'll avoid certain...distasteful words for African Americans!

Oh and sometimes when I put 'a" and it doesn't seem to make sense remember the southern accent and pronounce it as "uh" not "a".

Thanks for letting me drone on!

Comment/Vote!

-Makayla Rayne

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Prologue

I had a simple life. Daddy--Nathanial Waller--owned one of the largest cotton plantations in all of Alabama. My name's Elizabeth Charlotte Waller, but everyone call me Lizzie or Eliza.

Cotton got real big when all them textile industries picked up along with Mr. Eli Whitney's invention of the cotton gin.

We had slaves, yes. Everyone at church did. 'Cause everyone owned a plantation see. An' slaves were no tabboo.

Daddy said God created some folks to rule over others 'long as it wouldn't be no king like that dreadful man we gained indpenendence from 'bout a hundred years 'go.

I'd heard of arranged marriages in the south before to strengthen business relationships. 'Course my elder brother Ulysses Waller wouldn't have to marry some daughter. I was the closest girl to marryin' age 'round these parts.

So it shouldn't have surprised me when Daddy told me I'd have to marry Everett Jackson, Mr. Jackson's eldest son who was two year older than me at nineteen. There were many other suitors for courtship Mommy told me.

Most of the boys that went to our church were around my age, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.

Mommy told me I'd be content enough with Everett. Everett was handsome I guess--sandy blond hair, deep blue gray eyes, tanned skin from lookin' over his rows a crops, real tall and wide muscular shoulders. But I only ever see him at church.

Church events went on forever on Sundays. Service, lunch, outings, picnics, evenin' service, then we'd all socialize and let them slaves sing their spirituals though nobody never actually say that's what they be doin' when we leave 'em in the church by themself.

But after an especially bountiful crop Daddy, or rather his slaves, harvested, Daddy had a great big ol' party, and even his biggest rivals were invited to attend and seethe in jealousy as he announced him prophets.

And that was where I met a boy who turned 'round my whole look on the south. His name was Jasper Lander, son of Mr. Lander, my Daddy's biggest rival in the cotton industry.

Jasper never surveyed his Daddy's rows, which might one day be his. Jasper didn't like no slavery, not the trade, not the institution, not the livin' conditions they were givin', not their punishment. And boy did I like Jasper. Every word he say hung the moon in the sky I swear.

But I was to marry Everett Jackson within the year. And Everett hate Jasper.

Lord, give me strength.