Slave Sisters

(9) Slave Sisters

14th September, 1804

Later on, a knock came at the door. Tayla was more occupied in her work, so I was the one to open it.

A gasp escaped from my lips at the white man who stood there. He was just approximately three inches taller than me, though I still needed to raise my head a little to look him in the eyes. His face was just the same snowy white as Mrs Wicker and he had such warm brown eyes. I observed him a little more from his darkened brunette hair all the way down to his black shoes.

“H-hello,” I stuttered, my eyes still looking downwards.

“Who are you?” he asked. I closed my agape mouth and looked back up at him.

My reply to the young man was my name.

“No, I mean, what are you doing here?” The way his deep voice sounded made my breathing quicken.

“Oh, I’m a slave ‘ere. My siste is as well,” I replied, a small smile on my face.

“Why does mother keep on buying these silly slaves,” I heard him mutter, and then he barged pass me into the house. My face drooped in sadness at his words and I closed the door, quickly hurrying after him. He charged up the stairs and I tried to catch up with his large steps. “Mother?” he called loudly.

A couple of moments later Mrs Wicker came out of her bedchamber. When she noticed us the frown on her face disappeared and her eyes widened.

“Victor?” she whispered, and then bought him into a small hug. He let her kiss him hard on each cheek. “Oh, Victor, I missed you!”

I fiddled around with the hem of my dress, wondering what next to do. Mrs Wicker ordered for me to bring two hot teas and a plate of biscuits to the lounge. “Ye, Madam,” I said. So I went back downstairs and created some space on the countertop to prepare them before putting them all on a tray to serve.

Victor looked at me while I put the tray down onto the table. “What is your name again?”

“Tamara,” I told him, the small smile back on my face.

“No, girl, your name is Lou,” Mrs Wicker corrected me as if I were stupid. I felt a strong urge to now hit her over the head with a book.

“Why, then, thank you . . . Tamara,” he replied confusedly – if I were him I also would be puzzled. Mrs Wicker rudely scoffed and shooed me away, wanting for me to leave the two of them alone. I never knew that it was possible for a person’s mood to change so quickly. The door was quietly closed and I walked back to the kitchen to join my sister.

“I am not a silly slave,” I murmured, though I could not help but smile just one more time.

15th September, 1804

The next early morning I asked Millie if she knew anything about a man named Victor who had Wicker blood in him, also briefly describing of how he looked. At first she seemed quite confused at my sudden question but answered it anyway. She let me know that he was Mrs and Mr Wicker’s son who was the eldest, as I already knew, and that he had left to go England only late spring last year.

“Why do you ask?” she wanted to know.

“Well you see,” I began, “Yesterday he unexpectedly arrived at the house and came in without permission. I noticed that he had dinner with the family and also stayed over for the night.” I turned my head to Millie. “Why’d he even goes England?”

“Oh, for his studies,” Millie explained. “I heard from another that he wants to be a lawyer of some sort.”

“Nice,” I murmured to myself before looking back over at her. Wanting to know more, I asked her if she knew anything else about Victor.