Ashes of Thornwood

Chapter 2

The road to the Thorne plantation seemed endless, stretching out before us as the landscape shifted from dense woods to vast, open fields. The carriage wheels rumbled steadily beneath us, and I leaned forward, eager to catch a glimpse of the grand estate Sebastian had described so vividly. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over everything, but as we drew closer, the warmth of the light did little to dispel the unease creeping into my chest.

In the distance, I noticed movement—figures working in the fields, their backs bent under the weight of labor. The faint sound of a whip cracking echoed in the still air, sending a chill down my spine. My stomach tightened as I realized these were not hired hands, as I had naively assumed, but slaves. A cold knot formed in my stomach, and I glanced at Sebastian, hoping for some reassurance, but he stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched.

"Sebastian," I began hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper, "I thought... you said you didn't agree with slavery."

For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic clop of the horses' hooves on the packed dirt road. The earthy scent of the fields mingled with the faint smell of sweat and tobacco that lingered in the air. Finally, he turned to me, his green eyes clouded with frustration and something darker—guilt, perhaps, or resignation. "It's not as simple as that, Evie," he said softly. "This is my mother's estate. She's... set in her ways. And besides, who else would tend the fields?"

His words hit me like a slap. I recoiled slightly, biting my lip to keep from saying something I might regret. I felt foolish, like a child who had misunderstood the rules of a dangerous game. The sight of those men and women toiling under the hot sun left a sour taste in my mouth. When he spoke to my father, Sebastian had seemed so confident in his beliefs, as if he were ready to take up arms for the cause. But now, faced with the harsh reality, I felt betrayed. Of course, it was his mother's farm, but still... I had thought...

The carriage slowed as we approached the grand entrance of the plantation house. It was just as Sebastian had described—imposing and elegant, with white columns rising up to meet a roof of dark slate. The gravel crunched beneath the wheels as the carriage came to a halt. The air was thick with the scent of magnolias and damp earth, but there was a heaviness in the atmosphere, a sense of foreboding that settled over me like a shroud.

The door to the carriage swung open, and I took Sebastian's hand as he helped me down. My feet touched the gravel of the drive, and I found myself staring up at the massive structure before me, feeling small and out of place. A thin, rigid woman emerged from the front door, her gaze sharp as it settled on me. Her dark hair was pulled into a severe bun, and her green eyes—so much like Sebastian's—were hard and unyielding, as if they could slice through steel. Every feature of her face, from the rigid set of her jaw to the thin line of her lips, spoke of a life spent in command.

"Evangeline," she said, her voice clipped and cold. She didn't smile, didn't offer any warmth, just stood there, her lips pressed into a tight line. "I am Mrs. Thorne. Welcome to Thornewood."

Her words felt more like an obligation than a greeting. I offered her my best smile, though it faltered under her stern gaze. "Thank you, Mrs. Thorne. It's a pleasure to meet you."

She didn't respond, only turned her attention to Sebastian. "Your rooms are prepared. The servants will assist Evangeline with her belongings."

As if on cue, a young woman appeared behind Mrs. Thorne. She was around my age, perhaps a year or two older, with a quiet demeanor and eyes that never quite met mine. She wore a simple dress, the fabric worn and faded, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"This is Sarah," Mrs. Thorne said dismissively. "She will see to your needs."

I smiled at Sarah, trying to catch her eye, but she kept her gaze firmly on the ground, her fingers still fidgeting with the edge of her apron. "Thank you, Sarah," I said softly, hoping to convey some friendliness, some humanity, in a place that felt so devoid of it.