Hypnos

In The Dark of The Night Pt 1

You always know when you are unwanted. It was the same for Brunhilda. She never knew her last name, but she always had hope that someday, somehow, her last name would be revealed to her in a remarkable way. It was the year of our Lord, 1764, and a bitterly cold thirteenth of December. Brunhilda was brought to America when she was no more than a baby. Her parents sent her with servants aboard a ship headed for Boston. They promised the little girl that they would soon follow her. They never did. Her family was Scottish, she remembered that, but beyond that, she never knew anything about them.

Brunhilda was light-haired and light-eyed. She would have been so very beautiful if scars from disease had not made their mark on her body. The sea is a harsh place, and no matter how old you might be, the sea wins every time. Brunhilda was sold not long after her arrival in Boston. Her family's servant girls wanted money, and were certain the babe's family would never find them. It was then that Brunhilda was sold into slavery for a plantation owner in the South. She had a long journey from Boston to Tennessee, and when she reached her destination, death seemed a far better sentence than being forced to work for this family.

For years Brunhilda waited in the hopes that her family would set sail from their home in Scotland, and find their little girl, and punish the slave owners that treated her so terribly. She made this wish every night before bed, and every morning when the sun rose. After waiting for seven long years, her family never came for her. She would try to catch snips of news from Boston, but there was never anything about Scottish immigrants at all. She gave up hope after those seven years, and accepted the fact she was an orphan.

Although life as a slave was grueling and miserable, Brunhilda felt that she did fit in with the other slaves on the plantation. Though they were dark-skinned and dark-eyed, Brunhilda soon learned that the color of your skin does not matter. It is your integrity that matters the most in a person. Mama Susie had adopted Brunhilda as one of her own. She even named her. Brunhilda slept on the same cot as Mama Susie, and spent as much time as she could with the woman. It was much harder during the day, because Mama Susie worked in the master's kitchens, but Brunhilda was born with a rebellious spirit, and would often sneak into the kitchen to give Mama Susie some herbs or seasonings for their own food.

Today was one of the worst days for the slaves of the plantation. Guests would be coming over that day. Whenever the manor had guests, the mistress would not rest until everything was perfect. The mistress would also never hesitate to use the whip. The mistress was a fat woman, who obsessed herself with decorating every room in her enormous three-story house. The mistress was not very different from her husband, who was a strict, shrewd man. Their biggest difference was that he was tall and willowy.

Brunhilda was eating a cob of corn that she snuck from the manor early the morning of December thirteenth. Though a girl of eight, she was incredibly resourceful and crafty whenever it came to food. For her eighth birthday she snuck pinches of ingredients from the manor kitchen to create a bunch of small cakes she could sneak into her cap. She was nearly caught twice by the old governess, but each time she managed to find a way out of trouble. She was just finishing the last of her corn when Jeremiah, another slave child, plopped down next to her. He was panting heavily.

"Land sakes, Jeremiah! You be panting harder than the master's dog when he gets taken out for training. What in heavens is going on?"

"I have a plan," he whispered through his panting.

"You can't mean..."

"Of course I do! My family died on this here plantation. Ain't no way I'm stayin'. You said your family would meet ya in Boston, didn't ya?"

"Ain't no hope of finding my family there. They either forgot me, abandoned me, or died. The only place I can find answers is Scotland."

"Aren't there ports in Boston? You could sail to Scotland if ya got there."