bluebird {h.s. - au}

.07

A/N: There are some very serious themes in this chapter dealing with slavery and the reality of the subject. I have studied this subject extensively in order to write Bluebird, but if you're not comfortable reading this chapter, I'd suggest simple skimming it. :)

Ella's POV

There was lot of things going around in my head at that moment. A lot of things I don't wish to repeat. Some, simple things, like what was Betsy doing here? Why was there blood on her body? Then, harder things, like why Harry seemed to know her- why he was helping her if he didn't. Things I hadn't ever been forced to think of, things that had been unknown to me up until that point in time.

Betsy looked at me, mouth dry. She didn't say anything, but her lips moved in a way I knew she was saying my name to herself. Her eyes flashed alarm, and she looked at Harry, and back at me. She looked frightened, confused.

Yet Harry was silent.

"You know her?" He asked, breaking the silence. I could only nod. What else was I supposed to do?

I found my voice, "What is she doing here?" I turned to Betsy. "What are you doing here?"

Betsy's mouth moved in a way I knew- she was trying to speak, yet couldn't. She seemed scared- frightened, even. She looked at Harry, as if asking him permission to speak. I snapped, "Betsy! You answer to me, you remember?"

Harry frowned and stalked forward to face me. "No, she does not."

I put my hands on my hips. "Yes, she does." For extra measure, I placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away a bit.

"No, she doesn't. This is Iowa, ma'am. Last time I checked, we don't own slaves up here."

My anger boiled in me, and I looked back at Betsy, whipping a hand out towards her. "Then what is she doing here?"

Harry's face flashed a million emotions, but he stayed calm and resolute. "I have no idea," he said slowly. "You tell me."

I watched his face for any signs of fear, any signs of regret. There was none. But there was a subtle hint of aggravation in his eyes- anger, perhaps even embarrassment at me. What was he hiding? Why was Betsy here? I said so many questions that needed answers-

Until, suddenly, it all made sense.

I turned to Betsy, mouth dry. "You're running away, aren't you?"

Betsy didn't say anything, she kept her eyes on the ground. I swallowed hard, searching for a way to express the thousands of emotions going around in my head. It hurt, I'll admit it. It hurt to think that- even though a small fraction of me knew that slavery was wrong- it hurt to see Betsy turn her back on Roselands. Father had given his life for that plantation- for building it up, making it beautiful. Would all the slaves leave, just like Betsy?

I turned and walked, silently, back to the house. I needed time to think, needed time to reflect. Roselands would fall apart if everyone left, just like Betsy had. And that was hard for me to accept. I had grown up there, had my first kiss there. I had lived there since I was six, I had seen my father die there. 

For a long time, Roselands had been my world.

But, apparently- at least, if Harry and Ida were right- there were tragedies going on in my world that I hadn't even known about. Tragedies that would include why Betsy had blood on her back. 

Tragedies that I needed to know about.

I looked back, over my shoulder. Betsy was being led inside the house by Auntie Ida, but Harry still stood there, watching me. His face held no emotion, but he watched me with icy green eyes and a netural position.

Here was my chance.

I turned back around and walked over to Harry, crossing my arms and averting his gaze. We sat down, together, on the porch. No words were spoken for a long time as I tried to figure out exactly what I wanted to say.

"What does happen on those plantations?" I finally said, breaking the silence. Harry stopped from plucking a cattail and looked at me, eyes studying my face.

"You really want to know?" Harry said softly. Not a hint of ridicule was in his voice.

"No," I breathed. "But I have to."

Harry was silent for a moment, before placing strong hands on my shoulders and turning me so I could see him, face to face. There was silence. He swallowed. I bit my lip.

"Most slaves were taken from Africa when they were just children," he spoke in a low tone. "They were taken from their families, taken from everything they'd ever known. Their chiefs of their towns or countries, kingdoms," Harry took a deep breath and bit his lip. "They'd sell their own people. Their own children, even, to white Englishman."

I felt sick, to my stomach.

"The Englishman would bring the slaves to America on crowded slave ships. I met a slave once who told me he and another man were forced into one bunk. He couldn't feel his legs for the whole trip." My stomach turned and twisted as I watched Harry. He seemed to gague my reaction, waiting to see if I could handle it.

"Please," I whispered. "I have to know."

Harry nodded, seeming to understand. "When the slaves reach America, they are chained together and paraded along the streets of the city. People ridicule them, spit on their faces. And if they revolt, try to gain some dignity, they are beaten." Harry swallowed, I tried to force air into my throat. "These very Africans used to be kings and queens in their old home. Now, they are treated as animals."

Harry glanced at me, and our eyes locked. My chest heaved. "The slaves would be brought to an auction block with chains around their feet and necks. They are forced to wait for hours in the sun until it is their turn on the auction block." Our eyes remained focused on one another, and he bit his lip. "They're sold like furniture, or animals. Placed on the auction block and bid on."

I gagged.

"Then, they're taken to a plantation- much like your Roselands- and forced to work 12 hour days in the sun. If they miss the bell or are sick, they are whipped, much like Betsy was." I swallowed, my saliva tasting metallic. "I won't elaborate too much on that, but I can tell you, people have died from those beatings."

There was silence for a moment, as Harry looked into my eyes and I into his. "I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you that," he murmured.

My eyes glassy, I looked straight back into his green orbs. "I'm sorry I didn't know."