Along This Dusty Road

Prolouge

The beating sun burned Ida's back. The heat had increased tremendously over the past week. Summer had arrived and made itself known. There were thousands of people out in the cotton fields with her. All of them were working as tirelessly as she was. None of them wanted to risk a beating from their harsh master.

They didn't even give Ida a break, but she had a good excuse for being laid off. She was seven months pregnant and going to be a single mom. They had put her baby's daddy to death a couple weeks before. He had attempted to escape with the famous Harriet Tubman but was unsuccessful. Ida didn't get to say goodbye.

The sharp cotton thorns pierced into her calloused fingers and she winced at the sting. She couldn't get blood on the cotton. Nobody wanted to buy a slave with scars on her back, even if it was for getting blood on the cotton that the Southerners cared so much about. It was their source of profit. A profitable Southerner equals a happy Southerner, and every slave prefers a happy master over an angry one.

Ida wiped her bloody fingers on her raggedy cloth that she used as clothing. She carefully made sure no blood got on the cotton before shoving it into her woven basket in her arms. That makes eleven pieces of cotton that she had collected. This was an improvement to her usually nine pieces her day.

"You!" The horrible voice of her master yelled at her. "Come here!" Ida brushed her hands on her cloth and looked at her master. She put a hand on her big belly and carefully shuffled to her master. He was tapping his foot.

"Yes, Master?" Ida asked. Her master pointed at her belly and she froze.

"When is it due?" The master grumbled.

"Eight weeks, sir," Ida informed her master. The master nodded. He grabbed her arm surprisingly gentle and lead her inside his house. She had never been in his house before. All she knew was that he shared it with his wife. They had no children together.

The master lead her to a room, and she saw his wife sitting in a rocking chair. She smoothed her skirt as they walked in the door.

"Hello--uh--Isa? Is it?" She asked. Ida curtsied as best as she could.

"Ida, ma'am," Ida corrected politely. The mistress smiled.

"Of course," she said, "My husband has informed me that you are carrying a child."

"Yes'm," Ida replied. "I have been with child for seven months and will be expecting shortly." The mistress's smile widened.

"Congratulations, Ida," The mistress said and held out her hands for Ida to take. She reluctantly took them. "I'm gonna watch over you while you give birth. Is that okay, honey?"

Ida was genuinely surprised. She had assumed she would be giving birth in one of the slave houses. "That's great. Thank you."

"You're so welcome, Ida," The mistress beamed. "How old are you again?"

"I'm sixteen, ma'am," Ida answered. "My baby's father was nineteen."

"You're so young to be with child," The mistress gave her a condemning look.

"I know, ma'am," Ida replied and looked at her feet. "I didn't think I would live long enough to have one at a proper age."