Slave Sisters

(18) Slave Sisters

28th November, 1804

Five days ago my lessons with Jane had started up again, and I could not be any more proud.

“I am very glad you are better,” she mentioned for the second time tonight, her angelic smile in place. Touched, I offered out some more tablet. The same as every other time, her face brightened with joy. Not hesitating, she politely took one with earnestness.

To be honest, was I really better? From Jane’s point of view I was, due to my cold having recently disappeared. Yet, my feelings had not; I still felt depression, desperation . . . fear; fear for regretting that I could do nothing to change what had already now happened.

With her eyes on me, Jane cheekily grabbed for more of the sweet.

“Shoul’ we continue from yesterday?” I asked, also deciding to have one. My teeth sunk down into the soft quality before chewing down on it repeatedly. “Yer kno’, wit’ da numbers?”

She nodded, “Yes of course.” I watched the girl, slightly amused at her blown up mouth full of food.

It was not exactly that I wanted to learn numbers, though I knew it would be useful, but it took my mind away from other things – situations that I did not want to discuss about to anyone, or even me.

“Okay, so . . .” I held up my hands, “one, t-two, and three . . ?” As I did this, one finger went down for each number I spoke aloud.

“That is it – finally! You do not pronounce ‘three’ as ‘free’, but ‘three’.” Feeling pleased I grinned and then continued on.

Once I had, surprisingly, reached the tenth number, Jane congratulated me by softly bringing her hands together to create a sound. Doing the same, my hands sounded in unison with hers; she giggled at me.

“This,” she said, doing the action again, “is called clapping: clapping can be good.” I nodded, clapping a bit more confidently this time.

“Yer’re good at teachin’,” I admitted, my face serious. Jane smiled, thanking me. “I fink yer shoul’ be a teacher.”

“My teacher thinks I am a good learner,” she told me dreamily, as if she had entered a new world of emotions. Then she blinked, and shook her head. “Although it is mother would not want me to be a teacher.”

“Oh,” I replied with a frown, not fully understanding. “Why?”

30th November, 1804

Victor quietly laughed, and then opened the front door. “Are you ready?” he asked. Virginia walked forward to appear at his side, the contact of her shoes and the floorboards making subtle clops.

“As I ever will be,” she replied. Her eyebrows, darker and thicker than I last remembered, were raised in excitement and her lips dainty-looking. I tugged at the top corner at my lip – was that meant to be attractive?

By the way that Victor’s eyes shined, I was sure that it was.

“Well, let us go.” He held out his right arm, and she fit her arm through; to link them, like chains.

“Before we leave . . .” Virginia stopped, catching his attention. He stared at her, his expression now unreadable. I narrowed my eyes slightly, also paying closer attention. She exhaled a big sigh, and looked into his eyes. “Victor, I would just like to thank you for the time we have spent together.”

Victor smiled, “I would also like to thank you, Virginia.”

The door shutting, they both left with high moods.

***

Returning back, I stood next to Tayla. I watched as she put the finishing touches to what she was making; voluntarily, I loaded them onto large plates. The steaming hot food blew up in our faces, their beautiful smells coating our skin with a damp new layer.

“I can handle it,” she said, pushing me away a bit. I nodded, taking some steps back. “How about you get the drinks and put them on the table?”

“Okay,” I replied, getting the usual drinks out from the cupboard, along with a jug of water. Sometimes, it still amazed me how only one cupboard could be filled with just drink. Exiting again I re-entered the living room and placed down the tray of drinks onto the table.

Deciding to take my time, I took each one off of the tray and neatly placed them in the middle of the dining table; ale, cider, beer, and water – tops undone.

As Mr Wicker, surprisingly, had requested, today’s dinner was a simple and ‘small’ meal: meat stew, along with bread. For people such as Tayla and I this would be a feast – I dreaded to see Mrs Wicker’s reaction.

About an hour or so ago Virginia and Victor had returned back to the mansion, moods still high; the only difference was that Victor’s shoes were now slightly scuffed, and a small purple flower was hidden in Virginia’s hair.

What had they even been doing?

Another presence joined me in the room, obviously turning out to be my sister’s. Hands covered with cloths, she held a hot pot of stew. “Could you get the bread?” Tayla asked, putting the food down.

“Of course.” Immediately I went off to fetch it; I was able to smell it before I even saw the bread. I could imagine taking a bite into it; its spongy texture of yeasty pockets; it settling calmly onto my tongue; the warmth of it rushing down my throat.

How I absolutely adored bread.

“You took long,” Tayla mentioned, taking the bread from my heads and setting it down. The table was now fully set with plates, cutlery and food. And it was all for just six people. “I will go and tell everyone.”

“Huh?” She brought me out of my imagination by patting me gently on the shoulder. “Oh, okay.

It took a little while, but quickly enough everyone was seated in their desired places. Mr Wicker and Mrs Wicker sat at the heads of the table opposite each other, yet still avoided the other’s eye. On the left of Mrs Wicker sat Victor, and next to him Virginia. Opposite Virginia there was Judith, who on her left sat Jane.

“Before we begin – Jo and Lou, I would like for you to leave.” She stared at the two of us, huddled in the corner. Without a comment we silently left.

***

Was I going to take offence to Mrs Wicker’s comment? No, not at all. I quietly darted up the stairs; on the landing I slowed down, taking careful footsteps forward until I reached the library. With the cold door handle underneath my palm, I cautiously opened the door.

The place was relatively clean with the floor newly swept and table freshly wiped over. Even the thick books on the shelves looked as if they were placed in an even order, their pages full of information that I did not understand.

I flicked through the books carelessly, seeing if any of them stood out to them. They did not, their monotonous colours boring my eyes to the core. After a minute or two, I came across a book located on the bottom shelves – inches from the floor – and seized it off. It was quite thin, the paper yellow and old. It had been lodged between two thick books, as if . . .

Walking over to the centre of the room, I examined the table. Then I stood in front of the now-empty bin, and decided to go back to the table. It had piles of neatly-stacked sheets full of writing of both sides. I picked up one of the sheets; I could identify the letters, but not what they formed to make. A heavy sigh escaped my lips while I placed it back down.

Awkwardly, I stood in the centre of the vacant library. Anxiety and impatience rushed through my veins as I hurried to find something else, anything else. I spun around in a full circle, hoping that my eyes would catch anything significant. But they did not.

Sunken, I exited the library, the thin book held behind my back.

~

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