Chapter 1: Gift

We swayed from side to side, shifting and rustling in the cart as it moved down the dusty road. The shackles around my wrist and ankles dug into my skin, causing sharp bits of pain to burst through me. I hissed and ignored the small flow of blood from my ankles. Sweat dripped from my brow down my face and onto my lips, providing liquid for my chapped lips. Three of us were sitting in the cart, faces down, not talking. A new master and home awaited us, so there wasn’t anything to say. We would either survive under our new master’s rules, try to run away, die from punishment, or live out our final days being what we were–slaves to be used however our master wished of us. In a way, I was happy to be sold to another. It was only a matter of time before my father tried to bed me, and my mother agreed this was best for me. If a master wanted to sleep with me, at least it wouldn’t be my father.

“We almost there now. Do not cause no trouble, ya here?” The driver told us, but we didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what the others thought.

The girl glanced at me for a moment, but once our eyes met, she lowered her gaze. She was different from me, darker and thicker, with only hair at the top of her head, almost making it seem like she was a young boy of sixteen instead of a girl. I only knew her sex thanks to the driver who confirmed for the master in the carriage ahead that two women and one man were in the cart.

Against the back of the cart sat the only male amongst us. At the time, I never saw his face, and he simply stayed quiet, fading into the background of the situation we found ourselves in. Slowly, as we kept moving, the trees started to tapper off, and people came into view–other slaves standing at the side of the road, holding tools, bags, and buckets.

“We almost at the big house. Don’ be crying now, screaming, or showin in discomfort. Be happy you alive. We take care of ours here. Don’t make trouble, and they be no trouble. Masta will treat you kindly if you don’t make trouble,” the wagon driver said as he snapped the horse’s reins, ordering them to go faster. We picked up the pace, matching the carriage our new owner was riding in. Even though I belonged to a new master, I still hadn’t seen his face or knew anything about what my station would be.

I finally lifted my gaze, tired of looking down at broken wood and straw. The beams from the sun danced on top of the trees, occasionally occasionally peeping through the branches. I turned slightly, watching as my new owner’s home came into view. Widening my eyes, I was surprised by the size of the house; it was bigger than my father’s, spanning three floors, multiple windows, stairs leading up to the front door, and two balconies wrapped around the first and second floors.

As the carriage got closer to the house, a group of men–all slaves–went to the wagon and carriage to stop the horses.

“Slow down now,” the driver said as he pulled the reigns back. “You all wait for the masta to get out first,” the driver said, or more like, ordered.

I glanced at the carriage as one of the men on the ground walked up to the door, then opened it. He was an older fellow, skinny, with gray hairs already crowning on his head and his skin was dark as night, different from my black-tea-cream mixed color.

“Welcome back, Masta Evans,” he said while keeping the door open.

I had been waiting to see the face of the man who had bought me.

“Thank you, George,” said my new master as he exited the carriage and stepped onto the ground. He then turned towards the wagon, running his eyes over all three of us.

“Booker!” He called.

“Yes, Masta!” Booker, the wagon driver, replied as he stayed in his seat.

The new master walked closer to us, stopping next to Booker. Finally, I could make out his features, avoiding his gaze. The white masters and their families never liked when a slave looked them in the eyes. The only exception I had ever seen was my mother and father, and even then, my mother told me she was only allowed to hold my father’s gaze when he came to our cabin at night.

I kept my sight on the new master, watching as he roamed his eyes around the wagon. Once he got to me, I lowered my gaze again, focusing on the blades of straw. His visage was, as I expected, an older man with short brown hair and wrinkles lining his eyes. He was dressed in a brown suit, matching jacket, and ruffles around the wrist.

“Take those two to the fields,” Master Evans said as he pointed to the other woman and man in the wagon. “Here’s the key.” He handed Booker a key, which I was sure was our shackles.

Booker took the key and replied, “Yes, sir!” He jumped from his seat and walked to the back of the wagon. When I saw his face, I was surprised by his age; he looked to be my age, early 20s, with a youthful appearance and healthy body. It was obvious Booker ate well, unlike many other slaves I had seen. His skin also matched my color, indicating that another fellow slave from the homeland didn’t father him.

“You two, come here!” He ordered.

“Wait, Booker, release her first,” Master Evans said, pointing at me. “I want to take her inside before it gets dark. She’s a fine gift, and I want Amos to see her before the sun sets.”

“Yes, sir. Girl, come here now. You ain’t goin’ to try and escape now, are you?” Booker asked as he gestured for me to come forward.

My body teased at the thought of where I could be going, and for a second, I froze up, not moving.

“Did you hear me?! Come here!” Booker raised his voice, and I jumped. I inched my way forward toward his arms. “Answer my question, girl!”

I shook my head and said, “I will not try to escape.” My voice was low, almost a whisper, but the words I spoke were almost a lie. I wanted to escape, to return to the only home I had ever known, even if my father owned me and eventually wanted to bed me.

“All right, then.” Booker grabbed my leg and dragged me to him.

“Careful, Booker. Amos does not want her hurt now,” Master Evans said.

Amos. Who is that? I thought to myself as Booker released my shackles. I winced from the pain but was thankful to have the metal out of my skin. Master Evans walked up to the cart and looked down at me.

“Pull up your dress a little and let me see your ankles,” he said.

I did as he told me.

“Not too much damage. You should heal up in a few days. All right, girl. You are coming with me, and do not try anything, you got it?”

I nodded and then looked down.

“Booker, take the others to the field and find them a cabin to live in. And do not bother me for the rest of the day. Girl, hurry up.”

Booker nodded, and I quickly rushed from the wagon and followed behind my new master. Even though walking was painful, I kept pace with master Evans. As we walked, I swept my eyes around my new home, looking at the tall trees, huge mansion, and the slaves working nearby.

Once we arrived at the stairs, an older slave woman dressed in a brown dress with a white apron greeted us, or more just the master.

“Good evening, sir, can I get you anything?” She asked with a smile.

“I am fine, Jane, just tell me where my sons are.”

“Master Amos is in the library, and Master Jonah is out back with the overseer.”

“Thank you, Jane. That is all for now,” he said and then continued to stride into the house with me following behind him.

As I walked by Jane, she looked me over and rolled her eyes. I didn’t know what her problem with me was by then, but eventually, I learned why she disliked me before I even opened my mouth.

Once inside the house, I was stunned by how lavish everything was, to the furniture, the paintings, and even the dishes I saw placed out on trays. I remember hearing my father talk about other plantation owners and how they looked down on him for his merger property, but at the time, I had nothing to compare it to, but that changed after I stepped foot in my new master’s home.

“Stop gawking and come on,” the master ordered me, and I then shifted my gaze down, focusing on my feet.

We kept going, passing through doorways and going down hallways until we reached two double doors. The master opened them, revealing a room full of books that covered the walls, with leather chairs for sitting and tables with snacks paired with tea. Sitting in one of the chairs was a body, but the face and chest was hidden behind a book, so I couldn’t tell who I was looking at.

“Amos, I have a gift for you,” the master said, which shocked me.

He’s giving me to someone! Anger ran through me then. The pain and torment of being sold was already exhausting, and then I found out the person who I thought was my master isn’t it.

“Tell me, what is it? I hope it’s not another tailored suit. I already have plenty of them,” Amos replied as he closed the book; his grass irises landed on me, studying me with his gaze. I was being given to a young man around my age, so I knew that only meant one thing. I was prepared to be a field worker and pick cotton or spend my days in the kitchen cooking, but not this.

He rose from the chair, and when he stepped closer, I wanted to run, but I knew I would not escape. My mother had said to be strong when I learned the truth about my new master, so I wondered if she knew I was a gift for the son.

“She is yours. I will give you her papers later,” he said as he turned away from us, “I hope what happened before will not happen again.” His voice was stern. What happened before? I wonder. If my father had taught me anything, it was that there was always another before a new girl.

“It will not. I plan to do things differently from last time,” Amos snapped as he stared at me, his gaze unwavering.

“I hope you are speaking the truth,” Master Evans said as he turned and walked out of the library.

Amos’ lips formed a soft grin that I was not expecting. “Tell me your name,” he said with a gentle smile, which caused my mouth to drop.

For a moment, we stood there in silence until I remembered his question. “Ada,” I whispered, loud enough for only us to hear.

“Ada,” he breathed as I felt his fingers run up my arm.

I didn’t make eye contact with him and instead, kept looking at the carpet underneath my feet.

“Look at me, Ada, I will not hurt you,” he said slowly.

I gulped, and then did as he asked. His gaze met mine, his green pupils stared at me, unwavering. His eyes then shifted, roaming around my face and body. I did the same, taking him all in; his golden-brown tresses flowed down his face onto his shoulders, and his sharp jawline reminded me of a statue. His lips turned upwards and with deft movements, he cupped my cheek in his hands.

Unsure of what he would do next, I just stood there, waiting to be hit, ordered, or raped; I wasn’t sure. I flinched at the thought, trying to prepare for whatever would happen next, but instead of a lashing, Amos chuckled.

“Relax, Ada, I told you, I will not hurt you. From now on, your heart, and every inch of you belongs to me, and only me,” he assured me with a grin. At that time, I did not realize how much my life was going to change, but everything I thought I knew about master and slaves was never the same.