AUGUST 1858
In the month since she had been abducted, she had learned to keep her eyes averted and her head slightly inclined, and she did that now as she and her captors approached the porch.
“Here she is, ma’am.”
The woman was lying on a lounge chair, covered with a shawl even though it was a hot, muggy afternoon. Her untidily pinned hair was quite grey, and her skin seemed deadly white, her eyes deeply shadowed. A girl with dark skin was standing behind her, cooling her with a large palm fan.
“What’s her name?” the woman asked.
She spoke in a quiet, enervated voice that had an unusual twang.
“She was last called Lena, ma’am. She’s been a lady’s maid before and can sew beautifully, dress hair in the best style, and is quiet and docile as a kitten.”
“Kittens scratch.” This remark came from another woman who was seated near the door. Lena managed a quick glance in her direction. She was younger with a thin, pinched face. Her brown hair was pulled down smooth and tight from a straight centre parting in the current fashion, and the severity of it did not enhance her looks.
“A figure of speech only, ma’am,” Prescott gave Lena a poke in the ribs. “Come on, girl. Tell Mrs. Dickie that you’re a good girl.”
She curtsied. “I’m a good girl, ma’am. I won’t be any trouble.”
The younger woman snorted. “My, aren’t we la-di-da. Where did she come from, Prescott?”
“She belonged to an English lady, ma’am. Over in Ohio. Must’ve picked up the way of talking from her. Her missus’d never have sold her ’cept she was going back to the homeland.”
“I think you should reconsider, mother. You know what trouble these high-yaller girls are. They think they’re better than anybody else and the others get fussed and come complaining all the time. It’s so tiresome.”
Prescott addressed Mrs. Dickie. “What’s it to be then, ma’am? I can get a good price for her anywhere if you don’t want her.”
The older woman gave a weak wave. “Come over here, girl. Let me look at you.” Lena walked over to the couch. “Kneel down, you’re so tall you’re making my neck crick by looking up at you…that’s better. Now let me see your hands.”
Lena held her hands out, palms up.
“Yes, they are soft. You’re not lying about that Prescott. No, don’t protest. You know perfectly well you’d pass off a mule as an Arabian if you could get away with it. Now, girl, let’s see you smile. You’re much too solemn. I can’t have gloomy faces around me, only sunny ones. Isn’t that right, Fidelia?”
The coloured girl beamed a dazzling white smile, marred only by a partly chipped front tooth.
“Yes, missus.”
Lena forced herself to smile, and the woman looked at her critically.
“Much better. You’re quite pretty with a happy expression. What do you think, Leigh? Caddie? Turn around, child, and show them how you can smile.”
Lena did so. A man spoke.
“I think she’ll do as well as any other, mamma. You are in need of a maid.”
Lena hadn’t noticed him at first, as he was standing at the far end of the porch. He was short, running to fat, with thinning hair, although he was probably still in his twenties.
The young woman who’d been addressed as Caddie frowned. “I tell you she’ll cause trouble.”
The man shrugged indifferently. “I don’t give a fig either way. It is up to mamma.”
Mrs. Dickie waved her hand in Prescott’s direction. “I like her. It’s settled then. Fidelia, you can take her to the cabin and show her where she’ll sleep.” She touched Lena’s cheek with her dry finger. “Are you hungry, child?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Beulah will fix you something. Come back in here in about an hour. Can you tell the time?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Now, Mr. Prescott, come around to the back and my son will settle up with you. Leigh, deduct at least twenty dollars from what he asks. He’s a rogue through and through.”
The slave trader tipped his hat. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Lena felt a pang of fear. How bizarre that she should feel afraid seeing him go, but she did. He was the only link to her real life. He was the only one who knew who she was and where she came from. But even as she saw him bowing, grinning, ignoring her, she knew how foolish it was even to suppose for a moment he would tell the truth. She’d tried that on the steamer, she’d tried to talk to the captain, but Prescott had pulled her away. Later, he’d punched her so hard in the ribs that she couldn’t breathe. He said if she did that again, he’d have her taken off to the loony bin and she could scream and carry on there until she went grey and they would never believe her because everybody in that place said they were somebody else. “You’ll be chained up and starved and beaten, and if you think your husband will find you, he might as well look for a needle in a whole barn of straw because he never will.”
That kept her silent even more than fear of the pain he could inflict. If she was at least visible to normal people, to civilized people, she might eventually be found.