The Slave and Her Apprentice

Bitter 16

A week had passed since my first day at Monticello. Each day I grew more and more anxious. I didn’t know how I got there or why and the fear of never going back started to grip me tighter and tighter. I went outside to get some air and to feed the chickens. Over in the fields I could hear Ignus yelling at the field hands. I didn’t think much of it, he did it every day. As I fed the chickens, I surveyed what I could see of the plantation. My history books didn’t even come close to accurately describing the hovels in the slave quarters, the look of utter exhaustion that was permanently etched on every slaves’ face, and the sheer brutality of it all. I was just about to walk back to the kitchen when someone called my name.

“Willow! Willow, wait!”

I turned to see Jonathan, the young man who bought me, jogging towards me. I stopped and waited for him to catch up.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you some questions” Replied Jonathan.

“What type of questions, sir?”

“Just a few questions so that I can fill out your records. Mr. Jefferson likes to have records of all his slaves’ age, gender, etc.”

I looked at him and a twinge of panic started to creep up inside me. How was I supposed to answer these questions? Half of them I couldn’t answer myself. I needed more time to come up with a believable back story. However, before I could open my mouth to respond, a shrill shriek came from the fields. Ignus was dragging a woman from the fields, his face red from either effort or glee, I couldn’t tell. He brought her to a tree and tied her up.

“No.” I muttered, and ran towards the tree. By the time I got there, there was a crowd and I was too short to see over the people in front of me. Though, it was not like I was straining to see what I knew was going to happen next. A hush went over the crowd as Ignus began addressing us with a voice that matched his rat-like appearance.

“This piece of black trash here took it upon herself to decide that it was ok to sit down in the middle of working. Now, as you all know, I do not tolerate laziness and this is no exception.”

My anger was so hot, my blood felt cold. I held my head down, clenching and unclenching my fists, rapidly depleting my reserves of self-control. I bit my tongue to keep my mouth shut and thanked God for the people standing in front of me, blocking me from charging up there.

“Now,” Ignus squeaked on, “Let this be a reminder to you all about what happens when you decide to be the lazy sloths you are under my watch.”

There was a crack of the whip and an agonizing cry of pain followed. Crack. Cry. Crack. Cry. That pattern copied itself sixteen times. Each time my stomach cringed, and my resolve steeled. By the time it was over, the poor girl was unconscious. Ignus dispersed the crowd and cut her down unceremoniously. I lingered just long enough for him to notice me and order me to carry her to the kitchen to get patched up. I tried lifting her as gently as I could, given her injuries but she was much too heavy. Just as I was about to drag her, Jonathan came to help.

“Here, let me get her feet, you grab under her arms.”

“What do you think you’re doing, Jonathan?” croaked Ignus.

“I am assisting in carrying this unconscious girl, so that her wounds may be treated, Ignus.”

Jonathan sounded annoyed and my arms were getting weary from holding her without moving for so long.

“And why would you do that? What has that cow done for you?”

I couldn’t tell if he was referring to me or the girl in my arms, either way, I didn’t like it.

“That business is none of yours to concern with. Now, excuse me, I am taking this girl to the kitchen.”

We walked towards the kitchen and I called for Rose to open the door. The door swung open and we walked in and laid the battered girl on the table. Rose was bustling about, gathering various herbs from the cabinet.

“Willow,” she said. “Go get some water and bring it here.”

I ran out of the room and fetched the water. When I brought it back, Rose dipped some rags in the water and started dabbing at the girl’s wounds.

“Willow, can you put the rest of that water over the fire and put some more wood underneath? I need the water to heat up fast. Oh, and can you go down into the cellar and bring up the black jar please?”

I put the water over the fire with the extra wood and high tailed it down to the cellar. I kept the door open to get just enough light to see my way around. I found the bottle and brought it up.

“Good. Now, I’m going to lift her head up and I want you to get as much of that down her throat as you can. It will help her get through what I’m about to do to her. If you don’t get enough in her, the added pain may kill her.”

Rose lifted her head and I brought the bottle to the girl’s lips with trembling hands. I pried her mouth open a little with my pinkie and tilted the unknown concoction into her mouth. When almost the whole bottle was gone, Rose told me to stop.

“Ok, now, in order to clean the wounds, I have to pour the hot water over them. I need you two to hold her down. The sleepy juice will make the pain survivable, but it will still be unbearable. She can’t thrash around or she will make things worse. Hold her at her shoulders and legs.”

Jonathan and I took our positions and Rose lifted the pot of just under boiling water and poured it on the girl’s back. Her screams were ear shattering and it was hard to keep her from moving. Eventually she stopped thrashing and Rose continued to put different herbs on her wounds.

“What was in that stuff I gave her?” I asked.

“Ginger, crushed cherries, honey, and whiskey; I use it to help dull the pain some and whiskey helps dull the person’s mind. It never takes away enough of the pain, though. That’s why I needed you to hold her down.”

I sat there, staring at the girl who got beat near to death all because she sat down. Something stirred and fire erupted inside me. The fear I was feeling for the past week instantly dissipated. My mind was made up. I couldn’t just sit here and mope. I had to do something. Maybe the reason I was sent here was so that I could help. I was pretty sure that I was the only black person on the plantation that knew how to read and write. I looked over at Jonathan and our eyes met. I saw the same fire I was feeling inside myself. I tried to convey with my eyes everything that was going on inside my head to Jonathan and he did a slight nod in return. I turned back towards the scarred body before me, resolute. Oh, yeah, I thought. It’s about to go down.