The Slave and Her Apprentice

Answers

A/N: If you haven't read what I added at the end of It's Time to Get Started after the author's note, please do so now! The beginning of this chapter will make no sense unless you do. Thank you!

I stared at Jonathan, long and hard, my brain turning its gears on hyper drive. Had I heard him right? Was I slipping deeper into psychosis? Jonathan looked at me, nervousness shamelessly evident in his eyes. I blinked my eyes a few times to clear my shock. It was a vain attempt.

“What?!?” I half shouted.

“I want to get the slaves off of Monticello.” Jonathan began. “I can’t stand to see them worked like dogs day in and day out and after what Ignus did to Lily, my last half shred of tolerance snapped. They are human beings, not chattel to be bought and sold.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” I said contempt accidentally slipping into my words. “Considering you didn’t bat a lash at the $750 dollars you bought me with.”

Jonathan looked down at his plate, obviously ashamed. I instantly felt guilty. However, it wasn’t over what I said, it was how I said it.

“Please believe me when I tell you that sitting in that auction, listening to people being sold like animals, families being ripped apart, and the disgusting remarks the people around me were saying was almost the hardest thing I had to do. The only thing over that was the act of raising my hand and offering up the money. But you have to understand, Willow. If I did nothing, I would look suspicious and suspicion gets you killed. If I’m dead, there won’t be any stopping to Ignus’ reign of terror.”

What he said made sense. It also let me know that he was thinking about this long before I showed up, I was just the final piece to his puzzle.

“Why did you bid so much?” I asked.

“I could see the intelligence in your eyes. I knew that you would be a great asset, not to mention the natural look of innocence.” Jonathan said that last bit with a half cocked smile that almost brought a grin out of me.

“Willow, I want—no—need your help. I know you want to do something too, I saw it the night of Lily’s whipping. I can’t do this without you. The safety of Monticello’s slaves rests in your hands.”

Cliché much? I thought to myself. Then I figured that at this time it wouldn’t be considered cliché…yet.

“There is no way I am going to say no. You’re stuck with me.”

A wide smile stretched across Jonathans face, making his hazel eyes shine with glee.

“Great.” He said.

“But there are some questions I have for you.”

His smile shrunk a little, but he waved his hand in motion signaling that I could go on.

“Does Mr. Jefferson know your intentions?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“No, he doesn’t.” replied Jonathan. “If he did I would be hanged right now.”

A chill went up my spine at the thought of a 15 year old hanging for what he believed in. I tried not to show it.

“Ok,” I said. “Does Mr. Redwood know about it?”

The smile grew again. That was enough answer for me but Jonathan decided to vocally respond.

“Actually, he does. He has been helping me with plans for a while now and he has set up this room to hide the escapees. That’s why we’re cleaning it out.”

“If he needed the room cleaned out,” I began to ask. “Why didn’t he just hire someone else? Why did he ask Jefferson for a slave?”

“Redwood told me to refer a slave to Jefferson that I felt would best help the cause; that way while we’re “cleaning the room”, we could discuss plans without being overheard.”

I looked at him in stunned silence. It made a lot of sense and the genius of it all was mind boggling. I could tell that he was serious about getting the slaves free.

“What about the other slaves?” I asked. “The slaves all around the nation?”

“I can only do so much in a certain amount of time. I plan on helping to free the other slaves. I just have to wait for the right time to do the right thing.”

I nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. We shifted back into an uncomfortable silence, only broken by the sound of paper rubbing against paper. We stayed like this for what felt like an hour until Jonathan broke the silence.

“I have some questions for you, Willow.” He said.

“Ok.” I said. “Shoot.”

He looked at me strange but continued on with the question. I had to remind myself to watch my slang; most of it was 200 years too new.

“How old are you?” He asked.

“15”

“Do you know your birthday? If so, what is it?”

“March 30th”

There was a pause. Not too long, but long enough for me to think that he was done asking questions.

Boy was I wrong.

“Where did you come from and where did you learn how to read?” he asked, turning a little red.

Oh crap, I thought. Here we go again. Except for this time, it was no way out except for the truth.

I looked up at him, not wanting to meet his expecting eye. I sat down and I motioned for him to sit down too.

“Before I tell you this you must swear on your honor and on your life that what is discussed here will not leave this room” I said, feeling strange at hearing myself echo his words.

“I swear.” He said.

“Ok.” I said, wiping my shaking hands on my skirt. “It all started when I woke up in a cage…”