Second Chances

Chapter 9: Relive the Past (Part 1)

"You have a very nice smile. I liked seeing it," I say. His dark cheeks darken further, and he smiles slightly at me.

"Thank you, miss," he says softly. He has nice eyes too, a pretty green color with flecks of gold. I could get lost in them.

"Anastasia!" The slaves and I all jump at the sound of my father's voice, though it is distant. I glance in the direction of the sound, before looking back at the boy. I look back at the slash on his cheek, and I lean forward to kiss it softly before I let go of his hand. There's a collective gasp between all of the surrounding slaves. I pull away, a blush spreading across my cheeks, similar to his own. I flash him a small smile before rushing away, taking an alternate way so that I don't run into my father on the way back to the house. My thoughts linger again on the boy. I hope to see him again.

"Father? What else could I call the...The slaves?" I ask, the word feeling bitter on my tongue. My father looks at me with a scrutinizing brow.

"Negros, blacks. My favorite is ni-"

"Nathaniel! Do not use such purtid language around our daughter!" my mother scolds. He turns to glare at her, but she glares right back. She looks at me, gaze softening.

"Come, my dear. It is time for your violin lesson," she says. I nod and rise from my seat, following her from the room.

"Bâtard (Bastard)," my mother mutters. I look up at her, and she looks down at me, smiling softly.

"Je m'excuse pour ma langue, ma chère (I apologize for my language, my dear)," she says. I smile slightly and nod.

"Tu es pardonné, mère (You are forgiven, mother)," I say. She looks back up and stops, picking up her violin. I pick up mine as well, and we both take seats.

"Mother?" I ask, not yet placing my violin against my shoulder. She looks at me with a questioning raise of her eyebrow.

"Did you hear my question to father?" I ask. She nods, before considering me for a moment. She sighs and puts her violin down, and I put mine down as well. She reaches out and takes my hands, holding them and my gaze.

"Call them people, my darling. That is all they are."

Much like that night all that time ago, I creep down the stairs to see my mother at the door. Unlike before, I turn around and hurry back to my room, collecting shoes and quietly hurrying back to the stairs right as I hear the door close. I move silently down the stairs, and open the door. My mother's figure would be gone were it not for the lantern she's holding. I slip out the door and close it behind me, hurrying after her. Where is she going? She disappears into the huts that our...Workers. That our workers live in. I follow her again, peering through the door. There are maybe three of them around my mother, and she's talking in a hushed tone. One of them is the boy. I've visited him enough to learn his name is Adam. He's very kind to me. He glances over, eyes widening as our eyes meet. My mother follows his gaze, and I duck back around the corner. Footsteps come closer to me, and my mother looks around the corner, straight at me.

"Anastasia! What are you doing here?" she hisses. I swallow and bow my head.

"I am sorry, mother. I was curious as to where you were going. I remember that night when I was a child, you snuck out at the same time as tonight," I say. She's quiet for a moment, so I look up at her again. Slowly, I ask, "Mother, what are you doing out here?" She looks back inside the hut, then back at me, before sighing and offering her hand.

"You must promise not to tell your father," she says firmly. I nod instantaneously. She smiles lightly, and I take her hand. She motions with her lantern inside the hut, and then leads me and the three workers through the night. I trip a few times, and although she says nothing, I can sense her impatience. We walk in near silence through the trees, staying close to one another. Finally, we emerge, far outside the boundaries of our property. We continue to walk, my mother hiding the lantern within her cloak. I shiver, not having brought mine. Eventually, there is a road, and a dimly lit wagon sitting on it. My mother halts and whistles a few times in a steady pattern. There is another patterned whistle in response, and we continue. All the while, the pieces slowly fall into place. For many years, my father has gone on raging tangents about missing slaves. Most times it has been a small few disappearing, only three or four at a time. He would always replace them, but more would eventually disappear within the following months. Now I realize, they did not escape on their own. My mother has been helping them to get away all along. She could be arrested for something like this. My father would beat her for something like this. Assumingly, he would kill her too. It's why he can never know. I will never tell him. My mother stops as we reach the wagon, releasing my hand to speak with the two people at the front. I turn to face Adam and the other two.