Chapter 6

I woke up the next morning with thoughts of my dance lesson yesterday and the way Anthony Hadsworth silently laughed at me. The bastard.

However, my thoughts were soon distracted by the despairing look on Jemima’s face as she came to wake me up that morning.

“What’s the matter?” I asked her. She did not respond but instead shook her head and helped dress me that morning. She barely spoke a word. But the scene downstairs was even more bizarre then Jemima’s sudden muteness. There was no one there. The table was set with fresh bread in the middle and tea poured, but the seats were vacant. I looked behind me and noticed Jemima had disappeared too. Where the hell is everyone? What’s going on?

I turned to notice another man trying to hurry outside the door, with one hand firmly behind his back. “Excuse me!” I called out to him. Not wanting to be disobedient, he stopped and turned to me, but the exasperation was obvious on his face. “Where is everyone? What’s going on?”

“Mistress Stephens wants you to start breakfast without her. The boys be with their tutors; the girls with their nannies.” He said quickly, his eyes darting between me and the door.

I frowned. I was not good at pretending to be a perfect Southern lady; my foot was tapping impatiently, my arms were folded across my chest, and I was sure I was scowling. I hated not knowing what was going on. “Where are you going?”

He bit his bottom lip. He was obviously torn from obeying whatever it is my Aunt Charlotte wanted him to do and being obedient to me. “To Mistress Stephens.”

I smiled pleasantly, “Good, you can take me with you.”

Defeated, he bowed and held out a hand gesturing for me to go before him. I nodded and stepped in front of him.

Outside, the sun was shining, there was a slight breeze for a little relief from the intense heat. I noticed a little crowd gathered just a little ahead, with my Aunt Charlotte standing towards the front. She had on a pale pink dress, with white gloves and a hat to cover herself from the sun’s rays. I called out to her.

She turned around at me and frowned. “Olivia, you are supposed to be eating breakfast. I will be in in just a moment.”

“But, Aunt Charlotte, I was worried. There was no one around, and Jemima would tell me nothing.”

She heaved a deep sigh, “I do not want you to see this; you should go back inside immediately. Besides you are not protected, look at you, no hat, no gloves! You will surely freckle.”

I rolled my eyes, and for once saw past her to what everyone else was looking at. The man who I had met inside had walked past me and he was holding both hands at his sides: one was empty, the other held a long, black whip. There was another man, with no shirt on tied to a post. The knowledge hit me like a ton of bricks and knocked a horrified gasp from my lips.

“Aunt Charlotte, you can’t…you can’t be serious!” I exclaimed.

She closed her eyes, as if she could close herself to what was about to happen. “He was found trying to run away; this is proper punishment. I have to act in James’ stead.”

“But, Aunt Charlotte…”

Her eyes suddenly opened and she scowled at me, “Do not look so naïve, Olivia. I am sure your father employs the same punishment on his own plantation. Just because you have not seen it does not mean it does not happen. If you are to wed a proper Southern gentlemen, you must expect to assume his duties if he ever goes away and does not hire a manager. Besides, they do not feel as we do, so do not trouble yourself.”

I could not believe what she was saying. “Do not feel? Of course they do, we’re all human beings!”

She tut-tutted at me and stepped forward, ignoring me completely. She gave a slight nod to the man with the whip. He did not respond, but turned around and raised his arm to strike. I covered my eyes as I heard the snap on the other man’s back; there was no cry. Yet, I forced myself to look on; not to close myself to this world just because everything was not big hoops skirts and tea parties. This was the read world I was in now: cruel and cold. This was the world my mother was in, except from the other viewpoint and that knowledge gave life to new anger. Despite everything, I had to face this world. It would be wrong to ignore it like Aunt Charlotte and wrong to make up stupid excuses to make one feel better. I felt bitter tears rolling down my face, the only sign of feeling. I stood straight, my hands folded in front of me, and watched the scene.

The man I had met at the door raised his arm again and pulled it down with great force. The man’s skin tore and blood poured out, landing on the ground, on the ends of the whip, his pants; it seemed to be everywhere. There was no sound from the man; he was struggling to hold it in; the one act of defiance. I knew Aunt Charlotte would not signal the end until there was some cry. The knowledge of this was as obvious to me as a clear blue sky. They wanted to crush his spirit, his dignity. Any reason he may have to want freedom. I felt my hands clench and my jaw tightened as the whip was raised and fallen on the man’s back again and again. I glanced at Aunt Charlotte, she stood there as calm and stoic as if she were regarding and debating on a certain fabric color. I could not believe the indifferent look in her cool blue eyes. I knew I would not be able to look at her the same way.

Suddenly, disrupting any thought, any action; indeed the world seemed to stand still, the man let out a cry with such despair in it, I felt the feelings were my own. He seemed unable to hold it in any longer and continued to cry out. One cry was not good enough for Aunt Charlotte. She was only satisfied after a few more lashes at which she nodded to the man and turned on her heel back to the house, as if nothing had happened. I was left standing still, while others rushed to help the tortured man to his feet or rushed back to work. I licked my lips only to taste the salty tears I had cried in anger, in bitterness, in sadness. I hurriedly wiped them away and turned to go back to the house when my eyes met with a woman. The same woman who had caught me outside just the other night. The same woman who accused me of not being the real Olivia Noble. Now she knew for sure; I was not the real Olivia Noble. The real Olivia Noble would have watched the scene with the same detachment as my aunt had. The idea that so many people could be blind to other’s pain scared me a little.

The woman’s eyes tore away from mine and I was free to go. I hurried up to the house, lifting up my skirts to jog a bit. I arrived to find the table, full with Aunt Charlotte and both boys. There was also another man at the table, introduced to me as Harold Peters, the boys’ tutor. He was pale and heavy set. He stood and bowed while I curtseyed. The boys beamed at me, ignorant of what had happened outside while Aunt Charlotte nodded coolly to me, “Good morning, Olivia,” she said as if I had just come from downstairs and the whole thing had never happened.

“Good morning,” I said. We then commenced with the small talk of the breakfast table, talking about everything and anything. Meanwhile, my thoughts were on what just happened and how the hell my aunt could be so indifferent. Here was the same woman who had cared for me just like a mother, and worried over my health and wanted me to be happy. Yet, she had just authorized the most horrifying thing I had ever seen, and been completely okay about it. She even told me they did not feel as we did. I looked at her with a feeling of disbelief and disgust.

“Mommy, can we play with Olivia again today?” Jacob asked, jarring me out of my thoughts.

“Olivia has some things she needs to do today and you boys have your tutor here, but perhaps later.” She said. They nodded, disappointed. We ate the rest in silence and the boys were soon dismissed to the study with their tutor.

“I was hoping we could resume some of the dance lessons we began with yesterday, Olivia. The party is getting closer and the minuet is a bit difficult to master. And there is also the waltz. It is a shame Mr. Hadsworth is not here again, but I shan’t call on him.” She said.

I nodded, “I think it is better than he is not here. He makes me feel embarrassed.”

She tilted her head slightly, “Why? Isabella tells me he is the most noble young man she has ever known. I doubt he purposely makes you feel embarrassed. He has spent quite a few years on the frontier.”

“Remember when he bumped into me in Richmond and you said he was not the kind of man for me. Now it seems you are trying to push him off on me.”

“I thought he was some lowly frontiersman; one of those who just run off to the frontier escaping responsibility, but he is Isabella’s nephew and that changes it. However you are free to choose whoever you wish.”

I nodded. “I suppose stereotypes do not work, then?” She furrowed her brow at the unfamiliar word.

“You know, viewing one person based on beliefs about a whole group.”

She nodded simply, a look of only mild understanding crossing her face. Afterwards, we adjourned to the parlor where my dance lessons began. This time we were not interrupted and I was disappointed. The air was stifling and not just from the heat. We were no longer comfortable in each other’s company. She knew I was disgusted over what had taken place outside and that I would probably never look at her the same way again. However, she said not a word about it. I suppose that’s the Southern lady in her, instead we continued on in the same way. As for the dancing, it was coming along slowly. It was all routine and steps and counting, but with enough concentration I was able to remember everything. Aunt Charlotte assured me I would be forgiven a few missteps due to the accident. I did not care much about the party or the dance. I would stand and dance and smile at all the men and ladies, but I knew what supported this luxurious lifestyle, and it was made plainly clear this morning.

---

At the end of the day, Jemima helped me undressed. It was quiet and we were both distressed. “It’s not right,” I said suddenly. She did not have to ask me what I meant. We both knew.

She gave a bitter laugh. “It ain’t about right. It about what the white folks want. And that means you too, Miss Olivia.”

I scowled but said nothing. We went on a few more minutes in silence before she spoke again, “I told him, I told him that just ‘cause Massa ain’t here don’t mean Mistress is soft. She’ll beat hard as anyone to prove her own worth to Massa. But he ain’t listen, now look at him.” She sighed, “I wish he woulda waited. I coulda got us to freedom soon and been together. Now they gonna watch him extra hard.”

“You love him?”

“He’s my man,” she said simply, like that explained everything.

I nodded. “Of course.”

Our eyes met in the mirror and I saw a look on her face that mirrored my mother‘s when she spoke of my father. Then her face turned into a mischievous grin, I suspect to lighten the mood that was weighing us down. “And you want that frontier-man to be your man,” she said.

I bit my bottom lip. “Maybe,” I allowed. Maybe, I did, but then I did not know. Everything here was backwards and screwed up. I knew how I should act, but everything in me revolted against it. I had to get out. Soon.

---

Author's Note: That was intense chapter, I hope I wrote it ok, I feel I could have written different parts better. Ah, well, that's for editting, I just wanted to post it. So please review! :)
-Ashlita