CHAPTER TWO

The next day, I get called to the Big house. Don’t know what it’s about. Prob’ly just someone down sick.

As I approach the huge mansion, I gape at the pots of flowers, and the beautiful carvings on the outdoor furniture. But I can’t stand all day gawkin’, there’s work to be done.

As soon as I get inside, a broom gets stuck in my hand and I get shoved into a big corridor full of dust. I thought white folk was always clean. Where they get all that dirt from? But it’s not my place to ask, and Heaven knows what would happen if I did.

I go up and down the long hallway, still marveling at all the dust. It’s like nobody hardly uses it.

Strange, usually I hear the pots clanking in the kitchen, or women whispering or singing or something like that. Today it’s silent. Like somebody died…

Suddenly it hits me, so hard that I almost drop the broom. But this isn’t the Missus, or the cook slappin’ in a reprimand. This is my own thoughts, and they’re racing a mile a minute.

As quick’s I can, I finish up and race to the kitchen. Mimi is there, scrubbing grim-faced.

”Mimi! What’s goin’ on?” I hiss. “Everythin’s is so quiet. Did somebody die? Why don’t somebody speak up?” Mimi shakes her head, scrubbing harder. “No, nobody died. Close, though. Missus is down ill. Some fancy-pants doctors are goin’ to look at her, an’ Master wants it to be sparkling clean. Go on, now, don’t ya have a job to do?” I scurry off, glad for the information. Maybe now I can sweep in peace

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I can’t believe this. Mother is sick, close to dying. Father is spending all his money finding supposed miracle doctors that can heal any illness. And me? I’m somewhere in the middle. Waiting.

I believe waiting is the worst thing. It wears you down, makes you think you MUST do something, then when you try, everything crumbles and you’re left with shards of helplessness and anger. And those two are the worst possible feelings to combine.

I guess I should start at the beginning. My name is Elizabeth Meredith Davidson, but everyone calls me Ellie. I’m a sort of tomboy, but as far as only being allowed out of the house once a month, I’m not a very accomplished one. I get tired of doing constant needlepoint, or embroidery, or something. I want to learn to cook, but Mother says that’s a slaves job. I’m really getting tired of hearing that.

That’s why, yesterday, I snuck out of the house. I needed an excuse if anyone caught me, so I grabbed Mr. Jeffersons’ lunch. I don’t think that man is worthy of a “Mr.” but what’s done is done, I guess.

Anyway, as I cut across the cotton field, I saw the horrid man yelling at a girl about my age for missing about three balls of cotton! He looked so angry I was afraid he would hurt the poor thing so I ran up and handed him his lunch so she could get away. I hope he doesn’t remember later. I can’t be there all the time….