Wilderness 29: Fear WeaverCry Freedom by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 2020-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

“How can you have lived your whole life on our plantation and not make the distinction? How can you have lived in the South all your years and not take things as they are?”

They were almost at the end of the lawn when Justin cleared his throat and said, “I have never thought it right to hold another person in bondage. And that is what we do. We put our boots to the backs of their necks and bend them to our will.”

“You are a freak,” Brent declared.

“Not many feel as I do, true. Not south of the Mason-Dixon Line, anyway. But that doesn’t make me wrong.”

“It doesn’t make you right.” Brent swore some more. “All this talk is clearing my head. I need more brandy.” He patted his pockets. “Damn. I left my flask inside.”

“Good. The last thing you need is more drink.”

Brent glared. “No good can come of this attitude of yours. Slavery has been around forever and always will be. Need I remind you that in Africa there are blacks who have slaves of their own? You make us out to be wicked when we are no worse than anyone else.”

“I grant you the ways of the world are twisted—” Justin began.

“Enough. I’ll hear no more. I started out hot and I will stay hot. Take yourself and your ‘all men are equal’ tripe and go bother someone else.”

The shacks appeared, row after row. Most of the men and many of the women were out in the fields. Children stopped playing to stare. A crone’s brow wrinkled in worry.

“Please don’t do this,” Justin tried again.

“Go away, I say.” Brent stopped in front of the next shack and placed his hands on his hips. From within came soft humming. “Randa! Come on out here, girl!”

The humming stopped and a middle-aged woman in a plain dress and apron, her hands caked with flour, timidly emerged. “Master Brent, Master Justin.” Her wide eyes focused on the whip. “What can I do for you?”

“Emala, I want your daughter, and I want her now.”

Emala wiped her hands on her apron.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“Randa ain’t here, Master Brent. She’s off with the rest and won’t be back ’til sunset.” Emala’s throat bobbed. “If you don’t mind my askin’, what’s this about? You sound awful mad.”

“I am. That daughter of yours has overstepped herself and must be taught a lesson.”

“With that, Master Brent?” Emala asked with a fearful nod at the whip. “What could she have done that’s so bad?”

“Hasn’t she told you?” Brent glowered at the shack. “Are you sure she’s not hiding in there and you’re not lying to protect her?”

“I’d never do that, Master Brent, sir.”

“We’ll see.” Brent barreled on in. The bare walls, the burlap curtains, the sparse furnishings were typical. He snorted and came back out. Squinting up at the morning sun, he swore bitterly. “I want you to tell her something for me, Emala.”

“I surely will, Master Brent.”

“Tell her I did not take kindly to last night. I did not take kindly at all to what she did.

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