Who knows?

Dear Diary, (still May 22nd, perhaps an hour later)

I thought I was handling my experience with a sophisticated detachment that my mother would approve of. The fact of the matter is that as I wrote the last few words in the previous entry I was overwhelmed with a wave of nausea and panic. “Are you ripe, Dolly?” Did Manton really want to put his child in my belly, or was it just his way of demonstrating his power over me? I barely had time to move away from my bed before the first surge of vomit shot from my mouth.

It was awful! I knelt on the floor in the corner of the small room hacking up bile long after the remnants of my stomach were emptied. I was leaking from every part of my body, tears flowed freely down my cheeks and urine leaked out onto the floor in a yellow puddle beneath me. All the while I convulsed involuntarily and clutched at the wall to keep from losing my balance.

Gradually, the shame and panic dissipated enough that I became aware of my surroundings. The windowless room reeked of nearly every nasty odor imaginable, and I was a shaking mess. I couldn't even climb back onto the straw-tick bed. All I could do was sit numbly on the floor and clutch my knees.

__

Slowly, anger replaced my feeling of helplessness, and I began to pound on the locked door using the chain that was once again locked around my right ankle. The loud 'thuds' could probably be heard all the way out in the stables, and it did not take long before Will arrived to find out what the commotion was.

“I need a bath, and this room has to be cleaned.” I thought I saw a softening in Will's eyes as he took in my condition and the stench of the small room, but he is a difficult man to read. After a few seconds his head moved in a slight nod, and he told me he would send someone. To my surprise, it was Angelica who showed up at the door with a large bucket of water and several old towels. I had expected her to be attending to Mr. Kyleson's new property now that she was his ****, but apparently Old Will still sent her to me.

“Was it bad, Miss Bianca?” She took in my tear-streaked face, the stench of the room and the puddles of waste in the corner and her lips tightened slightly. “Mastah Kyleson, he go to town on me too, girl. But I guess I know what was a-coming betta dan you."

I let her pull the thin **** dress up over my head, suddenly embarrassed that I had soiled the white cotton like a baby not yet trained. Once again, I was standing completely naked in front of a stranger, but I had been changed by servants all my life, so this was nothing like being examined by Manton or some other man. Angelica pushed one of the old towels into the warm soapy water and then slapped it into my hands.

“Clean yo-self up girl. I ain' yo' **** no mo'.” She dunked a second rag in the water and headed for the mess in the corner. “Was dat yo' first time doin' it widda man?”

I don't know if she was trying to help me, curious about her former mistress or looking for some kind of leverage that she could use later. But I was too beaten by my sudden fall to start playing games, and it was good to have someone to talk to as I washed the tears off my face.

“No, I've had a few lovers up north ... but it was the first time like that.” Angelica seemed to know exactly what I was talking about.

“Yeah, I don' reckon dere was much 'lovin' goin' on wid Mastah Manton.” She set to work mopping up my mess with her rag as she spoke. “Some of dem are better den others.” She wiped her hands subconsciously on her dress as she spoke, “Mastah Kyleson, he take what he want, but der's no meanness to him.” She went back to work scrubbing the last of the fluids from the wood floor as she continued. “Mastah Thornton might be mo' like dose men you had befo' ... I dink. It's hard to tell. Sometimes when a man getta **** 'lone in his room, he be different.”

I noticed how the way Angelica was talking changed, got less formal and proper, more casual and natural sounding. I wonder if this was a normal conversation for fancy girls, comparing different men and talking about their good points and bad like spectators at a horse track considering their bets.

“What was Mr. Hayward like?” I don't even know what prompted me to ask about my fa- the former owner of Havenhall, but the words came out before I realized what I was doing.

“Oh, de ole Mastah was a real gentleman, Miss,” Angelica smiled for the first time since she arrived. “Widda a white man like yo' daddy, a niggah girl feel she be special, real special. Even a niggah **** girl like me ... an' yo' mama.”