Reach out to the reenactors.

In a way, it is easier to reach out to a complete stranger than one of my girlfriends. I send a short email to the contact information on the Furguson's Artillery corps recruitment page with a very edited version of the truth. I hit send before I could change my mind and then turned my attention back to Bianca's plight.

In many ways my distant ancestor was in an ideal position; she was a wealthy young heiress with few of the constraints that her contemporary peers must have had to contend with. Unlike other eligible Charleston debutants, Bianca did not have a family intent on matching her for political and financial gain, nor a watchful chaperone to monitor her every move and keep her away from rakes eager to get under her skirts.

I reread the two entries in the journal describing Bianca's wild night with Kyleson looking for clues to the plantation overseer's intention. Bianca was clearly rattled by the raw sexual nature of Kyleson's demands; I suspect that back in Philadelphia her dealings with men was more of a game played with well-established (if unspoken) rules and conventions. For a young woman just reaching maturity to be fucked like a ****, like a piece of meat ... by a man twenty years older than her ... interested in only his own pleasure. I can see why she was unsettled.

In spite of my intentions not to repeat what happened yesterday, I could feel my body responding to the description of their first night together. The way Kyleson took Bianca was not all that different from my first encounter with Jordan. I was a good girl back then. I dated nice boys who brought me flowers and wrote me poems, not jocks who only wanted to get in my pants. The girl who made it a rule to never French kiss on first dates let herself be fucked in the dirty basement of a frat house by a man she had just met.

I remember walking alone back to my dorm room that night, as confused and rattled as Bianca. Although now I realize I was just another of the many victims of date ****, at the time I remember being so ashamed of how easy I had been. How I chose to wear that skirt that showed off my legs, to drink the beer and the way I must have led Jordan on. Most of all I blamed myself for not finding some way to stop him when he ignored my protests. The next day, when Jordan showed up at my dorm, I didn't know if I should be relieved or alarmed. That must be what Bianca had to go through.

I had planned to do more work tracking down possible locations for either Havenhall or the museum that decided that this journal was too hot to handle, instead I found myself opening the leatherbound notebook yet again with one hand down between my legs as I started to read again.

Dear Diary, (Still morning of May 22nd)

It seems that fortune is smiling on me after all. The light-skinned house ****, Angelica, has been assigned to attend to me as my personal **** and I was able to come to an understanding with her.

I was sitting at the writing table finishing the last entry on the previous page when the pretty **** entered my chambers. I saw her nose wrinkle and her lips twitch in a hint of a smile that I only noticed because I was watching for it. As a fancy girl she must know the scent of sex better than I and no amount of opening of windows or burning of candles was going to hide what happened. I suspect that this is the kind of gossip that gives certain slaves standing in the back of the house, and I was determined to control the situation.

“You were my father's 'special' girl, weren't you?” I asked before she could even say 'good morning.' I don't think Angelica was not expecting such a direct opening gambit from me. I wonder if most of her experience with whites has been with males and she is on less comfortable footing when dealing with a woman.

“Yes Ma'am.” Her voice was cautious, but I sensed her interest.

“I think you and I can help each other.” By now, the girl was on high alert and her face remained a blank mask. “Don't you agree?”

“Yes, Ma'am, I can be your best **** ever, Mistress.” I smiled and took her hand in mine.

“I know you can, Angelica.” I pointed at the soiled bedding, “Mr. Thornton and I don't want any unnecessary rumors.” There was every chance, that in spite of my best efforts to control the situation that Angelica was going to spill the beans, so I decided to use a little misdirection about who it was with me in my bed. “And I know you can take care of this mess discretely too, right Angelica?”

“Yes Ma'am.” It's funny. The light-skinned **** repeated the same 'yes ma'am' three times in a row, and each time it meant something a little different. I dressed in silence, allowing Angelica to help me with my dress and hair still not sure that she was going to keep her mouth shut.

“Let me know it there is anything I can do for you, Angelica.” I wait until her dark eyes lifted to meet mine. “I meant what I said about helping each other.”