A timely arrival

Dear Diary, (May 21st, evening)

As I mention on the previous page, this horrible nightmare all turned out as well as could be expected, but at the time, I was truly terrified. It is not that I was afraid of sex, not even rough sex, but what Miles wanted had little if anything to do with carnal lust and everything with putting me in my place.

“Help!” I tried to scream, but Manton's hand covered my mouth before I got much more than that one word out. I still cannot believe how much bigger and stronger than I my cousin was. No matter how desperately I fought, there was nothing I could do to keep him from pulling my dress down even further.

I'm looking at the sketch I drew above and realize in hindsight that my futile struggles likely fueled Miles' passion because his cruel smile grew even broader as he leaned close to snarl in my ear.

“I can do anything I want, you nigger bitch.” He wanted me to understand how little power I have as a Northern woman with African blood. “I'm going to show you the only thing a Jezabel like you is good for.” I knew then that my cousin would demean and humiliate me, using my weaker sex and tainted blood against me. There was nothing I could do.

The Manton and Heyward families are after-all two of Charleston's oldest and most respected families. He could get away with doing anything. My panic exploded when his free hand started groping and slapping at my breasts, it hurt ... it hurt so bad and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Then he changed his tactics. I was pushed face down over the desk and his hands reached for the layers of skirt and petticoats that protected my legs. I could feel his erection pressing against my backside and knew that it was just a matter of time before he was able to pull away the last of my underwear. I didn't need to hear his filth about what he intended; his intentions were perfectly clear.

I had given up on any hope of stopping Miles from doing his worst. I was going to be ****, and all I could do was try to keep what was left of my dignity. That was when Mr. Kyleson burst into the library. Mr. Manton was dragged off of me with his trousers hanging around his knees, swearing and swinging at the Irishman without much effect. Apparently, while my cousin could bully a woman he outweighed by over a hundred pounds, he was no match for Mr. Kyleson.

I found out later as I huddled wrapped in a blanket brought by one of the house slaves that Ol Will had the sense to run for the plantation manager when he left the library. I have yet to speak to Mr. Kyleson. I certainly must thank him for his quick action, but I know all too well what I looked like when he last saw me. Bent over my father's desk with my skirts pulled up and my breasts spilling out from under me, what must he have thought?