Bianca needs a protector

Dear Diary, May 21 (late in the evening)

My knees still tremble when I think about what Miles Manton did to me. Although Mr. Kyleson saved me from imminent ****, I'm far from a position of safety. I'm not in Philadelphia, after all, where law and order ensure the freedom of even the weaker sex. If the matter of this **** were to ever go to court, given my origins here in the **** state, I do not relish my chances.

According to Mr. Thornton, the chances of finding a jury of thirteen white male landowners who would take the word of a colored woman from up North over one of their Charlston peers is slim. A plaintiff with the blemish of a “black” mother (although she is also the daughter of a white man) is hardly ever listened to. The sad fact of the matter is, I am not considered to be the equal of a white defendant.

I could even be deprived of my inheritance. Worst-case scenario is that the will itself will be deemed invalid; I would then be an easy target of the men here who are used to being able to assert their rights against those who are weaker. Another shudder of horror sweeps over me as I record these words in this journal. I do not want to dwell on what Mr. Manton might do with a light-skinned young woman like me if I fell into his hand. In spite of my attempts to remain calm, it is impossible to ignore the implications of remaining in Havenhall unprotected from the likes of Miles Manton. What I need is a man.

I need a strong hand like my plantation overseer. But strength alone is not enough - my protector must also be socially acceptable and on the same level as my cousin. The only way I can think of how to achieve this is by sacrificing the very freedom I am trying to protect. I'd have to make Kyleson practically the master of the plantation. But then how do I secure myself if Kyleson decides to overreach his station?

Unlike my mother who for as long as can remember has seemingly effortlessly managed multiple lovers like a skilled juggler at a county fair, I have far less experience in handling men and bending them to my will. Especially if the man in question was twenty years my senior and used to having his way in the running of Havenhall.

Would the Irishman be trustworthy and grateful for his elevated position? Or would he demand more and more until he was, in effect, the master of Havenhall and I nothing more than his subordinate.

Mr. Thornton lacks the raw masculine power of the plantation overseer, but he has the social standing to make Mr. Manton and his peers think twice before they mess with him. Unfortunately, it is not certain that Mr. Thornton would want to stay here in Havenhall. So far, the young lawyer has not taken his leave, but a gentleman of his standing cannot sully himself by openly associating with the mulato daughter of a freed ****.

I toss and turn over this problem all night and I contemplate how confusing and unpredictable my situation has become. I hover between unimaginable riches and depravity that can take many faces from ostracism, **** and slavery. In the end, I lit a candle and set these words onto the journal's pages. The act of putting these thoughts in ink onto has helped me clarify what has to be done.

Who is actually with me and why? Mr. Kyleson? What about Mr. Thornton, Angelica, Old Will and the rest of the slaves who toil to keep this plantation functioning? Unexpectedly, the image of the dark-skinned **** who helped me out of the carriage upon my arrival, Conrad, popped into my mind. I had noticed the dark-skinned negro with his impressive broad shoulders and gleaming teeth around the barn where he worked. Always it seemed he was being watched by a gaggle of negro girls still too young to be bred but old enough to know what their future will bring. Conrad, I learned from Mr. Kyleson during my tour of the grounds, was the buck my father liked to use to impregnate the younger negro females. He was quite literally the cock in the barnyard henhouse, but not at all suitable for what I needed.

I expect I will finally be able to fall asleep now that I have reached the conclusion that the only way to achieve any real security was to enlist as my protector a suitable man. What is still left to be resolved in the morning is to determine who this man should be, and what I will have to offer to secure his alliance.