clothes for your station.”
Her station? She dared not question him, and she maintained her silence in the straw, the rhythmic monotony of clopping hooves punctuating her thoughts. Well, whatever it was, it could hav e been worse, she supposed. At least she wasn’t on her way to a bordello in South America.
Night creatures whirred and chirruped in the underbrush, their sounds strangely soothing to her ragged nerves. Sabine stared out at the countryside, its silhouette shrouded in darkness. There were no dense jungles here, but rolling hills that undulated against the horizon. Fields of tall cane stretched for miles, growing thick on either side of the narrow, rutted road. Palmettos and acacias, richly bathed in silver, lined the thoroughfare.
Manuel Colón’s plantation lay just ahead, a looming giant in the darkness. The architecture of the main house elegant, so much like many of the European-styled building of New Orleans. The whitewashed brick and red tile roof of the hacienda gleamed in the moonlight, and kerosene sconces lit the mahogany doorway, casting an inviting glow, seductively bathing the crimson geraniums that adorned the white flower boxes under the nearest first-story windows.
They were met out front by a small, stout woman wearing a full scarlet skirt and black ruffled blouse, her long, dark hair caught at the base of her neck in a tight roll. She walked out to greet the wagon, gold hoop earrings flashing in the artificial light.
“Rosa, this is Sabine DuBois,” he answered in English. “She will be staying with us for a while. Get out,” he directed at Sabine.
Obediently she clambered to the ground awkwardly, her muscles stiff from her travels and the jolting ride from Havana. Tentatively she took a few steps around the back of the wagon.
“She only speaks English,” Col ón continued. “You are to be sure she understands what she is to do here. “¿Comprendes?”
“Of course, señor. Do not worry. I will take good care of her. Come with me, Sabine.”
Rosa flashed a grin, dark eyes crinkling in her weathered face as she extended a welcoming hand.
“You are not from Cuba,” she observed slowly in English.
Sabine shook her head wordlessly.
“You come here on your own?”
No answer came forth, and Rosa turned to her charge, hands resting stubbornly on her plump hips. A frustrated scowl distorted her features.
“Can you not speak? Is there something wrong with you?”
“No,” she managed to respond quietly. “It’s just that…”
Sobs burst from her, and Sabine covered her face with her hands as waves of despair crashed wildly over her. She could not bear to live a life such as this. She was not a slave! She had been raised a free person no matter what Troy Markham said. She knew nothing of the life that fate had cast for her.
“Oh, chica,”
She enfolded Sabine in her arms . How could the woman have possibly known? Could she tell how desperately she needed to feel the warmth and caring of another person? Sabine wanted to hang on and continue being held in Rosa’s embrace forever. And she wanted to escape, to disappear from here altogether.
“Now, now, my little one,” the older woman whispered and smoothed Sabine’s hair with a motherly hand. “Rosa will take care of you. Do not worry. Things will not be so bad here. You will see.”
Sucking in a sob, Sabine broke from her embrace and smeared the remnants of her tears from her cheeks.
“You will stay here with Juana and Maria,” Rosa continued. “Maria speaks English. Juana does not, so you are no t so lucky. It will not take long to get used to things here, chica. You look like a smart girl to me.”
Halfheartedly, Sabine smiled as the woman squeezed her hands reassuringly. Rosa took her gently by the arm and led her to the rear of the house.
“You need clothes,” the older woman said as she surveyed Sabine’s rags. “It is not
Her station? She dared not question him, and she maintained her silence in the straw, the rhythmic monotony of clopping hooves punctuating her thoughts. Well, whatever it was, it could hav e been worse, she supposed. At least she wasn’t on her way to a bordello in South America.
Night creatures whirred and chirruped in the underbrush, their sounds strangely soothing to her ragged nerves. Sabine stared out at the countryside, its silhouette shrouded in darkness. There were no dense jungles here, but rolling hills that undulated against the horizon. Fields of tall cane stretched for miles, growing thick on either side of the narrow, rutted road. Palmettos and acacias, richly bathed in silver, lined the thoroughfare.
Manuel Colón’s plantation lay just ahead, a looming giant in the darkness. The architecture of the main house elegant, so much like many of the European-styled building of New Orleans. The whitewashed brick and red tile roof of the hacienda gleamed in the moonlight, and kerosene sconces lit the mahogany doorway, casting an inviting glow, seductively bathing the crimson geraniums that adorned the white flower boxes under the nearest first-story windows.
They were met out front by a small, stout woman wearing a full scarlet skirt and black ruffled blouse, her long, dark hair caught at the base of her neck in a tight roll. She walked out to greet the wagon, gold hoop earrings flashing in the artificial light.
“Rosa, this is Sabine DuBois,” he answered in English. “She will be staying with us for a while. Get out,” he directed at Sabine.
Obediently she clambered to the ground awkwardly, her muscles stiff from her travels and the jolting ride from Havana. Tentatively she took a few steps around the back of the wagon.
“She only speaks English,” Col ón continued. “You are to be sure she understands what she is to do here. “¿Comprendes?”
“Of course, señor. Do not worry. I will take good care of her. Come with me, Sabine.”
Rosa flashed a grin, dark eyes crinkling in her weathered face as she extended a welcoming hand.
“You are not from Cuba,” she observed slowly in English.
Sabine shook her head wordlessly.
“You come here on your own?”
No answer came forth, and Rosa turned to her charge, hands resting stubbornly on her plump hips. A frustrated scowl distorted her features.
“Can you not speak? Is there something wrong with you?”
“No,” she managed to respond quietly. “It’s just that…”
Sobs burst from her, and Sabine covered her face with her hands as waves of despair crashed wildly over her. She could not bear to live a life such as this. She was not a slave! She had been raised a free person no matter what Troy Markham said. She knew nothing of the life that fate had cast for her.
“Oh, chica,”
She enfolded Sabine in her arms . How could the woman have possibly known? Could she tell how desperately she needed to feel the warmth and caring of another person? Sabine wanted to hang on and continue being held in Rosa’s embrace forever. And she wanted to escape, to disappear from here altogether.
“Now, now, my little one,” the older woman whispered and smoothed Sabine’s hair with a motherly hand. “Rosa will take care of you. Do not worry. Things will not be so bad here. You will see.”
Sucking in a sob, Sabine broke from her embrace and smeared the remnants of her tears from her cheeks.
“You will stay here with Juana and Maria,” Rosa continued. “Maria speaks English. Juana does not, so you are no t so lucky. It will not take long to get used to things here, chica. You look like a smart girl to me.”
Halfheartedly, Sabine smiled as the woman squeezed her hands reassuringly. Rosa took her gently by the arm and led her to the rear of the house.
“You need clothes,” the older woman said as she surveyed Sabine’s rags. “It is not
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