Chapter 1

Chapter 1- 1849

As if the air weren't dry enough from the sweltering summer in Nashville, Tennessee, the throats of the slaves that inhabited the Belle Meade Plantation were just as dry. Never ceasing to work until it was their allotted bedtime, their days were long, not that they were different than any other day, according to their work, but the heat seemed exceptionally disrespectful on this particular August afternoon. William Giles-Harding, the plantation's second owner, cracked the handmade leather whip, hoping to antagonize, as he called them, his "property", but had he known then what he would soon find out, that whip would have long ago been discarded.

Unfortunately, it was what Master Harding liked to call "Hanging Day", and he didn't care how hot it was, when it was time for a hanging, everyone was supposed to be present, no matter what they were doing prior to it. John Harding the II, William's twenty-year-old son stood to the side, wondering if he should say something to his father. Hanging day was his least favorite on the plantation. He didn't like the uproar and disturbances it caused amongst the slaves, and though his father would never know, he didn't believe in torturing them. Sadly for John, he didn't see the slaves as property, but as people, but he could never tell his father that. He could never tell his father how he truly felt about the way the slaves worked tirelessly in the heat, the cold, whether they were sick or well; he hated thinking about how some of them even froze to death because of the slave quarters not being upkept. John hated this entire ordeal. He was no stranger to hard work, and when his father was away on business, he found himself in the fields, working alongside the very people his silence helped to keep enslaved, but to John, he was doing all he could do.

The proverbial sound of the whip cracking against someone's back snapped the slaves out of their working trance, long enough to look up and see that Master Harding was indeed ready for hanging day. In front of the large, white, picketed fence that surrounded the big house were several white men doing their best to hold Boregard Flemming still. Bo, as he was affectionately nicknamed, was an extremely strong young man. Even at the age of fourteen, he could best a full-grown man, which was why Master Harding had several of his men holding onto him, making sure he didn't break loose because there was no telling what might happen had he gotten to freedom.

This wouldn't be the first time a young man was hanged for his "crimes" against someone in the big house. All that really meant was that he offended someone, for what? His family nor his young wife, Ember, would never know. Trying to not look was just as bad as actually not looking. Master Harding wouldn't allow that, and after cracking his whips against the dirt road several times, all eyes were up, focused on him, including Ember's. Though she was fourteen years old, it was either she marry Boregard, or she would be taken into the big house by Master Harding, and her parents couldn't allow that. They'd rather her be soiled by one of their own than to procreate and mix bloodlines with their oppressors.

Ember might have been too young to be married in modern times, but she and Boregard had as good of a marriage as two teenagers could have. She washed, cooked, cleaned, and they even had their own room in the back of Ember's parents' quarters. It wasn't much, but it was theirs, for as long as they inhabited the Belle Meade Plantation, and the way it was looking, would be forever. Boregard's last wishes before he was thrust from his home earlier that morning was for his in-laws not to cry nor his beautiful wife.

"You just young enough, you'll sho' find you's another husband. You ain't no dog, and you damn sho' is hard working. Don't cry for me."

He ran his thumb over her cheek and kissed her slightly in the corner of her mouth, his favorite spot. He always told her it was the juiciest, and it felt like the center of an orange, his favorite fruit.

Though Ember knew she shouldn't cry, her insides felt as though they were ripping apart, as if she were bursting at the seams when she saw Boregard being manhandled. If only that had been the worst part. Boregard was standing before the entire plantation, plus a few of William's closest friends to make a mockery of the slaves no doubt, in the nude. His penis drooped between his legs, blending in with the bruises that now covered his body. Ember knew she shouldn't move, she knew she shouldn't make a scene, but this was her husband, the boy she was meant to spend a lifetime with. Her heart was broken, and if she could give him nothing else, she would send him home knowing that he was loved and cared for.

Ember put down her bag of cotton that she'd spent the last two hours picking, sweat and blood dripping from different parts of her body, making her way up to the front of the crowd. Most of the slaves were adults. There were some children, but Ember was of the youngest. The others watched her, cowardice running through their veins, but not Ember. She held her head high and her chest up proudly. Though she was confused and above all, broken, she wouldn't dare let William know that. She'd much rather die, something she was prepared to do on this day.

When Ember made it to the front, she got to her knees, all the way on the ground, and began wailing. She flailed her arms back and forth, ripping at her own clothes, wanting to be as naked as her husband to show him he was not alone; that though he would be walking into death, spiritually, she would be as well. As Ember tore at her clothes, scratching her flesh to mark hers as was his, William nudged John to "handle" her, but Ember wasn't a regular girl, and she couldn't be "handled" even if handled had a handle to assist it.

John slowly and cautiously made his way over to Ember, grabbing her arms, where she snatched away from him. On a regular day, she wouldn't have a problem with John being in her general vicinity, but he was a coward, someone who wouldn't fight back, fight for the cause, and she couldn't be bothered with his wishy-washyness today. She pushed him back with all of her might—which was a lot because Ember worked in the field almost all day every day. John stumbled back but quickly caught his footing and locked eyes with his father, who scolded him with his eyes. John knew not to embarrass his father in front of his friends who already were looking on with curious eyes.

This was the part that John hated—having to pretend that he couldn't stand the "common" folk just because that was what society told him to believe, but if he didn't go against Ember, he'd have to face the wrath of his father, something he wasn't at all willing to do. John brushed himself off and headed back over toward Ember; this time, instead of approaching her nicely, he grabbed her arms, pushing her back into the crowd, where her parents caught her. Her mother, Ciela, begged her not to open her mouth again, or it would for sure be her life.

Ember was devastated to the point of no return, and if they killed her too, she wouldn't care, that is, until she saw the look on Bo's face, and it instantly stilled her. She knew that face. He was telling her to calm down, that he wouldn't see what was about to happen to him, happen to her, because they would no doubt torture him in that way before sending him home to meet his maker. Ciela and Joshua, Ember's father, held onto her tightly, keeping her away from the dirt road that Boregard traveled down to meet his fate. The other slaves, including his parents stood there, watching them carry their son away to what they called "The Lifeless Tree", where all life ceased to exist.

William had learned the hard way, by making the slaves climb up on something to get hung on the tree, they would never do it, and he would end up wasting ammo and too much exertion. He instead had the noose already tied and waiting for them. He'd have them beaten so badly that by the time they made it to the tree, they'd beg for death, but not Bo. He wouldn't dare beg, no matter how much pain he was in. No matter how badly his soul ached for rest, for the torture and the torment to stop, for his young and loving wife to not have to see this.

Tears of anger swelled up in Ember's eyes as she watched Bo be held into the air, the noose being circled around his neck. His choice, as all of their choices, had been taken from him all because he stared a little too long at one of William's guests' hand full of rings. Bo would've never dared stolen from the man, not even just out of fear of being caught, but he held himself to a higher-esteem. Not to mention, the diamonds would've been for nothing since he couldn't sell them to anyone, and he couldn't read or write, so he couldn't hire someone else to do it and trust them enough to bring him his money back. Bo was taking it day by day, one minute by the next, hoping that either the world would end, or the Lord would see fit to take slavery away. Boregard wouldn't go in fear of the afterlife or of what would happen to his soul but what would become of his wife now that he would be gone? Would she find another before William got his old, cracker hands on her? Bo knew that was the real reason why he was being killed—simply because Ember had ignored all of his advances and denied him.

William wasn't a rapist, but he was indeed a despicable man to have a crush on a child who was young enough to have been his own daughter, had the world at the time been just a bit different. William would never admit it out loud, but Ember's curly hair that flowed freely over her shoulders and face, her high cheek bones that outlined her face just right, and her collar bone that protruded ever so slightly drove him insane, and he wanted to taste a piece of her chocolate skin. He wanted to have her as his own, but she would never submit to him under normal circumstances, except to save the love of her life's own life, and even then, he wouldn't take her because she was doing it to save someone else's life, and not to do it for him. William, in so many words, was sick.

Boregard's body was now in the air, the noose wrapped tightly around his neck. Ember's heart beat out of her chest. Even knowing what was coming next couldn't prepare her for what she was about to see or feel. Boregard smiled ever so slightly in her direction and then closed his eyes. The moment his eyes closed, the men who were holding Boregard let go, and he struggled for just a moment to free himself of the loss of his own breath, but it was of no use. His movements and the speed at which he was jerking around only made it worse, and after a few seconds, his neck broke, popping the bone out of place, rendering him dead within a moment's time.

"Let this be a lesson to you all…punishments come with bad behavior. Rewards come with good behavior, ain't that right, boys?"

"Damn right, there, boss!" one of William's absurdly rich friends yelled out, his other friends joining along.

This would be the day, that Ember, for the first time in her life, began praying, non-stop, until her prayers were answered. Though it would take years, she would beg God daily for a reprieve from the way they lived. She believed if she believed hard enough, he would deliver her and her family and the other one hundred and twenty-five slaves around her…if only God were listening.