Dear Diary,
I am officially Mrs. Alison Rollins, Mr. and Mrs. Elliot Rollins. No matter how I write it, it feels strange, this way the pencil fits in my hand when it makes those letters. It feels as though I am, somehow as well, another one of his slaves, ordering me to do this, and wear this, and say this. Though it is not a whip which he uses to keep me in line, but his money. Without saying a word, he can push me back into place with only the raise of his brow. It silently speaks to me. It speaks in his voice. Do you remember where your Mother is? Where you were before I picked you up and gave you this life?
I am not the first Mrs. Rollins, nor am I the second. He will not speak but for a moment of them. Only a passing comment. His reluctance prompts the rumors which follow me everywhere I go. Some say that he killed one of them, but I don't believe that. He has never been physically abusive. Some say that one was caught with another man; or even worse, that she left him entirely.
Personally? I think he had something each of them needed, and they either got tired of playing his games to keep it, or they crossed him one time too many and he cut them off. Both seem out of range for me. I cannot tire of it, and I cannot leave him. I need what he has like the air I breathe. His money is caring for my mother. The doctors say she has the tuberculosis, but the treatments are far too expensive for me to bear.
When my father died he took our lives with him. He was a small farmer, grew tobacco for 28 years, and life was never exceptional for us, but when he left, it was the worst it could be. No money, my mother and I couldn't work the fields. We struggled for almost a year like that, ending up in the streets, before Elliott spotted me from inside the courthouse.
He was transferring the papers on the purchase of another slave. He offered to take me home, give me clothes and food. He made me fall in love with him, but more importantly, he made me depend on him. I adjusted to a life I had never before experienced, and when it was threatened to be taken away, I gave in. I married a man I hate.
I thought about leaving, but couldn't imagine going back to sleeping in a barn with horses and begging for food. Then my Mother became ill, and I gave in again. I agreed to have his baby. A man needs a son he said. I prayed every day for a boy so that I wouldn't have to have another child. I couldn't bear to bring a child into this world with this man. The lord blessed me with Isiah. He is a year old now, and I am worried Elliot will become restless again. I don't know how much I have left to give.
My personal servant, Emily, a strange name for a slave, will be in soon, so I must conclude today's journal. Expect more soon, he isn't one to let things get stale.