Chapter 3: Of Sadness and Suffering
Clarke finally drifted into an uneasy sleep in the morning, and jerked awake to a vigorous pounding on her door after a mere hour. She stumbled out of bed, hair messy and bags under her eyes from her restless night. What little sleep she had gotten had done nothing for her tense nerves.
She yanked open the door to reveal a flustered African maid. Her eyes narrowed in anger. Hadn't she told her father multiple times to not have his slaves wait on her? The young maid, thinking Clarke's anger was directed at her, hastily bowed her head. "Please forgive me mistress! Your father told me to wake you-"
"Hush." Clarke pulled her into the room and shut the door. The girl's eyes grew wide with fright. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you" she smiled as she reassured the girl. "I want you to deliver a message to Costia, on the Wallace's plantation. Can you do that?" she asked as she walked over to her dresser and grabbed up a sketchpad. She scribbled a quick note to Costia, detailing her imminent relocation, and handed it to the girl.
"Yes, yes! Of course mistre-"
"And don't call me mistress!" Clarke placed two coins in the girls' palm. "Here, for your trouble. Please keep it secret." The girl stared wide-eyed at the shinning money. She curled her fist around it and looked up at Clarke with confident eyes. "You can count on me." The young woman hid the note and coins in her apron and trotted swiftly to the door. "Oh," she said, turning toward Clarke. "Your father said to get dressed in something nice and come downstairs. Apparently you are going out today." She frowned at Clarke unhappily, aware of her dire circumstances.
Clarke waved her off. "Just get that note delivered please." She then strode to her closet. Wear something nice, huh? Ideally, she wanted to wear something horrid and spit in Cage's face. But looking around at all of the finery specifically tailored for her, she realized it was impossible. And she didn't want anyone to be suspicious of her…."I guess I'll just have to cozy up to those sonofabitches." She muttered as she reached for a gown.
Clarke walked briskly down the stone stairs. She felt a little silly, but she knew she looked stunning and irresistible. Exactly as was planned. She had chosen the colors she looked best in; a deep ocean blue and midnight black. The dress hugged her waist tightly, a corset almost suffocating her; its quarter sleeves were off-shoulder and cinched tightly just after her shoulders and just before her elbows, leaving the soft material free to poof around her bicep. Black lace covered blue satin around her chest and down her waist; at her hips, the dress fell to the floor like a traditional ball gown. More intricate black lace was bunched into roses and swoops around the bottom of the dress, which just brushed the ground. Comfortable black flats and sparkling coal earrings completed the look.
Clarke took a deep breath before entering the parlor. This was all just for show. She had to keep them happy and unsuspecting; she would have to ham it up pretty good. Clarke steeled herself for a day of ass-kissing. After today, we will be free! She thought, opening the door.
"Clarke." Her father looked up from his morning paper as she entered. "You look very beautiful." His dull brown eyes regarded her warily. Time to act the part of angsty teenager.
"Dad…" she began. "I'm…sorry." Jake Griffin cocked an eyebrow at her as she pretended to struggle with her words. "About last night. I was overtired, and I wasn't thinking. I know this marriage will be good for us…" her father's face seemed to brighten as each new word was forced out of her mouth. "…and I think that I will come to like Cage more if I try to get to know him." She finished. She bit down hard on her tongue, almost drawing blood, fighting back the scream of frustration that threatened to come out. Her father's expression made her want to scream all the more. "Clarke, that's great!" he beamed, and scraped back his chair to hug her. "I am so glad you've changed your mind. Do you want breakfast? I can have the maids whip something up…"
"No thanks dad, I'm not really hungry." She doubted she would be able to stomach a single grain of rice.
"Alright. We will go over to the Wallace's plantation at once. I'll have the maids pack up everything in your room and take it to your new home." Clarke began to panic internally. She should've gone with the breakfast. Now she had to spend another hour in hell. Breathe, Clarke. She told herself. It will all be over soon. She plastered a smile on her face, feigning happiness. "Sounds good." Her ass was jealous of all the shit coming out of her mouth.
Jake placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. "I'm glad you're excited." As soon as his back was turned, her face shifted into a silent snarl. She knotted her hands in her hair, ready to tear it out from the stress, and wriggled a little to let her nerves out. Inhaling deeply through her nose, she followed her father out the oak double-doors of their mansion and into the bright morning sunlight.
Clarke's nerves disappeared instantaneously under the blinding Caribbean sun. It reflected harshly off the white powder sand that covered the whole plantation and beyond; browning hardy skin and burning the more delicate. She followed her father along the sandy road towards their neighboring plantation, taking in the view. The tall sugar cane trembled in the light breeze coming off the ocean, and the heavy green palm fronds seemed to wave happily at her. The sound of ship bells rang out across the sea from the distant port, along with the cries of hundreds of seagulls. Clarke relished the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, and took a moment to slide out of her shoes and wriggle her toes in the sand. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, breathing deeply, losing herself in all that made up the Caribbean. For a moment, she was free.
But harsh reality came crashing back to her far too soon. She heard a man shouting, along with the stinging crack of a whip. Dread made itself a home in her gut as she hastened down the road toward the Wallace plantation gate. The sight that greeted her made her see red.
A young African was cowering among broken sugar cane, arms upraised in a defensive position and covered with angry, bloody lines. He flinched and cried out as the leather slashed into his skin once again, the man holding the whip shouting obscenities at the wounded boy. Clarke lost it.
"Stop!" she screamed as she sprinted toward the scene, brushing past her bewildered father, almost tripping over the hem of her gown in her haste. "STOP!" she stepped in front of the man, shielding the cowering boy, just as the whip came down again. It cracked across the side of her ribcage, slashing through the expensive material of her dress. She gasped as her body registered pure pain, dropping to one knee and holding her hand against the line of fire on her body. "Fuck…" she cursed quietly as blood welled between her fingers. Only a few minutes out of the house and she had practically blown her whole plan out of the water.
She felt a strong arm wrap around her. The boy she had protected hoisted her off the ground, even though his injuries were far more serious than hers. She looked into his eyes and saw a glimmer of recognition. "Clarke…" he whispered. Realization dawned on her; this must be Wells, Costia's brother. She patted his arm in thanks and managed to stand on wobbly legs, despite the pain still surging through her. She was suddenly glad she had decided to forego breakfast, as her stomach heaved at the sight of her own blood.
"What in God's name is going on here?" she lifted her head at the sound of Dante Wallace's voice. Behind him, swaggering out of the house, was Cage. His eyes raked up and down her form, lingering on her fresh wound. A glimmer of sadism lit his eyes, and she shuddered in revulsion at the sight of it. This was going to be a very long day.
Jake hastily ran up and cut Clarke off before she could open her mouth to explain. "Just an accident Mr. Wallace, my daughter stood a little too close and the whip went wide." Clarke opened her mouth to protest, but her father quickly shushed her. "Not a word!" he hissed in her ear. "Make a good impression. I won't tolerate another mistake!" She clenched her teeth in anger, but kept her mouth closed. Protecting another human being from abuse was no mistake.
Clarke resigned herself to watching as Cage took control of the situation. He eyed the slaves gawking at the scene and shouted, 'BACK TO WORK! You!" he pointed towards Wells. "Have someone bandage your arms, then join your people in the fields. And you!" He directed his accusative finger towards the man who had beaten Wells. "Continue on your rounds. If I hear of any more disturbances, it will be your head." The man bowed swiftly and continued on his way. The workers focused on their jobs once more. Clarke looked around for Costia, but she wasn't there.
"Nicely handled, my son." Dante patted his protégée on the shoulder. Clarke resisted the urge to scoff. Nicely handled, my ass. He is a monster. Dante then turned to Clarke. "If you will follow us, Miss Griffin, our healers will patch you up inside. I'm sorry for the unfortunate…accident. Cage?" Every fiber of Clarke's being screeched in protest as Cage took her hand and led her into the house. It took everything she had not to rip her hand away and spit in his face. Her skin prickled in fear and disgust at the feel of his hand gripping hers; she felt like she would rather scrape all of her fingernails down a chalkboard at once. There was no way in hell she was going to marry this guy.
The first thing Clarke noticed as she walked into the grand entrance hall was that their house was far nicer than hers. It seemed more like a castle and less like a cozy beachside residence. The oiled hard wood floors were covered in priceless Persian rugs; the stone walls were hung with vivid, intricate tapestries and paintings; in one room they passed, Clarke glimpsed a grand library full of endless rows of books, some brand new and others falling apart at the seams. An amazing smell wafted from the cracked door of another room, and despite Cage's hand still grasping hers and the pain in her side, she smiled. She lived for good food.
Before they ascended the stairs, two serving girls approached Clarke and beckoned her to come with them. "We'll get that wound dressed for you." They chorused together. She cautiously extricated her hand from Cage's grip, who merely looked at her and stuck his hand in his pocket. She resisted the urge to scrub her palm against her dress. She then followed the young women through the door with the amazing scents emanating from it. Of course it was the kitchen.
Clarke started suddenly as a head of dark curls tackled her with a bear hug. "Costia!" She laughed and squeezed her friend tightly, relieved to finally see a friendly face.
"Clarke! What the hell happened to you?" Costia was looking at her wound with horrified eyes.
"It's just a scratch, he barely got me." Clarke muttered. In reality, the whip had cut fairly deep into her. It still felt like someone had burned a line across her ribcage with a hot stick.
"C'mon, sit here." Costia patted a clean wooden table in the corner. "We'll fix you up." They stripped off Clarke's dress and began applying various medicines to the slash on her ribs. While they worked, Clarke took the time to look around. African women and men worked at various stations around the kitchen, chopping and boiling, all working with their heads bent down, eyes focused on their work. Clarke thought this was odd; she began to feel the tension permeating the room. She leaned down to Costia and whispered, "What's going on? These people…they don't seem to like me…" she trailed off. Costia continued wrapping a bandage around Clarke's ribs as she replied, "They don't know what to think of you. You helped my brother. They have never known someone with white skin to be so kind. We aren't treated very well here." Costia sniped off the excess bandage and helped Clarke back into her dress.
"Be careful today, Clarke." She said seriously. "Cage is cunning and Dante is ruthless. Watch your words." Clarke wasn't offended; she knew her friend was looking out for both of them.
"Don't worry Cos. I can handle it. Thank you for being here."
"See you tonight, Clarke." Costia's eyes were worried, but confident.
The two girls who had shown Clarke to the kitchen now led her up the staircase and into the parlor, where her father and the Wallace men waited. The whip slash pained her no more, but her dress was ruined, the tear ragged and the edges stained with blood. Still, she was determined to make a good impression; to convince them beyond a doubt that she was willing to marry Cage.