narrator point of view

Sheba was peacefully sleeping in her room. The house was quiet except for the kitchen, where the house slaves were preparing the dinner service. Suddenly, the sliding doors of Calvin's office/library slammed. A maid in the kitchen dropped a pot from the excruciating sound. A few of the slaves peeked out to see Calvin Candie stomp through the halls, towards the long staircase. His burgundy coat tail swished behind him like a cape. The masters face was red as a tomato. He slammed his heels against every heel, trying to wake his mistress up. Halfway up the stairs. He stopped and turned around. The slaves quickly went back into the kitchen.
"CORA!"
Cora appeared out of no where. Her face was clenched tight and she didn't dare look in her masters eyes.
"Set my dinner. Leave dessert in the formal room. I want every nigger in this house out for the next two hours. I'll send Stephen to fetch y'all when I'm through."
Cora nodded and went to inform her coworkers of the plan.

Sheba's point of view

I awoke to the sound of loud footsteps on the stairs. Agh, I was sleeping so well.
"SHEBA!"
It was Calvin, of course, but why was he yelling in the halls? I was about to find out.
My master gracefully strolled into my chambers, looking especially handsome in his burgundy coat. I hopped out of my bed and smoothed my hair with my hands. He smiled at my hasty effort to look for him.
"Sheba", he said.
"Yes?", I replied.
He walked closer to me, until the only thing separating my lips from his short, well kept beard.
Calvin swiftly lifted my chin up, examining my face. He placed his hands around my face and kept looking in my eyes. There was something wrong. His eyes were lighter than usual, his face was flushed red, and small beads of sweat lined his forehead.
A feeling of uneasy fear creeped over me. Why wouldn't he say anything. He kept just looking at me, deep in thought.
"Sheba, Sheba, Sheba", he said as he let go of me and shook his head.
I waited for an explanation, but didn't get one.
"Come down to dinner in ten minutes. We have a lot to talk about."
On that note he left me in the room.
I wanted to cry. What was going on? Why wouldn't he explain himself?
I ignored the pulsing feeling in my small tummy as I rolled my hair into curls. I applied a black eyeliner and a dark pink lipstick. I knew I had to be on Calvin's good side, so I wore an especially racy dress.
I didn't want to face him but I was hungry and in need of an explanation. He was already at the table when I arrived. He smoked his pipe and waited for me to seat myself next to him. As usual, I had a significantly smaller portion of food than him. We ate in complete silence. I held back my tears. I wanted to yell at him, hit him, hell, I would even kill him at this point. He saw my pain and knew it was torturing me. He finally finished his meal and spoke up.
" Sheba my little peach, do you know what it's like being the owner of one the countries largest, richest, plantations?"
I muttered a slight no, hoping that this was relevant.
"Well of course I buy working niggers, fightin niggers, pretty niggers like you, and distribute cotton, corn, pepper, and just about anything that grows out of the ground. But do you know what every major plantation needs in order to be considered successful?"
I stared at him blankly.
"I need an heir! Offspring! A young Candie to take over when I pass!"
His eyes gleamed and shined like diamonds. He slammed his fist violently on the table and yelled:
" GOD DAMMIT SHEBA! DONT YOU GET IT?! I WANT TO HAVE KIDS WITH YA!"
His hand was bleeding from the violent smash on the turtle shell table.
I couldn't believe it. That's what he's been keeping from me? My eyes widened. I felt an adrenaline rush and couldn't tell if it was good of bad.
"What? You want kids...with me?"
Me of all people? A nigger? This was the weirdest thing. Sure plenty of rich white men had nigger girlfriends and mistresses but none of them ever left them around for long, or wanted to have kids with them.
I was in complete shock.
"But Calvin, I'm only 18! What will your sister think? What will the other slaves think?!"
I had obviously angered him because he rose out of seat again. He pointed his steak knife at me and shook it in my face.
"I'm the man of this house! I call the shots! If I want a hot, nigger, wife, so be it! And it shall be!"
He threw the knife at the middle of the table and I cringed at the clanging noise it made.
Part of me was scared. Scared of him, scared of childbearing, scared of spending the rest of my life here. On the other hand, I was happy that he loved me enough to want me forever, and as the mother of his kids. I smiled at him.
"So what? Are we official now?", I asked with a wink.
He liked it when I was playful like that.
"You could say that. Nothin is official until you prove to bear a son. Now, you're already pregnant but I want to make sure. If everything goes well with the child, then I will take you to the city, and we can choose a proper ring. For now, you can wear this."
He handed me a ring from out of his pocket. It had a ruby set in the middle and small diamonds surrounded it. On the inside was the engraving,"property of Monsieur. Calvin Candie."
I laughed at the rings double meaning. I was officially his now. I slipped in on my ring finger. It fit just about perfectly on my long, skinny, finger.
Calvin was satisfied by my reaction to his plan. He slicked his hair back and lite another pipe. My Monsieur rose out of his seat and motioned to me.
"Come on my gorgeous, lets go make sure you stay pregnant", he purred at me in his sweet, and sticky, southern accent.
I grabbed on his arm and we practically chased each other to his master suite bedroom.

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