AteIsa: I'M SO, SO SORRY. I know it's been literal months since I last posted, and I'm really really sorry about it! There's just been so much going on lately... someone very close to me died recently, and I haven't been able to bring myself to consistently do anything for the past few months. But I'm healing, and I will try to bring you the next chapters sooner, okay?

I'm so sorry again :( I hope you enjoy this chapter! I just want to note that there's some racism talk here, so if you're sensitive, please be careful! And I don't want any rude comments! Thank you!

It was noon, and the sun was high in the sky. Sweltering heat shone down on Alexander's bent over back as he worked, huffing and sweating profusely. He ran his forearm across his forehead and grimaced in the sunlight.

He was working as a cane cutter. The man who had tied the rope around his neck earlier (whose name was Luke) had been kind enough to teach Alexander how to properly cut the sugar canes with the cane knife (something Alexander hadn't seen in years). Luke seemed grateful that he was a fast learner. As Alexander pulled down yet another stalk, Luke smiled wearily. "Good job."

Alexander put the stalk down onto the ground and mopped his hand across his forehead. "Must we work at this pace? We could get a heatstroke at this rate!"

Luke gave him an unreadable look. "Yes, if you would prefer not to get whipped, which most people do." He tossed another stalk over his shoulder. "Believe me, straining yourself during working hours is much better than getting punished later." He shuddered.

There was some commotion going on behind them, and Alexander risked a glance over his shoulder. One of the overseers was yelling at the woman who had untied the rope from his neck (her name was Martha). Spit was flying out of his mouth, and Martha, though clearly upset, was looking right into the face of the man, not even bothering to wipe the saliva away. But despite her strong resolve, Alexander could see the hint of a tremor in her hands.

A sudden fury flared in Alexander's chest, and he involuntarily clenched his fists. Luke suddenly grabbed his forearm and hissed, "Oh, no you don't! You'll only make it worse. And not just for her."

Alexander glared at him in askance. "You can't just expect me to stand here! The poor woman is trembling, Luke! Can you not see?"

"Of course I can see," Luke hissed through gritted teeth. "But believe me, it's not going to work. It never does."

Alexander turned again to look helplessly at the scene unfolding before them. Another overseer who stood beside the one yelling at Martha shot Alexander and Luke a warning look, and the latter immediately turned and continued to work.

"Alexander," Luke hissed again. Begrudgingly, Alexander turned around. He tried to hide the anger in his voice as he breathed, "this is so—so immoral. No one should be treated this way. No one!"

Luke looked at Alexander again. "Oh, so you do care? Now that you're here, suffering alongside us?" He blurted suddenly.

"What?" Alexander asked a little too loudly. Luke shushed him, glancing backwards in alarm to make sure that one one had heard him. Alexander leaned closer and repeated in a lower voice, "What are you talking about?"

"Don't pretend you don't know," he said, narrowing his eyes. Then he turned away and fell silent.

Alexander was stunned by the venom and bitterness in the young boy's voice, and it took him a few minutes to realize what he was talking about. He looked at him closely, then at himself. It was only then that he realized what he was referring to, and he suddenly felt incredibly stupid. "Farmer is of your own race," he finally faltered.

"Sometimes those of the same kind betray their own. That's just how life works."

"I know that," Alexander said impatiently, grabbing another stalk and cutting it. "But my point was that our race doesn't exactly matter at the moment, does it? Farmer is black, and forcing both of our races to be his slaves, so just because I'm white does not mean that I don't care about the slavery issue! I am against slavery."

Luke looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "'The slavery issue'?" He repeated, with so much sarcasm and cynicism that Alexander almost didn't know how to respond.

"Yes!" He finally blurted through gritted teeth.

Luke rolled his eyes, then turned away from him and returned to his work.

Alexander was taken aback. He was aware, of course, of the suffering that the negroes were forced to undertake, but he had never considered the possibility of one being so, well, angry.

But of course he was. It was terrible. Alexander now regretted never taking John's concerns about slavery seriously. Humans being treated like—like animals, forced to work for no pay, and to live in such harsh conditions, with no rights... Alexander felt immensely ashamed that it was only now and through this experience that he suddenly understood all this. And he thought that he was intelligent!

Alexander peeked over his shoulder to see the overseer push Martha to the ground. The other one cracked a whip very near her, seemingly as a warning. Then they both left. Once they were gone, Alexander rushed forward and helped the poor woman up.

"Are you alright?" He asked through a whisper. She nodded, pulling briskly away and getting back to work. The teenage boy Alexander had met earlier, who was called Benjamin, reached over and squeezed her hand tightly.

Alexander stared for a few moments before returning to his own row of canes. His mind was whirring with activity as he toiled away, distracting him so much that he actually forgot about the heat at some point.

Then his mind was made up. Alexander leaned towards Luke. "I'm going to escape, tonight, Luke," he whispered. "And I'm going to find a way to free all of you. I promise."

Luke rolled his eyes again, but didn't say anything else, which may have been due to the fact that an overseer had come up behind them and was suddenly watching them very closely. Either that, or Luke simply didn't think that he could do it. Or, worse yet, he just didn't have the faith.

Whatever it was, Alexander was going to prove him wrong… He had to.

It was an unfortunate time for it to rain.

The sun had set an hour ago, but Thomas still wished to continue on even during the night. Even when the rain began to fall, he found no good reason to stop, much to the dismay of James, who only sighed hopelessly as he gazed out the window.

But then the coachmen pointed out a path that rose significantly some yards ahead. The path then proceeded to go on, getting higher and higher with the side of the mountain at one side, and the lower ground on the other. The path also got narrower. Considering the rain, they knew it would be much too dangerous to continue the trip if they wanted to make it at all.

Thomas flat-out refused to turn around and go back to New York for the night, but, though he hated to, he had to admit that it did seem too dangerous to keep going at this time. Sighing, Thomas reluctantly yielded. The coachman parked the carriage on the side of the road, safely out of the way, while James fetched some apples out of a bag for the horses.

While he went out to feed them (much to Aaron's amusement), Thomas and Aaron discussed their sleeping arrangements. After some moments of debate, Thomas gave in to Aaron's insistence that he and James sleep on the seats, while Aaron himself slept on the floor between, saying that he'd much rather sleep on a hard surface than have to sleep sitting (which was Thomas's idea) and get a stiff neck.

James came in then, his clothes and hair slightly wet. He closed the door behind him and asked, "So, what's the plan now?"

"We rest for the night," Thomas sighed, pulling off his coat and bunching it up so he could use it as a pillow. "Tomorrow, we follow the path until we find any trace of human civilization. We'll check anywhere and everywhere until we find Farmer and sue him for what he did."

"Then what?"

Thomas looked surprised by the question. His face fell. "I… am not sure," he admitted. "Retire, maybe? Apologize to the Hamiltons for what I did? Anything that could bring me close to fixing what I've done."

No one said it, but they all knew they were thinking the same thing; what could possibly be done to make up for what had happened?