As For Me and My House
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from the Patriot, nor any
contrasting situations between it the movie or any other original work.
PROLOUGE
The dawn rolled into a Carolina sky with a great procession of color and warmth that seemed to fill every corner of the earth. The birds heralded the arrival of a new day with loud voices that echoed through the fields and down into the hillside below. Not a living soul stirred at this hour, except for those who were thought to have no soul. These were the slaves, the workers of the field, the toilers of the ground, those who embraced freedom but were held in bondage. They stooped in rows as they picked the cotton that grew like tufts of celestial cloud but remained a constant reminder to why they were servants. They moved in time to a distant moaning song, like tribal dances, brown backs against hot sun. Yet, not one uttered a complaint because the festering sores that the whip had wrought were enough to silence the most will full of them. She was one of them, the stubborn ones. You saw it in the way her hazel colored eyes flashed when she watched a fellow slave being beaten and the way her lips were always set into a silently defiant line. They called her, Sadie when she was born, she had grown up on this plantation, seen the horrors that they elders refused to speak of and felt the desire for freedom. Though she wore the same tattered clothing, cleaned the same pots, cooked her equal share for the master, anyone who looked upon her face could tell she was not one of them. It was not only the way her skin was no darker than a Spaniard, or that her soft, curly hair fell to her back, but in the way she carried herself, head high and with the air of a sovereign ruler. Her "disdainful haughtiness" had earned her many slaps from Miss. Peggy, the master's wife and a stern talking to by the master himself but never had she been beaten. Many accounted this for being that she was a house slave but what was whispered in the slave corridors at night was of a different account. Those who had been on the Willmington Plantation knew the story of Sadie and her mother, Sarah. Sarah had been bought by Master Willmington, senior and had been loved by Master Willmington, junior. Their romance had led to the impregnation of Sarah and her immediate selling at the next auction but Sadie was born and remained at the plantation. The family had hidden the secret away like some disastrous disease, for fear if it was mentioned that it would ruin them. Master Willmington, sr. passed a way leaving the plantation to his son who married Miss. Patricia Cornwell, who remained unaware of Sadie's parentage until one day she looked upon her and mistook her for a vagabond white child. Master Willmington was forced to explain to his wife, thus sealing Sadie's fate as the bane of the mistresses life, yet the master refused to sell her. In his heart he stilled loved Sarah and even tried to find her after his father had died but his efforts turned up unfruitful because she had died of cholera and that left only little Sadie to fill his memory. As a small child she was petted by the master in secret and loathed by the mistress openly. The constant admiration of the Master gave her the airs that she possessed but the continual plight of her fellow slaves gave her the humbleness she would need to survive each day. As every year passed, Sadie grew more and more strikingly attractive. Almost all of the males on the plantation had donned their hats to win her heart but she refused every suitor. She had no time or interest in men. She did not see the point in breeding more children that would fall to the same fate as their father. The females resented her because of her beauty and thought her queer because she spent so much time in her little hut alone, "it just wasn't natural". This day was no different, after cleaning, washing and cooking all day Sadie found the sanctuary of her hovel that she called home. She had adamantly protested sleeping in the house, or in the quarters with the other slaves so the master had given her the one luxury of having her own place. It was nothing more than a glorified shed but to Sadie it was home. Every night she would draw the old wooden door shut and curl underneath the blanket with a book or scrap of a paper she had found that day when cleaning the master's study. There by the weak light of a candle she taught herself to read and write. Every letter, syllable and word awakened a new wonder in her heart that she could scarcely keep quiet. She knew what her white owners knew, about the war that was raging on and the breach from Britain. She had even developed opinions on the matter although she knew they would never be shared because she would never be asked too. This was her one chance to rise above and she would seize it with the grip of a man holding on to his last breath of life.
PROLOUGE
The dawn rolled into a Carolina sky with a great procession of color and warmth that seemed to fill every corner of the earth. The birds heralded the arrival of a new day with loud voices that echoed through the fields and down into the hillside below. Not a living soul stirred at this hour, except for those who were thought to have no soul. These were the slaves, the workers of the field, the toilers of the ground, those who embraced freedom but were held in bondage. They stooped in rows as they picked the cotton that grew like tufts of celestial cloud but remained a constant reminder to why they were servants. They moved in time to a distant moaning song, like tribal dances, brown backs against hot sun. Yet, not one uttered a complaint because the festering sores that the whip had wrought were enough to silence the most will full of them. She was one of them, the stubborn ones. You saw it in the way her hazel colored eyes flashed when she watched a fellow slave being beaten and the way her lips were always set into a silently defiant line. They called her, Sadie when she was born, she had grown up on this plantation, seen the horrors that they elders refused to speak of and felt the desire for freedom. Though she wore the same tattered clothing, cleaned the same pots, cooked her equal share for the master, anyone who looked upon her face could tell she was not one of them. It was not only the way her skin was no darker than a Spaniard, or that her soft, curly hair fell to her back, but in the way she carried herself, head high and with the air of a sovereign ruler. Her "disdainful haughtiness" had earned her many slaps from Miss. Peggy, the master's wife and a stern talking to by the master himself but never had she been beaten. Many accounted this for being that she was a house slave but what was whispered in the slave corridors at night was of a different account. Those who had been on the Willmington Plantation knew the story of Sadie and her mother, Sarah. Sarah had been bought by Master Willmington, senior and had been loved by Master Willmington, junior. Their romance had led to the impregnation of Sarah and her immediate selling at the next auction but Sadie was born and remained at the plantation. The family had hidden the secret away like some disastrous disease, for fear if it was mentioned that it would ruin them. Master Willmington, sr. passed a way leaving the plantation to his son who married Miss. Patricia Cornwell, who remained unaware of Sadie's parentage until one day she looked upon her and mistook her for a vagabond white child. Master Willmington was forced to explain to his wife, thus sealing Sadie's fate as the bane of the mistresses life, yet the master refused to sell her. In his heart he stilled loved Sarah and even tried to find her after his father had died but his efforts turned up unfruitful because she had died of cholera and that left only little Sadie to fill his memory. As a small child she was petted by the master in secret and loathed by the mistress openly. The constant admiration of the Master gave her the airs that she possessed but the continual plight of her fellow slaves gave her the humbleness she would need to survive each day. As every year passed, Sadie grew more and more strikingly attractive. Almost all of the males on the plantation had donned their hats to win her heart but she refused every suitor. She had no time or interest in men. She did not see the point in breeding more children that would fall to the same fate as their father. The females resented her because of her beauty and thought her queer because she spent so much time in her little hut alone, "it just wasn't natural". This day was no different, after cleaning, washing and cooking all day Sadie found the sanctuary of her hovel that she called home. She had adamantly protested sleeping in the house, or in the quarters with the other slaves so the master had given her the one luxury of having her own place. It was nothing more than a glorified shed but to Sadie it was home. Every night she would draw the old wooden door shut and curl underneath the blanket with a book or scrap of a paper she had found that day when cleaning the master's study. There by the weak light of a candle she taught herself to read and write. Every letter, syllable and word awakened a new wonder in her heart that she could scarcely keep quiet. She knew what her white owners knew, about the war that was raging on and the breach from Britain. She had even developed opinions on the matter although she knew they would never be shared because she would never be asked too. This was her one chance to rise above and she would seize it with the grip of a man holding on to his last breath of life.