Basseterre, 1778
Rachel woke up to rough hands pulling her out of bed. Choking on air, she opened her eyes in startle as two huge man grabbed her arms and dragged her down the stairs.
"Who are you?" Rachel shouted. "What's going on? Where are you taking me?" She asked, swinging her legs and trying to reach the floor - but they were too tall and too strong for her efforts. She looked around, trying to find someone who could save her, but the house was empty. "Where's everyone?" She cried out, seeing dawn breaking outside as she was shoved out the door.
The men didn't answer any of her questions, and with a harsh movement threw her inside a wagon and closed the doors.
"Open the door, please!" She begged, hitting the door with her small fists. "Please! I need to serve Madam Margaret her breakfast! She'll kill me if I'm not there!"
But it was too late. She felt the wagon starting to move, and tried to find any breach on walls that would let her know what was happening outside or where she was going to - but there were none. She crawled to the corner of the wagon and hugged her legs tightly, letting tears fall down her face. She was terrified.
Rose Hill, 1778
Quinn waited by her father's side, her joint hands resting in front of her body. They sweat, and every few seconds she would dry them down in her gown. She could hear the carriage from afar, and the fidgeting feet of her mother only made her more anxious. It had been a long time. Perhaps too long. With one look, her father noticed how restless Quinn was, and placed an arm around her shoulder. She released a breath she didn't know she was holding, and let herself relax. Her father was there. She was going to be fine.
Hank, the carriage driver bowed in front of the family before turning on his feet and opening the carriage door. Quinn blinked three times as she watched the tall and slim young man getting out. He flashed them the biggest smile and Quinn's stomach turned on itself. Once she raised her head and met bright blue eyes, she knew there was nothing she should worry about. Her big brother was there, and she felt like he had never left.
"Oh, my baby!" Judy exclaimed in awe, being the first one to step forward and wrap her arms around George. "Look how handsome you are!"
"Hello, mother." He replied with a giggle, scrunching up his nose. He was grown, but he hadn't changed a bit. "Father," he acknowledged with a small bow of head, reaching his hand out to shake his father's. Russell shook his head and skipped the pleasantries, being the second one to give George a tight hug.
"Son, it's great to have you back," said Russell, patting George's back. George nodded with a smile, and looked over his father shoulder in Quinn's direction. Quinn gulped, suddenly becoming shy - although she didn't see any reason for it.
"And who is that?" George asked playfully, a side smile hanging on his lips. "It can't be my little sister! No, no! She was just a tiny little girl when I left! It can't be her!"
Quinn felt her cheeks blushing as a smile crept into her lips. She hadn't realized how much she had missed him. How lighter he made the mood of the whole house feel. She had always known her big brother was magical, somehow.
"Hi, George," she said, waving her hand from afar.
"Hi, George?" He mimicked her voice. "Is that how you greet your favorite big brother? Come give me a hug, little one!" So she did. A few steps forward and his arms were around her. Her world stopped. There was no other place she felt as safe as she did inside his arms. "Damn, you've grown! What a beautiful woman you've become, Quinnie!"
Quinn furrowed her eyebrows with an awkward grin. It had been ages since someone last called her that. From the corner of her eyes, she could see her mother shaking her head in disapproval. She hated that name.
"I'm afraid you have arrived in a bad time, my son," her father said, interrupting the moment between siblings. George let go of Quinn, but kept an arm protectively placed around her shoulders - much like her father always did.
"Why is that, father?" He asked in a curious frown. Quinn wished she could paint all of his face expressions and set all of them in her wall. She couldn't get tired of looking at him.
"Your grandmother has passed away. We were just waiting your arrival to leave for the funeral. Will you join us?" He asked, with a sad smile. He was by far the one who grieved the most with the news. It was his mother, after all.
"Oh, Lord. Of course I will!" George gasped, his lips curling in a small pout. "I had been looking forward to seeing Grandmother Margaret again. How sad that it will be under these conditions…"
Basseterre, 1778
Quinn hated wearing black. She disliked the color, but hated more how hot she felt under the Caribbean sun wearing such dark gowns. She would still find a way of avoiding the three months mourning period - it was just too long. She wasn't that close to her grandmother. She held her hand kerchief merely by custom, but not a single tear ran out of her eyes as she watched the old woman's body being lowered into the ground.
A few slaves stood behind the several white people who watched the ceremony. Quinn wasn't sure where all those people had come from - her grandmother wasn't the most popular one among the city. She had never made an effort to be nice to her neighbors.
After a few prayers, everyone started moving towards the court where her will would be read. Suddenly it struck Quinn why so many people were there. They all hoped they would get something out of the Fabray's fortune. Quinn knew better. Generosity wasn't one of her family traits.
"Hey," said George, grabbing Quinn's hand on the way. "Everything okay?" He asked in concern.
"Yes, brother!" She answered casually, with a nod and a smile.
"Didn't see you crying over there…" He commented with a small frown and red eyes. She certainly couldn't say the same about him. His sobbing had made her uncomfortable just a few minutes earlier. "Grandmother really loved you Quinnie."
"I know she did." Quinn nodded. She was growing incredibly uneasy by the use of her childhood nickname. "I just didn't feel like crying." She shrugged. "She was old and bound to die anytime. It's not like this was a fatality," she explained herself, and shivered when she caught her brother's eyes. Disappoint. Sometimes she wished she wasn't so good at reading people.
"In the name of God, Amen. I Madam Margaret Fabray, in the city of Basseterre grazier being in perfect hearth of body and of perfect sound mind memory and understanding and considering the uncertainty of this life, do make and ordain this my last will and testament in manner and form following." A court officer read, loud and clear. Quinn sat between her brother and father, leaning her head on her hands as he went on.
"First and principally, I commend my soul into the hands of God my maker, hoping through the merits of Christ my Redeemer, to receive full pardon of all my sins and to inherit everlasting life after death." Quinn growled quietly. If they could just skip to the important part, she wouldn't die in the heat inside the small court house.
"As for my body, I commit it to the Earth to be decently interred at the discretion of my executor hereafter named." Quinn could swear her death would arrive before that will had finished being read. Her brother tugged the sleeve of her gown with a disapproving look, and Quinn straightened up her back and swallowed her annoyance.
"As touching my personal Estate, which the Lord in mercy hath lent me, I give and bequeath as followeth." And on to the important part they went. Quinn bit her lip in anxiety. This would be the proof if her grandmother really cared for her as much as she liked to say.
"I give to my son, Mr. Russell Fabray, the Rose Hill Farm located in St. Kitts, along with the animals and slaves there living, as well as the mansion Fabray located in Basseterre - St. Kitts with all of its assets." Quinn looked to her side to see her father smiling pleased. It was no surprise he would get to keep the farm - he had been living and managing it for the bigger part of his life.
"I give to my daughter, Lady Angeline Fabray, the Oakland Farm located in Virginia - America, along with the animals and slaves there living." Quinn had always heard their family talking about Lady Angeline, her aunt, but had never met her before. The woman wasn't fond of St. Kitts, and never paid any visits. Quinn was surprised she still got something of the will.
"I give to my grandson, Mr. George Fabray, all the horses and carriages in my property located in Basseterre - St. Kitts." Quinn heard George gasping. He didn't think he would be in the will - and neither did Quinn.
"I give to my granddaughter, Ms. Quinn Fabray, the youngest slave in my property, attending by the name of Rachel, daughter of my deceased slave Henrietta and my carriage driver Eugene -"
"I get my own slave?" Quinn shouted, springing to her feet and slamming her hands against the table. The smile hanging in her lips couldn't be bigger - until she felt her father's strong arms shoving her back down her chair.
"Quinn Fabray!" He snapped. "This is the will of your grandmother. Have some respect and quit being so insensitive!"
Quinn had never seen her father so angry at her. In fact, her father never lashed out on her like that before. Whenever she did something wrong, he would simply sit her down for a talk and they sorted things out talking like two adults. She had always been comprehensive and her need to always please him made things work out easily for them. But this, was completely different. She had no idea how to react. She turned to her brother, but soon realized he wasn't pleased either.
"I apologize, father." She whispered, bowing her head and staying so until the end of the reading.
"What do you say, little girl? Let's go and see that new slave of yours?" Russell asked, and Quinn was relieved to see he wasn't upset about how she had acted during the will reading. He had always been forgiving, unlike her mother.
She took his hand, while her mother and brother walked to talk to a few distant relatives Quinn had no interest on. Her father took her to a separate room, where near endless stacks of paper she saw a girl sitting on the corner with her face hidden in her hands.
"Is that her?" Quinn asked, looking up to her father.
"I believe so, yes," he answered, patting his daughter's shoulder.
"Why is she white?" She asked in a frown. Her father giggled, and Rachel raised her head just slightly to look at them. Quinn caught her eyes for just a second, but couldn't read them. She was already hiding again.
"Dear, not all slaves are black. I believe she has mixed races," he explained.
The door opened with a loud screech, making Quinn and her father turn their heads at once. A man came inside, clearly running out of breath, and leaned against the wall to recompose himself before doing anything else.
"Father!" Rachel shouted, getting up from the corner and running to the man's arms. "Please, don't let them take me! Please!" She begged.
The man cleared his throat and whispered something in Rachel's ears. She stopped talking, and he approached Russell.
"Mr. Fabray." The man greeted, bowing his head. "I'm Eugene, your mother's carriage driver and Rachel's father. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." Russell nodded in acknowledgment, waiting for the man to go on. Quinn hid behind her father. She didn't know where this was going, but she didn't like it. "I have in here 15 years worth of savings." He said, raising a bag of coins. "And I would like to buy my daughter."
Russell looked back to Quinn, who shook her head with bulged out eyes. No. She couldn't believe it. After years of asking her father for a slave, and not being allowed to have one because she was too young, she had finally one to call her own. She wouldn't sell her, regardless of the amount of money offered.
"While I do appreciate your offer, I'm afraid I can't sell her, Eugene," Russell said. Quinn watched as the man shrunk down in defeat and the girl resumed crying. "She's not mine, she's my daughters. And my daughter is not of age for this kind of transaction. I apologize, sir."
Quinn watched with affliction as the girl cried and begged and clung to her father. She didn't like seeing people crying. Specially slaves. They weren't suppose to do so. They weren't suppose to have feelings at all.
"Father, can we go?" Quinn asked, grabbing his hand.
"Yes, dear." He replied, placing his hand on Rachel's shoulder. The girl winced immediately and startled Quinn, who took a step back. "Say goodbye to your father, girl. We don't know when you'll be able to see him again."
Quinn left the room. She didn't want to see that.
The Fabray family hadn't thought they could be coming back home with a new slave that day. If they had thought ahead, Russell would have ordered a second carriage to come with them. But he hadn't. And now they had no other way of going home - the new slave girl would have to ride in the same carriage as they did.
Quinn couldn't explain what was the feeling on the pit of her stomach, but she couldn't stand hearing the girl's incessant sobs. It had been almost an hour, she should have stopped already. Quinn never liked goodbyes, and the whole wailing fest wasn't bringing her any good memories.
"Father," she whispered in Russell's ear. "Could you order her to stop crying? I might go crazy if she doesn't."
"You should order her, dear. She's yours now," he answered nonchalantly.
Quinn gulped, gathering the courage. It's not like she had never ordered an slave - she actually did so constantly, but only when her father wasn't around. She feared the girl wouldn't obey her. She wouldn't know what to do then. She couldn't disappoint her father.
"You!" Quinn shouted, her voice coming out more shaky than she intended. Rachel looked up at her. Quinn breathed out in relief. "Quit wailing."
She watched as Rachel swallowed her tears, and then flashed her with a stare of nothing but pure anger. Quinn shivered, and grabbed her father's arm. Rachel would not be an easy slave.
Rose Hill, 1778
Supper had more guests than usual that night. Quinn had no appetite for some reason, but at least her family took it as a sign of her grief and let her be. After eating, the family moved into the drawing room for tea before they would go to bed.
Quinn wasn't used to having a slave following her at all times. Although she had long wanted one, she wasn't exactly sure on how to deal with it. Rachel's shadow bothered her, and the bad feeling in her gut wasn't going away.
Lady Angeline talked to Rusell - they sure had a lot to catch up on. Quinn wasn't as impressed as she though she would be. Her aunt was a Lady, yes. But besides her title, she didn't have anything special. In fact, Quinn found her arrogant and quite annoying. Deep inside, Quinn feared that the reason she didn't like her aunt was their similarities. Madam Margaret had talked about how alike they were more times than Quinn could count.
"Who is that girl over there?" Lady Angeline asked Russell, nodding her head towards Rachel.
"Mother left her for Quinn. It's her first slave," said Russell, turning back to watch as his daughter talked to his son. They sure had a lot to catch up on as well. "Quinn's thrilled about it."
"What's her name?" Lady Angeline asked, ignoring Russell's other comments. Ignoring Quinn's existence altogether.
"I don't know. Rochelle?" He questioned himself. His memory hadn't been the same as it once were. "I don't really remember."
"Well, she's quite the beauty, isn't she?" Lady Angeline rose an eyebrow, sipping her tea carefully.
"She's Quinn's, Angeline," Russell snapped, but recomposed himself and offered her more tea to change the subject.
From the other side of the room, Quinn knew her father and aunt had talked about her slave. She couldn't hear them, but she watched as they glimpsed back at her direction. Maybe she wasn't the only one uncomfortable by the girl's presence.
"Rachel, go wait outside." Quinn commanded, with more confidence than she thought she had. Rachel left at once, and Quinn smiled proudly to herself. "How weird is she?" Quinn asked her brother with a grin.
"I didn't find her weird at all," he replied with a frown and a shrug. "She must be upset, she has had a rough day, Quinnie."
"Quinn," she corrected.
"What?"
"I go by Quinn now," she explained, and her brother nodded quietly. "I think I'm gonna tell her to sleep in the kitchen house." Quinn changed the subject, and saw her brother's eyes sparkling. She could almost see the memories behind deep blue eyes. She shook her head, getting them out of her own mind.
"Don't you have a conjoined room behind yours? I think that's its purpose," he explained. She tried to hide how offended she was. She knew what the room was made for. She wasn't dumb.
"I know." She nodded. "But I don't feel safe with her sleeping so close."
"Why is that?" He asked curiously.
"Well, she's a slave. I mean, she could kill me in my sleep!" Quinn groaned with a small shiver and a frown of disgust. She could see her brother searching her eyes. She knew what he was trying to find. She looked away.
"Quinni- Quinn," he corrected, clearing his throat. "She wouldn't do that."
"How do you know?" She asked, furrowing eyebrows. "We don't know her. I've heard plenty of stories of slaves killing their masters. It's quite common."
"It's not always like that, Quinn." He shook his head with a sad smile. "Slaves are not mean people."
"What's wrong with you? Defending slaves!" Quinn gulped and bit her lip to avoid another look of disgust. "England has changed you, George."
"No, Quinn," he sighed, bringing her hand to his mouth and dropping a soft kiss. "You have changed. And Lord helps that I never find out who is responsible for that."
He left without saying good night. Quinn couldn't sleep that night.
Rachel had dreaded the ride to her new house. She didn't feel comfortable at all being in the same carriage as her new masters, and she was afraid of what the future held for her. But she controlled her crying. She knew she would be beaten if she didn't do so. She couldn't control her anger though. She knew the reputation Quinn Fabray had. She remember vividly the day she heard as Quinn Fabray counted the whips that would eventually kill her mother.
She couldn't have had worse fate. She couldn't have had worse owner.
As they left city and Rachel started seeing crops and more crops of sugarcane surrounding her, she reminded of the stories her mother had told her about growing up in a farm. She tried to convince herself it wouldn't be so bad. She tried to be glad she would finally have fields to run free - although she was not free at all. But it had been years since she had last managed to be genuinely happy.
On the top of a hill, it stood. Her new home, with an arch written "Rose Hill" framing it perfectly. Rachel wondered the reason behind the name, when she hadn't seen any roses.
The size of the house made Rachel's mouth fall agape. It was at least ten times bigger than the mansion in the city. She pitied the maids who had to keep that house clean. She couldn't understand why someone would need such a big house - they weren't that big of a family, after all.
Getting inside managed to make her even more astonished. The luxury inside the house could never compare to the mansion. The fabrics of sofas, curtains and rugs smelled like money. They shined and sparkled and Rachel couldn't look at everything at once. She closed her eyes for a second, in an attempt of giving her brain a break.
The table at supper was so long Rachel wasn't sure she could see the end of it. The smell of the so many options of food made her mouth water, and for the first time in her life she questioned her abilities as a cooker. She would need to meet the cooker and ask her for the recipes. Cooking had always been an outlet for her. It reminded her of her mother, and kept her away from the shoutings of Madam Margaret. She had always considered herself good enough at it. Until that day.
Despite her anger, Rachel followed Quinn through the rooms. She despised Quinn since she was a child, but she knew her place as a slave and knew she wouldn't gain anything by acting out on her very first day. If anything, she she owed Madam Margaret to behave. The woman had never been the best missus, but she still gave Rachel everything the girl ever had. So she swallowed her tears, and tried to memorize the disposal of the rooms to make sure she wouldn't get lost when she had to walk through them alone. It wasn't easy though. She lost count after the ninth room that had nothing but sofas. There was just no reason for so many.
Quinn asked her to leave the room where they sat after dinner, and Rachel let out a deep sigh of relief the moment she stepped outside. This was the second worst day of her life, and a moment alone was exactly what she needed. She need time and space to clear her head and decide what she would do with her life from then on.
But her peace didn't last long.
"Rochelle?" Someone called. Rachel recognized Madam Margaret's daughter. The so famous Lady. She bobbed a curtsy, like her mother had taught her, and waited further instructions. She wouldn't have the nerve to correct her name. "Welcome to Rose Hill," she said.
Rachel's heart skipped a beat.