This is Prompt No. 70-Journal
There are some things that people deem too important, or are too sacred to share, and these things I'm writing down right now could be quite at home in either of these categories. Mitchie paused for a moment in her writing and bit the tip of her pen, making sure to get none of the ink on her lips. Where, in the complicated mess of things, should she begin?
"At the beginning," she said aloud, her voice sounding harsh and hoarse to her own ears from the crying she had been doing.
My father bought Anna for me when I was thirteen. He deemed her a "good" present for a young lady to have, and seemed unsure as to why I wasn't jumping up and down with glee. The reason is, and has been for years, that I hate slavery. There, I have written it and it cannot be taken back, for ink is forever permanent. I absolutely loath slavery and everything that comes with it. I hate seeing people beaten and bruised and ordered around as if they had no feelings. My parents do not seem to realize that our slaves are people too.
Yes, our servants are treated in a slightly kinder way than others' slaves, but the principle is still the same: one man owning another because he can and the law deems it acceptable. Well, I am sick of it. Perhaps that is why Anna has always been my friend and not my slave. I've taught her how to read, to write, to speak properly, and also how to be at ease around me. We are equals, she and I, and I would not have it any other way.
My brother as well thinks that slavery is wrong, and that it should be abolished. He refuses to join in the army, for he doesn't believe in the cause he would be fighting for. Some might say that he is a coward, but I say that I look at him as my role model for being so brave as to refuse to do the brave thing because he knows that it is foolish. If I did not love my father, and my mother I suppose, as much as I do, I think that I would move up to the north and do all I could for the cause up there. I am now eighteen, and I am fearful that my father shall have me marry some young, idiotic Virginian who will want to fight for slavery, leaving me torn between my country and my duties as a wife.
But my real fear is that something will happen to my brother, my dear, sweet brother. Father has threatened him. I've heard it today with my own ears, and I fear for my brother. I fear for what my father will do. Would he really enlist Mitchell in the army without giving him any warning, or was that just the rant of anger that can be brushed off without much thought? For once, I fear for the worst. Mitchell has always said that I take the high road in life. He's told me many times that I could find the sun on a rainy day, but this time, I am searching for a thundercloud. I fear for the worst, and for once, I am afraid.
Mitchie sat back, having finished her entry, and leaned her head against the trunk of the willow tree. Well, now that that was done, there was nothing more to be said. She propped her pen in her ink well and leaned the bottle against one root of the tree so that it wouldn't tip over. Just as she was ready to recline again, she heard a sound behind her and turned.
Standing there, one hand brushing away the willow tree's curtain of branches, stood Mitchell, his face flushed and bashful-looking. "I thought I'd find you here," he said quietly.
Mitchie smiled at her brother and patted the grass next to her, indicating that she wanted him to come and sit down with her. "You found me," she responded.
Mitchell sat down next to her and commented, "I didn't realize that shouting affected you so."
Mitchie looked up at him, surprised. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Well, the whole household heard you running up and down the stairs, and I was pleasantly surprised to see the front door still on its hinges when I decided to come after you."
Mitchie ducked her head, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking straight, I guess."
Mitchell glanced at her, trying to read his sister's expression. "You guess?" he asked.
Mitchie bit her lip. "I hate it when you raise your voice. I know that when you do, you're really angry, and I just hate it when you're angry."
"You sure do have a lot of hate in you for being such a tiny thing," Mitchell teased. Mitchie hit him playfully in the arm and he pulled her closer so that he could rest his chin on her head while she snuggled into his chest. "I do thank you for being so protective of me, though," he told her seriously. "What would I do without you?"
"I don't think you could live without me," Mitchie teased him.
He laughed, but grew sober faster than Mitchie had hoped. "You're right," he said. "Which is why I want you to come with Anna and I when we leave for the north."
Mitchie jerked away from him so that she could see his face. "Are you serious?" she asked. "You're leaving?"
Mitchell nodded. "The talk today with father has proven to me that he would never let me marry Anna. She and I want to be married as soon as possible, and we can't do that here. We've talked about it, and we want to go up north, but only if you'll come too."
"But," Mitchie protested, "Anna belongs to father."
"Only in part," Mitchell told her. "When he went away on business, I looked through each of the files and found that he has signed his section of Anna's document. The only other signature she needs to be completely free is yours."
Mitchie's eyes widened. "Why wasn't I told about this?" she cried. "I would've freed Anna the day father gave her to me!"
"I know," Mitchell said, hoping to calm her. "And Anna knows that. But father didn't want to give you that chance. Anyways, we want to go as soon as possible. Will you come with us?"
Mitchie's head was spinning, and her heart was crying out, "Yes, but there must be some other way than running away!" "Give me a chance to think about it," she begged. "Just give me a little bit of time."
"Of course," Mitchell said, rising. "I'm glad we talked, but unfortunately, I was also sent out here to get you to come in. That awful Mrs. Prindle will be here any moment and mother wants you."
"When can we leave for the north?" Mitchie joked, dreading the gossipy, crotchety lady that her mother kept company with.
"Not soon enough to be rid of Mrs. Prickly Prindle, I'm afraid," Mitchell admitted with a smile. "I'll walk you as far as the front door, but I'm not coming in. I don't want to get dragged into another discussion on which lady's fashion I liked best at church like last time."
Mitchie giggled. "Chicken," she teased, but couldn't really blame him.
They walked together in silence after that, making their way back to the plantation house. Mitchie's mind was whirling with the newfound information. Yes, she needed time to think, but she also needed time to plan. She needed time to concoct a plan that would let them leave without being considered cowards. She needed time for a really, really good plan.
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Elle. Thanks for your review, and as you can see, I updated just liked you asked! :D
