AS WE APPROACHED THE EDGE of town we came upon a group of slaves, shackled at the neck, wrists, and ankles with iron cuffs and chained together with a single long chain. The human train was most likely going to be held in a prison in town until they could be sold at auction or taken to the docks to be shipped out to other states. Charleston Harbor was the biggest port in the South for shipping goods, and it was popular with slave traders.

The slave catchers continuously prodded the slaves forward, degrading them with their words. An older woman in the middle of the line lost her footing and stumbled.

“Stop, Thomas!” I shouted. Not waiting long enough for the carriage to stop, I jumped down and hurried to the woman’s aid.

Bending, I took her by the arm. “Let me help you, Mama,” I said, gazing into her weary face. Her eyes lacked pigment; they were clouded over with white shadows. She was blind! The skin on the edges of her eyes held angry scars. Someone had burnt her eyes out!

The woman reached up and ran her agile fingers over my eyes, nose, and the contours of my face. She started to stroke the curls escaping my bonnet before she gasped and drew back in fear and confusion. “I’m real sorry, Miss. I figures you for a nigra.” Her voice was jittery.

“I’m a friend, Mama. I see you’re tired, but you have to get up.” I struggled to help her stand and was relieved when the adolescent boy beside her offered his assistance. Our eyes met before he lowered his toward the ground.

“Thank you, Missus,” he said, steadying the woman.

“What’s going on here?” a slave catcher barked.

Startled, I jumped. Releasing the woman and stepping back, I turned to return to the wagon. Seeing the slave catcher, I stopped in shock. The swollen alien of a man was black as night! He wore a patch over one eye, and an evil sneer curled his upper lip.

It did not keep me from saying what was on my mind. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as my lip pulled up in a snarl of its own. “How can you betray your own kind?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders, further concealing a thick short neck. “Better them than me!” he growled, then spat toward the slaves.

This man was fueled with so much hatred he even hated his own race! He was unaware that with his inability to harbor any emotions but hate, the world had rejected him. He had become even less than the slaves he condemned. He did not belong with the white race or the black race. In his desire to belong in the white world and be a traitor to his own kind, he now stood alone, a man without a race.

Seeing the pity in my eyes, he turned and aimed his bitterness at the helpless backs of the slaves. They wailed in pain as he struck them and bellowed for them to get moving.

We entered Charleston with the group of slaves not far behind us. Whitney and I did not speak; our hearts were heavy. Thomas stopped the carriage in front of the general store, where men sat on the front porch smoking cigars, people-watching, and discussing everyday life. He assisted us from the carriage and we made our way up the few worn stairs and entered the store.

The shopkeeper, a bespectacled woman with an unnaturally long nose, stood behind the cash register looking haughtily at us as we came in.

“Afternoon, Miss Smith,” Whitney said loudly.

“Girls,” she said in a deep, detached voice.

We browsed through the bolts of silk imported from Thailand. My family crest was stamped on the board the fabric was wrapped around. These materials were imported on my father’s ships, along with a lot of other goods in the store. We moved on to outrageous hats that sat on faceless heads on display in the large front window. We couldn’t resist trying them on. We giggled as we checked our appearance in the floor-length mirror. I turned my hat over in my hand to see the price tag and was happy to see our crest wasn’t stamped on it.

The door chimed as new customers entered.

“Well, what are the chances of the two most beautiful women in Charleston being in the same place at the same time?”

Seeing the reflection of Knox in the mirror, we returned the hats to the display.

“Knox, you have to come up with better lines. That’s exhaustingly lame,” Whitney said, her face pinched in disapproval.

I eyed the ice queen and had an insight. Whitney’s rudeness toward Knox was her strange way of keeping him at arm’s length as he threatened to melt her heart.

Unaffected by her meanness, he grinned.

We turned our heads as the door chimed yet again and Knox’s sidekick entered.

“Hey, pal,” Knox said, “these fine ladies have stated their interest in me!”

Bowden casually strolled over. “Is that true? Ya’ll have declared your undying love to this old dog?” He snickered.

Whitney blurted an exaggerated, “Oh, please!” Crossing her arms, she looked away.

“How are things at Livingston?” Bowden asked me.

I felt an iciness of my own. “Fine, thank you.” I nodded politely, forcing a tense smile. I had promised him I would put our past to rest, and this would be the beginning of my effort.

After a few moments of relatively pleasant conversation, we paid for the items we had come for, and the gentlemen walked us back to our carriage. Bowden offered a hand to help me into the carriage. I thanked him as I arranged myself on the seat. Whitney swiped Knox’s hand away and climbed in beside me.

“This was nice, Willow,” Bowden said, and touched my arm, sending tingles through my body.

“It’s a start. But yes, it was,” I replied. “We’d best get back if we want to be home before dark.”

“Thomas, on to Livingston Plantation,” Whitney ordered.

The gentlemen stepped back and waved as we departed.

“Well, I’d say you are viewing Bowden in a new light,” Whitney said.

“What do you know of it?”

“Oh, I don’t know the whole story, but I do know the last time we were all in each other’s company you could cut the tension with a knife. Care to fill me in?”

“Well,” I said, “it all began years ago, in school…”