A cool breeze blew Charlotte Bennett's dark brown curls into her face. Charlotte brushed her hair out of her face, enjoying the cool breeze during the never ending summer heat. She walked slowly, enjoying the beauty of South Carolina's country, from the sugar cane fields, to the deep blue lake that bordered her father's plantation. Many memories flooded Charlotte's mind seeing the lake, memories of fishing with her brother, James, and swimming in the summer. Days when she forgot she was female, and could enjoy activities with her brother without a second thought.
As Charlotte walked up a hill, the tall grass brushing against her feet, the schoolhouse came into view. She remembered begging her mother to allow her to go to that schoolhouse. Her fierce desire to learn and to be with children her own age was not enough to convince her mother. Charlotte was constantly reminded that her duty was to learn how to run a household. Charlotte was however tutored at home in reading, writing, music, and French.
Sadness seeped into Charlotte's soul. Her world was far different from what it was as a child. As a woman her duty was to her family, to marry young and to keep the good reputation of her father. But her desire to learn more, to teach, and to be more than a wife was a constant dream of hers. But like most dreams, Charlotte knew that her desires would never be present in her life. But it is better to have a dream to visit now and then than to have nothing at all.
Charlotte began to near the forest that stood between her and her home. Known as the Inglewood Forest, the woodland spread out across five acres of the Bennett land, and was a nuisance to her father. "It's five acres of land being wasted," her father always said, but as much as he hated the forest, he never had mentioned any plan to clear it. Charlotte was relieved because it was a big part of her childhood. As she walked through the forest, a sudden snap of a branch made her flinch. Fear flooded through her, and she slowly turned.
"What are you doing walking all by yourself little Lottie?" a young and recognizable voice called. Charlotte jumped at the sound and turned to find non other than Albert Quinn.
"Albert you pest!" Charlotte angerly exclaimed, "You almost scared the daylights out of me!" She frowned at Albert, her hatred for him fueled her anger towards him. Living only a few miles from her home, Albert Quinn was a constant pest since childhood. The same age as her brother and two years older than her, Albert had tormented the two siblings throughout their childhood. For as long as she could remember, Albert was a spoiled self centered boy who only cared about owning his father's plantation someday.
"Serves you right for walking alone," Albert smirked, "You should probably hurry back, I heard your father has some news for you," he said in a taunting voice.
"What news," Charlotte began, but before she could finish, Albert strode away, leaving her confused and concerned about what await her at home.
Fear suddenly gripped Charlotte, what could her father want? Thoughts of turning around and taking the long way home raced through her mind, but she quickly dismissed them. It was better to hurry home and find out than to be plagued with worry.
As Charlotte neared her home, the comforting smell of wood smoke relaxed her nerves. Cynthia was most likely cooking supper in the summer kitchen. As she climbed the hill near her home, she took in the view. The large main house stood in the center of it all, with white siding and black trim. Next to the main house stood the summer kitchen, a small building with identical siding and trim. From the hill she could see the acres of sugar cane, tobacco, and other crops her father grew. Charlotte squinted her eyes, trying to see the slave quarters. Located near the edge of the plantation, the slave quarters was a forbidden place for Charlotte, although that never stopped her as a child from visiting the slave children. Charlotte's heart ached for the friendships that she had as a child, friendships that were missing from her present day life.
As she walked slowly down the hill, the smell from the summer kitchen beckoned her. Although her conscience nagged at her to go to her father, a quick visit with Cynthia wouldn't do any harm. Charlotte stepped into the kitchen, the intense heat surrounding her. Cynthia, a sixteen year old houseslave and the same age as Charlotte, stood near the stove.
"What smells so good Cynthia?" Charlotte asked, eyeing the fresh bread on the counter, still hot from the oven.
"Miss Bennett!" Cynthia turned and smiled, "How was your walk? You were gone for quite sometime."
"Very well thank you," Charlotte smiled, "Do you know what news my father wishes to tell me?"
"I wasn't aware of it miss," Cynthia explained, "I do know your mother has been lookin' for ya. Very fretful she is indeed."
"Oh mother is always fretting," Charlotte said while rolled her eyes, "She worries that the less time I spend sewing or painting or curtsying the more of a disgrace I will become as a wife someday." Cynthia smiled, her laughter filled the air, but as soon as her laughter began, it disappeared and her smile vanished.
"Cynthia? Is something amiss?" Charlotte asked.
"Oh nothin' miss," Cynthia began but paused, "It's just... I wanted to ask... would you ever be able to... or consider.... teachin' a slave to read?"
"What?" Charlotte exclaimed before lowering her voice. "Is not education of slaves forbidden?"
"It is... well... I'm in need of it. Real bad miss. Ya see," but before Cynthia could finish, Charlotte cut her off.
"Cynthia you know as well as I do the consequences of such actions. I would be going against my own father, and risking my reputation and your life!"
"I'm willing to take the risks miss."
"But I'm not. We will speak no more of this." Charlotte's firm command quieted Cynthia, and silence greeted them. Cynthia slowly turned around and continued to stir the soup on the stove, which had begun to boil over. They both were silent for a few minutes; finally Charlotte spoke.
"Cynthia..." Charlotte spoke softly, regret filled her voice, "I'm sorry, but please try to understand."
"I do miss. It's all right. Now go find your mother before she dies of worry do ya hear?"
Charlotte smiled, relieved their friendship hadn't been hurt. She turned and ran out of the kitchen, very unladylike as her mother would of said if she saw her, and went into the main house, up the stairs, and into her bedroom. A quick glance in the mirror was all it took for Charlotte to cringe at her appearance. The hem of her green dress was caked in mud, and her hair was frizzy from the humidity. Charlotte quickly changed into her favorite yellow dress, pulled up her stockings, brushed her hair and pulled back her curls, tying them with a yellow ribbon. She glanced in the mirror one last time, straightened her dress, and set off to find her father. No doubt he would be talking to the overseer.
Charlotte slowly walked downstairs, and was just about to leave the house when her mother's voice filled the air. "Charlotte darling," her mother called, "Come in to the sitting room please."
Charlotte sighed in annoyance, the need to know just what smug Albert Quinn knew that she didn't ached. She turned, her feet heavy as she walked into the sitting room. As she rounded the corner into the room, she gasped at the sight of her father, sitting in a chair, wearing his Sunday best and smoking his pipe. Why was he in the house and not talking with the overseer? And why was he wearing his Sunday clothes?
"Sit down Charlotte," her mother gestured to a chair, "Your father as some exciting news for you." Charlotte slowly sat down, still staring at her father.
"What is the news father?" She asked nervously. If it was exciting to her mother, it most likely wouldn't be exciting to her. Before her father could even speak, her mother squealed and leaned over, squeezing Charlotte's hand.
"Your engaged!"