I woke up early this morning, tired and hungry. I had been thinking through the night. Looking through the window, I noticed it was still very dark. Maybe I could sneak into the kitchen and get some leftovers, I thought to myself. But if I was caught, I would be punished. Still, I was ready to take the risk. I was certain none of the Clintons would be up this early; they were all a bunch of lazy asses.
I made my way to the kitchen; luckily, our rooms are not far from it—only the Clintons stay on the upper floor. I tiptoed like a thief, which I was at that moment. I stepped up to the kitchen door, gently pushed it open, and snuck inside. I searched the table for leftovers, grinning when I spotted a sandwich and a piece of fried chicken. I hid them beneath my dress and made my way out of the kitchen, moving swiftly in the dark toward my room.
Suddenly, I heard a sound. I froze for a moment; it was coming from the stairs. Someone was either coming down or heading upstairs. I couldn't tell at first, so I returned to the kitchen and hid behind the door, praying that whoever it was wouldn't come my way.
I waited to see where the person might be heading. The sound grew closer, then moved toward the slave's wing. A few seconds later, I heard a faint voice—I could tell it was Mrs. Clinton in one of the slave's rooms. What was she doing? My heart raced as I wondered what might happen next. I then heard her returning to the stairs, but this time she wasn't alone; she had one of the girls with her. I peeked out the door and saw Mrs. Clinton holding a lamp, with Mary walking beside her, her head down. They headed up the staircase toward the upper floor.
I felt a mix of shock and relief but wondered why Mrs. Clinton had come for Mary at this hour. I opened the kitchen door and hurried down the corridor leading to the slave's wing, entering my room with a sigh. That was close, I thought.
I went to my bed and ate as quickly as I could before lying back down to sleep.
It was six in the morning—time to start my duties. I hurriedly took a bath and went straight to the kitchen, where I found the other girls, including Mary. She looked tired, as if she hadn't gotten enough sleep, but I didn't have time to ask about it; I had chores to attend to.
"Good morning," I greeted.
"Morning, Nora. You came late. You're the youngest; you should be up earlier than the rest of us," Anna said, expecting a response.
"I'm sorry; I couldn't sleep," I tried to explain, but she wasn't paying attention anymore.
Anna is the oldest; she's 23—two years older than Mary and Lydia. Then there's Fin, who is 19; she must be outside watering Mrs. Clinton's garden.
"Now you go to Alfred's room and see if he's up," Anna instructed.
"Alright, Anna." I headed for Alfred's room.
Alfred is the Clintons' only son, a spoiled twelve-year-old who gets almost everything he wants and talks to the maids as he pleases.
"Alfred?" I called out, but received no response. I opened the door and saw him lying on the bed, awake.
"What, Nora?" he said grumpily.
"Why didn't you say anything when I called?" I stared at him.
"Because I didn't want to. What do you want?"
"It's almost seven, and I need to clean your room before your mama comes to check. You need to get ready for your tutor."
"Can't you just do it later?"
"No, I can't," I answered.
"Alright then." He left the room, frowning.
"Spoiled bastard," I muttered to myself.
A few minutes later, I finished cleaning Alfred's room and headed straight to the rest of the house. On my way, I saw Mr. Clinton on the staircase.
"Good morning, sir."
"Morning, Nora. Get me my usual tea. I will be at the tea table waiting," he said.
"Yes, sir." I hurried to the kitchen to deliver the message to Anna.
"Nora, could you help me serve the tea to Mr. Clinton? I have quite a lot to do right now. Just wait a little bit; I'll make the tea."
Considering how busy she was, I decided to help. Normally, Mary would be the one to deliver the tea, but she wasn't here. I took the tea from Anna as soon as she finished making it and went to Mr. Clinton, who was reading a newspaper.
"Sir, here is your tea." I placed it on the table and turned to walk away. I always felt uneasy around Mr. Clinton and his wife, trying my best to avoid them, but it was hard to tell what they might be up to at any moment.
"Nora," he called out.
I turned toward him. "Yes, sir?" I responded.
"How old are you again?"
"I'm turning sixteen soon."
"Nice. On what day will you turn sixteen? Who knows? I might get you something nice."
"Sir, on the twentieth."
"You may leave." He looked at me with a smile that I couldn't quite interpret.
As I walked out of the room, a lot was running through my mind. Something felt off, and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I had been with the Clintons for almost my entire life, and Mr. Clinton had never offered me anything before. Mrs. Clinton took me in when I was four, after my mother—a slave who worked for the family for a long time—was thrown out when she became pregnant. Mrs. Clinton said my mom was her favorite out of all her slaves, which is why she had pity on her when she saw her struggling to care for me alone. She took me because I belonged to her since she owned my mother, and my mom never paid her for her freedom. Mrs. Clinton said my mom was willing to give me up to die on the street when she rescued me.
Life as a slave is the worst way to live. We are almost nothing. My wish is to one day be a free person, but it feels impossible.
After cleaning the entire house, my knees and fingers ached. I took off my shoes and lay on my bed. Soon after, Mary walked into the room.
"Nora, you can't possibly be trying to take a nap, are you?"
"I know I can't. I'm just hiding here a little bit to relax my knees. I've been scrubbing all morning."
"Maybe you should tell Mrs. Clinton that and see what she has to say about it."
I sighed. "Come on, Mary. One day, I might be able to tell her, 'Why is your house so big, and you make me clean it every day? I bet you would die if you did it yourself.'"
Mary laughed at me. "Get ready to be thrown out the day that leaves your mouth. No one is going to accept a stray once you're on the street."
"Yes, I get it. No one wants to be a stray. That's the worst thing ever."
Suddenly, I remembered last night, and the need to know what happened flooded my mind. "Mary, I saw you last night with Mrs. Clinton heading upstairs. Why did she come for you?"
She froze for a second; it was almost impossible to notice, but I could tell because I was staring at her, and I knew she wasn't expecting the question.
"When was that?" she asked.
"I can't remember Mrs. Clinton coming for me. I think you're mistaken."
"Nora," she gave an awkward smile, and it was obvious she was lying.
"Mary, you can't possibly be serious right now. I saw you last night with my own eyes."
"Maybe it was one of the other girls you saw, not me. Now think about it, Nora. Why would Mrs. Clinton come for me at that hour? You know we barely go up to her room. Whoever it was must have been needed urgently—probably to get an insect or something out of her room. But I'm certain I slept through the night."
"Oh, you're right. It could be an insect," I said.
"I have things to attend to, Nora. I have to go." She walked out of my room, leaving me to wonder about what I had seen. I decided to let it go, but one must take extra care these days; things might not always seem the way they look. I finally settled that thought and walked out of the room.
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