The Antebellum School Project CH1

[Hooked6]

The Antebellum School Project
BY: Hooked6

Copyright January 1, 2024 by Hooked6 (Hooked6@hotmail.com) all rights reserved. Reproduction, redistribution, reposting on another Internet site whether or not a charge or profit is made is forbidden without the expressed written consent of the author. All characters are over 18.

Author’s Note: This story takes place before the introduction of Modern Slavery in the U.S.

The Antebellum School Project
BY: Hooked6

Chapter 1

“So, are you going to help me or not?” my step-sister Angie asked in an almost whiney tone.

I was stood there quietly folding the laundry I was responsible for trying not to rip my sister’s head off. That’s all she has gone on about for the last three weeks. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying not to be obvious about it. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Oh come on! I have to let my teacher know what I am doing for my senior project by tomorrow! You know how important this is to me. My entire college scholarship to Vanderbilt University is riding on this. You know how hard it is to gain admission to Vanderbilt, let alone score a full-ride scholarship to that prestigious place. Besides, I LOVE Nashville. I can just imagine living in that historic town! I need something really special to not only ace my sociology class but to impress the academic scholarship committee.”

Picking up the laundry basket I started carrying it upstairs without immediately saying anything as my step-sister followed me. “I don’t see why I need to help you,” I said without looking back at her. “You are the brain of the family and besides, I’m not even IN your sociology class. What do you need me for anyway?”
.
It was true. Angie was indeed smart – really smart. All through her Junior and senior year of high school she had taken nothing but advanced placement classes earning college credit while getting credit towards her high school diploma. I, on the other hand, probably wasn’t even going to college. My grades were passable but even my dad didn’t seem to regard me as a career woman let alone consider me college material.

She may have been the brain but I was popular – well. . . that’s what I told myself anyway. I didn’t have much of a following per se mainly because I barely had breasts; just small puffs of tissue and areolas that swelled up like little pillows pushing my already eraser-like nipples out even farther when I was aroused or excited. Thank heavens for padded, form-shaping bras. I’d die of someone found out what I really looked like as nature intended. No, some things are better left hidden, I think.

Still, people genuinely liked me and considered me attractive. I was easy to talk to and girls and guys at school just seemed to gravitate to me. I wasn’t out-going; no, far from it. I was shy and soft-spoken. I dressed very modestly showing as little bare skin as I could get away with, but I could make people laugh and I was a pretty positive person that rarely made waves.

“Why do I need your help? You’re kidding me, right? Brooke, you are the most important part of my project. No one else will do. The fact we live in this house and you are my step-sister; your personality; the respect people have for you; it all comes together. It’s too late to do anything else. Besides, my advisor at Vanderbilt said my project will certainly gain the attention of the faculty on the scholarship committee. She said I was practically guaranteed to get a full-ride position – tuition, fees, housing and everything IF I can pull this off.”

I sighed as I put the last stack of underwear in my top drawer in my dresser, “What is your project about again? Something to do with history, or this house or something, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s sort of a living history project. I’ve done months of research not only on this house, but that period of American history as well. Now all I need to do is my practical observation according to the protocol and record the results and I will be done.”

“You’ve done all this work and your project hasn’t even been approved by your high school sociology teacher? Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Besides, what am I getting out of all this work helping you? It’s not like I have a course I need a good grade for or anything. I was planning on coasting these last few weeks of high school. If I say yes, I won’t be able to do that. If I have learned anything from you, my dear step-sister, is that I should get something to make it worth my while.”

Angie broke into a huge smile as she plopped on my bed messing the heck out of my hard work. “I thought you might ask that. I talked to mom and she said that if I got my scholarship, she would give you the money she had planned on giving me for college. Since my expenses would be paid for, she wouldn’t need to use it for me so she’d give it to you.”

“Fat lot of good that will do as I doubt that I will go to college.”

“For an optimist you sure do look on the downside of things when it comes to your future. No silly, you can use it to buy yourself a car, or take the summer off traveling or whatever you want! It will be yours if I get my college expenses taken care of.”

“Yeah? How much are we talking about here?”

My sister hopped off the bed and put her arm around my shoulder and softly said, “Keep this just between us but mom said she has about $30,000 or so set aside for my education before she married your dad. I’m pretty sure that all would go to you if . . .” her voice trailing off into an awkward silence. She was always one for dramatics. “Of course, mom’s savings is just a tiny fraction of what a degree at Vanderbilt would cost so I really do need to get selected for that full-ride tuition. As you know we aren’t rich; just fortunate to live here.”

“Thirty grand, huh?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Okay, I’ll do it. You’d best just be right about your chances. I’m darn sure I’m not doing this for nothing.”

She gave me an overly enthusiastic hug and ran out of the room, yelling as she bounded down the stairs, “MOM! BROOKE IS GOING TO HELP ME! SHE SAID YES!” her voice trailing off in the distance.

I just shook my head. When my dad married Angie’s mom, I was shocked to learn that I would be having a step-sister my age that even went to my high school. Even though we are both 18, she’s a month older than me and has always called me her little sister. That little moniker stuck and now everyone calls me “Little” something. Angie calls me her little sister; her mom calls me her little girl, and dad started calling me his little angel. My dad and my step-mom say it lovingly. Angie, however, always has that little hint of sarcasm in her voice when she calls me little sister. If I didn’t know better, I might think she does it to make fun of my lack of boobs as hers are really full and compliment her figure. I didn’t think brainy nerds were supposed to have features like that. Mother Nature can be so cruel sometimes.

We are both set to graduate in several weeks. Everything seems so uncertain to me. I HATE making important decisions – so much responsibility. Taking the summer off after graduation sounded like a good idea to think things over and oodles of cash would certainly make that a reality. I’ve always wanted to go to Europe or maybe the Caribbean, heck maybe even both! I guess I could put up with my pushy step-sister for a few of weeks doing whatever the heck I have to do to get that thirty grand.

- - - - -
I was really surprised that my step mom was actually being so generous with me. For the last year – ever since her marriage to my dad – it became painfully obvious to me that her daughter was the apple of her eye and treated her that way. In fact, she doted on her. She wasn’t mean to me or anything, mind you. She just gave the impression that she looked down on me or that I wasn’t quite up to the high standards that she held for her natural daughter. In short, I wasn’t her favorite.

My dad was a very successful business man and he traveled a lot. We lived in rural middle Georgia and shortly after he married Susan, my step-mom, she had talked him into buying the historic house on what used to be a large plantation. Most of the land had been sold off over the years but even still, the house had 100 acres of beautiful rolling land.

The house had been built in 1840 and had been pretty much kept its historic appearance over the years with only a few improvements like electricity and running water. Still, it was gorgeous! Best house I have ever lived in yet, somehow, I knew when we first moved in, that this house might be trouble for me. It was just a feeling that I had. It was irrational, I know, but still . . .

- - - - -

As mom called us down to dinner I was greeted with a hug from dad. “I’m so proud of you! I hear you are going to help your sister with her Antebellum school project. I am glad that you two are getting along and that you want to support your new sister in such an unselfish way. Not many people would make such a sacrifice. I must have raised you right.”

My dad wasn’t one to lavish praise lightly. When he said something like that, he meant it. I could just feel the pride and respect he had for me just then. I had expected him to be excited about Angie and her prospects and that she would dominate the dinner conversation but, much to my surprise, the conversation was all about me.

“Brooke,” my step-mom said, “You have no idea how much this means to me. I have so much admiration for you I just can’t put it into words. Like your dad said, not many people would make this sacrifice. You are an amazing person and I will never forget what you have done; going out of your way so Angie can succeed. Words just fail me.”

“Aw, its not that big of deal. I don’t mind. What’s a little sacrifice if it means bigger rewards later on, right? I can deal with it.”

“Did you hear that, Frank? You are right, she IS a little angel.”

Up to that point I never thought “mom” thought much about me. I wasn’t her favorite. She loved her daughter and she loved my dad. I was pretty sure that she looked upon me as “that other person that just lived here,” you know, like our maid. But hearing her praise I had to rethink that position. She really DID care about me and that made me feel good all over. Angie was still her old bossy self but I guess all sisters – step or not – were like that with each other.

As dinner was wrapping up and desert was being served, I spoke up, “So Angie, so what does this Antebellum project have to do with this house, anyway? I guess I don’t understand what Antebellum means.”

“Well, Antebellum means ‘occurring before a particular war’ or in our country that means before The American Civil War.”

I chuckled. “You mean the War of Northern Aggression, you northern, Yankee freak.” I said laughing as the others joined in as we were all from the American South. “So,” I asked when the laughter died down, “what does Antebellum mean in regards to our house?”

Our house was built in 1840, which is 21 years before the Civil . . . I mean the War of Northern Aggression,” she said with a smile.

“I knew your house was old when Dad and I moved in with ya’ll but I had no idea it was that old. Gosh!”

Angie just smiled as if my compliment on her house was also a compliment to her personally – something that was rare and valuable. “What fascinates me,” she continued, “is not only the architecture, the tall columns, the wrap around porches, the wood floors and tall ceilings as well as the surrounding farm land, but also the history of the place. There are books that could be written about this place just waiting to be written and published and I hope to do that one day. This project will be a big help.”

“Is that why you are so interested in this house? The history? Well, that makes sense. So, your project has something to do with your home, then. So, what is my part in all of this? It sounds like you have already done all the research.”

“I have but, like many history textbooks, it is pretty dry stuff. Even I think it is pretty boring from a reader’s perspective and I happen to really LOVE history. To really get a feel for what it must have been like back then, the day-to-day activities, I need to observe and witness what I know from my research as the documented facts of the period. My project then is to have you immersed 24/7 in living out life as it was then. You’ll dress as they dressed, have duties as they had duties, eat what they ate, live as they lived just as someone did almost 184 years ago right here in this house. For the next several weeks it will be as if you lived back in 1840 – actually 1845 as that is the period of which I have the most documentation from diaries, newspapers and courthouse records.”

It all sounded so exciting to me. “Does that mean I get to ride a horse to school?”

“Not exactly. There has to be some surprises so your reactions will be genuine and I can document them. If you know everything ahead of time, you will have time to practice or fake your responses. I need everything to be as close to reality as it can possibly be from a real member of my family. Let’s just say, however, that there will be a horse and a buggy involved when a trip to school is necessary.”

“ALL RIGHT – a horse and buggy!” I exclaimed genuinely thrilled at that prospect. “Angie, I am so looking forward to this. Thanks for asking me. I don’t think I have ever been as excited as I am right now about school work.”

Angie and her mom both came over and gave me a hug as my dad just sat there smiling, revealing the joy of a father who was genuinely proud of his daughter.

My step-sister turned to face mom and dad and said, “Now that every one knows the synopsis of my research project, and I must hasten to add that my advisor has already approved the details of what I want to do, I must ask each of you to affirm that you will cooperate in every way with no interference or vetoing any part of this project as once it is started. It must continue unabated EXACTLY as I have planned it until its conclusion. Mom, dad, your support is crucial. I already know Brooke is on board but I need your backing as well.”

My step-mother spoke up immediately as if she was speaking for everyone, including me, “We want you to succeed and will do everything necessary to make sure you do. Isn’t that right, Frank?”

They both gave their agreement, though I felt that everyone in the room knew more of what was going to happen than I did. Of course, Angie had already explained a bit of why I was going to be kept in the dark, so that made some sense, I suppose.

“A little later this evening my Sociology teacher will be dropping by to get things started. No time like the present to get things rolling. I already called her to let her know that you agreed to participate and she was most impressed. In fact, she never in a million years thought that you would help. She said something along the lines of: “You weren’t that type of person;” or maybe she said, “You weren’t that crazy” or something to that effect. Anyway, she sounded most genuinely pleased.”

- - - - -

As I was doing the dishes, my mind was in a bit of a blur. What did Angie mean when she said her teacher thought I’d never help in a million years and that I wasn’t that crazy? That certainly sounded ominous. Maybe I was just over-reacting. Everyone, including my family seemed pleased and proud of my decision, and thirty grand is thirty grand! Still, I had this nagging feeling something wasn’t quite right about this whole affair.

It wasn’t that long before I heard the sound of metal banging against wood – the obvious sound of our antique door knocker echoing throughout the house loudly announcing the presence of a visitor at the front door.

I instinctively turned toward the area behind the sink and although I couldn’t see anything from my position in the kitchen, I heard our maid, Miss Mable, answer the door. In the rural south, all adult women are generally called “miss” whether they are married or not and all men are called “mister.” It is an old custom used as a sign of respect.

I recognized the voice; it was Angie’s teacher, Elaine Sedgewick. She had always been nice enough to me but her face always seemed to display a stern expression giving the impression that she was all business or that she was mad all the time. She was probably long past retirement age but perhaps she just looked older than she really was.

“Brooke,” my mother called in an overly sweet voice, “Can you come into the Parlor? We have company.” I dried my hands and hurried of to answer her summons. I can never recall any teacher dropping by for a visit so this was a special event even though she was expected.

Miss Elaine Sedgwick immediately approached me as I entered the room and shook my hand. Ah, here is the heroine of the hour. I am so glad to see this project get under way thanks to you, Brooke. I truly am amazed at your willingness to do this undertaking. If you were in any of my classes, I’d give you superior marks to be sure.”

I awkwardly accepted her hand and returned her greeting. Why was everyone making such a big deal out of this?

As usual she then took charge of everything. “I have some paperwork for you to sign. For Mr. and Mrs. Harkins, you must sign giving your permission for Brooke to participate and agreeing not to interfere or coach your daughter in any way – any responses must be those of your daughter. Angie you must sign taking charge of the project and Brooke, you must indicate your agreement to participate and for the duration of the project will follow any instructions given as required for historical accuracy.”

I noticed that mom, dad and Angie quickly signed and returned the forms to Miss Elaine without hardly a glance. I started to look over things but it was so full of legalese I didn’t understand any of it. I figured if dad signed it that it must be okay so I just scribbled my signature and initialed each page on both copies of the agreement. We all acted as witnesses for each other’s signatures and Miss Elaine notarized everything as well and used her embossing tool to leave a raised seal at the bottom of each page of the document. The ink was hardly dry before Miss Elaine snatched the forms, gave my step-mom a signed copy for our family records then quickly put her copy into her satchel.

Looking at Angie she asked, “Well, my dear, I looked over the names and the documentation you were able to find on the list of family ancestors who lived in this house for the last century and a half and that I believe any of them are suitable for your project, though some are much more suitable and interesting than others. Have you come to a decision on who you are going to have your sister …”

“STEP-sister,” I quickly interjected, wanting to be accurate since we started this meeting being all legal-like. I wanted to make sure for Angie’s sake that I looked like I was trying to be helpful.

“Ahem . . .” Miss Elaine said clearing her throat looking rather sternly at me, clearly not one who liked to be interrupted. “Yes, well . . . STEP-sister here is going to try and emulate?”

Angie went over to the antique roll-top desk in the Parlor, pulled open one of the heavy, deep-sitting drawers on the side and pulled out a rather thick, heavy-looking folder barely containing the papers crammed inside. She ruffled through the stack for several silent minutes as everyone looked on. Finally, she pulled out an obviously old, group of papers, clearly having yellowed over time. She began thoughtfully looking things over a final time as if she was trying to make sure she was making the right choice. “Yes,” she answered as she handed the stapled stack to Miss Elaine. “I have decided that my step-sister should assume the role of Honey.”

I was delighted as that sounded like such a refined and beautiful name for an occupant of this old house. I had no idea who “Honey” actually was, not being from Angie’s family and all, but I could just see myself dressed in a floor-length, blue satin dress, my hair in ringlets looking magnificent as I descended the grand staircase in the main entryway. The next several weeks were going to be a blast.

In hindsight, I should have paid more attention to the shocked expressions on my dad and step-mom’s faces as well as the look of pure delight on Miss Sedgwick’s toothy grin. I noticed that Angie was looking rather pleased with herself as well.

“Um . . . I know I am relatively new to this family but, who was Honey? I am ever so curious. Can you tell me a little about her?”

If it were even possible, my step-sister’s grin widened even more and she took a few steps closer and put her arm around me. “Honey was about your age, maybe a year older, say around 19 or so. She was a relative newcomer to the Harkins family – just like you, and as such, had a lot of adjusting to do in her new surroundings. That’s why I thought Honey was perfect for you and that you could provide some serious insight into what she was feeling and what it must have been like to adjust to her new place in our family.”

“I agree it sounds like a perfect choice for me and your project.”

Miss Sedgwick reacted with a scowl looking menacingly at Angie, “Oh stop sugar-coating your answer. It is all settled, the papers have been signed and everyone is obligated.” Then looking at me she continued, “Brooke, Honey was a slave, pure and simple she was a slave. There, now that that is out in the open, let’s get on with it.”

“A slave?! How can that be? I am white. I thought all slaves were like, you know, black. Something isn’t right here if we are trying to be historically accurate.”

“Actually, that’s not quite true,” Miss Sedgwick said matter-of-factly. “According to the law at the time, all it took was one drop of colored blood to make one a slave. Of course, some completely 100% white women were also enslaved by unscrupulous judges after receiving a substantial bribe which, according to Angie’s meticulous research would seem is what happened to Honey.”

“That can’t be!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, but it is,” Angie said with an evil chuckle. “The parallels between you and Honey are remarkable. You recently entered into a new family when your father married into ours and Honey entered her new family when her dad remarried. In Honey’s case, Honey’s step-mother couldn’t stand her new step-daughter so she bribed a judge to enslave her and put her up for auction which he did. That is how she came to be in our family – one of my relatives bought her at auction and she lived here. You, Brooke, are also newly part of our family and very close in age to Honey. And just to make the analogy even more complete, according to her enslavement papers, she had blonde hair and so do you! I think I made a perfect choice for my research.”

“But . . . a SLAVE?! SERIOUSLY?!”

Angie just laughed out loud – not a humorous laugh but a malicious laugh as if she was enjoying every minute of it.

“Dad?” I asked hopefully as if he would somehow reassure me that this was all a joke or would put a stop to this.

“There is nothing I can do. We all agreed to do this and Angie’s project is far too important to screw this up. Sorry, my Little . . . I mean, Brooke. We’ll just have to make the best of it.”

Miss Sedgwick came and stood directly in front of me looking right into my eyes with that forceful stern expression she was famous for. “From this moment onward, you are no longer Brooke. That name no longer exists in this house until further notice and this project is completed. You will be known simply as “Honey;” not Honey Harkins, not Little Sister; not even my Little Angel – just Honey. As was the custom after a slave acquired an owner. She was given a new slave-name. It is important for you to accept that ‘WHAT you were before; WHO you were before no longer exists. What you owned before, what privileges you had before are gone. You are what we tell you that you are; you have nothing except what you are given. You own nothing. You are nothing more than chattel.”

“Chattel? I am not sure I understand.”

In her typical roll as an authoritarian teacher, she looked down her nose at me and explained, “It means, my dear girl, that you are a personal possession. Under the law it means an item of property other than real estate. Slavery goes back many thousands of years mostly as a result of war like in ancient Roman times. Chattel slavery, the most common form of slavery in recent times, means that people could be legally owned, bought and sold at will like livestock. This system was supported by the United States from its inception and by many countries in Europe from the 16th to the late 19th centuries. Amazingly enough, Chattel slavery is not an American invention, despite what revisionists are trying to indoctrinate you into believing.”

A cold shiver ran up my spine at hearing the cold and calculated words coming out of this woman as she stared unemotionally into my eyes. My gawd this is really happening.

I glanced over Miss Sedgwick’s shoulder toward my family. My dad was looking rather sad but it was obvious that he had resigned himself to accepting this project and was prepared to go along with it. Mom and Angie, well, they seamed to relish what was happening to me. Looking back into Miss Sedgwick’s eyes I couldn’t tell what the heck she felt as she was all business. She would have made a great poker player. I wasn’t listening to anything she was saying as my mind went blank. I was, angry, confused then happy at the prospect of earning that $30,000. I’ll show them, I thought confidently. I just had to hold out for however long that this stupid project would last then, Europe, here I come!

I was jolted back to reality when I felt a sharp slap across my face – not hard but forceful enough to be humiliating having happened in front of my family. “Are you listening to me?”

“Um . . .Yes, ma’am,” I answered meekly.

“I said,” she explained again. She was sure that I had been daydreaming. “Get your clothes off this instant – every stitch. I don’t have time to fool with you. I have things to do.”

“Excuse me? My clothes?”

Another slap came across my cheek. “Slaves didn’t own property. All that you had for purposes of this project doesn’t exist for you anymore. Your clothes you are wearing belong in the 21st century not the 19th century. Get them off now – all of them.”

“In front of them? Even my dad?!”

Miss Sedgwick just stood there giving me “the look” practically daring me to disobey her. My dad just shrugged his shoulders and then lowered his head and looked to the floor.

My brain knew that my clothes didn’t fit the period over 200 years ago and I had agreed that I would wear what her ancestors wore back then, but I hardly expected to be forced to change into them while everyone watched! This was embarrassing to say the least.

I fiddled with the hem of my T-shirt until I heard Miss Sedgwick clear her throat again. There was nothing for it so I decided to comply and lifted my shirt up and over my head exposing my bra to the room. I had planned on folding it neatly and putting it on the ottoman but Angie’s teacher quickly snatched it away from me and kept a firm grip on it with one hand as she pointed to my jeans and then lowered her finger at the floor.

Glancing around the room, I unfastened the snap on my slacks and pulled down the zipper and stepped out of the jeans. I had barely removed my last foot before the old lady snatched them off the ground. “Get a move on. All of it has to go.”

Off came my socks then, after a slow deep breath, I removed my panties baring my blonde pubes to the room. I felt my face feel flushed as I heard my dad clear this throat, clearly uncomfortable at witnessing all this. Then I reluctantly unsnapped my bra and gave both my panties and my form-enhancing bra over to Angie’s teacher and then covered my chest and pelvis with my arms as best I could while I awaited my new clothes.

“Lift up your hair,” Angie directed as she came towards me while fiddling with something. I wasn’t really paying attention to what Angie was doing though as my eyes were on my dad. “Chin up,” Angie instructed causing me to look at her again.

“What the hell is that? It looks like a dog collar?”

“Yeah,” Angie said. “Sorry about that. I didn’t have time to have a more historically accurate collar made in time. But rest assured Mr. Longacre, the local farrier, will have one made shortly that is more in keeping with the period. In the meantime, this will have to do.”

I swallowed hard as my step-sister fastened the collar around my neck. I noticed that the collar had rings on the front, sides and back. How humiliating. Angie then giggled a bit as she fastened fur-lined cuffs around my wrists in front of me and connected them with a small chain. “Obviously, these makeshift shackles aren’t correct for the period either, but as I said, Mr. Longacre will be here tomorrow to fit new ones.”

Miss Sedgwick looked me over and remarked. “Yes, these will do for now. I realize that you haven’t had time to obtain correct shackles but yes, these will serve their purpose overnight until the auction tomorrow.”

“AUCTION?” I exclaimed a bit too loudly. “What Auction?”

Angie patiently explained, “Well, when a new slave had been indentured such as you have been . . .”

Miss Sedgwick interrupted, “The term is enslaved, dear. Indentured implies a temporary arrangement. Honey was – or I should say is now a permanent slave.”

“Oh, I see.” Angie acknowledged turning back to me. “Well since you have now been enslaved, there will be an auction here to establish your new owners. We want to do this as accurate as we can you understand, taking care not to skip any steps.”

Looking at my stepmom and dad I said, “I thought you are my new owners. You are my parents Afterall.”

“They might be,” Miss Sedgewick explained. “It all depends on the outcome of the auction tomorrow and whether or not they actually bid on you.”

“You mean someone else might purchase me? That’s absurd. I didn’t agree to that!”

SLAP!

I was taken aback when my step mother now this time slapped my face hard! “You most certainly did, young lady and I’ll not have you ruining my daughter’s project or her chances for a scholarship. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very nice, Mrs. Harkins,” the teacher commented. “Slaves were punished severely for any insolence. Angie has a good handle on that from her research and can advise you if necessary.”

I’m sorry,” I quickly interjected before something worse happened to me. “I won’t mess up the project. This is all . . . so . . . weird, um, I mean strange to me. I will do what I need to do. Forgive my outburst.”

Miss Sedgwick smiled. The old prune face actually smiled as she continued her explanation. “Tomorrow we will hold an auction. We want you to experience what Honey might have experienced so it will be as close as possible to what slave auctions were like. In fact, this whole project is about you experiencing this time period as a Honey might have experienced it. Each night you will record in your journal what happened and your feelings about the day.”

Angie spoke up and added, “We know from some records that Honey could write and that she actually kept a secret journal. Unfortunately, that journal was lost to us as it was discovered at some point by her owners and destroyed. We have an incredible opportunity to get a glimpse of what she might have experienced by re-creating what we do know. And since this house was the actual place where honey spent her enslavement, you can get as close as possible to feeling what she felt here and write it all down as she must have done.”

“I see, well, that makes sense,” I reluctantly acknowledged. My step-sister was smarter than I thought she was. She clearly spent a lot of time on this and I could see the honor in being involved in something so important. I just wished it wasn’t happening to me.

My step-sister continued, “It is so very important for your journal to have meaning which is why everyone involved will make sure that everything is as realistic as possible and I mean everything. That’s why your shackles will be like those Honey wore; your food will be like what she ate; in fact, everything that happens to you and everything you do will be as close to what we understand that she might have experienced.”

I see. You know, it is kind of embarrassing standing here like this. Can we get on with letting me get dressed in the period clothing I need to be wearing and then continue with your explanations?”

My question made everyone laugh including Miss Prune face. I wasn’t sure why what I said was so funny.

“My dear little sister . . . I mean, Honey, you ARE wearing your period clothes – at least what slaves wore to auction and possibly during the entire period as a slave. Your new owner might permit you some clothing or not as they might deem appropriate, but ALL slaves showed up at auction totally naked except for their collar and shackles. How else can prospective buyers assess how much you might be worth? Male slaves needed to be evaluated for their muscle development. Female slaves needed to be assessed for breeding purposes or other defects that might affect their value.”

“WHAT?! You mean I am going to be auctioned off NAKED? Just who exactly is going to be at this auction anyway? Where is this going to be held?” I screamed at my step-sister.

“Well, normally it would have been held on the steps at the county courthouse or in a judge’s chambers but I have decided to do this on the steps of our front porch. As to who is going to be here, well, some of your classmates, silly. I have arranged to have members of our school drama club, well,18 of them anyway, act as potential buyers who will be dressed in period clothing along with our Principal Mr. Conners, who will serve as our judge and auctioneer. And, mom has kindly arranged for several of our neighbors who live nearby to be here as well as I felt it was important to get their buy-in into the importance of the project.”

“I am going to be NAKED, bound up like this in front of all those people?”

“Yes, you are,” my step-mother said firmly unless you want a taste of the whip like real slaves might have experienced. I have absolutely no problem whipping you either as I intend on fulfilling my role authentically.”

I swallowed hard and looked at the ground submissively.

“I thought you might see things my way,” she snickered half-under her breath and returned to stand next to my dad.

Coming up - Chapter 2: The Auction and New Owner.

Comments appreciated.

[Mr. Smith]

I love a good slave auction! I wonder how an authentic slave auction was held back in 1845 and I can only assume that the author has done his research for this story. How long will it be before Honey feels the bite of the whip; probably sometime before the auction as she appears a tad uppity. Then what tests were used back then to determine fitness for breeding? I'm looking forward to the next chapter.

[jeepster]

Interesting! A great start to a longer story! The "auction" should be a learning experience for Honey!

[imreadonly2]

WOW! What a great start to the story. I love the idea of the Principal being the auctioneer -- perfect casting for a low level authority figure who has absolute authority over Honey. I certainly hopes he makes sure that the buyers get a good look at what they're buying, and extolls the virtues and potential uses of the chattel up for sale. As the buyers need to see the goods, let's hope he doesn't hesitate to use the whip.

I also love the image of all the finely dressed ladies and gentleman in their Antebellum best, contrasted with Honey, standing naked at the top of the stairs for everyone to see.

GREAT JOB! I can hardly wait for part 2!

[CommodorRaptr]

What a story! I've missed such well written stories that takes their time and you can see the effort put in each paragraph. Gonna go read the rest!

[Hooked6]

WOW! What a great start to the story. I love the idea of the Principal being the auctioneer -- perfect casting for a low level authority figure who has absolute authority over Honey. I certainly hopes he makes sure that the buyers get a good look at what they're buying, and extolls the virtues and potential uses of the chattel up for sale. As the buyers need to see the goods, let's hope he doesn't hesitate to use the whip.

I also love the image of all the finely dressed ladies and gentleman in their Antebellum best, contrasted with Honey, standing naked at the top of the stairs for everyone to see.

GREAT JOB! I can hardly wait for part 2!

Wow, coming from one of my favorite authors, your comment seriously made my day! I hope the subsequent chapters are still as interesting as this first one. Your work has inspired me in so many ways and I thank you for all the many fine stories that you have posted.

Hooked6

[Hooked6]

What a story! I've missed such well written stories that takes their time and you can see the effort put in each paragraph. Gonna go read the rest!

Thank you CommodorRapt for your feedback. I also tend to take my time in many of my stories trying to build a set of characters that have depth and a storyline that is plausible in many of my stories and usually that takes time.. Thank you for appreciating my style of writing. It means a lot.

Hooked6

[Skylar21]

This is such a hot story. It has it all. More than one layer to it. And quite well written. Please don't let this story die. I've read the first two chapters at least twice while awaiting your next installments.

The humiliation level is high in this one!