The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) by Amanda Hughes Page B
Authors: Amanda Hughes
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cows and goats on board, pens of chickens, spinning wheels, tables and chairs which were lashed to the roof. There were small tents down below and even a loom. Men stood with oars at the sides of the massive raft, guiding the floating village. Sydnee noticed women preparing food in a fire pit right on board the boat while others hung laundry up to dry. Some of the children were fishing off the side and one of them waved to her.
These were different from the privileged people of the exquisite paddle wheeler. Their clothing was homespun, worn and faded, and the children had no shoes, but Sydnee heard laughter, and the children were singing.
Sydnee sat down on the bank to see what else may turn up on this busy waterway. After a few moments, a dugout canoe came by paddled by Indians, and then a keelboat sailed around the bend with a young man playing music. He sat on the edge of the boat with his feet dangling in the water, clasping a box which he collapsed in and out. Sydnee had never seen or heard anything like it. The box created a whimsical wheezing sound, and the music rolled across the water as clear as a bell. The dogs were fascinated and listened with their heads cocked.
Sydnee shook her head in amazement at the traffic on this great river. She could pass the entire day watching this endless parade and never become bored. Reluctantly, she turned to go, and the dogs bounded up the riverbank behind her with Vivian in the rear.
Chapter 6
Deep ruts lined the path to the San-Souci plantation. The day was coming to a close, and when they reached the outskirts of the plantation, it was dusk. Sydnee stayed in the bushes to survey the grounds before approaching anyone. Snapping her fingers, she signaled for the dogs, and they sat down quietly behind her.
She ran her eyes along the open field. Rows of black slaves were bent over hoes, chopping and plucking weeds from the rich black soil. They were in shabby homespun clothing and sweat glistened on their dark skin. Most were as thin as skeletons, and their faces were heavily creased. Some of the women wore tignons , a few wore bonnets, and the men worn ragged straw hats.
Watching them work, Sydnee realized that she missed cotton planting, but perhaps they were starting a different crop. Taking off her hat, she smoothed her hair, straightened her dress and stepped out into the field.
The hands stole looks at her, but they did not stop their hoeing. Several of them glanced around for the overseer, but they did not call to him. Sydnee caught sight of the big house in the distance. It was a sprawling two-story dwelling with white pillars and galleries wrapping around the top and bottom floors. A graceful stairway ran up either side of the entrance and candlelight twinkled in every window. Sydnee’s heart fluttered; never had she seen such grandeur.
“Say there! What’s your business?” someone barked.
Sydnee jumped, and the dogs stiffened as a white man strode up with a whip in his hand. He was short but massively built. The sleeves of his sweat-stained shirt were rolled up, revealing strong arms covered with curly black hair. He was frowning.
Sydnee stuttered, “I-I was wondering if you have—have work?”
“Not for trash like you,” was his abrupt reply. “Now git,” he ordered, gesturing toward the woods. “Or I’ll give you a taste of this whip!”
Sydnee stared at him a moment, and then turned away. She could feel the eyes of all the field hands upon her as she walked back to the woods. Standing for a long time in the trees, Sydnee tried to quell her humiliation. The dogs sat down, leaning against her legs. Lifting her chin, she took a deep breath and started to walk again.
Over the next three days, Sydnee was met with rejection after rejection. Up and down the river road she traveled, stopping at plantations, going to small farms, asking strangers for work. She heard the same reply again and again, “We got our niggers. There’s no
These were different from the privileged people of the exquisite paddle wheeler. Their clothing was homespun, worn and faded, and the children had no shoes, but Sydnee heard laughter, and the children were singing.
Sydnee sat down on the bank to see what else may turn up on this busy waterway. After a few moments, a dugout canoe came by paddled by Indians, and then a keelboat sailed around the bend with a young man playing music. He sat on the edge of the boat with his feet dangling in the water, clasping a box which he collapsed in and out. Sydnee had never seen or heard anything like it. The box created a whimsical wheezing sound, and the music rolled across the water as clear as a bell. The dogs were fascinated and listened with their heads cocked.
Sydnee shook her head in amazement at the traffic on this great river. She could pass the entire day watching this endless parade and never become bored. Reluctantly, she turned to go, and the dogs bounded up the riverbank behind her with Vivian in the rear.
Chapter 6
Deep ruts lined the path to the San-Souci plantation. The day was coming to a close, and when they reached the outskirts of the plantation, it was dusk. Sydnee stayed in the bushes to survey the grounds before approaching anyone. Snapping her fingers, she signaled for the dogs, and they sat down quietly behind her.
She ran her eyes along the open field. Rows of black slaves were bent over hoes, chopping and plucking weeds from the rich black soil. They were in shabby homespun clothing and sweat glistened on their dark skin. Most were as thin as skeletons, and their faces were heavily creased. Some of the women wore tignons , a few wore bonnets, and the men worn ragged straw hats.
Watching them work, Sydnee realized that she missed cotton planting, but perhaps they were starting a different crop. Taking off her hat, she smoothed her hair, straightened her dress and stepped out into the field.
The hands stole looks at her, but they did not stop their hoeing. Several of them glanced around for the overseer, but they did not call to him. Sydnee caught sight of the big house in the distance. It was a sprawling two-story dwelling with white pillars and galleries wrapping around the top and bottom floors. A graceful stairway ran up either side of the entrance and candlelight twinkled in every window. Sydnee’s heart fluttered; never had she seen such grandeur.
“Say there! What’s your business?” someone barked.
Sydnee jumped, and the dogs stiffened as a white man strode up with a whip in his hand. He was short but massively built. The sleeves of his sweat-stained shirt were rolled up, revealing strong arms covered with curly black hair. He was frowning.
Sydnee stuttered, “I-I was wondering if you have—have work?”
“Not for trash like you,” was his abrupt reply. “Now git,” he ordered, gesturing toward the woods. “Or I’ll give you a taste of this whip!”
Sydnee stared at him a moment, and then turned away. She could feel the eyes of all the field hands upon her as she walked back to the woods. Standing for a long time in the trees, Sydnee tried to quell her humiliation. The dogs sat down, leaning against her legs. Lifting her chin, she took a deep breath and started to walk again.
Over the next three days, Sydnee was met with rejection after rejection. Up and down the river road she traveled, stopping at plantations, going to small farms, asking strangers for work. She heard the same reply again and again, “We got our niggers. There’s no
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