Sally hastily finished scribbling in her cherished worn leather-backed diary with the tiny silver heart latch to lock it. It had been a gift from her father when she was born, her mother had kept it hidden from her until her sixteenth birthday, only to give it to Sally when she was dying in that two-little one room shack they called a "home" for so many years. Sally soon wondered where her mother could afford such an delicate token, her mother, Mary Coleman, then explained on her dying bed the story behind such a gift.

  "Sal," her mother wheezed deep inside her chest,"its ‘bout time I told yous where yous come from. From me of course, but your daddy was a white man. He wuz a capta’n for a great ship, Edward James Parker. Had the blue’st eyes I’ve ever se’n, en the bright’st smile too."

  Her mother had closed her eyes for a good ten minutes, Sally was concerned she had already slipped away before she had a chance to say goodbye, then however, her mother jerked open her melanic, somber eyes and stretched her frail mahogany hand; Sally immediately grabbed it.

  "He came ba’k for me, for us, Sal. He was goin’ to take us away from here ba’k to England wit’ ‘em. It didn’t matt’r that I was a slave. The fact I had ‘is babe was reason ‘nough for ‘em. 'e was desperate to own his own flesh 'en blood. We were gonna run by midn’ght en ‘scape to ‘is ship. But I was fright’ned, that we were gon’ get caught, so I told ‘em ‘No.’," by this time, Sally could see the brims of tears tracing her mothers’ eyes, this caused her heart to squeeze inside her chest,"bigg’st mistake I’ve ev’r made, Sal, bigg’st. ‘E work’d it out so yous could learn to read en write, so yous could be educat’d. I don’t knoe what ‘e did, but next thing I knoe, the masta’ was teachin’ you ‘imself, in s’cret of course, ‘cuz slaves ‘aint suppose ta learn. ‘E gave me that there book, just for you en this too," she trailed off, taking her hand out of Sallys’ and reached under her thin-sewn linen pillow. Out from under the pillow, emerged her mothers’ hand holding a small, wooden-framed drawing of a man. "This is your daddy, Sal. I think you ‘ave ‘is nose en mouth en a bit of ‘is skin colla’ too. Your eyes en ears are from me thou’," her mother chuckled at the latter piece of information, but it was soon replaced by a dreadful, hackling cough.

  Sally regarded the small picture with such curious scrutiny. Why had her mama kept such a valuable puzzle piece of her life, her childhood? She’d glanced frequently in the mirror of Miss Pearls’ vanity, noting the pale yellowish tone of her skin, her mouth, soft and childish in contours, the soft curly black hair that seemed to glow like a silk cap, which flowed down her back in coiled braid, that she frequently kept wrapped tight in a white cap, on the back of her head. Her nose narrow in feature, slightly flared at the tip, dimples in her cheeks, like mini craters in her face, close-set almond eyes mirroring her mothers’ atrous color, fringed with thick black eyelashes and slightly thin eyebrows. Because she mainly worked in the house, spared from any back-breaking field work; even though house work could just be as challenging (cooking the meals, meticulously cleaning the house, assisting the Mistress every morning in her dressing), Sally still felt the animosity some of the field slaves exerted whenever she came out of the house. They felt she had an better advantage because of her features, and that may have been the case to some extent, but the fact remained: she was a slave just as they were, and still had to endure grueling work, whether in the house or field.

  So this was him, she reflected, studying the picture of a white man with a meticulously dark trimmed bread as well as the dark truff of hair on his head. He appeared to have been a stout man with broad shoulders, his captains’ hat tucked under his left arm. Sure enough, staring back at her where the bluest eyes her mother had ever seen. Whoever, had drawn the photo illustrated his eyes with bluish-grey paint. She took note of the slight flare in his nose like hers, and the pouty lips with a mild curvature of the top lip. Interesting. Interesting indeed. She forgot how long she had been fixated with the picture but by the time she swivelled her attention back her mama, she noticed the eerie stillness of her mothers’ chest. "She’s gone," Sally thought," I’ve lost her."

  "Sally!"

  "Here I am Mrs. Pearl," Sally dashed into the room behind Mrs. Pearl Coleman, her mistress since Sally had been born. Mrs. Pearl was a fickle creature, at times sweeter than a pot of honey but then turn around and be meaner than field snake. This must of been one of those moods.

  "There you are! Girl, stop pussyfootin’ around and get over here and lace this damn corset! And when you finish packing my womanly essentials into my suitcases. James will be up shortly to load them into the wagon," Mrs. Pearl bossily instructed.

  "I don’t know what we are going to do without the other,"she threw a glance over her back when Sally had pulled too hard at the corset stings," help coming along with us," she added as an afterthought. "But we’ll make do, won’t we Sally?"

  "Oh, yes Mam," Sally tried pathetically to hide the out-of-breath huffing she was exerting while tieing the corset. Mrs. Pearl sure had gained weight since the last time she did this, Sally considered. Maybe she was with child? Nah. Couldn’t be that either, Mr. Coleman was too busy fighting the battle in Oklahoma with the savages. Sally smirked as she almost had the all the laces tried; that fact definitely hadn’t stopped Mrs. Pearl before and it sure as hell wasn’t stopping her now. That woman had loose morals and even looser skirts.

  "Finally," Mrs. Pearl breathed a minuet sigh of relieve when Sally had tried the last lace.

  Sally walked over and began packing Mrs.Pearls’ many cases of chemises, dress slips, and other frilly undergarments in the case iron leather suitcase. The purpose of this move was for the sole reason for Mrs. Pearl to be closer to her army veteran husband, it was supposed to be a benefit. Sally didn’t know how, considering the books she had read while she was supposed to be folding the freshly dried clothes. Texas, supposed to be ripping the benefits of the newly acquired gold rush out west, but Sally was concerned with the climate(blistering heat, dry air) and the people (staggering drunks at every town, or even worse, the Indian raids through towns), she detested getting herself all worked up over what surely, had to be a made-up story. The real reason Sally was scared was mainly for the slaves, some of whom she knew her entire life, were being sold over these last couple of days, Mr. Coleman hadn’t needed them anymore, since the part of Texas they were going, didn’t have any cotton fields and such. He only requested for two, James, Mr. Coleman’s stable boy, and her. Most importantly, her mama’s grave was here, Sally would be leaving behind her mother, which reminded her, she had to visit the grave tonight.

  "Sally."

  Mrs. Pearl’s voice shook her from the stupor she found herself sinking in,"Yes Mam?"

  "Come over here, I want to give you something."

  Sally hustled over to Mrs. Pearl confused.

  "I wanted to give you a little something for your work, Sally," Mrs. Pearl held up a tiny necklace with a gold heart attached to a leather cord, no doubt a hand-me-down.

  Sally staged surprise,"Is that for me? Oh, Mrs. Pearl, I don’t know what to say." Mrs. Pearl always gave Sally her hand-me-downs from past suitors to Sally when the "new" worn off of it. But who was Sally to complain? She gladly recieved them each and everytime.

  "It’s just a little something, Sally, to show may gratitude," Mrs. Pearl stood from her chair, her long blonde hair secured in a half ponytail, with an diamond encrusted pendant, one of the many gifts from her suitors, making the leather rope necklace appear like a poverty strickened momento item.

  "Now get back to work." And just like that, her angelic mood turned sour once again as she marched out into the hallway.