A Word from the Author
"Thank you for patiently waiting for the newest part of my historical sci-fi series, "Sally - The Time Traveling Slave". This series continues to challenge my skills as a historical fiction writer and I hope that with every part I release, you are able to see an amelioration in my writing.
In Part Two: The Confederate Commuter, we are introduced to the futuristic aspects of the story when Sally discovers the means by which the unconventional way to freedom might be acquired. In the same part, Sally is introduced to the names of places (Galveston, TX and Bordeaux, France) and things (The T&NO Train Line and The Cunard Line Steamship) that would have been valid travel destinations and options of the time in which she lives. The commute that Mr. Livington explains to Mrs. Abigail would have been a valid way to get from Texas to French borders.
I hope you enjoy Sally's adventures and discoveries in Part Two! Please subscribe to keep up with the story and follow @teaendblog on IG and @gabietheauthor on Tik Tok to learn more about the historical people, places, and things mentioned throughout the story.
Happy Reading,
Gabie the Author
"Sally - The Time Traveling Slave"
A Historical Sci-Fi Series
Part Two: "The Confederate Commuter"
“Shut the door.” Mr. Peterson slurred.
Sally closed the door behind her, eyes fixed on Mr. Peterson; the door’s creaking filled the cabin with suspense. Her heart performed acrobatics while adrenaline rushed through her limbs. How was he here? He must have come to the cabin while Sally retrieved the coin. But, if he was juggling the coin, what was in her bodice?
“Do you know the value of this here, girl?” Mr. Peterson asked as he held up the coin between his index finger and thumb, attempting to keep his balance. “This right here gon’ change the world.”
Sally brought her hand up to her chest, pretending to adjust her dress out of discomfort; she felt the bulge in her bodice. Indeed, there was something there.
“You tell the truth, huh, girl? That wench took it! She won’t be taking nothin’ else! I’ll tell you that!” Mr. Peterson hollered and threw himself back. His teeth, straight and white, accompanied by a smile that suited a kind person.
“What happened to her?” Sally asked. She wasn’t too fond of Elsa, but the blood on Mr. Peterson’s cotton shirt called to her conscience.
He stared at Sally, eyes glazed. “The same thing happened to that thievin’ n*gger.”
The room began to spin. Ezekiel. She had no time to process his absence, but now, there was a longing for his presence and an aching in her heart for justice.
Suddenly, Mr. Peterson leapt off the bed; he grabbed Sally by her arm and swung the door open. He dragged her beside the cabin where his horse was hitched and hoisted her on the saddle. He then saddled the beast and with a click of his tongue, the steed galloped towards the sunset, west of the estate.
Sally held on tightly to Mr. Peterson, unable to discern if the wetness of his shirt was his sweat or Elsa’s blood. Looking back, she saw the estate, with slave quarters sitting to the east and the cabins to the south. Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Abigail stood on the porch, looking on as two bucks carried a body to the slave graveyard north of the estate. Elsa was being taken to her burial but where was Mr. Peterson taking Sally?
Mr. Peterson passed the wash house and Sally watched as it went by, it with its mourning maids; their wails growing fainter as he rode.
As the horse galloped past the brush the evening air became cooler. Sally looked back again and all she saw were trees and bushes that danced with the rhythm of the horse’s trot. She was further than any slave had ever been on the estate grounds. The air here was scented differently; it smelled like freedom.
Mr. Peterson called his horse to slow its stride. Nestled in the bush with a 10-foot clearing all around was a small cabin with both familiar and futuristic architecture. A throbbing neon rose colored glow emitted from the windows.
Mr. Peterson dismounted the horse and stumbled away, calling after Sally to follow.
“I got something you wanna see, girl!” he belted.
Sally jumped down, catching her fall, she wiped her hands free from gravel, and followed behind the wobbling Mr. Peterson. What was making the cabin glow? What did he want to show her? Were they not enemies on opposite sides of freedom?
Mr. Peterson reached for a set of keys fastened to his belt loop with a leather strap. Sally took note of the key which opened the door.
When they walked inside, the space opened to a large room that held a long table with chairs all around.
“This just where we meet. The surprise is upstairs.” Mr. Peterson said, beckoning Sally to a staircase to the left of the room. Did Ezekiel know about this place? Was this what he wanted her to discover?
Sally turned back to the staircase and decided to accept her fate. As she climbed the stairs, the light became brighter and its pulsing was accompanied by a low hum, masking her footsteps.
The top of the stairs revealed a room with windows all around. In the center stood a glowing contraption responsible for the light. It was about 8 feet tall and 6 feet wide. It resembled a bird house, but instead of openings, there was glass, and instead of wood, there was metal. It pulsed with the neon rose colored light and with each throb there was a combustion of heat. Sally had never seen anything like it.
“Ain’t she beautiful?” Mr. Peterson asked, slumped in front of the contraption.
“What is it?” Sally asked, holding her gaze on the machine.
“She’s called the Confederate Commuter.”
“Commuter? Where does it go?” Sally asked, stepping closer.
“She don’t go nowhere, girl. But she can take you anywhere you want to go, in the past or… the future.”
Sally circled the contraption until she stood behind it. A machine that could take someone into the past or the future just seemed like such child’s play for grown men to indulge in. She looked through the glass pane to see glowing buttons and hardware that resembled no toy she’d ever seen. Looking through to the other side, she saw Mr. Peterson slumped over, eyes barely open. Then she thought of the coin.
She reached into her bodice and pulled out the bulge; it was indeed the coin. The center glowed at the same rhythm as the Confederate Commuter. They must have created multiple coins for the machine and in his drunkenness, Mr. Peterson mistook one already in his possession for the one that he and Mr. Thomas found with Elsa.
“How does it work?” Sally called, hiding the coin again in her bodice. She looked up to see Mr. Peterson lying on the floor.
“How does it wo—?”
“D*mn you, Nathaniel! Must your liquor always bring us close to trouble?” Mr. Thomas came barreling into the room, startling Mr. Peterson awake. “What the hell are you even doing up here?”
Sally crouched and hid behind the machine while Mr. Thomas struggled to hoist Mr. Peterson to his feet. They stumbled to the stairway and Mr. Thomas barked at Mr. Peterson for not attempting to assist with their descent.
Sally remained crouched and breathing shallowly while Mr. Thomas cursed, and the men bumbled down the stairway. Finally, she heard the door creak open, shut, and then lock.
With her head low and her back hunched, Sally ran to one of the windows facing the entrance of the cabin and peaked ever slightly above the window seal. There they were, trotting off into the bush. Mr. Peterson, slouched, but holding on for dear life; his steed loped alongside them.
Sally turned and slid down the wall letting out a sigh of relief. When she opened her eyes, the Confederate Commuter welcomed her to an uninhibited exploration.
The door to the machine was inlayed and, in the place where a conventional handle would be, there was an inset button. Sally ran her hand along the diameter of the button and pressed. The glass metal paned door slid to the left and disappeared into the wall of the machine.
Sally stepped inside, admiring the flickering lights, glowing buttons, and advanced hardware. The machine, in its innovative design, was quite simple once explored. All the buttons were numbered with instructions, indicating a sequential user guide. As Sally leaned closer to read them, she noticed that the letters did not make words she could read.
Sally attempted to sound out the words like Mrs. Abigail had taught her, but she could not make sense of any of them. They were all unfamiliar, and she had not seen any of them in the many books Mrs. Abigail had taught her to read from. Thankfully, there were accompanied images.
The image coinciding to step one displayed a manlike figure placing a coin into an opening in the machine. Scanning the surface, Sally spotted a small glowing opening about the size of the coin.
Sally squinted at the instructions, trying to determine what would happen next if she placed the coin in the opening. The image displayed a glow around a man-like figure and a clock above the figure’s head.
If she placed the coin in the opening and she began to travel, where would she go? Would she be able to return? How would she return? Did she want to return?
“Where in the hell could he have dropped it!”
Sally gasped and ran out the door of the Confederate Commuter, hit the button to close the door, and braced herself up against the wall closest to the staircase. Mr. Thomas had returned alone, looking for the coin they retrieved from Elsa. He navigated upstairs, muttering and cursing with every step. Sally held her breath, waiting for him to cross the threshold.
He barged into the glowing but shadowed room squinting at the floor for any sign of the coin. While his back was facing her, Sally seized the opportunity and ran down the stairs matching her footsteps to the drowning vibrations of the Confederate Commuter.
Dashing out the open front door Sally passed Mr. Thomas’ unperturbed horse before disappearing into the brush. “Shh.” she playfully whispered holding her finger up to her lips.
Giggling from the elation of a clean escape, Sally ran in the opposite direction that Mr. Peterson had rode. She darted past the unlit wash house; all the maids and slaves had returned to their cabins and quarters. With fireflies dancing around her, she disappeared behind the estate, into the garden and through the door of the cabin.
Out of breath, she closed the door and threw herself onto the bed. Where would the Confederate Commuter take her? What were the odd words that she could not read? Could she be close to finding the freedom that Ezekiel promised?
Sally held her palm up against her chest where she could feel the coin’s bulge through her bodice. She closed her eyes and immediately began to dream of a faraway place somewhere in the span of time where she could always run free.
Sally awoke to Moby’s voice. If it weren’t for her brother, Sally would never be on time for any of her duties.
“It’s times to get on up, Sally, Master Livington done come back and Mrs. Abigail want you in her dressing room now.”
Sally slowly rose to her feet, sore from last night’s escapade. As she walked through the garden, admiring the fresh dew on the plants and flowers, she thought about the conversation that Mrs. Abigail and Mr. Peterson had yesterday. Master Livington wasn’t supposed to return until Thursday; it was only Sunday morning. Making her way up the winding staircase, she imagined what his premature return could mean.
Sally opened the door to Mrs. Abigail’s dressing room and there stood Master Livington, towering over Mrs. Abigail as she sat in her vanity chair with the hairbrush in her hand, waiting on Sally to do what she was perfectly capable of doing herself.
Mr. William Livington, a matured but youthful man with dark brown hair donning sun-bleached highlights. His eyes, an ocean blue. His skin, bronzed by far-away sunrises and his body chiseled by adventures at sea and foreign excursions. A distinguished gentleman of American society, handsome, and wealthy.
He stood sturdy facing an anxious Mrs. Abigail.
“Sally, get over here and brush my hair!”
Sally felt the weight of the ivory and silver-ornamented handle as she stroked the bristles through Mrs. Abigail’s waves, watching them flow back like the tide.
“I really don’t see why I must be sent off to Paris. Is it not enough, William, that you’ve been away all this time? And now, why must you send me away?”
“Paris will be good for you, Abigail. The ladies are refined; they can teach you their French ways. Their maids are also well equipped for their duties, considering the recent insurgences, perhaps you could learn their training methods and bring it back to the estate; our maids and slaves need a bit of polishing if we are to keep entertaining aristocracy.” Mr. Livington said while adjusting his sleeves.
Mrs. Abigail protested in rebuttals, exasperated by her husband’s staunch decidedness.
“I really don’t want to hear any more fuss about it, Abigail. You need to learn the proper ways of a lady; the French women can teach you to be more discreet. Besides, I think it will be good for you to rest from your…current endeavors.” Mr. Livington said.
Mrs. Abigail’s cheeks flushed with shame. “Well, how will I get along in Paris? I don’t know anyone there. I don’t even speak French!”
“You can learn French, like I did, it’s not that difficult of a language. And as far as friends, well, you didn’t seem to hesitate to make new friends here, now, did you?”
Mrs. Abigail met her husband’s unwavering gaze, and in the silence, they communicated for a moment that felt like years compressed into mere seconds.
“Have the maids pack your things. You and your maids leave first thing in the morning.”
“In the morning? Oh, William, you can’t be so cruel! I need time to…”
“Time to do what?” Mr. Livington asked sharply. “Time to say goodbye? Proper farewells only require but a single word, darling. The coach leaves tomorrow for the T&NO Train Line in Houston. Once you’ve arrived at the port, a coach will take you from the train to The Cunard Line Steamship docked in Galveston. You will sail the beautiful Atlantic for about 10 days, my dear, and then you will arrive at the French port Bordeaux. I will see you off tomorrow. Oh, and this is for you, a parting gift.”
Mr. Livington handed Mrs. Abigail a blue book with the engraved image of an arc on the cover. He bent to kiss Mrs. Abigail’s cheek and then turned and marched out of the room like a sergeant, confident in the execution of his orders.
Mrs. Abigail stared at the small book with tears welling in her eyes.
“Well, Sally, I guess we better learn ze fran-say.” She said sarcastically, rising from the chair and nonchalantly handing Sally the gift before walking out of the room.
Sally propped open the book and thumbed through its pages. It read like a lesson plan and the French resembled the words that Sally had seen in the instructions on the Confederate Commuter. She grinned and thumbed through the pages.
“Well, I guess so.”
Do you think Sally will be able to learn French?
Who do you think she could run into in France?
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