Sally, a slave in the 19th century courageously discovers an unconventional way to freedom. What she possesses could potentially change the present, the past, and the future. Will she be able to obtain freedom for herself and her family and change the course of the bad parts of history? Or will she give in to pressure and persecution? Follow the thrilling and inspiring Historical Sci-Fi Series, Sally - The Time Traveling Slave to find out!
PROLOGUE
“Ya donno whatcha really made of ‘til you held under fire,” Ezekiel would always say to the little girl, his voice vibrating deeply, carrying the weight of unspoken wisdom. There wasn’t a blacksmith better in the whole of Texas, able to set ablaze any stone and call out its impurities. A man who forged strength and resilience into every piece of iron he touched.
The tiny cabin cowered under the setting sun and under the shadow of the overseer’s house. Its walls weathered and patched with whatever materials Ezekiel could scavenge, the air inside was thick and stifling; relief coming only from a whistled breeze that occasionally found its way through the cracks. All day until sundown, the cabin echoed with the clang of metal on metal, a sound that inspired determination and defiance.
Defiance that would not go unpunished.
Eight-year-old Sally sat on a rickety stool, her small fingers, cut and bruised by the thorns on the cotton plants, working tirelessly to mend a torn scarf by the dim light flickering in the background. She was careful not to drop the scarf on the floor made of gravel or to allow her blistered and bleeding pinky finger on her left hand to graze the scarf, Mrs. Abigail didn’t like it when she brought back her work dirty.
Ezekiel hovered nearby; worry written on his brow as he paced the cramped room. He was always anxious, even while he worked, everyone was, but Sally sensed a nervousness unlike any before and she kept one eye on him and the other on her mending.
Flashing lantern lights and the sound of stomping hooves outside the cabin broke both of their concentration. Ezekiel cowered to peer out the small window and an expression appeared on his face informing Sally that he knew why they were receiving unwanted visitors.
Ezekiel slowly looked down as if to contemplate his next move and then quickly turned to Sally, his eyes searching hers with a mixture of fear and resolve. He reached into the pocket of his worn trousers and pulled out a small round metal piece – a token with a glowing center that seemed to dance with its own fire. The piece was heavier than it looked and seemed to carry the weight of the world, both the present and past.
“Sally,” he whispered, crouching down to her eye level. “Take this and keep it very safe. You is mighty smart, you gon’ finds out what this here for. Don’t tell a soul you got this and don’t show nobody neither. You’s gon’ be free, girl, you and Betsy, and Moby, and alls them.”
Sally blinked viciously, trying to comprehend all what was said. Before she could ask any questions, the cabin door burst open with a force that sent shivers down her spine. The overseer, Mr. Thomas, stood in the doorway, flanked by his stern-faced comrades. His presence filled the space like a thundercloud, casting long shadows across the room.
“You got somethin’ you wanna tell me, boy?” Mr. Thomas said. “You hidin’ somethin’ don't belong to you?”
Ezekiel kept his gaze on his muddied and busted boots, his head and shoulders slumped in defeat, his hands trembling but his jaw set in defiance. “No, sir. I’s hidin’ nothin’, sir.”
Mr. Thomas scanned the room, his eyes locked onto every item as if he had X-ray vision, the threadbare blankets, the rough-hewn table, the forging tools. He walked towards the table, picked up the hammer and began to balance it in his hand.
“You know, boy, you’re really good at this here forgin’, but you’re a bad liar.” With a wave of his hand, his comrades moved forward pushing Ezekiel backwards against the wall, their movements harsh and unforgiving as they surrounded him. Sally watched as they kicked and cursed, she could not see Ezekiel, but she could hear his response to every assault. Besides floating outside of her body, she did not move. Every inch of her wanted to cry out and help, but every inch of her also knew better.
The chaos only became more intense as the men seemed to tire. A lanky man with red hair and hot red cheeks began searching Ezekiel’s pockets and when he didn’t find what he was looking for, his eyes slowly found Sally’s. She immediately looked down, but she could still feel his gaze.
Another robust and stocky man with dirty blonde hair covering his eyes became short of breath and could no longer kick. He tied a rope around Ezekiel’s ankles. “Ok, boys, that’s enough! We gon’ tire ourselves out. Let the steed take this thieving nigger where he belong.”
The men cleared to Mr. Thomas’ order and exited the cabin to reveal a bloody and swollen Ezekiel laying on his side, his arm stretched forward underneath him, his short breaths indicating broken ribs. The coiled rope lay next to his body but began to quickly unravel as Mister Thomas crouched at his head.
“You want freedom, boy? Well, here you have it.”
The rope gave up slack and in a blink of an eye Ezekiel was dragged out of the cabin surrounded by a cloud of dirt and dust. An energy seemingly belonging to another force catapulted Sally off the stool and at the doorway where she could see the men riding off into the night, their lanterns revealing spotlighted glimpses of Ezekiel being dragged behind.
Sally felt her soul levitate and from the ceiling, she saw herself standing at the door with Mr. Thomas crouched behind her. He rose, adjusted his pants, and walked towards Sally until she could feel the heat of his body on her back.
“Don’t you dare cry now, Sally. The good Lord said that liars will not beget the kingdom. Don’t you cry for no liar.”
Mr. Thomas walked through the doorway, his leg brushing up against her arm and shoulder. He closed the cabin door; Sally could hear his boot steps in the patches of gravel and grass fade into the distance.
In shock, Sally turned to face the cabin interior; the table now stood on 3 legs, there was a gaping hole in the wall near the window, and Mrs. Abigail’s scarf lay mangled and muddied.
Sally felt a weight tugging at her apron and remembered the coin. She slid down the door, reached into her pocket, and pulled out the piece. The glowing center lit up her palm and the space around it. Ezekiel’s words came back to her, “You is mighty smart, you gon’ finds out what this here for… You’s gon’ be free…”
Mr. Thomas said she wasn’t supposed to cry. He also said she wasn’t supposed to call Ezekiel Pa, either. But he was her Pa. The only Pa she had and now he was gone. “I’s gon’ be free”, Sally whispered as one tear, spotlit by the glow of the coin, escaped and freely ran down her cheek. She laid down to dream of freedom and the nightmares that threatened it.
“Come on, girl.” Sally awoke to the voice of Moby, a 15-year-old buck bought to help plow the fields and make slave babies. He was later commissioned to cut all the unruly slaves out of the trees and bury them in the slave graveyard. He had become like a brother to Sally and a son to Ezekiel. When she wiped the sleep out of her eyes and looked up into his, she could see that his chest was tight from holding back tears.
“Come on, Sally. We’s got to hurry. We gon’ lay Ezekiel to rest now.” He turned to walk out of the cabin with an air of unspoken defeat.
When Sally arrived at the burial plot, Moby was standing next to Betsy, a robust slave woman in her fifties. Betsy told Sally one time that she gave birth to her, but she wasn’t allowed to call her daughter. She loved her like a mother. A few other slaves had come to support and to be look-outs. They said that the others stayed behind so as not to draw attention. The slaves were not allowed to marry, to claim their children, or to mourn their dead.
When they had paid their respects, they all went their separate ways to tend to the work for the day. Betsy went to the kitchen; Moby went to the fields. Sally reluctantly returned to the cabin to get Mrs. Abigail’s scarf. While she dusted it off best she could, thoughts of what Mrs. Abigail would say and do ran through her imagination.
Sally passed through the doorway and suddenly the red headed man appeared on horseback and cut off her path. Sally kept her head bowed but could feel his heavy and suspicious gaze just like the night before.
“You got something you want to tell me, girl?” He asked.
Sally imagined that he probably thought she had stolen the scarf. “No sir, I’s just taking Mrs. Abigail her scarf after she asked me to mend it, sir.”
He paused before responding and then said, “Well then, get to it girl.”
Sally walked around the front of the horse and could feel the man’s stare penetrate her soul. Her mind flashed to the scene of this same man going through Ezekiel’s pockets and at once, she remembered what this man was really looking for. The coin.
“What’s that in your pocket there, girl?” He asked, as if to read her mind.
When Sally saw him twisting his body to demount, she panicked and began running. Her heart pounding in her chest gave her enough adrenaline and blood flow to outrun a lazy steed. She heard the man yelling orders and insulting her in between the horse’s thundering gallops. She cut through the tangled brush hoping the man would be forced to guide the horse on the paved and longer route.
He followed her into the brush and Sally thanked God that the man’s orders and insults were now muffled also by the tangled vines and bushes. His yelling became more and more faint as she ran faster and faster.
Finally, she saw, not too far into the distance, her destination: the side entrance to the glorious estate. She turned to look back and noticed that she, with the help of the bush, had put quite a distance between her and her red-headed pursuer. Emboldened, she turned to increase her speed, but her bare right foot was shorted by a vine. Suddenly, her world began to spin downward as she flew, only to be reminded of gravity by the merciless meeting of a boulder with her temple. Immediately her head began to throb drowning out all noise except her own moans and she felt a sinking feeling as if to be drowning in a sea of molasses.
After seconds in eternity, consciousness started to seep back in, dragging with it the reluctant awareness of her surroundings; she could feel the horse’s breath on her feet, and she heard the door squeak open. Then, the ground gave way as she lost her bearing on reality and again; she slipped through the cracks into unconsciousness.
Who Do You Think Is Behind the Side Door?