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HIS PERSONAL SLAVE BOOK 2 TEXT

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His Personal Slave Book 2 Text

Author:KELLE MESICH
Language:English, Spanish, Hindi
Country:France
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Sapphira responds by mistreating Nancy. Eventually Sapphira invites a dissolute nephew to the estate, who threatens to rape Nancy on several occasions. With the help of the Colbert's daughter, Rachel Colbert Blake, and two abolitionist neighbors, Nancy is helped to make connections with the Underground Railroad and taken to Canada.

The epilogue takes place 25 years later. Nancy, now in her 40s, returns to Virginia to visit her mother, and Mrs. The narrator Cather [2] is revealed to be a child who has heard stories of Nancy's escape all of her life. Characters[ edit ] Sapphira Dodderidge Colbert, a middle-aged white woman, dying of dropsy. Having married at the late age of 24, she has accepted as her husband a man she considers socially beneath her, and now this friction dominates the marriage.

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She is an Episcopalian. She has inherited her slaves from her father and believes thoroughly in the institution of slavery. Henry Colbert, a middle-aged white man, a miller and a Lutheran. He is tolerant of his bitter wife, but lives an essentially separate life, residing at his mill.

Henry has developed qualms about slavery, mostly on religious grounds, but believes that the Colbert slaves are his wife's property.

Rachel Colbert Blake, a white widow in her 30s and a Baptist. Before the Spanish came, islanders enslaved other islanders, usually war captives, criminals, or debtors. Slaves came in different varieties, from warriors who could earn their freedom through valor to household servants who were regarded as property and could be bought and sold or traded.

High-status slaves could own low-status slaves, and the low could own the lowliest. Some chose to enter servitude simply to survive: In exchange for their labor, they might be given food, shelter, and protection. When the Spanish arrived, in the s, they enslaved islanders and later brought African and Indian slaves.

Traditions persisted under different guises, even after the U. The pool is deep.

Lieutenant Tom had as many as three families of utusans living on his property. In the spring of , with the islands under Japanese occupation, he brought home a girl from a village down the road. She was a cousin from a marginal side of the family, rice farmers. The lieutenant was shrewd—he saw that this girl was penniless, unschooled, and likely to be malleable.

Her parents wanted her to marry a pig farmer twice her age, and she was desperately unhappy but had nowhere to go. Tom approached her with an offer: She could have food and shelter if she would commit to taking care of his daughter, who had just turned Lieutenant Tom went off to fight the Japanese, leaving Mom behind with Lola in his creaky house in the provinces.

Lola fed, groomed, and dressed my mother. When they walked to the market, Lola held an umbrella to shield her from the sun.

Then, in a quivering voice, she told her father that Lola would take her punishment. Lola looked at Mom pleadingly, then without a word walked to the dining table and held on to the edge.

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Tom raised the belt and delivered 12 lashes, punctuating each one with a word. Lola made no sound. My mother, in recounting this story late in her life, delighted in the outrageousness of it, her tone seeming to say, Can you believe I did that? It was like that. Seven years later, in , Mom married my father and moved to Manila, bringing Lola along. Lieutenant Tom had long been haunted by demons, and in he silenced them with a.

Mom almost never talked about it. She had his temperament—moody, imperial, secretly fragile—and she took his lessons to heart, among them the proper way to be a provincial matrona: You must embrace your role as the giver of commands. You must keep those beneath you in their place at all times, for their own good and the good of the household. They might cry and complain, but their souls will thank you. They will love you for helping them be what God intended. My brother Arthur was born in I came next, followed by three more siblings in rapid succession.

My parents expected Lola to be as devoted to us kids as she was to them.

While she looked after us, my parents went to school and earned advanced degrees, joining the ranks of so many others with fancy diplomas but no jobs. Then the big break: Dad was offered a job in Foreign Affairs as a commercial analyst. The salary would be meager, but the position was in America—a place he and Mom had grown up dreaming of, where everything they hoped for could come true. Dad was allowed to bring his family and one domestic. Figuring they would both have to work, my parents needed Lola to care for the kids and the house.

Years later Lola told me she was terrified. Her parents lived in a hut with a dirt floor. Lola could build them a concrete house, could change their lives forever. We landed in Los Angeles on May 12, , all our belongings in cardboard boxes tied with rope.

Lola had been with my mother for 21 years by then. In many ways she was more of a parent to me than either my mother or my father. Hers was the first face I saw in the morning and the last one I saw at night. I was 4 years old when we arrived in the U. But as my siblings and I grew up on this other shore, we came to see the world differently. Lola never got that allowance. She asked my parents about it in a roundabout way a couple of years into our life in America.

Is it possible? Mom let out a sigh. My parents had borrowed money for the move to the U. My father was transferred from the consulate general in L. He took a second job cleaning trailers, and a third as a debt collector. Mom got work as a technician in a couple of medical labs.

We barely saw them, and when we did they were often exhausted and snappish. Mom would come home and upbraid Lola for not cleaning the house well enough or for forgetting to bring in the mail.

An idiot could remember. When Dad raised his voice, everyone in the house shrank. Sometimes my parents would team up until Lola broke down crying, almost as though that was their goal. It confused me: My parents were good to my siblings and me, and we loved them. By then Arthur, eight years my senior, had been seething for a long time. He was the one who introduced the word slave into my understanding of what Lola was.

Toiled every day. Was tongue-lashed for sitting too long or falling asleep too early. Was struck for talking back. Wore hand-me-downs. Ate scraps and leftovers by herself in the kitchen. Rarely left the house. Had no friends or hobbies outside the family. Had no private quarters. She often slept among piles of laundry. Pompey, go find the doctor. Get on back to work, Pompey!

Tom forbids Pompey from attending school but opens the way for Pompey to drink in a whites-only saloon. Near the end, Pompey saves his master from a fire. I remember thinking: Lola is Pompey, Pompey is Lola. One night when Dad found out that my sister Ling, who was then 9, had missed dinner, he barked at Lola for being lazy. Her feeble defense only made him angrier, and he punched her just below the shoulder.

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Lola ran out of the room and I could hear her wailing, an animal cry. My parents turned to look at me. They seemed startled. I was It was my first attempt to stick up for the woman who spent her days watching over me. The woman who used to hum Tagalog melodies as she rocked me to sleep, and when I got older would dress and feed me and walk me to school in the mornings and pick me up in the afternoons.

Once, when I was sick for a long time and too weak to eat, she chewed my food for me and put the small pieces in my mouth to swallow. One summer when I had plaster casts on both legs I had problem joints , she bathed me with a washcloth, brought medicine in the middle of the night, and helped me through months of rehabilitation.

I was cranky through it all. In the old country, my parents felt no need to hide their treatment of Lola. In America, they treated her worse but took pains to conceal it. When guests came over, my parents would either ignore her or, if questioned, lie and quickly change the subject. For five years in North Seattle, we lived across the street from the Misslers, a rambunctious family of eight who introduced us to things like mustard, salmon fishing, and mowing the lawn.

Football on TV. Yelling during football. Lola would come out to serve food and drinks during games, and my parents would smile and thank her before she quickly disappeared. A relative from back home, Dad said. Very shy. He once overheard my mother yelling in the kitchen, and when he barged in to investigate found Mom red-faced and glaring at Lola, who was quaking in a corner.

I came in a few seconds later. What was that? I waved it off and told him to forget it. I think Billy felt sorry for Lola. I could tell by what she served whether she was merely feeding us or saying she loved us. Admitting the truth would have meant exposing us all.

We spent our first decade in the country learning the ways of the new land and trying to fit in. Having a slave did not fit. Having a slave gave me grave doubts about what kind of people we were, what kind of place we came from. Whether we deserved to be accepted. I was ashamed of it all, including my complicity. But losing her would have been devastating.

There was another reason for secrecy: After a series of fallings-out with his superiors, Dad quit the consulate and declared his intent to stay in the United States.

He was supposed to send her back.

Both times she wanted desperately to go home. The kids needed her. My parents also feared for themselves, they admitted to me later. After each of her parents died, Lola was sullen and silent for months. She barely responded when my parents badgered her. But the badgering never let up.

Lola kept her head down and did her work. Money got tighter, and my parents turned on each other. They uprooted the family again and again—Seattle to Honolulu back to Seattle to the southeast Bronx and finally to the truck-stop town of Umatilla, Oregon, population For days in a row Lola would be the only adult in the house.

She got to know the details of our lives in a way that my parents never had the mental space for.

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Just from conversations she overheard, she could list the first name of every girl I had a crush on from sixth grade through high school. When I was 15, Dad left the family for good.

Her main source of comfort during this time: They barely noticed us kids flitting in and out. Lola was talking softly to her, the way she used to with my siblings and me when we were young. I lingered, then went back to my room, scared for my mom and awed by Lola. Doods was humming. I checked the plastic box in the tote bag by my side—still there—and looked up to see open road.

The MacArthur Highway. I glanced at the time. Doods just hummed. His not knowing anything about the purpose of my journey was a relief. I had enough interior dialogue going on. I was no better than my parents. I could have done more to free Lola.

To make her life better. I could have turned in my parents, I suppose. It would have blown up my family in an instant. Instead, my siblings and I kept everything to ourselves, and rather than blowing up in an instant, my family broke apart slowly. Doods and I passed through beautiful country.

Not travel-brochure beautiful but real and alive and, compared with the city, elegantly spare. He feels lucky when he is sent back to Baltimore to live with the family of Master Hugh. He is then moved through a few more situations before he is sent to St. His regret at not having attempted to run away is evident, but on his voyage he makes a mental note that he traveled in the North-Easterly direction and considers this information to be of extreme importance.

For some time, he lives with Master Thomas Auld who is particularly cruel, even after attending a Methodist camp. He is pleased when he eventually is lent to Mr. Covey for a year, simply because he would be fed. Covey is known as a "negro-breaker", who breaks the will of slaves.

Chapters 10—11[ edit ] While under the control of Mr. Covey,Douglass struggles with Covey a lot, Frederick Douglass bites Covey's hand and has an especially hard time at the tasks required of him.

He is harshly whipped almost on a weekly basis, apparently due to his awkwardness.

“What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July?”

He is worked and beaten to exhaustion, which finally causes him to collapse one day while working in the fields. Because of this, he is brutally beaten once more by Covey. Douglass eventually complains to Thomas Auld, who subsequently sends him back to Covey. A few days later, Covey attempts to tie up Douglass, but he fights back. After a two-hour long physical battle, Douglass ultimately conquers Covey.

After this fight, he is never beaten again. Douglass is not punished by the law, which is believed to be due to the fact that Covey cherishes his reputation as a "negro-breaker", which would be jeopardized if others knew what happened.

When his one-year contract ends under Covey, Douglass is sent to live on William Freeman's plantation. Douglass comments on the abuse suffered under Covey, a religious man, and the relative peace under the more favourable, but more secular, Freeman.

On Freeman's plantation, Douglass befriends other slaves and teaches them how to read. Douglass and a small group of slaves make a plan to escape, but before doing so, they are caught and Douglass is put in jail. Following his release about a week later, he is sent to Baltimore once more, but this time to learn a trade.

He becomes an apprentice in a shipyard under Mr.

Gardner where he is disliked by several white apprentices due to his slave status and race; at one point he gets into a fight with them and they nearly gouge out his left eye. Woefully beaten, Douglass goes to Master Hugh, who is kind regarding this situation and refuses to let Douglass return to the shipyard. Master Hugh tries to find a lawyer but all refuse, saying they can only do something for a white person.Fairhead, a white Baptist minister and an abolitionist Mrs.

I wondered what she could have been if, instead of working the rice fields at age 8, she had learned to read and write. I slid the tote bag from my shoulder and handed it to her.

They seemed startled. Whether we deserved to be accepted. She threw nothing out. She had his temperament—moody, imperial, secretly fragile—and she took his lessons to heart, among them the proper way to be a provincial matrona: Rarely left the house.

Lola loved the ocean.