The Diary of Sarah Chandler - 1858 Continued By: Karma The further adventures of Sarah and Queenie (With accreditation) <Editor’s Note - Soon after I submitted the first installment of Sarah Chandler’s Diary, I received several e-mails commenting on the story. One correspondent submitted a short story that he had written based on Sarah and Queenie. He wished (and wishes) to remain anonymous, and has no desire to publish his story. With his permission, I have taken many of his suggestions and rewritten them to fit into the Diary format. I wish to publicly thank him for his work and suggestions, and I wish that he would submit his stories to Diana for publication. They are well- written, and could stand alone as a supplement to this Diary. It is said that bad writers plagiarize and good writers borrow. I will leave it up to you as to which this is. Further note - The substance of this story has not changed. If you have already read this entry, I thank you very much. You may now hit "Back", and return to what you were doing. If this is the first time you have seen this story, I hope you enjoy it.> Diana: Here, as promised, are the next few installments of Sarah Chandler’s Diary. I have had a difficult time finding time to do these transcriptions, and I find that I forget to write everything down as I get caught up in reading them. I promise I will be better in the future. Some entries are also difficult to read. I must try to decipher the old writing - Some is written in pen, some in pencil, and some in another type of ink. It does take time. These are explanations, not excuses. Karma June 27, 1858 Dear Diary, It has been several days since I lost at the Hand Game to Queenie. I don’t know if I am more angry, embarrassed or thrilled by my defeat. When her strong arm forced mine down I did not know what to say to her so I ran away. I could not bear that I had been humiliated by someone in her position - a mere slave! Of course, she does have an advantage since she (and her kind) have been bred to be a strong worker, and she does all those menial tasks that give her a chance to develop her strength. I must keep up my exercises! A few nights ago I went out to where the darkies are working on some chimney repairs. I took several of the heavy bricks and brought them up to my room, where I lift them over and over until my arms ache. I notice when I look in the mirror that my arms now swell with muscle, and I must now always wear long sleeves to hide my new muscles from Mother and Father. July 8, 1858 Dear Diary, Today I went out and hid by the well, hoping to see Queenie. As I expected, she came, but her mother, Naomi, was with her. They laughed and talked as they worked, but I was too far away to hear everything they said. I watched avidly as they went to the well and raised the buckets of water. They each took two buckets and carried them away, up the path towards the house. I noticed that Queenie is almost as tall as her mother, and her stride is nearly as long. I watched with interest as Naomi stopped and set the buckets down for a moment. She rubbed her arm and said something to Queenie, who laughed. Queenie turned and continued down the path for several more yards as her mother watched. Finally, near the fork in the trail, she stopped to rest. Naomi caught up with her and they disappeared towards the Quarters. I waited until they were out of sight before I came out of my hiding place. I looked thoughtfully at the two remaining buckets, then filled two and began carrying them along the path. They were very heavy, and my arms soon burned from the effort. I clenched my teeth and ignored the pain as I walked past the spot where Naomi had stopped. I kept going, almost staggering now, until I passed the place where Queenie had halted. I gasped as I set the pails down, but I now knew that I could outdo her in something. I hurried on to the house, excited about what the next few days may bring. July 10, 1858 Dear Diary, It has rained for the last few days, so I have not been able to put my plans into action. We have stayed inside most of the day. Tonight Father, Mother and I sat in the parlor while Father read aloud from the Bible, and then from the newspaper. He is very upset about the words of that Greely person from New York. He also complained that some escaped slave - Douglas, I think - is making speeches about slavery. "What would we all do without slaves?" Father demanded. "How do those ignoramus Yankees think they would get the cotton they need without nigras to do the work? Would they get their hands dirty?" Father gets so upset at people who think slavery should be abolished. I also must be more careful about my exercises. Mother complained that some loud thumps had awakened her last night. I bowed my head and pretended I knew nothing about it, but I resolved to set the bricks down to the floor much more carefully in the future. July 12, 1858 Dear Diary, The weather has cleared, so today I contrived to get to the well at the same time as Queenie and Naomi. Naomi smiled at me and said Hello, and Queenie gave me a rather timid smile. I have not talked to her since our Hand Game. I was pleased to see her, but did not want her to think I was, so I ignored her. Naomi offered to help as I filled my bucket, but I told her I could do it by myself. I even bragged a little and told her that I could carry two buckets all the way to the house without stopping. They both smiled as if they didn’t believe me. I gripped my two buckets and went up the path. It was difficult, and my arms and shoulders soon ached. I heard Naomi and Queenie coming behind me. I glanced back over my shoulder once, and saw that Queenie was intently watching me as she grimly trudged along. The trail forked, one path going to the house and the other to the Quarters, and I kept going up to the house. I felt Queenie’s eyes on me the entire way. My arms ached and burned as I set the buckets down by the kitchen door, spilling half of one. I looked back and saw Queenie watching me. I saw her teeth flash in her dark face as she smiled. She gave a short wave, then went away to the Quarters. I smiled to myself, satisfied that I had outdone her at last. July 14, 1858 Dear Diary, Today Queenie was waiting for me at the well. She told me that her mother had asked her to bring two extra buckets of water to the house. I just tossed my head and told her that she could do whatever she wanted to do. We quickly filled our buckets (curiously, they are not nearly as difficult to raise as they were earlier this year) and for a few seconds stood looking at each other. There was a challenging gleam in Queenie’s eyes and I knew we were about to test each other again. We walked up the path side-by-side, neither of us hesitating or stopping. We took the fork to the house and I watched Queenie out of the corner of my eye. Her arm muscles were firm and her shoulders bulged from the effort of supporting the weight. I waited for her to stop and rest, but she didn’t. Side by side we walked all the way to the kitchen door. Neither of us immediately set down our buckets, and we looked at each other. Queenie’s eyes were gleaming with amusement and I felt a pang of disappointment that she had equaled my effort. Suddenly Naomi came to the door. She looked from one of us to the other and the corner of her mouth twitched. Gently she took one bucket from Queenie, and then took one of mine. With a faint smile she went back inside. I glared at Queenie and walked away, acting, I am afraid, dear diary, like a spoiled little girl. August 4, 1858 Father and I went into town today. It was a glorious day, with the sun shining bright and warm, and Blaze and Horatio were in fine spirits as they pulled the wagon. Father sang as we flew down the road, and he even let me handle the reins for a short time. His mood darkened when we arrived in town, however. Mr. Flanders at the General Store told us that two of Mr. Wright’s slaves had run away two days before. "Those blasted Nigras!" he exclaimed. "Why in he..." He looked abashed at Father’s warning look. "I mean, why in tarnation would they run away? Joshua takes damn... I mean, takes durned good care of them, and they thank him like that? When they find them he ought to brand the sons of... I mean, the..." He sputtered for a moment, unable to find appropriate words to describe the runaways. He and Father eventually went to load the wagon, leaving me with my thoughts. I wondered what would happen if any of our darkies ran away. I couldn’t imagine it, but... I was preoccupied with my thoughts when I heard a scraping sound behind me, followed by a muffled oath. I looked behind a shelf and saw William Flanders, the son of the owner, struggling to push a large box up on a shelf. Without even thinking I jumped to his assistance and easily took the weight of the box and maneuvered it into place. When I turned back, William was staring at me open-mouthed. I told him somewhat tartly that he had best close his mouth before flies laid eggs in it. He did close it, but kept looking at me. "Golly, Miss Chandler, you must be very strong! That was a heavy box!" I scolded myself for almost giving away my secret and told William some explanation about how I had a better angle at it, and that he was supporting most of the weight anyway. He was somewhat mollified, but I don’t think I totally convinced him. He kept stealing glances at me for the rest of the time I spent in the store. Thankfully, Father soon returned and we continued our errands. The next stop was the Post Office, where we retrieved a letter from Robert in Savannah. I was pleased, since I have not seen my brother in a year. Father quickly read the letter and said that Robert and his wife would be visiting us next summer. Next was the newspaper office, where we got the recent papers, as well as some idle gossip from Mr. Elliott, the editor. On our way back to the wagon, Father was stopped by a group of men, and he assured them that he would keep a close eye out for the runaway slaves. As we left town we approached a group of young nigger children. They scurried out of the way of our approaching wagon and I could not help but compare their manner with that of Queenie. Queenie stands tall and proud, but these children stand with hanging heads and slumped shoulders. I wondered about the difference all the way home. August 20, 1858 Dear Diary, I have been exercising in anticipation of another contest with Queenie. Several days ago I smuggled one of the water buckets into my room. I put two bricks into the bucket and then held it out at arm’s length. I kept my arm straight for as long as I possibly could, knowing somehow that this effort would make my shoulders and arms stronger. Each night I was able to hold it out for a longer period of time, and I feel that I am ready to challenge Queenie. Last night I went out by the big clock and held the bucket straight while I counted 140 ticks of the clock. I hope that will be enough. August 23, 1858 Dear Diary, Mother received a notice today that school will be starting in a few weeks. She told me that this will probably be my last year of education, as I am getting too old to spend the entire day away from home when there is so much work to be done. I am disappointed, of course, but I will do as well as I can this year. August 25, 1858 Dear Diary, Today I met Queenie at the well. We smiled at each other and exchanged pleasantries, as I find it difficult to be mean or dismissive to her. She always seems friendly enough, but she is a bit reserved. That may be the natural state, given the difference in our positions. After we filled our buckets, Queenie started up the path. "Wait, Queenie," I said. She looked at me inquiringly. "I have been exercising even more since we played the Hand Game, and I think I have become much stronger." She smiled at me. "I hope not, Miss Sarah," she replied. "You are very strong, even though you don’t do as much hard work as I do." I considered her statement, trying to decide whether or not it was a compliment. Taking it as such, I smiled back. "Thank you, Queenie. You are also strong, and I have a contest in mind that will let us test our strength." She looked slyly at me. "Do you want to play the Hand Game again? You gave me a harder time than any of the boys I have played against." I was startled and looked at her aghast. I asked her if she really played the Hand Game with boys, and she said she could always beat John and James, two darkie boys who were about our age. I shook my head at the very idea of playing against boys, and returned to the topic. I went and picked up two of the filled buckets and handed her one. I explained. "We will face each other, and then we will lift the buckets with our right arms and hold them out straight. Whoever is the first to lower their arm loses. We will test not only our strength, but our determination as well." Queenie nodded her understanding. Before we started, she removed her heavy shirt, exposing her muscular arms and bare shoulders. I took off my jacket as well and we faced each other. I took my left hand and placed it on her bare shoulder, explaining that this would help us maintain our balance. She did the same and I felt a strange thrill as her strong hand clasped my shoulder. We raised our arms and began. I stared hard at her, keeping my face expressionless, seeking to intimidate her. She stared right back at me. We stood almost motionless, arms extended, heavy buckets already trying to pull our arms down. I felt the muscles in Queenie’s shoulder swell and harden under my hand. I felt her hand move tentatively on my shoulder, as if she were gauging the size and firmness of my arm against her own. Our eyes remained locked as our contest continued. My arm began to ache and grow tired, but I was not yet worried. Finally, a tiny frown came to Queenie’s face and I felt the first slight quiver in her tensed muscles. Her expression became even more determined and her gaze hardened on mine. A gleam came to her eyes as I felt my arm begin to shake. Her mouth opened and she gave a little gasp. "You are... very strong... Miss Sarah!" Her arm dropped a little, but quickly came back up. "Your shoulders... are very hard!" "As are yours!" I panted back. "But whose... are stronger?" By now my arm was shaking uncontrollably and my hand was aching from gripping the bucket. I could feel the muscles in Queenie’s shoulders swell to even larger proportions, but I could also feel them jerk and spasm as they tired. I felt as if I could hardly bear it any longer as sweat beaded on my forehead. Suddenly Queenie’s eyes closed and her face contorted. I grunted and tried to block out the agony in my arm. "Don’t... give in... Miss Sarah!" Queenie gasped. "Let’s... really test... each other!" Suddenly we were exhorting and comforting each other, both of us oddly encouraging the other to greater resolve. Our entire bodies were now twitching and jerking, only the clasps on each other’s shoulder keeping us from collapsing. Then - I could take it no longer, and my arm fell, my hand opening so the bucket spilled, water pouring out on the bare ground. I sobbed, barely realizing that Queenie had dropped her bucket scant seconds after mine. Her eyes opened and fixed on mine. I saw no exaltation or triumph in her gaze, but rather something like gratitude and surprised pleasure. Tears came to my eyes and I tore my hand away from Queenie’s shoulder as if I had touched fire, and turned and ran off. Behind me I heard Queenie call, "Miss Sarah, wait!" but I did not turn. I hurried to the house and to my room, where I have remained all day, telling Mother that I felt ill. And ill is what I yet feel, dear diary... September 9, 1858 Dear Diary, I go not feel like doing much of anything, dear diary. Mother and Father are afraid I am ill, since I rarely come downstairs. I am sick at heart, I suspect. Mother said that the teacher had sent a note, wondering whether or not I would be attending this year. Mother wrote back telling her that I would. Father has been most solicitous, coming up to sit on the edge of my bed to comfort me as best he can. I must attempt to recover. September 13, 1858 Dear Diary, It has been three weeks since I last saw Queenie. I have been confused, heartsick and, I confess, lonely. The remembrance of our struggle has rarely left my mind. I am torn - I gained much pleasure from contesting with Queenie, and the feel of her hand on my shoulder lingers. I am ashamed that she defeated me yet again. I tell myself that it is because of her breeding. But still - I am strangely thrilled and challenged by her. I have not stopped my exercises, but have instead redoubled my efforts to develop my strength. If - no, dear diary, when! - we contest again, I shall give a better account of myself. September 18, 1858 Dear Diary, Today I visited the kitchen for the first time in many days. Mother and Father were away and I thoughtlessly wore a blouse with shorter sleeves. I was planning on going riding, and had thought to wear an old jacket I kept in the stable. Desdemona and Naomi were silently working in the kitchen. I lifted the water pitcher and poured myself a glass. As I set the pitcher back down, I heard an exclamation from Desdemona. "Lawdy, chile, look at your arm!" Startled, I looked to see what had caught Desdemona’s attention, thinking there was a spider or bug on me. I then realized that she had seen the swelling muscle in my arm when I lifted the pitcher. Both Desdemona and Naomi were looking at me. I was flustered, but managed to convince Desdemona that what she had seen, or thought she had seen, was of no consequence. Naomi was not so easily fooled. A few minutes later Desdemona went into the house, leaving me with Naomi. She looked at me for a moment, a slight smile playing on her lips. She went back to work, but as I started towards the door, she spoke. "You have quite an arm, there, Miss Sarah. You and my daughter have that much in common." I stopped and glared at her. She ignored my glare and continued, "You have something else in common as well. Both of you are dragging and moping around this here place as if your favorite cat had just died. It’s a shame to see you two girls so sad and quiet." I turned and hurried out before she could say more, but my mind was spinning. It had never occurred to me that Queenie might miss me! I rushed down to the stable, curtly telling Old Jim to saddle Blaze. I mounted and bolted away from the stable. We rode and rode and rode, dear diary, as I told poor Blaze all my troubles. The wind blew free in my hair as we galloped along the lane to Carmichael’s and back. I turned the situation over and over in my mind, and later, at ease in mind, body and soul, I returned to the stable. As I brushed down Blaze, I knew what I would do. September 19, 1858 Dear Diary, I dressed quickly this morning and hurried down to the Quarters. I marched right up to King and Naomi’s cabin, where Naomi answered my knock with a word and a smile. I blurted that I needed Queenie’s help in the stable. And then - there she was, dressed in a simple cotton dress and over- shirt. Without a word I motioned for her to follow and we rapidly walked to the stable, where Old Jim was nowhere to be seen. In a flash of insight I realized that I had Naomi’s approval and assistance. I stopped and turned to face Queenie. Her face was calm and serious, but her eyes were gleaming. For several seconds we faced each other, looking deep into each other’s eyes. The expression on her face made my heart race, and my breath was short. I raised my chin and took a calming breath. "I’ve missed you," I finally said. "I want you to know that. I like you and I like your company and I would like us to be friends." The smile in Queenie’s eyes finally reached her mouth, then her strong white teeth showed as she laughed. "Oh, Miss Sarah!" she exclaimed. "I am so happy to hear that! Yes, I want to be friends! I was so scared when you ran away after I... after we..." Her smile disappeared and she looked away, tears suddenly in her eyes. "After you proved you were stronger?" I asked gently. "Yes!" she replied. "I realize now that I put you in a terrible position. You are the master’s daughter, and I had bested you not just once, but twice! I was so afraid you would be angry and tell your father what I had done." I nodded. "I was angry," I told her. "But the anger passed. I then became angry at myself and determined that I would become just as strong or stronger than you." Queenie’s head came up at my words, and she looked more closely at me. "I enjoyed it," I said simply. "I enjoyed pitting my strength against yours. It took me this long to admit it to myself, but I enjoyed it when we contested." Queenie smiled. "I did as well," she said. "I was surprised that you were that strong." We smiled at each other. I then slowly took off my jacket. Late one night I had cut the sleeves off one of my blouses and sewn the rough edges together. I wore this blouse now, and Queenie looked at my arms and her eyes widened. She looked back up at me, then slipped off her shirt. Her dark arms glistened in the light. I moved one step closer and extended my hand. She clasped it and we shook hands as friends. "I wish us to make a pledge, Queenie," I said in a voice that I could not keep entirely steady. "Let us pledge to ever after meet as equals. We will contest against each other, matching our strength." Queenie, her expression somber, kept her eyes on mine. The pressure of our grip began increasing. "I pledge!" Queenie said, her voice suddenly strained. He hand tightened further on mine. "Let us pledge to strive honestly and completely, with no pity asked or given, and with no jealousy or animosity towards the victor." I struggled to keep my voice even as our hands gripped even tighter. "I pledge," Queenie whispered. "Let us pledge..." I gasped. "Let us pledge... to remain friends... and to defend each other... to the end." My hand felt as if it would break, crushed as it was in Queenie’s iron grasp. Queenie’s mouth opened, but no words came. She moved closer, until our bosoms almost touched, and I saw her nipples standing out through the fabric of her dress. My knees were weak, and my arm ached at the effort. Our clasped hands were between us. Queenie’s eyes were locked on mine as we strained, grip against grip, hand against hand. My teeth clenched as I squeezed even tighter. Queenie gasped, but her gaze never wavered. Time stretched on but neither of us would give in. Our locked hands quivered between us. Agony was etched on Queenie’s face, the muscles in her neck drawn tight and rigid. I could barely breathe, but was determined to outlast her in this contest. Suddenly her eyes closed and her knees buckled. She collapsed towards me, her bosom pressing against mine. The pressure of her grip lessened, and I immediately eased mine. Her eyes opened and met mine again. "I pledge... Miss Sarah," and she and I fell into each other’s arms.