The Diary of Sarah Chandler - October, 1858 - December, 1858 By Karma The year 1858 comes to a close for Sarah and Queenie Dear Diana, Enclosed is the remainder of Sarah’s diary for the year 1858. It was an eventful year for both of them, as you will see. I have transcribed the first several months of 1859 and will be sending those pages to you shortly. Thanks, Karma October 8,1858 Dear Dairy, Life here has returned to its easy pleasure. All is going well here at home, as Mother and Father are both in good spirits. Mother is especially pleased since we received the letter from Robert in which he informed us that Lucille is with child! I am thrilled that I will be an aunt - and, dear diary, I promise that I will be the best aunt that ever lived! I should not say this, but I pray that my new nephew or niece (oh, how I hope it is a girl!) will be more like Robert than like Lucille. She has been pleasant enough, but there is something about her that I dislike and distrust. Mother just smiles when I tell her this and says that I am just jealous that someone has stolen away my beloved older brother. I suppose that may be true, but it seems to me that there is something more to it than that. Father is happy that the market for our cotton has recovered, and that our returns for the year should be good. I ask him about it often. Even though he says that is not something with which a lady should concern herself, he seems pleased that I ask, and cheerfully explains our business. He still rails about the interfering Yankees, and has been talking with the men in town about what can and should be done about the situation. He now talks more and more about forming a new nation. Even the darkies seem happier now. Desdemona sings as she works in the kitchen, and Old Jim has started to teach me something about the horses. He is much friendlier than he was before, and I suspect that his change in attitude may be due to Naomi’s influence. I see her often now, when I go to visit Queenie. And Queenie... Oh, diary, how my heart sings when I am around her! We see each other almost every day, and we talk about many things. Since our pledge we have become close friends, which gladdens me. Of course we still have our contests, and I have not yet been able to defeat her in the Hand Game, which infuriates me. I can run as fast, or faster than her, and can chop wood just as easily as she can. I can lift the heavy water buckets as easily and can control Blaze when he gets out of control, but I cannot defeat her! She tries not to tease me about it and assures me that I will eventually be able to beat her, but I am not so sure. When we do have our contests we always start slowly and I am able to keep her arm upright for a long time. Queenie cannot force me down, but I cannot force her down either. Eventually we tire, and it is then that Queenie starts to force my arm down. I am simply not able to outlast her. I will try to find some exercises to do that will give me more energy at the end of our contests. We have played other games as well. Sometimes when I have more time to write, I will tell you all about them, especially the leg game we play. October 15, 1858 Dear Diary, School continues, and I fear that this will be my last year. In a few months I will turn 14, which Father says is too old for school, as I will not need any education when I am married. I wish that I could continue, since I like to learn, and I wish I could learn even more. I do thank God that that horrid Jeremy McCandless no longer attends. I am still afraid that he will tell someone about the time I forced him against the wall when he tried to kiss me. I think it is the fear that I will tell Father that keeps him quiet. Or perhaps it is because he fears me? William Flanders watches me as a puppy watches its mother. He sometimes makes me nervous, but he is usually so respectful and polite. I believe he still remembers our encounter at the store, as I sometimes catch him looking at my arms and hands. I must always remember to wear long-sleeved blouses or shirts to cover my strong arms so no one else will learn my secret. October 21, 1858 Dear Diary, Today Queenie and I met at the stable after dinner. I have been exercising very hard for the last several days, so I was prepared and excited. We wasted no time, but quickly removed our shirts so we could see each other’s powerful arms. We knelt on either side of the old anvil, and Queenie placed a piece of cloth on it. This has become our favorite place to play the Hand Game, as it is usually quiet and private there. We used to meet by the well, but people coming there interrupted us too many times. We started using the anvil, and the first time we contended we almost rubbed our elbows raw on the rough surface, and had to stop our contest before a winner was determined. That is why we now use the cloth. We play another game with the anvil as well. One of us will bend down and to pick the anvil up, then hold it out in front of us for as long as we can. It is very heavy, and neither of us can hold it very long. We try to see who can hold it the longest before dropping it to crash on the floor. This is one contest where I can often outlast Queenie, which makes me proud. Today we did not try to lift it, but we conserved our energy for the Hand Game. We began slowly, as usual. I watched Queenie’s muscular arm as it began to swell and grow from our efforts. I will never tire of that sight, and I believe I know the muscles in her arm as well as I know my own. She was watching me as we fought and she smiled widely in enjoyment as our arms began to quiver. Her smile faded as I put my head down and pulled, as I never had before. Very gradually her arm began moving in my direction. Her smile was gone now as she struggled to stop me. It was my turn to smile as I realized that finally I was at least as strong as she was. Valiantly she resisted, but I knew in my heart that I would win. Suddenly, to my dismay, I heard footsteps approaching the stable and heard a low tuneless whistle. Old Jim! I muttered an oath through my clenched teeth, and strained with all my might. "We must stop, Miss Sarah!" Queenie panted urgently. I knew she was right, but I was loath to stop when I was so close to victory! I tried even harder, but Queenie, knowing a reprieve was near, resisted. Finally, as the footsteps came nearer, I was forced to release my grip on Queenie’s hand. We had barely enough time to stand and put on our shirts before Old Jim came through the door. He greeted us genially and with little surprise as he has grown accustomed to seeing us together. He did not comment on my red face or Queenie’s sweating brow, nor did he see my frustration and anger at his interruption. Queenie could, however, and she teased me gently about it. "Too bad, huh, Miss Sarah?" she murmured, trying to hide a smile. I glared at her. "I would have won, Queenie, and you know it!" She shrugged, her smile getting bigger. "We won’t know, will we? Maybe I was just pretending you were winning." I stopped and put my hands on my hips and glared at her. She mirrored my stance and mock- glared back at me. She then stuck out her tongue and we dissolved into a fit of giggles. She patted me on the shoulder. "C’mon. Race you to the house!" At least I won the race, dear diary. November 12, 1858 Dear Diary, I am afraid that William Flanders has learned my secret, and I am very worried that he will tell someone. Today at school I did a very thoughtless and foolish thing. Tommy Wilcox had neglected to replenish the woodbin, as he was supposed to last evening. This morning, as it was a little chilly, we needed wood. William and I were delegated to refill it, so we took the box out to the woodpile and filled it. Without thinking, I easily lifted the full box of wood. To me, with my new strength, it felt light, but William gasped. He gaped at me as I quickly set it back down. "I knew it!" he blurted. Dear diary, I am afraid that I did not react like a true Southern girl should. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him towards me until our faces were only a few inches apart. I glared into his wide eyes and told him, "If you ever tell anyone, William Flanders, I will break every bone in your body, and you now know that I can!" He protested wildly that he wouldn’t, and I reluctantly released him. I watched him stagger into the schoolhouse carrying the box. I still worried, but felt no little satisfaction at the effort it took him. Queenie laughed out loud when I later told her the story. "Be careful, Miss Sarah! Them boys don’t like to see a girl be stronger than them!!" November 25, 1858 Dear Diary, A curious thing has happened the last few times Queenie and I have tested our strength. We met again a few days after our interrupted session in the stable. We fought and fought and fought, for at least five minutes, until our arms ached and we were all sweaty, but neither of us could win. Reluctantly we separated. Then a few days later, we met again at the well. This was an unplanned meeting, as we just ran into each other there and talked for a moment. Then for a moment neither of us had anything to say, and we just stood there looking at each other. It was as if neither of us wanted to be the first to look away. We didn’t say anything but just stood there staring at each other for the longest time. All we could hear was our breathing, as even the birds seemed to hush for a moment. I took a step closer to her, and she stepped towards me. Soon we were standing face-to-face, only a foot or so apart. There was no amusement in Queenie’s look, and I felt as if we were on the brink of something. Then, a dog barked, and there was a scurrying in the underbrush, and we both blinked and looked away. My breathing was fast and ragged, but I don’t know why. Queenie seemed to feel the same, and we looked away from each other, both a little embarrassed at what had happened. To break the mood, I challenged her to a Hand Game. We lay on the ground this time, and again we matched arm strength for the longest time. Her muscles seemed even bigger, but mine were her equal, and again we were forced to stop without a victor. I am getting a bit frustrated at this, and I think Queenie is as well. We have reached the point where our strength is almost exactly equal. We are almost the same size as well. Though we have not directly compared, I have looked closely at the size of her hands, the length of her arms, the girth of her muscles, and (this must be our closest secret, dear diary!) at the swell of her bosom. Someday I would like to place my hand against hers and see whose is bigger, or measure our upper arms to see whose are further around. December 13, 1858 Dear Diary, Father and I went into town yesterday to do some Christmas shopping. William was, of course, eager to help me at the general store, but I tried to ignore him. I really should be nicer to him since he has not told anyone (that I know of) about what he saw at school. In a way, his obvious admiration is somewhat pleasing, I must admit. I found a very nice necklace with a cameo brooch that I purchased for Mother. Mother and I have agreed to buy Father some new riding boots, and she gave me money to pay Mr. Lee, the cobbler. While I was there I was able to purchase another special Christmas present. It was an uneventful day, with one notable exception. As we were leaving town, I observed a group of darkie women gathered near the bridge. One was crying and the others appeared to be comforting her. Father seemed oblivious to their presence until I questioned him about it. He gave them a dismissive glance. "Oh," he said, somewhat condescendingly, "I understand Phillips sold a young buck to someone from Savannah. It must have been that woman’s son. It is too bad, in a way, but it is necessary." He clucked to the horses and we were soon on our way home. Somehow, even the opportunity to handle the reins on much of our return home did little to relieve the vague sense of sadness I felt. December 19, 1858 Dear Diary, Queenie and I took Blaze and Horatio out for a ride today. I am teaching Queenie how to ride, and she takes to it like a hawk to flight. She usually rides Horatio, who is much gentler and sedate. Blaze still has moments when he thinks he is a colt again, and becomes most restive. It is much easier for me to handle him since I have become stronger. I sometimes see him glance over his shoulder at me as if to be certain that it is really me holding the reins, and not Father. Today I rode Blaze as usual. We took our fishing poles along and went down to the river. On our way we rode past the ravine that runs behind the Quarters. I heard some rustling in the bushes down towards the bottom of the ravine and Blaze shied away from the noise. I peered through the trees and brush, but could see nothing. I am afraid that we may have a bobcat or cougar at loose there, and I must remember to tell Father about it. Queenie was oddly quiet for most of the trip, but she recovered her usual good humor by the time we reached the river. Perhaps she is having her Visitor, which often makes her moody and quiet for a few days. After we tethered the horses, we fished quietly for some time, and Queenie, as usual, had more success than I did. When the sun was high we sound a grassy knoll and ate the lunch Naomi had packed for us. After eating we lay on our backs watching the clouds, pointing out shapes and patterns in their billowing parade. We lay in opposite directions, our heads together, laughing and giggling. I felt or heard Queenie move. She had rolled over onto her stomach and when I glanced back she looked at me expectantly. I sighed an exaggerated sigh and rolled over to my stomach as well. The grass there was long and we were half-hidden from the river and the trail. Queenie put her arm down on the ground, arm up and waiting. I matched her and we gripped hands. Muscles soon sprang into action. She watched me closely over our clasped hands. I noticed her breasts pressing against the ground, and could see the tops of them. I swallowed hard and returned my attention to our contest. I put my head down and pulled as hard as I could. Our arms remained deadlocked between us. My eyes fell on Queenie’s hand where it was locked in mine. Her fingers were long, and her nails were cut short and ragged. The pressure we were exerting was evident in the marks her fingers were leaving on my hand. I blocked out all distractions and concentrated mightily on moving her hand. I was worried that this would be another one of our deadlocks, but resolved that this time there would be a victor no matter how long it took. Finally, after a very long time of heated contention, I began to overpower her, forcing her hand closer to the ground. I looked at her, seeing her effort in her clenched teeth. "There are... no interruptions... here, Queenie!" I gasped. "Let us see... if you can... stop me!" She said nothing, but locked her dark eyes on mine. We reached an impasse where I had her partway down, but could move her no further. For at least two more minutes we vied in that position, our gazes steady on the other’s. My arm cried for relief, swelling muscles growing even larger. I began to fear that one of our arms would snap like a twig, so great was the pressure we were bringing to bear. At last, I felt her arm move, at first slowly, then more rapidly, until I finally forced her hand to touch the ground. I was too exhausted to exult in my victory, and it was a few more minutes until we could even unclasp our hands. Mindful of our pledge, I did not voice my pleasure at my triumph, but I knew Queenie could see the happiness in my manner. She smiled ruefully. "You are the stronger today, Miss Sarah," she complimented me. "I must work even harder! It will be different next time!" With a laugh I helped her to her feet and we rode back home. That evening my manner was so cheerful that Mother and Father even commented on it. How I laughed inside, wishing I could tell them the news. I cannot tell them, of course, but I can tell you, dear diary! Today I defeated Queenie at the Hand Game! December 25, 1858 Dear Diary, Merry Christmas!! What a wonderful Christmas! Mother was very happy with the necklace and brooch I bought her, and she complimented me on my good choice. "We will make a Southern lady out of her yet, Father!" she exclaimed. Father was thrilled with his new boots and insisted on pulling them on right there and then. Ignoring Mother’s laughing protestations he wore them all morning and all day, even to the Church services. As for me, I received a new saddle which I cannot wait to use. I also received an invitation from Robert asking me to visit them in Savannah, as they will not be coming home this year due to Lucille’s delicate condition. I also received a finely bound book from Father. It is "Tristram Shandy", by the British writer Laurence Sterne. I am excited to have it and cannot wait to begin reading the adventures. It has been a wonderful day, and even the visits with neighbors have been more pleasurable than I expected. Good night, dear diary, and Merry Christmas! December 28, 1858 Dear Diary, Today I walked down to King and Naomi’s cabin. I extended my Christmas greetings to King and Naomi and inquired after their health. They returned my greetings, and Naomi encouraged me to have a taste of her holiday peach pie. It was delicious, and I asked her if she would bring some up to the house for us to have for dessert after dinner. Later, Queenie and I went for a walk, ending up (by design, dear diary, I must confess) at the well. I chose this spot on purpose, since it holds a special place in my mind for all that Queenie and I have done here. I bade Queenie sit, then went and retrieved the presents I had hidden earlier. I held back one of the gaily-wrapped packages and placed the other in her lap. Her eyes flew open and she looked eagerly from it to me. "Go ahead, open it," I told her. "Merry Christmas, Queenie!" Her smile widened and her eyes shone with happiness as she tore the package open. She looked down with her mouth open in disbelief, and then she carefully lifted out the new pair of riding boots I had had Mr. Lee make for her. She caressed the soft leather, then looked up at me. I was embarrassed by the tears in her eyes. Finally, she spoke. "Miss Sarah... This is the nicest..." She could not continue, but her eyes bespoke much. She rose suddenly and enveloped me in a tight hug. I, of course, hugged her back, and we rocked forth and back in each other’s arms and I felt the dampness of her tears on my neck. I gently moved back and held her at arm’s length. I tried to smile, and eventually managed it, I think. "I can’t have my friend always riding barefoot with me, can I? Please, try them on." She sat right down on the ground and eagerly pulled them on, then rose and walked several steps. "I hope they aren’t too big?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "I know you have rather... um... large feet," I teased her. "I made them the same size as mine." She shot me an amused glance. "They fit just fine, Miss Sarah. I..." She stopped suddenly, mouth open. Before I could say a thing she was off running down the path to the Quarters. "Queenie?" I called, but she didn’t turn or pause. I didn’t know where she had gone, but a few minutes later she reappeared. She came to a stumbling stop in front of me, breathless, and with one hand held behind her back. Suddenly she was shy, and she looked away from me as she spoke. "Miss Sarah..." she paused and took a deep breath. "Miss Sarah, no one has ever done nothin’ like that for me, not even Ma and Pa." She looked squarely at me again. "I thank you, Miss Sarah. And here! This is for you!" Saying this she thrust a package into my hands. I was touched and thanked her. I opened the hastily wrapped present and revealed a beautiful pair of hand-sewn doeskin gloves. I gasped in delight, then looked suspiciously at her. "These aren’t yours, are they, Queenie?" "No, Miss Sarah! I made them myself, and another pair just like them for me." She looked at me with a humorous gleam in her eye. "I hope they aren’t too big?" she asked with a wicked smile. "I know you have rather... umm... large hands!" I laughed out loud at her imitation of my manner, then slipped them on and was delighted when they fit perfectly. "Then you too do have large hands, Queenie, because they fit just fine!’ Oh, dear diary, I wish the day had ended right then, when we were so happy with each other and so close. Instead, I went and retrieved my second package and gave it to her. She took it and weighed it in her hand, and her smile faded. Slowly and reluctantly, it seemed, she opened it. Excitedly I burst out, "It’s a book of poems, Queenie, by a famous writer named William Shakespeare! I thought that on our rides we could read..." My voices trailed off as I was stunned by the bitter expression that had come to her face. A horrible realization of what I had done came to me as I read her face for what it meant. "Queenie..." I started, pleadingly. "No, Miss Sarah," she said, part sadly, but mostly angrily. "WE could not read them! YOU could, but not I..." Tears flooded her eyes and she dropped the book at my feet. In a few seconds her new boots, the black leather gleaming in the waning sunshine, stood beside the book and I was alone.