The Diary of Sarah Chandler - 1864
By KArma
Sarah and Queenie encounter Union soldiers in 1864.


Diana:

The following diary entry is being sent to you out of sequence, as will another 
one that will follow shortly.  I came across this entry and debated long and 
hard about whether I should wait to pass it on.  Finally, I decided that it 
would best serve the interests of your readers to see a little of what is to come 
in these diaries.  

This explains the roots of the relationship between Sarah and Queenie a little 
more.  I hope you and your readers enjoy it.

Karma


November 27, 1864

Dear Diary,

Oh, diary, I hardly know if I can bear to write all that has happened in the last 
few days.  It is with a heavy heart that I put pen to paper to chronicle the 
end...  It started on Thursday last.  I had finished cleaning the stable and had 
returned to the house when I heard the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats in 
the yard.  I hurried to the front room and peered through the window and saw 
two blue-coated horsemen draw rein in front of the house.  It was my worst 
fear - Damnyankees!  I hurried away hoping to flee through the kitchen door.  
Just as I opened the back door a burly figure appeared before me.  He was 
bearded and coarse, and he showed his yellowed teeth in an ugly smile when 
he saw me.  Before I could even react, he hit me, knocking me to the floor.  I 
was stunned for a moment, and he took advantage of my momentary 
weakness and leapt full-length on me, forcing what little breath I still had 
right out of me.  He grabbed my wrists and tried to force me down, but I 
resisted, oh, diary, how I resisted!  His eyes grew wide as he realized my 
strength as I began forcing him back.  He called to his partner, saying that he 
had him a feisty one.  I tried to knee him between the legs, but he twisted 
away.  Suddenly he released one hand and hit me in the jaw.  All went black 
for a few seconds, and when I regained my senses I was mortified to realize 
he had ripped open my dress, and I felt his hot, hard presence pressing 
against me.  His fetid breath was in my face and I thought all was lost.  
Suddenly, dear diary, as if in answer to a prayer, I saw a long, muscular, dark 
arm snake around his neck from behind.  That familiar arm tensed and 
wrenched him back and began choking him.  Long black legs were suddenly 
around his chest as Queenie began squeezing the breath from him.  He 
writhed as I struggled from beneath him, but he was trapped in Queenie’s 
powerful embrace.  I stood with trembling legs, leaning against the wall to 
one side of the doorway.  I heard a hoarse shout and rushing footsteps as the 
burly man’s companion raced towards the kitchen.  I met Queenie’s eyes.  
We communicated without words.  I reached towards the nearby stove and 
grabbed the first weapon that came to hand, a big cast-iron frying pan.  I 
straightened by the door and waited.  The man rushed in holding a huge 
revolver in one hand.  He snarled something at Queenie and pointed the gun 
straight at her head.  I was deathly afraid for her, so I shouted, and he became 
aware of my presence.  He started turning towards me, but with one long 
sweep of my strong arm I smashed him directly in the face with the frying 
pan.  Blood spouted from his mashed nose and lips and he gurgled as he was 
flung backwards.  His gun flew away, discharging with a terrible report as it 
hit the floor.  He moaned as he tried to rise, but I was upon him in an instant.  
I knelt on his arms and put my hands around his throat, ignoring the warm 
blood that stained my hands and fingers.  I squeezed, using all my 
considerable strength to choke the life from this man who had defiled my 
house and threatened the life of my best friend.  I looked over at Queenie 
where she lay, still squeezing the feebly thrashing man who had tried to rape 
me.  Our eyes met and locked as they had countless times before.  This time, 
though, our gazes contained no competition, or humor, or desire.  This time, 
instead, we reinforced each other’s determination and will through our locked 
eyes, conveying to each other the strength of spirit to carry out our grisly 
tasks.  Our victims, though I hesitate to glorify them with that word, finally 
grew limp and relaxed under our deadly grasps.  We still did not relent, but 
kept up the pressure long after life had faded from their bodies.  Still we 
stared at one another, initial triumph fading into dawning apprehension.  
Finally, with an oath, Queenie relaxed her grip on the now lifeless body of the 
burly man and struggled to her feet.  I, too, unclenched my hands from around 
my victim’s throat and rose.  For several seconds we stood looking at each 
other, chests heaving, bodies beginning to tremble, and then we were in each 
other’s arms.  I gloried at the feel of her strong arms around me and pulled 
her even closer.  Breast pressed against breast, leg against leg, stomach 
against stomach, and nothing so wrong ever felt so right.
I am exhausted now, dear diary, from reliving that horrid struggle.  It must be 
left for another time for me to finish the story of how we escaped, and where 
we now are.  It is enough to say that Queenie has saved my life, and I hers, 
and that our lives are forever changed.