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daughter?” Burnice asked curiously, she banged the wooden spoon against the big iron skillet twice and closed the pot.
    “She looks like my mother. With the same mole on her chin, she even has my birth mark and she is the right age.”
    “She is a good person,” Burnice said reassuringly, “she works hard, there is no way the Massa will sell her or you.”
    “I hope so,” Mamee said abruptly, “could you pass the tea pot please?”

Chapter Eleven
     
    “I hate this land, I want to go home I am bored.” Elizabeth Simmonds mumbled to her friend Bridget Williams. Her voluminous pink skirt with its myriad ruffles took up most of the chair space. They were having their weekly tea at the Simmonds’ plantation. At times they would alternate the tea venue as each woman would try to outdo the other.
    “I can’t stand the heat,” Bridget said forcefully, she fanned herself with her dainty blue fan, which matched her peacock blue dress. Her hat was made of feathers and they would rustle in the limited breeze that the fan created.
    “Let me call someone to fan you,” Elizabeth said instantly, last week Bridget had slaves attending them with palm leaves. She would not live it down if she did not do something similar. Elizabeth rang a bell and Mamee appeared in the sitting room almost instantly.
    “Yes Ma’am.” She bowed her head slightly.
    “Get Martha to fan us.”
    Mamee nodded and silently left.
    “I heard that Rob has been doing very well with planting his sugar cane,” Bridget took up the dainty teacup and barely sipped the liquid within.
    “Yes, he is doing well,” Elizabeth sniffed, “I told him he would do well here if he took up sugar. I just hate the fact that he has the extra slaves.”
    “I don’t like having slaves either … ” Bridget lowered her voice and then considered her confession to her friend. Her views were radical enough that it had cost her many friendships in the developing land of Jamaica. Her husband was very lenient with his slaves because of her influence. The plantation owners often remarked that the Williams’ didn't have many run-away slaves and they never lost any livestock to the maroons. 
    “I hate the fact that I have to be around so many people all the time, and pretending that they aren’t people,” Elizabeth said looking at Bridget closely. She was also cautious in airing her opinion, but after months of having tea with Bridget she had realised that her friend was highly intelligent and well read. She, like Elizabeth had gotten an unorthodox education because of their indulgent fathers. She had always wanted to broach the topic of slavery and also the topic of her husband’s bastard son by a black woman that was living on Bridget’s plantation.
    Bridget glanced at Elizabeth’s cautious expression and sighed, “you know the two of us have been thinking the same thing but are afraid to broach the topic between us.”
    Elizabeth nodded.
    “Will you … ”
    “Have you … ”
    They both started talking at the same time and laughed.
    “You called Ma’am?” Martha entered the opulent sitting room with a huge folded fan made of silk.
    “Yes,” Elizabeth pointed at Bridget, “she’s hot.”
    Martha walked over and started fanning Bridget.
    Bridget looked at the slightly rounded belly of the young girl called Martha. She was not obviously pregnant but it was faintly there.
    “Since we are clear on where we stand in terms of friendship,” Bridget smiled and patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Is that stomach courtesy of your dear husband?”
    Elizabeth choked on her daintily cut sandwich and started coughing, her green eyes filled with tears.
    “Ask Martha.” Elizabeth choked out.
    “So, is it?” Bridget asked Martha, her blonde curls bounced on her shoulders as she turned to the toffee coloured girl.
    “Pardon ma’am,” Martha stammered.
    “Stop acting as if you are a dumb slave,” Bridget snickered, “answer me.”
    “No.” Martha mumbled.
    “Oh …