Civil War Women in Love
Lesbian Lovers throughout Time—
Written by a Lesbian for Lesbians
Rachel Windsor
Text Copyright © Rachel Windsor
All Rights Reserved
ALSO BY RACHEL WINDSOR
Lesbian Lovers throughout Time—
Written by a Lesbian for Lesbians
Prairie Women in Love
Dames with Dames
Best Lesbian Erotica Series—
Written by a Lesbian for Lesbians
Best Lesbian Erotica 2014—Prequel
Best Lesbian Erotica 2014
Best Lesbian Erotica 2014—Happy New Year
Best Lesbian Erotica 2014—Fifty Feet Under
Best Lesbian Erotica 2014—Ladies’ Poker Night
Best Lesbian Erotica 2014—Happy Valentine’s Day to Me
Best Lesbian Erotica 2014—Girl Going Greek
Chapter One—Kenda and Miss Jane
South Carolina, 1860
Growing up in antebellum south, Jane Liston and Kenda could not have been more different. Jane, the nineteen-year old daughter of Mr. Rushton Liston, was privileged, dedicated and white. Kenda, who had no last name to call her own, was the eighteen-year old daughter of a slave and a slave herself, an African-American with no education beyond what she had picked up on her own which was to say, not much. Nonetheless, the two young women had grown up together, with young Kenda by her mother Maddie’s side as Maddie served as the house servant to the well-off Liston family.
The Liston family was generous, as far as generosity went among slave owners, and didn’t mind if their faithful Maddie brought her bright, sweet little girl with her, as long as she didn’t get underfoot. She had proved to be a useful playmate to Jane, the Liston family’s youngest child. Once Kenda reached the age of twelve, she was put to work, but allowed to stay in the house out of deference to Jane’s friendship. Now a woman, Kenda, with her dark eyes and shapely body, was strikingly stunning.
Jane, the only daughter amongst five children, was doted upon by her parents and carefully protected by her four older brothers. The brothers were careful to vet potential suitors, of which there were, being lured by Jane’s charming demeanor, gorgeous red hair and fair skin with the slightest hint of freckles. The brothers did not have to work very hard at their task, however, as Jane showed little interest in any of the young men who came to call.
What Jane was interested in was the news that Kenda had just shared with her as they stood outside in the brisk wind, Jane watching Kenda hang laundry to dry.
“Tomorrow? Why didn’t you tell me before now?” Jane asked.
“I just found out today. Guess I knew I wouldn’t be able to work in the house forever,” Kenda said, careful to keep working as she talked. The family tolerated her chatting with Miss Jane but wouldn’t tolerate it for long if it interfered with her work.
“But why? Why do you have to go to the fields to work? I’ll hardly see you at all,” Jane said. As soon as the words left her mouth, she was sorry they had. How could she be so petulant as to complain about not seeing her friend when Kenda was the one who was being put to hard labor in the hot, dusty fields? “I’m sorry, Kenda. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Don’t pay it no never mind, Miss Jane,” Kenda said, fingers deftly maneuvering another pair of pants onto a clip. “This is the way it is, that’s all.”
Jane watched Kenda in silence for a moment. She noticed that when Kenda stretched to hang clothes her arm muscles rippled, defined and strong. When Kenda’s shirt pulled free of her skirt and exposed her stomach during one particularly vigorous throw of a heavy blanket over the line, Jane stared. The sight of Kenda’s dark, flat stomach and the hint of more below stirred Jane in a way that she recognized but did not acknowledge.
“Jane!” came a woman’s voice from the house. “Jane!”
Frowning, Jane sighed. “I suppose that will be Mother reminding me it’s time to practice piano again.” She lingered for a moment, thinking. Looking directly into Kenda’s eyes, she spoke earnestly. “I’m going to miss seeing you, Kenda.”
For a rare moment, Kenda stopped her work and returned Jane’s steady gaze. “I’m gonna miss you, too Miss Jane.”
Chapter Two—The Fields
That night, the night before her first day in the field, Kenda lay awake in her bed. It was sweltering and she felt as if she was lying in a pool of her own sweat. Every now and then she fanned her sheet, trying to create a breeze but it was no match for the thick heat of the night. She knew she needed a good night’s rest for what was ahead, but her mind was not cooperating with her. Instead of allowing her to rest and drift off to sleep, her thoughts were of what awaited.
Having been a house girl for her entire life, Kenda had lived a sheltered existence, relatively speaking. She was well aware of the hard work that went on in the fields, the monotonous, back-breaking labor under the relentless South Carolina sun, with only occasional singing and discreet gossip passed up and down the rows offering any respite. The foremen would allow singing but it had to be cheerful, for they believed more melancholy tunes, with slower cadences, would have a deleterious effect on the slaves’ work output. Kenda’s whole family, with the exception of her mother, who remained in the big house, worked in the fields and she saw their tired, broken bodies return day after day, their sweat-stained clothes and rough hands bearing witness to their toil. She didn’t dare express her worry to them; they’d been doing what she now feared for years. It was her turn to bear some of the burden.
Wiping sweat from her brow, she sighed heavily. A field girl like she was about to become wouldn’t be in the big house anymore, maybe never again. For the first time in her life, she wouldn't see Jane every day. Always aware of their different places in life, Kenda nonetheless felt Jane was a friend. She had never spoken roughly to her or ordered her around. Instead, Jane was kind and gentle. She talked freely with Kenda, sharing her thoughts, even those that wouldn’t be well-accepted by the strict Liston family.
Kenda knew that Jane didn’t agree with slavery but like Kenda, assumed her life was pre-destined. Her family was rich and owned slaves. It was simply the way it was. But does it have to be that way? Jane had asked Kenda one day as they walked in a meadow, when Kenda charged with picking berries for the family’s dinner. Kenda had been shocked at the question. Didn’t Miss Jane know that talk like that wasn’t allowed? Must be different for white folk, ‘specially when their daddy is the one who owns the slaves, Kenda had thought. She admired Jane for her brave thoughts, even if a young woman’s thoughts couldn’t change things in the South.
Drifting off to sleep finally, Kenda’s last drowsy thoughts were of vague plans to time her water break with when Jane usually sat outside to do her reading. The preemptive ache that she felt about not seeing Jane was powerful and confusing to Kenda. Like always, there was no one she could share it with, no one except Jane. And now, even that wasn’t possible.
* * * *
Kenda felt that she had barely shut her eyes when she was awakened by activity around her. Her brothers and mother were up and preparing for another day’s work, even though it was not yet dawn. Her mother, as usual, had been up long before her children, cooking breakfast for them. When she saw her daughter rise and rub the sleep from her eyes, she tsked at her.
“Girl, you best get up now. Can’t be late first day in the field.” Although her tone was direct, Kenda noticed that her mother quickly looked away. She guessed, correctly, that is was hard for her mother to ha
ve to send her daughter to the field after having been able to protect her for so many years as a house-girl.
“Kenda gonna do some real work today,” her older brother Marcus said lightly. He squeezed her shoulder as he walked by. “You be careful out there, girl.”
Quickly making her bed, Kenda nodded. Her stomach was nervous and queasy and the biscuits Mama made her didn’t quell the feeling. Eating quickly and kissing her mother before she stepped out in the breaking dawn, already hot, Kenda blinked back tears. This is my life, every day, from now on. A wave of hopelessness washed over her, almost as heavy as the humid air.
* * * *
By lunchtime, Kenda was no longer able to blink back her tears. She allowed them to flow freely and made no sound. In the insufferable heat, no one would notice. If anyone dared look up and waste the time examining the young woman, they would just assume she was dripping with sweat, same as they were. The work was drudgery and her back ached as she worked with the tobacco leaves.
The others had accepted her and did their best to help her along, knowing she had come “from the big house,” even so, it was readily apparent that the life that she had now entered was nothing like the one she had just left. The mornings spent cleaning the house, with Jane often nearby chatting and laughing, the coolness and quiet calm of the big house, the afternoons with Jane, all of those were gone. She longed to see her and caught herself looking toward the big house far too often than was wise.
“Girl, go fetch some water,” a slave named Jeremiah said to her. He softened the request with a smile and lowered his voice. “Water pail is in the shade over yonder, will give you a chance to get cooled off some.” He nodded toward a tree in the distance.
Kenda smiled back, appreciating the kindness. Taking two water buckets from her row, she set off for the tree. The walk took longer than she had expected, the distance being deceivingly far. Approaching the water barrel, she set the buckets down and fanned her face ineffectively. Jeremiah was right; the shade offered by the tree was a welcome oasis, however fleeting. Closing her eyes for a moment, Kenda relished the reprieve from the scorching sun.
“You ain’t a house girl no more,” a sharp male voice said from behind Kenda.
Whirling around, Kenda faced Roger Banes. A mean-spirited man, he was known to the slaves as the worst foreman on the plantation. When Mr. Liston wasn’t around, he used his whip freely and took perverse pleasure in insulting the slaves. He was a small man, in stature and integrity. “I said, you ain’t no house girl no more. Field slaves don’t stand around and fan themselves,” he said. His tone was nasty and sarcastic and he made exaggerated fanning motions with his hand, mimicking Kendra.
Frozen for a moment, Kenda stared at the man.
Cat got your tongue, girl?” Roger asked snidely. In a heartbeat, he was close to Kenda, too close. “Girl can’t work in the field, can’t get water like she’s supposed to, can’t even talk. I know one thing you must be good for.” Roger grabbed Kenda’s breast and squeezed hard.
Recoiling from the unwelcome contact, Kenda cowered. “No, sir. Please don’t.” Her voice was small and full of fear.
The cruel man laughed, pleased with the reaction he had created. Again he mocked Kenda. “No, please.” He advanced toward her, his hands unbuckling his belt. His progress was impeded by a shout of pain from the nearby field; it was a man’s voice and whoever it was, was in great pain. Angry at the interruption, Roger looked toward the field where a commotion had started. “God damnit,” he snarled. He glared at Kenda. “We’ll get back to this later,” he promised with a leer.
Kenda ran toward the field, beating Roger there. She needed to be near others. Closing in, she saw that at the center of the commotion was Milo, one of her brothers; he was bending over and holding his foot. Approaching the clutch of slaves surrounding Milo, Kenda was shocked at what she saw. Her brother’s left foot was severed, badly.
“Move back, all of you,” Roger ordered. Seeing the injury, Roger cursed. “What the hell happened?”
Milo was unable to speak, the pain was too great. Jeremiah spoke up. “Mister Roger, Milo hit his foot with the spade, nearly cut it clean off. He needs help. It’s lucky for us you was nearby.” Jeremiah gave a meaningful glance at Kenda.
With a sickening realization, Kenda put together what must have happened. The slaves on the edge of the field, including her brother, must have seen Roger approach Kenda, as well as his move to attack her. Knowing a bare intervention would result in nothing more than a whip and possibly having to witness the outrage upon Kenda, her brother had bravely hacked his own foot. The foreman might not have to worry about Mr. Liston’s ire for having his way with a field girl, but letting a strong young productive slave like Milo lose a foot was another matter. Looking at her brother with love and humility, she smiled when they locked eyes and nodded her head slowly. Meager thanks, but it was all she dared. She need not have worried that it was inadequate. Milo closed his eyes in return and when he opened them again, he stared right at Kenda, letting her know he understood. That was what family did.
Chapter Three—
Times Change
Jane sat in her room, restless. The day had dragged without Kenda and she spent most of it worrying about how her friend was doing. For the first time, she found herself noticing now hot it was and wondering how it would feel to be forced to work in the heat the entire day. She had been sitting with the same book for hours and was just about to give up and go to sleep, the sun having set hours ago. A soft sound near her window caught her attention. It sounded like something had been thrown from below. A fervent hope that it was Kenda came to her and she quickly dismissed it, knowing she was being foolish. Kenda was probably sound asleep in her cramped quarters, exhausted and sore from her day’s labors while Jane lived her life of leisure. The hope was replaced by self-disgust. Still curious, though, Jane walked to the window and looked outside. She could barely make out a figure below. It was Kenda.
Her heart soared and she squinted to see what Kenda was doing. Seeing that Jane had caught sight of her, Kenda raised her hand in which Jane could make out a scrap of something. Paper, maybe? Kenda made an exaggerated show of placing the scrap under a rock near the porch edge and in a flash, she was gone, swallowed by the dark humidity. Blinking, Jane wondered if she had just imagined the entire scene. There was only one way to find out.
A moment later, Jane was outside, taking care not to wake her family. As she stepped outdoors, the heat hit her like a damp, heavy blanket. Undeterred, she made her way to the rock where she had seen, or at least thought she had seen, Kenda leave something.
Lifting the rock, Jane exhaled. She hadn’t been imagining things! Clutching the scrap of paper in her hands, Jane hurried back to her room. Closing her door quietly behind her, she unwrinkled the paper. A drop of her sweat fell from her forehead to the paper, smearing the already messy writing. In careful, childlike letters, Kenda had written the following.
Foreman tryed to ravish me by forse. Please help.
Jane blinked. Sweet Kenda? Raped by one of Daddy’s foremen? Her brow furrowing in anger, she seethed. I bet it was that nasty Roger Banes. Daddy should have him shot. She looked out of her window again, hoping to see Kenda, to somehow convey to her that she would help her, but Kenda was gone.
There would be no sleep for either woman that night. Although their beds were not far apart on the plantation, it seemed as if worlds separated them both, with only their sorrow and tears joining them.
* * * *
“Mother, please, you’ve got to talk to Daddy,” Jane pleaded. She hadn’t dared show her mother the note from Kenda. Slaves were severely punished if they were found reading or writing.
Without looking up from her sewing, Evelyn Liston tried to calm her daughter. “Now, now, child. You know very well Daddy doesn’t tolerate interference in business. That’s not my place and it’s certainly not yours, either. Best not to get involved.”
Jane stared at her mother in
disbelief. “Best not to get involved? Mother, a man tried to rape Kenda. And he would have, too, had someone not come along. She may not be so lucky next time.”
Still unmoved, Evelyn continued her sewing. “Things like this tend to take care of themselves, dear.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” Jane said, anger rising. She tried to remain calm, knowing that she would get even less out of her mother if she became emotional. “Kenda is practically like a daughter to you, she was raised in this house alongside of me. But you won’t raise a finger to help her when is in very real danger of being attacked?” Despite her efforts, Jane’s voice rose as she talked.
Evelyn looked up briefly at her daughter, but it was only long enough to shake her head with displeasure.
Eyes welling with tears of frustration, Jane moved closer to her mother. “I wonder if you would take any action if one of the foremen came to my room and tried to have his way with me. Would you care then?”
As soon as it came out of her mouth, Jane knew she had gone too far. Evelyn put her sewing down and glared at Jane.
“You shut your mouth, young lady. How dare you say such an evil thing!” Evelyn snapped. Usually a mild, pleasant woman, the harsh words sounded especially ugly coming from her. “Kenda is not my daughter. She is not anything except for a slave girl who happens to work for your father. She’s not my problem and she’s not your problem either. It’s time for you to grow up and act like an adult. This kind of behavior is not fitting for the daughter of a Liston. I won’t tolerate it, do you understand me?”
Civil War Women in Love: Lesbian Lovers Throughout Time Series, Book 3 Page 1