St. Simon's Island, Tuck Plantation, 1848 Ophelia hid under a table in the library, lips pressed together tightly. Sweat dripped down her face. She clinched the worn fabric of her gingham dress, trying her hardest not to utter a sound. If Dr. John Lee Tuck or mistress Francine caught her in the main house at this time of night, in the library no less, she would be whipped senseless for sure... or worse. Ophelia bore witness to what had happened to some of the other slaves. She was perceptive to the sounds of the whip as it met with flesh. The defiantly muffled grunts of the men as they were being beaten mercilessly by the overseers or the evil Dr. John Lee, IV himself, for some minor infraction, undoubtedly. She saw some of them walking around with those horrible contraptions fixed around their heads; circles of iron, hinged from the back, stapled and padlocked, hanging under their chins and fastened necks like... in a maniacal chokehold. The weight of the contraptions caused dreadful pain and agony, making it difficult for them to perform the laborious tasks required of them. Ophelia was twelve years-old. Despite her attempts at obscurity, she endured her share of physical and verbal assaults, consistently, in that big house. On occassion, one of the hateful Tuck children would submit her to some of the most humiliating encroachments. Once, the eldest Tuck son, William peed on Ophelia right from his bedroom window, as she stood beneath it, sorting laundry. His university friends laughing, begging him to move out of the way, so that they could take their turn, at being just as uncouth and vulgar. Ophelia knew that Dr. Tuck scrutinized her every move. She felt his eyes burning into her. She also felt the heat of Mistress's glare as well... pure and unadulterated antipathy. Ophelia also felt the sting of Mistress Tuck's slap when she would make minute mistakes; such as not lining up the corners of the bed linens sharply enough, during her folding. She felt her mistress's instruments of torture: Raw hide and hickory sprouts... tied together in a thick bundle. Nothing came amiss if these tortorous tools were not immediately on hand. Francine Tuck relished beating with a chair, broom, tongs, shovel, shears, and the heavy heel of her shoe. She was sadistic and cruel. Once Ophelia witnessed another mulatto slave girl (much younger than she, in fact) getting a flogging from Mistress, with a thick branch taken from a tree. Francine's barbarous fervor was so dynamic in those brutal inflictions, that she would seemingly invent instruments, with which to wound. Francine hated Ophelia more than any of the other mulattos on the plantation, for this innocent child had her husband's blood running through her veins. Most of the other women-of-mixed blood, were descendents of other plantation owners and were sold to Dr John Lee's father. Some raped by the overseers. There were no slaves that were so mistreated, as those that were related to some of the women of the house, or the children of their own husbands. Ophelia's own mother had been of mixed blood, and thus had been very fair-skinned. She fell victim to Dr. John's father's sexual depravity, no doubt. Ophelia was extremely afraid of her mistress, Francine. This is why she hid in that library, listening for any faint footsteps or sounds. She could imagine Francine's fury at catching a slave in the main house, in the middle of the night. She envisioned Francine's conniption at finding Ophelia, in her house during this time. This wasn't Ophelia's first time sneaking into the library. She did so, whenever the opportunity arose. She sit on the floor, thumbing through picture books. She would sound out the words,teaching herself to read. She had been able to get away with her secret for a month, so far. She found it easiest to slip back into the main house during the latter part of the evening, after midnight. The mornings and afternoons (during the time she spent laboring away) were far too risky, with her being under such heavy scrutiny. Ophelia would wait until she believed the Tucks to be fast asleep for the night. It was well after midnight. Francine would have already completed her nightly rituals of brushing her dark hair 100 times, rubbing various tonics (some slaves joked it was blood) and creams on her milky-white skin, and studying her appearance in the mirror, before settling in. Sometimes Ophelia would hear odd sounds emanating from the room; heavy breathing and grunting, along with creaking bedsprings. This particular evening, she heard no such thing. She was certain that the horrible demons within that house, were fast asleep. Ophelia overheard many of the slaves refer to the Tucks as demons from straight from hell... unbeknownst to the Tucks, of course. They christened Dr. John Lee Tuck the Devil's spawn... making the plantation nothing short of Hell. Ophelia waited behind that shelf a while longer, just to be safe, before creeping out and partaking in her literary indulgence. In addition to Mama Sugar's weekly discourse, the books were her only other escape from the harsh reality she face on that huge plantation. Ophelia never even saw any of the Tucks make constructive use of the library, anyway. She figured it to be there, merely for aesthetic purposes. Ophelia pulled several books from the shelves and took her places on the floor. She read of faraway places. Her favorites were the fairytales about princesses and talking animals. Ophelia had lost track of all time, when she thought she heard light footsteps outside the library's door. She jerked her head up, and saw a shadow pacing back and forth underneath the door's crack. Ophelia swallowed hard. She saw the doorknob turn... slowly. She froze, not knowing what to do next, when she saw the door open slowly... "Girl, whatchu doin' in her' at dis time of de night??" Ophelia released the breath she'd been holding. It was Mama Sugar, reprimanding her in a harsh whisper. "Nothin' Mama Sugar, I was just..." "I s'gest you git back in de qua'ters befo' one o' them Tucks wake up, raisin' holy hell! You know how her hi'ness is!!" Mama scolded in an even sterner whisper, as she shepherded Ophelia from the library. Ophelia worked in the big house, must to the dismay of the field slaves. She had no one else to turn to except Mama Sugar, who had raised her. Ophelia was an outcast on the plantation. Those who were not pitying her existence and whipsering about her mother's untimely demise, shunned her for being fair-skinned... calling her "half-breed." No one spoke ill of Ophelia in Mama Sugar's presence, of course. Mama Sugar forbade everyone in the quarters from mentioning Ophelia's mother, especially in malice. Mama wanted the torrid details of her mother's death, that fatal night Master Tuck tore through the slave quarters in a mad frenzy, never mentioned again. While Mama Sugar never voiced her opinion aloud, she often thought how lucky Ophelia would be if she had just been put out of her misery too. Mama saw how Dr. Tuck looked at Ophelia, and she did everything within her realm of power, to protect that child. It was bad enough that a child had to come of age, as a slave, but to have to tolerate the physical and sexual abuse... There was no way Mama Sugar would allow that devil's eldest offspring to violate Ophelia... like his father did to Ophelia's mother.