Rose Hill Plantation, 1763

"Push, madam! I can see the head already! Push!" The black woman encouraged, lifting her apron to catch a droplet of sweat running down her forehead. The storm that raged outside wasn't enough to cool down the weather, and although she wasn't the one giving birth she felt like most of the efforts to bring that baby to the world were coming from her.

She had helped in more labors than she could count, but this wasn't like any others. The air in the great house was thick in tension since Madam Judy's water broke the night before. It was simply known that white women had more trouble bringing children to this world, and the fact that Madam Judy wasn't exactly joyful about the child to come only made it more difficult.

"Please, madam! Just one more push! Please!" The woman begged. She had never had a child die in her hands, and this wouldn't be the first. She couldn't handle the responsibility. She couldn't even think of the punishment she would receive if anything happened to either mother or baby.

The loudest scream was concealed by a thunder that made the whole house shake. In a second, against the mother's efforts to keep it inside, the baby slipped out right into the black woman hands. The baby didn't cry. She had no reason to, after all. The black woman brought it closer to her face, to assure it was breathing properly as she grabbed rags from the bed and wrapped up the tiny child.

"Oh, look madam! What a beautiful face!" She said softly, walking to the side of the bed and taking the baby closer to the mother's side.

"What is it?" Judy asked, turning her face to the other side and closing her eyes. The black woman shook her head with furrowed eyebrows at her madam's reaction. Leave it to white people to renegade their children, when those were already born with everything they could possibly need.

"It's a beautiful, strong baby girl!" She exclaimed cheerfully, looking down to the baby and rocking it in her arms.

"Get her out of here," Judy demanded. "And come back to change my sheets. I need to sleep."

The black woman swallowed thick. She would have spat right into her madam's face, if she didn't know what that would gain her. If her own mother had taught her anything, it was to always care and tender to the little ones. She couldn't put up with someone who dismissed such a small baby like it was made out of evil.

"Don't worry, little one," she whispered, once she knew her madam couldn't hear it. "Mama's gonna take care of you."

Basseterre, 1763

Living in the city had its advantages. Etta was glad that on her days off she could roam around the streets and even go to church by herself, a treat not given to most slaves. Basseterre wasn't a very big city, but was much better than being isolated in a big farm, like she had many years before. Being a slave would never be a pleasant condition for anyone, but being a servant in the city was the closest thing to being free she had ever experienced.

Still, it was far from perfect. The Fabray mansion had only three servants, which made each one of them be loaded with work everyday. It's not that they couldn't afford more slaves - in fact, they were the family with more slaves in the whole island. The Fabrays just kept the majority of their slaves at the plantation, where their work would be providing profit for their owners.

Normally, Etta wouldn't mind it. She was used to working hard. But right now, as she pushed through labor, she just wished there were a few more servants so that at least one of them could be up in the attic with her. She wished that someone would be holding her hand and encouraging her. It was her first time giving birth, after all. She had no idea if what she was doing was right - or even normal.

But she prayed. Oh, she prayed. And she pushed with all her strength. She fought hard against her body that wanted to succumb and fall limp on the the narrow bed. It was far from comfortable. The thin mattress made it feel like her back was laying straight on the hard floor and with each contraction she felt the pressure in her back getting stronger.

The fact that she couldn't scream, or make any kind of noises for what mattered, just made everything much harder. She didn't want to - nor could - disturbe her master. For a second, she could swear she wouldn't make out of it alive. She felt a burning on her lower parts, and tears ran down her cheek as she gave the one last push that would bring her baby in to the world.

A feisty baby, that one. She cried hard. She was born without a care in the world, against all of her mother's efforts to keep the house quiet. Etta was elated looking down at her baby and finding out it was a girl. She held her tight in her arms, and the baby didn't hesitate for a second before grabbing a nipple in her mouth. She was born knowing what she wanted. And she would fight for it. She wouldn't ever settle for less.

"Rachel…" Etta whispered, rocking her body softly to calm down her baby and placing a lovingly kiss at the top of her head. "Welcome, my love."

Rose Hill Plantation, 1763

The woman entered the drawing room and the tall white man sprung to his feet, hushing to her side. He breathed out in relief, seeing the baby was perfect and appeared to be healthy. They would have to wait until the storm had passed to have a doctor come and check it with certain.

"Good God, Minda. It's beautiful!" The man exclaimed content, getting the attention from a small boy who played quietly in the corner. "What is it?" The man asked.

The small boy turned around and focused his big blue eyes on the small wrapped child. Minda looked directly at him, and smiled.

"It's a baby girl, master!" She said softly, and watched a small tear stray from her master's eye before he caught it in a knuckle.

"Thank God!" He whispered, brushing his thumb against the baby's cheek. The baby shrieked and turned his mouth towards her father's hand. Years of experience told Minda the baby wanted to be fed, but she didn't need to be very smart to know her madam wouldn't do it.

"Can I see it, father?" The small boy asked, still sitting on the corner. Minda had never seen a better behaved boy at such tender age.

"Of course, George! Come here!" Russell waved his hand, and George ran into his arms to be lifted.

"Look at her, young master! You got yourself another baby sister," said Minda.

The baby moved her head around and slowly fluttered her eyes open facing her father and brother. Both of them let out small noises of awe, and Minda's heart flooded knowing although her mother had rejected her, the baby would still have much love from the men in her family. No baby should grow up without love.

"She opened her eyes! She likes me!" George squealed, getting a small husky laugh from his father.

"She certainly does!" Russell agreed. "What are we gonna name her?" He asked, turning to the small boy.

George hummed in thinking, and leaned forward to caress the top of the little girl's head. Her thin blonde hair moved with his touch, and her small lips bowed in an almost smile.

"Quinnie!" George uttered with confidence. "Her name is Quinnie!"

"Quinnie?" Russell asked with a chuckle, to which his son nodded vigorously. "Quinnie." He repeated to himself with a nod and one more chuckle. "That's a good name. Good work, son." He smiled to his son, who smiled back proudly, and then let the little girl grab his thumb with a full hand. "Welcome home, Quinnie."

"Miss Quinnie!" Minda said quietly, pressing the little girl tightly against her warm body.

Russell put his son down, and George returned promptly to his toys. The man bobbed his head towards the door. Minda took the cue, knowing he would sooner or later want to have a private conversation away from his son's eyes.

"How's my wife?" Russell asked, standing by the door and placing his hands on his hips. Minda bit her lower lip apprehensively and shook her head lightly.

"Madam's fine, master. But she's not very happy," she said. "She didn't wanna look at the baby when I told her it was a girl, and she told me to just change the sheets because she wanted to sleep. I sent Dorea to do so while I cleaned the baby," she explained herself, and Russell nodded slowly with his lips pouted.

"Let's give her time. She'll come around. She's gone through a lot," he concluded.

"Yes, master," Minda agreed, like always. Russell motioned to turn around and leave, just when Quinnie shrieked once more in her arms. "Master?" She asked, and he faced her again. "The baby needs to be fed."

"Right, right." Russell nodded with a heavy sigh, scratching his head. "Get someone from the quarters to do so."

"Master?" He was already leaving when Minda called him once more. "I can do it, master. It would be an honor."

"That would be fine, Minda," said Russel, with a small smile. Minda wasn't used to seeing him being so kind to the servants, but smiled back. "You can bring your own up to the kitchen house, then. I don't want you going down the quarters anymore. We shouldn't risk exposing her to any diseases. Not after what happened."

Minda bowed her head in gratitude. She would have bobbed a curtsy if it weren't for the baby in her arms. "Thank you, master," she said softly.

"Prepare the nursery for her. I'll arrange for the doctor to come first thing in the morning and check on her."

"Yes, master," Minda agreed.

"Oh, and Minda?" Russell called her again. "Tell Malcolm to announce the birth. Tell him to give the slaves down the quarters a day off and to kill four hogs. We're celebrating life coming back to this house!"

"Thank you, master!" Said Minda with a large smile - but Russel couldn't hear it. He was already marching down the hall in joy.

Basseterre, 1763

Another slap struck her face. She couldn't even see it coming, and she didn't mind the pain one bit. She just worried about her newborn daughter, who hadn't done anything wrong in her brief life and was already submitted to the harsh reality of slavery.

"Madam, please!" Etta begged, pressing the crying baby harder against her body and lowering her head to hide behind her own shoulder.

"Tell me, Henrietta. I'm your owner, you have to tell me!" The older woman demanded, ready to hit her slave once more.

"Madam, you know it's a crime for a slave to tell who's the father of her child! Please, madam! Have mercy!" Etta didn't know what else she could do but plead. She didn't know a lot, but she knew the punishments for sharing that piece of information could cost her life. And she was not willing to be apart of her daughter just yet.

"Henrietta, that baby is white. Good Lord, I'm gonna kill you right now if you don't tell me. In front of that goddamn baby of yours!" She yelled, hitting Etta's face again. Those were the times Etta thanked the Lord that Madam Margaret had no abilities with the whip, and chose not to carry one.

She knew why all of that was happening. Etta herself wasn't purely black, but Rachel's skin was still much lighter than hers. She knew what everyone said. Her master had devoted more time than she was willing to admit in pursuing her. But although she was a slave, her mother had taught her better. She knew she wouldn't gain anything by laying with him. She denied his every try. And she had no reason to hide the truth - especially when it could take her away from the one thing she ever loved in her life.

"It's…" Etta whispered, holding back a small sob. "It's Eugene."

"Eugene?" Madam Margaret huffed. "The carriage driver?" Etta watched as her madam's lips turned into a smile and she began to chuckle, repeating to herself the name she was just told. Etta let out a shaky breath of relief, but tensed up once again once Madam Margaret stopped laughing and pulled her face to look in her eyes. "If I find out you lied to me, I won't kill you." She said calmly. "I'll torture your child. And I'll make you watch."

Etta only let her tears escape when her madam had left the room. She couldn't show her fear. She already had a hard time admitting to herself that she would have to carry these fears for the rest of her life. She damned the society that made her daughter a slave, even though Eugene was a free man.

But they had discussed it. Eugene was a good man. He promised her he would save enough money to buy Rachel's freedom. And there was nothing Etta could do but faithfully believe him.

Rose Hill Plantation, 1763

"Come on in!" Minda replied when hearing a soft knock at the door. The door opened slightly and Minda watched big blue eyes peeking inside. "Oh, it's you young master! Come in!"

"It's George, Minda." He insisted, pulling a chair and sitting by her side.

Minda loved George like her own. She had watched the little boy grow, and helped tendering for him - although she didn't do as much as she was doing for small Quinnie. The boy was more respectful than most grown men Minda knew, and she was enchanted by the way he treated the slaves. He would make a kind master someday.

"Is she eating well?" George asked in a whisper, so not to bother Quinnie.

"She sure is!" Minda smiled looking down to the suckling baby and rocking the chair softly.

"Do you think she looks like Frannie?" George asked timidly, and Minda looked at him with a sad smile.

"What do you think?" She returned the question, holding Quinnie with one hand and caressing his hair with the other.

"I think so," he whispered, leaning to drop a kiss on the baby's tiny feet. "Is that why mother won't look at her?"

Minda felt honored. She knew those questions had been bothering George for a while. She could watch sadness taking over his eyes every time they tried to get madam Judy to take a look at the baby. Having him ask her, from all of people, made her sure the boy trusted her.

"Yes, George, I think so," she whispered, carefully watching his reactions. She didn't want to hurt the little boy, but she knew better than to lie to a master. Even such young one. "Your mother didn't know how to deal with that loss. But just look at her…" Minda whispered, looking down to the baby in her arms once more. "Quinnie is a special baby."

"Special?" George asked curiously, and Minda nodded. "Special how?"

"Just think, George. She's a strong baby. Her birth was a difficult one, and still, she didn't even cry." Minda started listing her reasons. "She's barely born and she's already responsible for getting me up to the kitchen house and bring all my children. She's barely born and all the slaves are grateful for her life - because of her they ate more meat this week than they had in their whole life." She continued, and watched as George's smile grew bigger. "She's a strong, special baby and she will change our world some day."

"I love her!" George sighed, looking lovingly at her.

"And so you should. You'll help her. She'll need your help." Minda completed, and the shine in George's eyes made her sure he would never disappoint her.

The two siblings were still too little, but their love was big enough to conquer anything.

Basseterre, 1766

Anyone who saw Rachel, white as snow, sitting around her mother's skirts and with not a care in the world, would think she was a free girl. Her mother took the most pristine care of her, and always made sure her clothes were in perfect state and her hair was tightly combed back in a neat ponytail.

She could stay there, watching her mother work for hours a day. They would lowly sing while doing so, or she would delight in hearing the stories her mother told her. Sometimes she didn't believe them - she had a hard time thinking of fields so big you could run and run and never see the end of them. But her mother swore the stories were all true.

Sometimes, her mother would let her help in a few small things. From churning the butter, to finishing the desserts for supper. If she was a good girl, her mother would even let her lick the rest of the whipping cream on the spoon - but she had to hide to do that. Their master couldn't find out.

What Rachel loved the most though, were Sundays. When her father didn't have to work, and they could spend the whole day together. She really missed him during the week, so she couldn't waste a second of the only day she had him all of herself.

"Sary was so happy to see you again, little one!" Her father said, holding her in his arms so that she could reach and pat the horse's head.

"I'm happy too! I missed her!" Rachel exclaimed, hugging the horse's head with her whole arms. She always had a hard time saying goodbye.

"I'm sure you did, dear. Now, come back inside. Your father has to leave!" Etta said from the door. Rachel gave her a big pout.

"Go to your mother, Rachel. You know Sary and I'll be back next week." Her father tried to convince her, but she held her arms tighter against the horse. "Maybe if you really behave, I could start teaching you to ride next Sunday," he said. There was nothing Rachel wanted more than to learn how to ride. Her father kept insisting she was too young, but Rachel knew she was ready. She knew she could do it.

"What a lovely family reunion, isn't it?" Madam Margaret shouted from the parlor, coming to meet them outside. Rachel froze. "Now if only you would return doing your job Etta, we would happily avoid further trouble."

"Yes, Madam." Etta abided, lowering her head.

She didn't know when, but she had long time learned to be afraid of Madam Margaret. The woman had never touched her - her mother never allowed, and always hid her when she did something wrong. But still, something about her constantly angry face and the smoke that escaped her lips as she opened her tobacco stained lips made Rachel shiver.

"Come on now, dear." Her mother walked down the steps to the street and took Rachel in her arms. The little girl immediately laid her head on her mother's shoulder, hiding her face and bringing her thumb to her mouth. Her other hand shyly waved goodbye to her father, and she closed her eyes tightly as they passed Madam Margaret. Still, she couldn't protect her ears from hearing what the woman would say next.

"If I ever see that girl sucking her thumb again, I'm gonna cut it off," said Madam Margaret. "She's not a baby anymore, and she needs to learn some manners."

Rachel swore she would never do it again.

Rose Hill Plantation, 1766

Quinnie sat on the floor of the drawing room while her mother knit. She was supposed to be playing with her dolls, or her tea set, or her paints - in fact, she just had to be quiet and not disturb her mother. She knew the rules, and she knew not to break them. Her mother wasn't exactly patient.

And she really was trying to play quietly, but the window was right by her side. The window was right by her side, and she could see the kitchen house and several black children playing outside. They ran, and they hugged each other, and they laughed so much that she could almost hear it from inside. She sighed deeply - too deeply - enough to make her mother's eyes deviate from the knitting to her. One look was all it took for Quinnie's spine to shiver.

"I'm sorry, mother," she whispered, but her mother simply ignored and moved her slender fingers once more.

"Stop looking at that window." Her mother commanded.

Quinnie nodded, and moved closer to her mother with her doll in her lap. It couldn't hurt to ask, right? She clutched the doll tightly in her arms, summoning all the courage she had inside of her before opening her mouth in a tiny whisper.

"Mother?" She asked, and her mother husked annoyed to have to stop and look at her once more. "Why can't I play with them?" She asked looking outside the window, her voice so small she wasn't even sure her mother would hear it.

"We've talked about this before." She answered sharply. "They're slaves."

"The Pierces play with their slaves." Quinnie answered in a tiny whisper. She didn't mean for her mother to hear it, and gulped when she realized she had. Her mother hated comparisons.

"And that's why The Pierces farm is a disaster. Don't compare us to them." Judy half-yelled, and Quinnie took a step back. Her mother had never beaten her, but she feared that day was getting closer.

"I'm sorry, mother," Quinnie whispered.

"Quinnie!" She heard someone call, and was elated to find her brother standing at the door. She beamed and stood up, ready to go to him when her mother yelled.

"For the last time, her name is Quinn! Don't call her Quinnie!" Quinn took another step back, and wondered how George could appear so unfazed.

"I'm sorry, mother." George replied, bowing his head in respect. "I was wondering if Quinni- Quinn and I could play for a while before supper is ready." He asked, and his mother set the knitting on the couch by her side to acknowledge him. A kind of attention Quinnie never got.

"You're supposed to be studying, George."

"I'm done for the day, mother. I've studied all my lessons already," he replied with a smile.

"I'm sure you can find something else to do."

Sometimes Quinnie felt like her mother purposely didn't want to let her have any fun. If her father were home, they wouldn't even need to have this conversation. Unlike her mother, he just wanted to see Quinnie happy. He didn't even mind when people called her Quinnie instead of Quinn.

"Mother." George asked, waiting for his mother to catch his eyes before saying wistfully. "Please."

Quinnie didn't know what kind of magic her brother had, but somehow he always managed to get whatever he wanted. She wished she knew his secret.

"Just go." Judy growled, taking her knitting needles back in her hands. Quinnie stood still in disbelief, until her mother threw the yarn ball at her head. "Go before I regret it."

And Quinn leaped into her feet and out of the room with her brother.

Once she knew they wouldn't be heard anymore, she turned to ask him.

"Where are we going?"

"The kitchen house," he answered with a smirk, before being tackled in a tight hug.

"I love you so much, George!"