William Dietz - The Seeds of Man

“Yeah, you know. The house where Mr. Voss lives.”

Lora didn’t know—but it made sense. Voss had to live somewhere. She had other questions but didn’t dare ask them. She could think about the situation and draw her own conclusions, however. It seemed that the ill-considered interaction with Rahman had resulted in a promotion of sorts, since everyone knew that house slaves lived better than field slaves did. But a slave is a slave.

Still, she was happy to escape the people who hated her and get a fresh start. But play it smart this time, Lora admonished herself. Keep your mouth shut.

It felt good to have a plan, no matter how superficial it might be, and Lora allowed herself to relax as the wagon passed through a checkpoint and rattled onto the road. The first thing she noticed was the fact that there was quite a bit of traffic. And even though free people went armed, there was no sense of impending doom. Which made sense. Who would dare attack? Of course, safety came at a price. The locals had to pay the taxes Voss levied.

The scenery was pleasantly pastoral. There were neatly kept “stations,” all belonging to Voss, and some independently run farms as well, the latter being under contract to Voss. That’s what Nichols said. In addition to the greenhouses used to grow most of the food, Lora could see cows grazing in pastures and plots of healthy-looking corn.

Eventually they came to Afton, where, instead of being forced to wait in line, the wagon was ushered through a special gate. Such were the privileges associated with the Voss name.

Their destination appeared half an hour later. There was no need for Nichols to point it out. The fortified manor house was impossible to miss. It sat atop a hill, and as they passed through a heavily guarded gate, Lora saw the weapons emplacements located all around.

A twisting, turning road led up through landscaped slopes to a Y. One branch of the driveway veered right, but Nichols kept the wagon to the left. Then, as he rounded the house, the overseer brought the conveyance to a stop under the portico that connected the main structure to the building behind it. “See the door over there?” Nichols inquired. “That’s the entrance to the servants’ quarters. Go inside and report to Mrs. Winters.”

Lora said, “Yes, master,” and jumped to the ground. She paused to let a couple of women pass. They were headed for the big house and were carrying piles of fresh linen. Both were dressed in identical gray dresses. A man with a box full of boots was headed the other way. To polish them? Yes, Lora thought so. His uniform consisted of a white shirt, dark jacket, and matching trousers.

Lora followed the male servant through the door and entered a Spartan reception area. That’s where the overseer was. A sign that said, “Mrs. Winters,” was sitting on the wooden desk. The woman behind it had a doughy face and a red nose and wore her hair in a bun. But the most notable thing about her was the fact that she was very obese. Some of the people who lived in the Sanctuary had been overweight. But this woman was truly fat in a time when most people were malnourished or starving. “Permission to speak, ma’am.”

The woman looked Lora up and down in much the same way that a butcher might inspect a side of beef. “Granted.”

“I was told to report to you. My name is Lora Larsy.”

Winters shuffled some papers, found the sheet she was searching for, and squinted at it. “Hmm. It appears that Slave Master Rahman thinks you have the makings of a house slave. Maybe he’s right and maybe he isn’t. Time will tell.

“I’m going to assign you to the housekeeping staff. You’ll work side by side with another girl for a week. Then, if your performance is up to standards, you’ll be on your own.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A cord and wooden handle dangled next to Winters. She gave it a tug. A girl appeared thirty seconds later. She had a round face, big eyes, and rosy cheeks. “Yes, ma’am?”

“This is Lora. Show her around. Make sure she has a bed and uniforms.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Lora will shadow you for the next week or so. Teach her the rules. And if she breaks one of them, I will punish both of you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Dismissed.”

The girl led Lora through a door and glanced back over her shoulder. “What a cow… My name’s Clara. Welcome to the big house. Come on. The female dorm is up on the third floor. And stay away from the men… Winters will whip you if you don’t. And me too.”

Lora followed Clara up a flight of stairs, past a shared bathroom, and into a dormitory. It was furnished with twenty neatly made single beds. A chest was located at the foot of each. “This one is available,” Clara said as they paused by bed 12. “It belonged to Nan until she spilled a tray of drinks on Mr. Voss.”

Lora looked from the empty bed to Clara. “What happened to her?”

“They put her in the hole.”

“The hole?”

“It’s a hole in the ground and it has a lid so you can’t get out. It’s freezing cold in the winter and boiling hot in the summer.”

“So they put her in the hole. Then what?“

“I don’t know. We haven’t seen her since.” The answer was given in a matter-of-fact manner, as if such occurrences were commonplace and to be expected.

“Come on,” Clara said. “We’ll get some clothes for you. I hope you like gray.”

Unlike Station 2, where workers were restricted to one shower per week, house slaves were expected to be clean lest they offend Mr. Voss or senior staff, a rule Lora heartily approved of. So she took a hot shower before donning a crisp gray uniform, black stockings, and square-toed shoes. After passing Clara’s inspection, it was time to make the scary journey from the servants’ quarters to the big house.

They entered through the back door, which was adjacent to a huge kitchen. “Lots of newcomers are assigned to the kitchen,” Clara said as they paused in the hall. “Mr. Oliver needs slaves to serve as dishwashers, pot scrubbers, and floor cleaners. It’s hot in there. And when he gets drunk, everybody suffers.”

Clara turned to point. “Those are the back stairs. Never use the front stairs.”

“Don’t tell me—let me guess. They’ll whip me if I do.”

Clara laughed. “That’s right. The first room on the right is the dining room. We’re going to clean it.”

“So we need to clean it every day?”

“No, we need to clean it three times a day. After breakfast, after lunch, and after dinner.”

“Why? Is Mr. Voss messy?”

“Oh, no… He’s quite tidy. And so is Miss Silverton.”

“Who is Miss Silverton?”

Clara glanced around. “Never stand still. Stay busy all the time. That’s the best way.”

Lora took note of the other girl’s reluctance to discuss Miss Silverton, wondered why, and followed her to a utility closet, where they armed themselves with dusters, brooms, and mops. As they stepped into the hall, Lora saw that a well-dressed man was coming their way. He had slicked-down hair and wore thick glasses. Clara curtseyed and Lora tried to imitate her. This, she assumed, was Lord Voss.

The man stopped. His eyes met Lora’s. “Are you new?”

“Yes, master.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lora Larsy, master.”

He nodded. “Welcome to the big house.” Then he was gone.

Lora turned to Clara. “Mr. Voss is nicer than I thought he would be.”

“That was Mr. Trenton,” Clara responded. “Mr. Voss’s assistant. He’s… well, you’ll find out soon enough.”

Lora sensed another mystery but could tell that Clara wasn’t ready to confide in her. They entered the dining room, which appeared to be clean, the single exception being a few bread crumbs under the chair at the head of the table.