Chp.1 of Fighting for Crumbs
Chapter1: The Crack of the Whip
April, 1908, Amelia County, Virginia
As it is getting dark out, Sarah Mathews takes the shortcut from her cousin’s farm to her house, which passes through the edge of her neighbor’s property. Something feels different tonight— the wind picks up slightly, causing the tree leaves to flicker. The soft flickering of the leaves is suddenly interrupted by a cracking sound followed by a high-pitched scream. Another crack jolts the silence, sounding almost like a rifle shot. The answering scream makes Sarah’s knees lock.
There are three more cracks and screams before she realizes that there is a group of men standing in the path ahead of her. They are standing under a large Sycamore tree. There is a large object swaying back and forth under the tree. As the scene comes into focus, she sees the swaying object is tied to the bough of the tree using a large rope. It is only then that she realizes they are whipping a man. She doesn’t mean to witness it. She came upon the scene accidentally.
She immediately ducks behind a large tree. But it is too late. One of the men sees her and yells,
“Hey, you there, who are you?”
She says nothing.
She immediately ducks behind a large tree. But it is too late. One of the men sees her and yells,
“Hey, you there, who are you?”
The man repeats the question, “Who goes there?”
She does not respond. He begins to walk toward her. She recognizes him. It is Mr. Whitman, the owner of the property she is on. And he recognizes her.
He says, “Sarah, what are you doing out here by yourself at this time of night?”
“I am coming home from my Cousin Anne’s house.”
“Come closer so I can see your face.”
There is another cracking sound and a bloodcurdling scream.
Mr. Whitman sees Sarah jump at the sound of the whip cracking across their captive’s back. He says to her very sternly, “You need not bother yourself with this. He deserves the punishment he is getting.” He leans in, eyes bloodshot, breath sour. “You didn’t see nothing, girl. Swear it.”
She glances over to the tree and for a brief moment makes eye contact with the man who is strung up and being whipped.
Sarah blurts out, voice quivering, “I swear to God that I did not see anything.”
“There will be consequences if you do not do as I say. Remember, you neither saw nor heard anything. Now, turn around and take the road back to your house.”
Sarah stands there frozen for a few seconds. Despite being his immediate neighbor and knowing him her entire life, she perceives Mr. Whitman as threatening. Although over 40 years have passed since the Civil War ended, Whitman’s face reflects the weight of his participation in that war. His skin is sunburned and leathery, and he has pronounced wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. A scar runs along the side of his jaw, a remnant of a cut inflicted by a Union soldier. His light blue eyes consistently appear bloodshot. Despite his current financial success, he carries with him anger over what he lost during the war—both in terms of family members and financially.
Mr. Whitman snaps at Sarah, “Get going, now!”
She turns and runs across the field to the road. She keeps on running until she gets home. When she reaches her house, she is completely out of breath and her side hurts from running. She climbs the steps of the front porch and tries to gain some composure as she walks into the house.
Her mother immediately notices her deep breathing and asks, “Are you alright? Why are you breathing so deeply? Did you run home?”
Sarah says, “I am fine. I did run a bit at the end, which is why I am breathing heavily.”
“Why were you running?”
Sarah smooths the sides of her skirt and responds, “For no particular reason, I just felt like it. Sometimes it feels good to just run as hard as you can.” But today, there was nothing Sarah could do to make herself feel better.