CHAPTER 1
1817, Falls Church, Virginia
Summer that year had come early to Falls Church. The air that particular evening was sultry. At ten thirty-three, to be precise, a cry went up that pierced its stillness. It was the cry of a newborn baby announcing her way into a world that would condemn her to slavery and misery. Far beyond the distress and gloom of that night, but not beyond its reach, the cry did not go unheard.
From a window on the first floor of the main house, a light burned, and like that cry, it broke the night's darkness. A silhouette could be seen pacing, waiting in anticipation for an announcement that would proclaim the birth of his child.
Sara, a young slave girl, no more than sixteen years of age, a mere child herself, had just given life to her infant daughter. The hours of labor she endured were too much. No sooner were her labor and birthing over, she began to hemorrhage, went into shock, and died. There in the small cramped single room, airless and lighted only by a single candle, the girl's parents sat weeping. Outward from the start, they had refused to acknowledge the infant as their own. Abandoned by her grandparents, the young child was to begin her life anew, as a slave, unwanted, alone, and unloved.
Recorded that night in the record book was this:
Date of Birth: April 16, 1817
Place of Birth: Falls Church, Virginia
Mother's Name: Sara Father's Name: Unknown
Name: Leah
Like all slaves, they received a single name usually chosen by the mother, but in this case, since the infant child was motherless and unwanted, it fell upon those there to choose one. This they did; they chose the Biblical name Leah, for it had a pleasant sound to it, but in truth, its meaning was less desirable, for in Hebrew, it meant "weary," a name that would fit her later.
At ten thirty-six, the long-awaited note arrived at the main house, brought by a slave, and was handed to the figure that had been seen earlier pacing the floor, the master. He said nothing. He closed the door and went into the parlor where he crossed the room to the source of light and unfolded the note. He read it. His eyes fell upon the word died; turning away, he looked out into the darkness as he crumpled the note in his large hand. He turned his head back and gazed into the fireplace and cursed aloud. It was not because of Sara's demise that he cursed, but for the loss of a good slave he no longer had. He lifted the crumpled note to the candle, lit it, held it for a moment, and then let it fall into the fireplace. Again, he cursed as he watched the note burn until there was nothing left but ash. Satisfied, he blew out the candle and retired for the night.
Every morning, like clockwork, the clanking of the work bell would shatter the morning's tranquility, declaring to all field slaves as well as others that another day of backbreaking work in the cotton fields or in and around the plantation had begun. The day was like every summer's day in the South: hot, humid, and unpleasant. This morning, the master paid a visit, not to the shack of Sara's parents, where the evening before she had given birth to a baby girl that was the least of his interest, but to the shack of the child's nursing mother. Upon entering, he asked to see the newborn infant, and after seeing her, he asked a few brief questions and then left.
Back at the house, the master had the overseer summoned. When the overseer arrived, the two went into the parlor, and there, with the door closed, he gave specific instruction that the overseer was to check on the progress of the child and, from time to time, deliver that progress in person to him and to him alone. In this way, he would know how the child was faring in growing up and, most of all, if she were being accepted.
During this period, it was a common practice done by the white masters and even, in some cases, by the overseers that they use young slave girls to satisfy their carnal desires. In silence and alone, these poor battered souls had no recourse but to accept the humiliation and disgrace forced upon them, as it was for Sara. Like all good plans that go awry, the gossip spread throughout the slaves' quarters that Leah's father was none other than their master.
From that day on, the days flew into weeks, the weeks into months, and the months into years. Then, at last, the day came when the overseer arrived at the main house and delivered the information to the master that the child was of age. There in the parlor, at 9:00 a.m. on June 16, 1820, without any feeling whatsoever, the master gave explicit instructions to the overseer. Unwanted slaves, for one reason or another, would often end up being sold, added to groups of slaves as a way "to sweeten the sale" — and so this was Leah's fate.
CHAPTER 2
Early Fall of 1820
By chance, John McKibben, a thirty-six-year-old plantation owner from Alexandria, Louisiana, on his way back from Richmond, stopped in Falls Church to pay his sister, Charlotte, a visit; and while there, he read in the daily paper about an upcoming slave auction. At first, he hesitated about attending but later changed his mind and went. It was something for him to do. The auction was already in progress when he arrived, so he was unable to look at "the stock," the term used to refer to slaves being auctioned off. The auction that day was of newly arrived slaves from the Caribbean and Jamaica and those preowned. When he entered, there was in progress a sale, a sale of two young females and one older male being lead to the auction block.
An attendant handed him a number and a program that listed, by owner, the slaves up of auction. Sitting down near the back, he began to peruse the list of slaves when one in particular caught his attention — a three-year-old female who went by the name of Leah was being auctioned off alongside two younger males who were runaways. This practice troubled John; it was abnormal to his way of thinking. No, not the selling of children — that did not trouble him — but what did was the selling of a young child at such a tender age. John always thought of himself as being a "good Christian," and in a way, he was. He was one of the very few slave owners who treated his slaves as human beings, not like the others, who treated them as animals. The creed that he followed was if you treated a person right, in this case a slave, you would get more work from that person, thus a greater profit.
Having inquired and given permission, he entered the pen area, the area where the slaves were taken and kept. The stench that greeted him was so that it caused him to gag. He stepped back and out of the pen area into fresh air. Having regained his composure and with his handkerchief pressed to his face, he reentered. The stench was still too strong that even the handkerchief failed to lessen it. He looked quickly around, and after locating the pen, one of the corner ones and off to the side, he stepped up...
