I haven't edited this at all, so bear with me:

INTRODUCTION

It really wasn't
a good thing I didn't like slavery, because I was a plantation
owner's daughter. Ever since I saw a mother and her son being
separated at an auction, I knew I hated it. It was wrong, cruel,
hurtful, and even stupid.

Most of my white
friends say I'm not supposed to go to the auctions, but my daddy just
says, ”She should learn young.” My big brother Tommy loves having
slaves have his dirty work done for him. I like the opposite.

I have three real
friends. Cherl, Lila, and Hope. They're house slaves, working for me.
But I secretly bring them on picnics where I teach them to read, play
games with them, and help them do the mending. Truth is, I like
mending. The only other person that knows about our secret picnics
was my nanny Charlotte. Oh, the yelling she gave me when she found
out about the outings.

“Rose Walker,
do you know the punishment for teachin' us slaves your writing and
reading?” she said at first. Then she starting crying about the
kind thing I was doing for her girls, as she called them. And
In 1861, the civil war was in full swing, with me stuck there in the
middle.

And this is the
story of how I, a twelve year old girl, possibly saved the nation of
ten more years of civil war.

CHAPTER ONE

“I don't want
to go to the auction,” I said stubbornly one June morning. It was
blistering hot, and it was not a day I wanted to be outside.

“Come on hon,
I want you to come with me to chose a slave for you to have
completely to yourself,” my Daddy said. Boy, since when did I need
a slave? I went along with this scheme and went to the auction.

We got there at
about noon and there was a good selection of slaves. I saw a girl
about my age screaming for her mother. They were being separated.
They would never see each other again. And my Daddy was buying her
mother. I made my decision quick.

“Daddy, I want
that one over there,” I said pointing to the girl my age. I walked
over. “What's your name?” I said.

“Annabelle”
was all she replied.

“Well,
Annabelle, you belong to me now,” I said.

“I'm sorry,
miss. But are you that man's daughter? He just bought my mother.”

“Yes, he
is.” Then I leaned real close in to her, near her ears. “Don't
worry Annabelle. I'll make sure you're treated like a queen.”

“Miss?” she
said, in a low rasp of a voice I liked.

“Yes,” I
replied. I'd have to tell her not to call me miss.

“ At my last
plantation, I kind of had an accident,” she said. She brought her
foot out from under her dress. It was swollen, and purple.

“Did you fall?”
I questioned.

“Yes, miss.”
The look in her eyes told a different story. This had not been an
accident.

“Get going
girl! I don't have all day. Daddy, this one is perfect to be my
personal slave,” I yelled. I gave her a wink and we tied her into
the ropes with the other woman.

The men weren't
as lucky. They had thick metal chains rapped around them.

And off we went.

CHAPTER TWO

“Annabelle,
honey, drink on up,” Charlotte coaxed. I had gotten some milk from
the kitchen for her.

“Ma'am, will I
be doing housework for you?” Annabelle asked.

“Not exactly.
We are going to go for picnics together, and eat together, and play
together,” I said. “Oh, I'm teachin' you to read, too,” I
added.

“Read! Oh, no
miss. I can't miss,” she said in a strangled tone.

“Why not, miss?
I mean Annabelle. I mean, don't call me miss," I rambled.

“I'll get a
whippin' for sure miss. I mean Rosie,” Annabelle whispered.

“You think one
of us would tell on you?” Charlotte replied.

“Course not,
ma'am. It's just that I don't want to cause no trouble.”

I stared at her.
SHE didn't want to cause trouble. After being whipped, beaten, worked
to the bone? Did she really mean that? “What do you mean?” I
asked.

“What I mean is,
I don't want anybody to be bothered none. My mama always says to
treat others the way you want to be treated, and that's what I intend
on doing,” she said.

I started
thinking. What if she was right? In my heart I knew she was.

“Please,
Annabelle. Trust me when I say this. I hate slavery in its evil, and
I want to treat you right. I can't do much more than that. I'm a
twelve year old girl in a big world. Probably, I don't mean much to
no one but my family. But I want you to believe me when I say you are
my friend and my companion, and we shall be friends to the end. I
promise.” She looked at me awkwardly, then turned to Charlotte and
said, ”Does she always talk in long speeches like that?”

Charlotte and I
laughed.

“No honey, she
don't. And let's start your first lesson,” Charlotte said. We
packed up for a picnic, bringing paper and pencils, and some mending
and darning for her to do.

Laughing almost
the whole way, we finally got to Garling Field and set up our lunch.
We had milk and sandwiches, and even some chicken, believe it or not.
Like we never got to have chicken. Not.

“The alphabet
is the 26 letters that make up words. Each letter has a certain sound
or sounds, and each one is unique. The first letter of the alphabet is A, and that's what I'll teach you today,” I explained as Annabelle
flew through the mending.

“A is a vowel.
That means it has a long sound and a short sound. The long sound is
ay, like in hay.” She nodded intently. “And the short sound is a,
like in apple. This is how you write it.” I wrote it on the paper.
She copied it. Unlike mine, hers was a smooth, steady line. Mine was
crooked and bent. I had always had bad handwriting.

She saw the look
on my face as I stared at the letter. “Did I do it wrong?” she
asked solemnly.

“Exactly the
opposite. It's perfect,” I said.

“Eventually,
after a was done and lunch was eaten, we headed back to home.