Winter 1845 – The Hell of the Ball

“I am no more a guest than you, Miss Rose,” said Helena, “I would help you if I had the power.” 

I spat out more blood. I tried to breathe slowly despite the pain in my ribs. I said, “Miss Helena, you have more power than you believe. Or are willing to admit. Culpepper is not your father. Your true father rules lands that make this plantation resemble the lowest sharecropper’s acre.”