In 1850 Charleston, South Carolina, brutality and cruelty simmer just under the genteel surface of Southern society. In an era where ladies are considered mere property, beautiful and headstrong Willow Hendricks’ father has filled her life with turmoil, secrets, and lies.

Her father rules her life until she finds a kindred spirit in spunky, outspoken Whitney Barry, a northerner from Boston. Together these Charleston belles are driven to take control of their own lives—and they are plunged into fear and chaos in their quest to fight for the rights of slaves. Against all odds, these feisty women fight to secure freedom and equality for those made powerless and persecuted by a supposedly superior race.

Only when they’ve lost it all do they find a new beginning.

Book 1 presents Willow and Whitney—and the reader—with the hardships the slaves endure at the hands of their white masters.

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

Willow

CHARLESTON, 1850

A shiver went through me—I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of being watched. I scanned the hillside overlooking my father’s plantation before slipping my foot into the stirrup on my buckskin Arabian mare––a recent gift from my father––and hoisted myself up. Casting another glance around and seeing no one, I summed up my case of the jitters as my imagination.

The month of March had rolled in and brought with it a heat wave. The sun beat down on me, and sweat trickled down my back as I sat in the saddle, drinking in the beauty of Livingston Plantation. I admired the ancient oak trees framing the lane leading to the front of the plantation. Evergreen vines with fragrant yellow flowers climbed the massive iron gates guarding the entry. Great white pillars expanded the front veranda, extending through the second-floor balcony with its wrought-iron railings. Well-manicured gardens surrounded the main house. It was one of the grandest sea-island cotton and rice plantations in Charleston, and I felt a sense of pride in its splendor.

I glanced out over the fields and noted that our overseer, Jones, was making his rounds. A few of the slave children were also moving through the fields, offering the field hands water to quench their thirst. Our dog Beau had found himself some shade under a moss-covered angel oak tree, where he lay panting.

My horse stirred and stomped an impatient hoof. “All right, let’s go,” I said, lightly kicking my heels into her sides. She took off at a full gallop.

I’d left my hair loose and the warm, refreshing breeze blew my chestnut tresses out behind me, teasing the tips up from my waist and tugging the rest out to follow. As we sped over the countryside the tension in my neck and shoulders slowly released. My jaw, clenched since the morning argument with Father over the discipline of a slave, relaxed.

Father had already been at the dining room table, reading the newspaper, when I came down to breakfast this morning. He’d looked over his wire-rimmed reading glasses at me as I entered and smiled a firm smile as he folded his paper. “Good morning, Willow.” He ran a hand through his thinning blond hair. He was a handsome, ruggedly built man, over six feet tall, with green eyes that twinkled when he was amused. My unease in his presence was constant, and instilled in me as a child. My father was definitely a no-foolishness type of man.

“Good morning, Father,” I said out of respect, and took my seat at the opposite end of the table.

“I’m going in to town. I have to go over our shipment with Captain Gillies before it leaves the warehouse for London today. While I’m gone, I need you to handle a situation with the carpenter’s boy, Parker. He was caught sneaking eggs from the henhouse this morning, and Jones is too busy overseeing the south field fence repairs to handle it.”

“Surely we can spare a few eggs, Father. What harm is there in that?” I avoided his stare, instead looking up at Henrietta, my mammy and the only mother figure I’d ever known, as she filled my cup with piping-hot coffee.

“Willow, don’t try my patience today. Do as you’re told and be a respectable daughter.” He gave me a stern look as he took a bite of his toast.

Knowing better than to question his authority, I took a long sip of my coffee and sighed. Mammy smiled fondly at me as she headed back into the kitchen.

I am the only child of Charles Hendricks. My mother died when I was a few years old. I don’t remember her. No portraits of her hang in the mansion, and talk of her is forbidden. Why? I’ve never been told.

Last fall, in my seventeenth year, when I returned from my studies abroad, Father informed me it was time I took on all responsibilities as the lady of Livingston. I was your typical Southern belle on the surface, which pleased my father, but my wayward opinions gained his disapproval. He often stated that I needed to be an example of perfection, as others were watching, judging him on how he was raising me. I had grown frustrated over the last few years with my lack of control over my own life. What did I care what some old busybodies had to say? Father would remind me that I was a woman and like a child, I was to be seen and not heard. Women in the South are barely above the slaves. The men consider us mere property and often treat us as such.

Slowing my horse to a trot, I guided her to a nearby creek for a drink and wiped the sweat from my brow. How was I going to deal with Parker in a way that would satisfy my father’s request for discipline?

“Oh, bother,” I complained aloud, annoyed with the whole lot of men.

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About the Author

Naomi lives in Northern Alberta. Her love for travel means her suitcase is always on standby while she awaits her next plane ticket and adventure. Her love for history and the Deep South is driven by the several years she spent as a child living in a Tennessee plantation house. She comes from a family of six sisters. She married her high school sweetheart and has two teenage children and two dogs named Ginger and Snaps.

Creativity and passion are the focus of her life. Apart from writing fiction, her interests include interior design, cooking new recipes, throwing lavish dinner parties, movies, health, and fitness.

A Slave of the Shadows is her first novel.

For more information, please visit Naomi Finley’s website. You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Goodreads.