Mrs. Shelby picked up the envelope with shaking hands. It was a plain, innocent looking thing, yet the words boldly scribbled on the front broke her heart. RETURN TO SENDER.
She was too late. Miss Ophelia's letter had arrived, and though they had answered her as quickly as possible, it seemed it was not enough. Feeling defeated, she dropped into the chair and read the words written by her own hand but a week ago. It felt like years. The letter read as follows.
Dear Miss Ophelia,
I appreciate your warning of the impending sale of our dear Uncle Tom. Unfortunately, as he is so valuable a servant, we have no where near the means required to purchase him back. I'm sure you know that we sold him of the utmost necessity. Our plantation has passed through a hard patch of late, and we have only just began to recover. I am so terribly stressed over this entire ordeal! His wife, bless her heart! She has taken to working at a bakery in hopes of contributing to his safe and speedy return. Even with her selfless addition to the fund, we have about three quarters of what would be needed to pay. What ever shall I do? How can I tell his family of the dreadful news-the unbearable, inevitable truth? I would love to hear your advice, for I am nearly ready to pull out my own hair over this!
Perhaps you can ask his Mistress to wait just a few more months, under the agreement that we bring money for him quickly. I have heard through the grapevine that she is cruel, and will not heed any wisdom, but surely there is no use in putting stock into such dreadful rumors. Just have her wait a few more weeks until we can come meet her in person, and hammer out some sort of agreement.
I shall eagerly await your reply.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Shelby
In that Kentucky parlor, a piece of paper drifted to the floor, tears falling with it, while far, far away in the South, eyes drifted over slaves sweating in the heat of an auction house.
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