For decades, the servants at Magnolia Ridge Plantation whispered about the autumn night when Mrs. Katherine Brennan ran barefoot through the fields, her white nightgown glowing in the moonlight as she screamed a name into the darkness.
“Jacob!”
They remembered how her hair streamed loose behind her. How her feet bled on the rough ground. How the master and overseers chased her while she sobbed outside a slave cabin, pounding on the door.
In Charleston society, the story was told differently.
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