Mr. Washington came to me today with a proposition. So pleased is he with my work on the flag, he has offered me a periodic commission on his plantation.

Apparently, there are times when male slaves become unruly or are deemed unfit to breed, and Mr. Washington wishes them to be castrated like the common animals that populate his fields. Because my seams are straight and my stitches small, he thinks recovery will be uncomplicated and scarring will be minimal. Why he is worried about scarring, I do not know.

I have never been asked to perform such an act before. Am I capable? Sewing cloth is much different from sewing human skin. And the actual taking of a man’s essence? Am I truly capable of such wickedness?

Mr. Washington pointed out that slaves are merely property and as their owner, he must care for them in the way he deems best so they are able to perform their duties. This does make some sense, I suppose.

As I sit here musing on this proposition, my loins become dewy as I imagine removing the orbs of straining black men, held down and unwillingly submitted to emasculation. I can see their sweat-soaked skin as they realize they are going to lose something precious to them. As I take out my knife and slice open their bared scrotums. As I pull out each testicle and cut it from the place nature commanded it to be.

I know what my answer to the General will be. How can I refuse such a powerful man, especially when the thought makes my loins tingle and soak the ornate chair upon which I sit? I can scarcely wait until morning to accept his offer even though church is hardly the place to discuss such things. But since our pews are side by side, this is the perfect place to seek him.

Soon I will be trained by Benjamin Rush, noted physician, to perform the appointed task. Then I will be off to Virginia to Mr. Washington’s plantation.

Betsy Ross

…to be continued…