Ruth stood in the foyer of her parents’ lavish three-story home atop Nob Hill, tying her bonnet strings under a strong chin, watching thick storm clouds, black with rain, blow across the San Francisco Bay driven by gale winds. Ruth’s face had a youthful look of beauty, with large brown eyes accenting a perky nose and high cheekbones. She pushed a few stands of dark hair under her bonnet. Ruth looked at herself in the full-length diamond dust-back mirror, and studied her image. Ruth had small breasts, a graceful neck, was long-legged with a high waistline, and she always wore the latest fashions from back east. Ruth thought out loud, "This is not a good day to visit, but a promise...." The eighteen-year old girl checked her oilskin’s buttons and walked out into the frightful storm. Her destination was three blocks away. Ruth opened the ornamental iron-gate and looked back at the huge Victorian-style house with a foreboding. It was a gray granite structure, cold and gloomy in appearance like the other mansions around it, but it was home.
"I see her, she’ll be soaking wet when she passes."
"Who cares, her being alive pays us, and the money is good."
"I wonder what they do with all of these rich girls?"
"Maybe they send them to China as play toys, or to work the streets of an African city. Who cares about the victims, we get ours."
The spotter sat on the front seat of a delivery van. He was covered from head to toe with a black poncho and Norwest rain hat. Only his watery eyes were exposed to all elements.The stupid looking man alternately watched as gusts of wind blew the girl’s cloak about her long skirts, and heavy raindrops bounced off the glistening backs of two horses hitched to the vehicle. "Another minute," he whispered through the thin veneer of the wagon box.
A bulky man crouched inside the wooden interior, flexing hands and arms in preparation of a struggle with his victim. He held a wet bed sheet in both hands. The rain beat down upon the wagon, obscuring all outside noise. He thought, This is my fifth kidnaping in four months. I have this crime down to a fine art form.
Ruth was busy with thought and fighting to keep dry. She did not think it odd that a man sat out in the open on a wagon seat in this storm, nor did she notice that there was no other traffic on the street. She hurried along, squishing through ankle-deep water while holding skirt and petticoats high. Ruth feared it mattered not, for the garments were already soaked.
The young woman raised her head once abreast of the odd-looking delivery van, and blurred eyes saw a man in wet shiny black clothing, but Ruth’s mind was busy with the day’s upcoming activities and it registered nothing amiss. A creak of wood against wood caused Ruth to pry her eyes from the wet boardwalk. She saw a large figure loom from within the wagon, holding a ghostly white cloth. Ruth’s heart beat in panic as she tried to jump away. She did not move fast enough, for soaked clothing held her glued to the wet planking. Ruth saw the male figure throw the white cloth. It landed over her, opening like a fish net. She tried to struggle-to squirm within the wet mesh holding her, but it was to no avail; her arms were pinned and movement nearly impossible. Ruth’s feet left the boards. She was being lifted and thrown into the air. She hit something hard and panicked. "Help-please, somebody help me!" The ever-tightening sheet muffled her words.
"Go! Now!"
The wet man laid his whip’s tip to the team’s rumps. The startled animals leaped at their traces and galloped up into the gray hills above the city. The dopy looking man kept a tight rein, for the muddy streets and roads were treacherous to navigate in the downpour, what with mud slides, washouts, and rocks falling upon the slippery trails. He was in for a week of such travel before he and his friend could unload their cargo to others of the same breed.
A month later, on an early spring day in the upper reaches of the Washoe Valley, two pairs of eyes stared through a rectangular window. "My, but that Negro woman surely loves her work. Do you suppose it’s because she herself was whipped as a slave?"
"Yes, she relishes putting the switch to bare white bottoms. But the girls are more easily controlled once each has spent time under her, should we say, guidance."
The smaller figure sat looking at the scene in the yard. A tall, heavy-built black woman stood with one hand on her broad hip, and a slender willow stick held in the other. She was built sturdy, yet in proportion to her height. The guardian wore a brief white teddy over her black skin; it pronounced her full figure. The woman concentrated her attention upon a nude female leaning over a wooden bench, her round, bare white buttocks sticking up in the air.
"We must monitor our teachers carefully, they tend to become a trifle zealous in their duties. Through I believe we cured the two remaining guardians of leaving marks upon our products, don’t you?"
"No doubt the graves behind the well-house will serve as gristly reminders to them. Especially after having their co-workers flogged to death with the same whips they themselves now use. Discipline in our business is so important."
"I do believe, my dear, that the new girl will enhance our business." The two figures leaned closer together with their eyes locked upon the scene before them. They kissed long and hard.