False Southern Gentility
Darkness...
Christine rolled her tongue around her mouth, gritting her teeth with a passion. "Oh!" she screamed as she tossed the lace to the floor, stomping on the small piece of fabric with her laced to the ankle, size five boot.
"What...what is it?" James asked quietly as he looked towards the front door, wondering silently why his wife was in such a state, and why the gentleman that had been here had stormed off in such a hurry.
James enjoyed a nice conversation with an original gentleman, and the man had seemed to be one.
"Oh, will you hush up!" Christine screamed as she rolled her eyes, stomped back into the parlor and flung the novel across the room, sending one of the few small china pieces that had survived the war, sputtering to the ground, scattering into tiny shreds.
James looked back into the room and decided that the task was not worth the trouble that it would take to work through it. When Christine's temper was up, it took a while to bring it back down, and he didn't have the energy to grovel as he normally did. He would let her simmer down, then have a reasonable conversation with her.
Christine turned back around, determined that she would distract herself from the rage that she wanted to spit at Christopher Rudd; how dare he come into this house, her house, and make his crude suggestions!?
How dare he!
So what if she didn't love James? Who cared? She certainly didn't. Why should she? James didn't care about her, and if he did she didn't give a damn that he did!
"I'm going out for a while." Christine said as she walked back into the parlor and snatched her new wrap from the rack by the door, "I don't know when I'll be back," she said aloud. "Maybe I won't come back." she whispered more to herself than to James.
"I'll...I'll make sure....dinner is...um, kept warm." James called after her as the door slammed closed with a bang.
Christine walked, her heels clicking on the cobblestones that lines the dirt road. There was nothing that she had anymore, nothing that made her happy, besides her money, yes, her money kept her warm at night, even if her husband didn't.
She and James had been married for three months, James had been sort of shy their first night together, it had about killed Christine, her head had pounded after the spirits that she had slipped out of her bag on the way to their honeymoon, she had tried to remain calm as her maid helped her undress, but it had been hopeless.
James had smiled at her. Smiled. Like some simpleminded child, smiling to his first girl. He had gone to sleep after that, but he had kissed her on the forehead, much like her father had when she was a child.
That in it's self was enough to turn Christine Threlkeld Henry off from her husband for eternity.
He had kept his arm around her waist for a moment or two, then he had slipped it away as he rolled over, looked at the ceiling and sighed, "Goodnight, dear." he said as he pulled the blanket up onto his chest and closed his eyes.
For once he hadn't stuttered.
Christine stared up at the paintings on the wall, they smiled down on her, quiet and wholesome, comforting to her for a moment or two, and then she closed her eyes and wept. Not because James had slept after loving her, not after she had married herself off for a home she could never live in again, she had wept because she had changed, she had been transformed into a woman that no longer cared about herself, didn't care enough about herself to even marry for love, now all she cared about was money.
Money had never been important to her before the war, she had smiled at the gentleman callers and curtsied at tea-time. She was happy, she laughed, her laughter flowing like chimes; Christine could barely remember that laugh anymore.
The wind blew as her pace quickened, "I can never be happy, I will never have anything for myself!" she mumbled as the area around her grew dark and shaded
She was alone...alone in the darkness of the black forest, what was it about this place that sent chills down her spine? What was it about this place that brought horrible memories to her?
She thought back quickly, she had flipped through the pages of the novel at first glance and read through a page or two of the book, what was it about her those few pages that had reminded her of herself?
The trials that the woman had been through, the one page, she had been cowering behind a settee, listening to the boots stomp around her, their blue pants making streaks against the walls and floors.
The cries of her sisters as they ran through the front door and out through the lawn, pulling the children onto their hips as they fled from the house, then one gun-shot, and mother fell, another and her sister hit the ground, they were dropping like flies and all Christine could do was sit there and listen, the soft thuds they made as they landed.
First mother...then Catherine...
Christine blinked back tears as a small crumpling sounds came from behind her. "Who's there?" she said in a stark voice as she turned around, her hand feeling for where she normally kept her pistol; she had left it with James.
"Does the nice lady have a dollar she could spare?" a tall husky black man asked as he stepped out from the shadows, his hand having towards her.
Christine flinched back, "I don't have any money." she said as she lifted the hem of her skirt and went to run, suddenly, a sharp pain flashed over the back of her head, and the entire world went into darkness...
"What...what is it?" James asked quietly as he looked towards the front door, wondering silently why his wife was in such a state, and why the gentleman that had been here had stormed off in such a hurry.
James enjoyed a nice conversation with an original gentleman, and the man had seemed to be one.
"Oh, will you hush up!" Christine screamed as she rolled her eyes, stomped back into the parlor and flung the novel across the room, sending one of the few small china pieces that had survived the war, sputtering to the ground, scattering into tiny shreds.
James looked back into the room and decided that the task was not worth the trouble that it would take to work through it. When Christine's temper was up, it took a while to bring it back down, and he didn't have the energy to grovel as he normally did. He would let her simmer down, then have a reasonable conversation with her.
Christine turned back around, determined that she would distract herself from the rage that she wanted to spit at Christopher Rudd; how dare he come into this house, her house, and make his crude suggestions!?
How dare he!
So what if she didn't love James? Who cared? She certainly didn't. Why should she? James didn't care about her, and if he did she didn't give a damn that he did!
"I'm going out for a while." Christine said as she walked back into the parlor and snatched her new wrap from the rack by the door, "I don't know when I'll be back," she said aloud. "Maybe I won't come back." she whispered more to herself than to James.
"I'll...I'll make sure....dinner is...um, kept warm." James called after her as the door slammed closed with a bang.
Christine walked, her heels clicking on the cobblestones that lines the dirt road. There was nothing that she had anymore, nothing that made her happy, besides her money, yes, her money kept her warm at night, even if her husband didn't.
She and James had been married for three months, James had been sort of shy their first night together, it had about killed Christine, her head had pounded after the spirits that she had slipped out of her bag on the way to their honeymoon, she had tried to remain calm as her maid helped her undress, but it had been hopeless.
James had smiled at her. Smiled. Like some simpleminded child, smiling to his first girl. He had gone to sleep after that, but he had kissed her on the forehead, much like her father had when she was a child.
That in it's self was enough to turn Christine Threlkeld Henry off from her husband for eternity.
He had kept his arm around her waist for a moment or two, then he had slipped it away as he rolled over, looked at the ceiling and sighed, "Goodnight, dear." he said as he pulled the blanket up onto his chest and closed his eyes.
For once he hadn't stuttered.
Christine stared up at the paintings on the wall, they smiled down on her, quiet and wholesome, comforting to her for a moment or two, and then she closed her eyes and wept. Not because James had slept after loving her, not after she had married herself off for a home she could never live in again, she had wept because she had changed, she had been transformed into a woman that no longer cared about herself, didn't care enough about herself to even marry for love, now all she cared about was money.
Money had never been important to her before the war, she had smiled at the gentleman callers and curtsied at tea-time. She was happy, she laughed, her laughter flowing like chimes; Christine could barely remember that laugh anymore.
The wind blew as her pace quickened, "I can never be happy, I will never have anything for myself!" she mumbled as the area around her grew dark and shaded
She was alone...alone in the darkness of the black forest, what was it about this place that sent chills down her spine? What was it about this place that brought horrible memories to her?
She thought back quickly, she had flipped through the pages of the novel at first glance and read through a page or two of the book, what was it about her those few pages that had reminded her of herself?
The trials that the woman had been through, the one page, she had been cowering behind a settee, listening to the boots stomp around her, their blue pants making streaks against the walls and floors.
The cries of her sisters as they ran through the front door and out through the lawn, pulling the children onto their hips as they fled from the house, then one gun-shot, and mother fell, another and her sister hit the ground, they were dropping like flies and all Christine could do was sit there and listen, the soft thuds they made as they landed.
First mother...then Catherine...
Christine blinked back tears as a small crumpling sounds came from behind her. "Who's there?" she said in a stark voice as she turned around, her hand feeling for where she normally kept her pistol; she had left it with James.
"Does the nice lady have a dollar she could spare?" a tall husky black man asked as he stepped out from the shadows, his hand having towards her.
Christine flinched back, "I don't have any money." she said as she lifted the hem of her skirt and went to run, suddenly, a sharp pain flashed over the back of her head, and the entire world went into darkness...