False Southern Gentility

Christine awoke on the ground, the bright stars twinkling over her head, sprinkled across the sky; Christine heard James' voice from a long distance, she let out a dark cry, and all of the voices stopped.

"James!" Christine cried as she rolled over; she could see where her small pieces of her dress bottom had been torn, but other than that and the blood that trickled down her neck, shoulders, and back, everything else seemed intact; her coin-purse was missing but, for once, she didn't care about money.

"I heard a voice, hurry, over there!" James yelled from a distance; Christine breathed in a sigh of relief as she heard the footsteps pounding towards her, and then she saw the dark shadows over her, and then she realized the voice hadn't been James; it was Christopher.

He reached over her, lifted her off of the ground, and pulled her to his chest, "Bring the horse, quickly, she's--oh God, Christine! She's bleeding, God awful bleeding!' He exclaimed as he ripped a part of her skirt; Christine shook her head and started sobbing, a mixture of crying and screams, the sound of the ripping fabric startling her, Christopher soothed her as he wadded the fabric and pressed it to the back of her head.

Christine first pulled away from the pressure, Christine really had no idea how deep the gash was until Christopher was pressing on the wound with his hands.

Christopher looked down on her, the blood trickling down his arm as he rode, her eyes were beginning to fog over, that glassy look looming just below the surface; he kicked the horse harder and cursed into the night air.

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After the doctor left from Christine and James' room, he stopped and looked at the blood covered Christopher who had been shunned from all descent company, his face was solemn, more-so than James' was.

"She should come through, she has lost a lot of blood, there isn't much to do now but wait, I'm going to tell my Mrs. that I won't be home for the night. I'd rather be here if you don't mind, James, in case she takes a turn for the worse in the wee hours." the doctor said as he shook James' hand.

"Yes, yes it will be fine...may I...may I go in and see her...see her now?" he asked in a stuttering tone; James quickly shook his head as he looked towards the door, he must remember not to stutter, it would upset her.

"Yes, of course, try not to wake her if at all possible." the doctor said as he opened Christine's door and watched James slip through the small slither of a crack; he now turned to Christopher.

Christopher hadn't been able to think straight for the last three hours, sitting outside that bedroom in that silly little parlor she hated so much; every now and then he would hear her cry, hear a moan or once...even a high picked scream.

"You should go home, Christopher, you can't help here." the doctors voice was colder than the dried blood on Christopher's hands.

"I should, I know, but I can't stand to--"

"She's a married woman, she doesn't want you, nor does she need you. She needs her husband, and you, excuse my language, are sure as Hell not it." The doctor looked down on Christopher with not a piece of mercy in his being.

"I brought her home, that was all I intended to do, I made sure she was safe, I intended to leave anyways." Christopher said as he rose and stood face to face with the doctor, not saying a word.

"As I said, you'd better be going before she comes out of it. If she dies I'm sure James will invite you to the service." the doctor turned away, "or maybe not" he whispered none too quiet. The tails of his night jacket brushing over Christopher; he brushed them away, as if the doctors touch would soil his expensive suit.

"James," Christine called out weakly as she moved her head to one side;a small stitched pulled on the back of her neck and she let out a cry of pain; James gripped her hand. "go away." she cried as she pulled her hand from his.

James sat there aghast; she didn't know what she was saying, James thought quickly to himself, she's sick, terribly sick, and has lost more blood than a person could ever hold, she doesn't know what she's saying.

"James, my boy, why don't you get some rest, it should do you some good." the old doctor said as he pushed James gently towards his bedroom, he knew what Christine had said was not just delirium.

"Yes, yes I'm sure it...it would." James stuttered as he looked around the room and back down to the blood stained pillow that his wife's head laid on; where had the Christine he had known gone? Christine had been so sweet, so kind and charming, her cheeks had been a rosy pink that reminded him of a quiet rose, what had happened to that Christine?

As James left out of the room, a thought struck him. He would win her favors, he could once again stand in the light of her good graces, he only had to find out how! She must think him a coward, that a stranger had to find and protect her, while her husband was sitting with a band of men in his law offices.

James swallowed and sat his mind straight, he would join the...what was it that the other men called it...some kind of a group...a band of brothers...a Klan...that was it...the Ku Klux.
James grabbed his coat from the hall closet and stepped around, buttoning it tight along his thin abdomen, after adjusting his hat atop his head, and looked into the mirror.

"For her." he said in an eerily quiet voice. What must be done, must be done.

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James was repulsed at what he saw as he looked around, women crying, begging for their husbands lives, darky children scattering into woods, only to be chased by a bullet.

"Please, please!" a wife screamed as a tall black man was sat atop a horse, the noose fastened tightly around his neck.

"Don't you plead with them, Hatty, don't you plead with them." the tall black man said in a strangely calm voice. James knew this had been the man that had almost killed Christine, but at this point, he didn't seem anything more than a man, a man who had taken money from a woman who he thought had enough to spare.

"Burn, Burn!" one of the older men hollered through his white robe.

The Negroes were suspicious about these spooks, so they made a point to be their spooks; James turned away as the horse ran out from under the man.

"Henry, Henry, Henry!" his wife screamed as she was held back by her arms, forced to look into her husband eyes as his body swung unnaturally from the tall tree branch.

James closed his eyes. The man's life that he had just ended was a part of his name. God, it was funny in some strange way...

"Shut your mouth woman! He got what he deserved!" a sharp slap rang through the air.

James looked around at the devastation and could not believe that this was what he had thought would win Christine's favors.

"Yanks, Yanks!" the man that had been holding the black woman back yelled as he dug for his pistol, he was a few seconds short. He full to the ground with a great thud; the darky woman cried as bullets whizzed through the air.

"Don't run, stand and fight, stand and fight." the Klan leader yelled as he began returning fire.

James held his breath and lunged in-front of the darky woman; a bullet marked his chest as he fell to the ground. "Take cover, take cover." he muttered to her as she slid the top of his robe from his face.

"You...you killed Henry...why don't you let me die too!" she screamed as she slapped James hard across the face, "Bastard!" she screamed as she stood and spit on him. She turned and ran into the woods, the bullets only quickening her pace.

James stared up at the night sky, the canopy of trees seeming to part as his eyes focused on one of the constellations; how different they looked as the cloud of death came over him, how different they looked.