False Southern Gentility

Christine pulled the hot lap robe up over her wide stomach, adjusting herself on the uncomfortable carriage seat. "Ugh," she complained as she pulled the horse to a stop; a sharp pain spread out through her stomach and pelvis. "Ah!" she screamed as she bent over, clutching herself into a tight little ball.

She breathed in a deep breathe as the pain subsided into a comfortable lull. "Someone," Christine cried as she stood up, her lap robe falling to the floor of her carriage, "anyone, please, someone." she cried in an easy voice.

Suddenly the sound of horses hooves came from behind her, and then they stopped. "What in the hell?" a deep voice asked.

Christine listened to the mans voice, deep and smooth...it was Christopher! It had to be Christopher!! Why in God's name was he following her?

There was no time to be angry about him following her, she was burning inside and had no way to stop it, no matter how much she despised Christopher, no matter how far he could burrow under her skin, he was her last chance.

"Christopher," she called out as the footsteps hurried around the side, "I...I don't know what's wrong, I feel like...like...like I'm burning!" she screamed as another contraction ripped through her.

"You're alright, it's alright, I'm here now." he said as his eyes wracked over her body, snatching on her swollen stomach. "You're pregnant?" he wasn't really asking this, he was more stating it, because of the fact that he knew she was...he had been the first person that she had told.

"Yes...yes..." she said as the contraction filled her with the same ripping again.

Christopher looked at her, normally so strong willed and in control, and now she had no way to control it, no way to control what she was going through. "How long?" he asked as she wallowed in pain.

"What!?" she screamed out as his question hit her ears.

"How long have you been pregnant?" he asked again.

Christine shook her head as the contraction began to face away. "I...I don't know! Probably...probably six months...maybe...seven." she began to cry hysterically, for she thought she was dying as another contraction fell through her.

"Stop crying," Christopher said as he lifted her up off the floor and sat her down on the carriage bench. "you're not dying, and you're certainly not on fire. You're having your baby, you twit." and with that, he slapped the reigns against the horses behind and the carriage moved like a burst of lightning.

Christine stared out the side of the carriage and tried to control her rapid breaths. Had giving birth really been this bad the first time? She honestly couldn't remember. That was a different time...and she had wanted Grace...

*hours later*

After twelve hours of lying in pain, screaming as a baby that she hadn't wanted, and now sure as HELL didn't want now, pushed its way through parts of her body that she didn't think could or would ever be able to stretch that far again.

"It's a girl." the doctor said as he swatted the small figure on it's behind.

Just as Christopher had done to the horse, Christine thought with a laugh.

The tiny ugly creature erupted into wails as the doctor sat it into Christine's arms.

As Christine looked down on what was supposed to be her own flesh and blood, she could see nothing of herself, just James, this baby was James Henry's baby for sure, but it couldn't have been hers, it was a revolting little creature, so horribly distorted and strange. For a moment she even doubted that it was human, let alone her own child.

It's eyes were to squinted, and it's face was squished into the most distorted picture that Christine had ever seen in her life. It's nose looked very much like a small potato, and her hands resembled to little round sausages; had this baby been alive during the months of famine at the plantation, she might have been cooked because of her looks alone.

"She is a fine child, Christine. Though it is a great sadness to us all that you didn't give birth to a son, for he would have been so welcomed had his father been here." the doctor looked down at the small figure and touched it's head.

"Yes, well, I'm sure that James would have welcomed seeing the child, whether it had been male...or whatever that...I mean, or a girl." she lifted the baby to the doctor.

Seeing it was irritating, and now she only wanted to sleep. To lay there in peace and drift off into a place where she didn't have a baby, where she wasn't here in Atlanta, where she was home with Peter, holding little Grace and speaking in hushed tones as she rocked the sleeping figure.

"What?" the doctor asked as he looked at Christine's outstretched hands, holding the baby as far away from her as possible, as if the baby would burn her if she had to touch it another minute.

"Take it...her...I don't want to see her...not now." Christine said as she pushed the baby further towards the doctor; she couldn't stand the sight of it, let alone having to touch it anymore.

"Of course...your grief has overcome you at the sight of your child, I'm so very sorry." the doctor nodded as he took the baby from her hands and left the room, thinking that he understood her pain, and that he didn't want her to suffer more by having to cry in-front of others.

Especially him. He never did know what to do when a woman flew into a state. Let alone Christine Henry.

"Thank God." Christine said as she laid back, her entire body sore and uneasy. She never had been one to be able to lay around and do nothing, that's why working the plantation had been so...not easy...but not so much of a struggle.

A knock rang at the door; Christine looked at the brass knob, not wanting to answer. She didn't want to see anyone, she hadn't wanted to see or be around anyone in years, and now, after having some Godawful baby, she sure as Hell didn't want to see anyone.

The person didn't wait for her invitation.

"Look at you, being a mother usually gives a woman this natural glow, but you, no, of course not you, you look like a woman that has been exiled to the deepest darkest part of Hell that not even Lucifer himself would go to." Christopher smiled his same debonair smile.

Christine rolled her eyes as her stomach twisted; she lurched forward, holding onto her stomach; she groaned quietly; Christopher raised an eyebrow as he saw her tighten her jawline.

"What is it?" he asked as he looked her over.

Christine pulled herself straight as she had done so many times, picking herself up only be knocked down again, but not this time, not in-front of Christopher Rudd, not after having a baby and God only knows what else was wrong now, no, she would not be kicked back down again.

She cleared her throat as she breathed in a deep breath. "Nothing. What do you want?" she asked as she glared at him, her nostrils flaring with irritation and pain.

"Well, I was going to come and say congratulations on the baby, the doctor said it was a little girl, I haven't seen her yet, but the doctor said she is a lovely little thing." Christine let out another quiet groan. "Now you can't tell me that nothing is wrong, what is it?"

Christine pursed her lips as she popped her knuckles quietly; if only her mother could see her now, in such an un-ladylike state. "Will you go away!?" she screamed as she fell back onto her bed, biting into her lip as hard as she could, she felt the blood blister and her lip crack as her teeth went through her own flesh.

Christopher leaned forward and sat his hand on a spreading red stain.

"Doctor Johnston!" Christopher yelled as Christine fastened her hand around his wrist, her vision beginning to fade and swerve, her muscles began to release as her body began to bleed more.

"No--no more--no more hands--no more--please." she cried as weak tears slipped out of her eyes; her hand fell away as she fainted into submission.

Christopher stood for a moment or two, staring at her, trying to make some sense of what she had said, 'no more hands', what did that mean? Was it just ramblings of a woman bleeding to death or--dear Lord, in his shock at her words he had forgotten.

He looked at what had been the small red pot, it was no longer small, it now was about the size of four or five of his own hand. "Doctor Johnston, come quick!" Christopher yelled as he ran to the door, swung it open, and signaled for the doctor with his hand.

"What are you--Good Lord!!" the doctor screamed as he ran to Christine's limp and overly pale body, flung back the now red sheet and bed spread, and ripped the bottom of her nightgown so there was nothing in his way.

*waiting*

Christopher sat in their parlor for two days, and then from two days grew four, and from four grew fourteen, and from fourteen grew forty. Christopher wanted to leave, wanted desperately to leave, but something stopped him, something broke him down to right where he was.

When he had called for the doctor, what had she meant, 'no more hands', what in God's name had she been through? What had she worked through to have her final moments of conscientiousness pleading for, 'no more hands'?

Christopher rubbed his blood-shot eyes with two hands balled into large fists. How long had it been since he'd slept, or eaten, how long had it been since that doctor stepped foot out of that room?!

In forty-three days that he had sat there, he had only seen the doctor step out of there a hand full of time, maybe two hand fulls, but never more than that.

The first time, the doctor had come out, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and still the tips of the cuff had been stained with blood. The seconds time, he had come out with his head down, had rubbed his eyes, and looked at Christopher with the most mournful look he had ever seen.

And then there was that last time, the very last time he had come out. He had been carrying a bushel of blood-stained sheets and nightgowns; Christopher had barely been able to compose himself after such a gruesome sight.

"Mr. Rudd?" a quiet voice behind him asked; Christopher did not look up. "I'm sure it's you, you're the only person that I have seen sitting here for the last two weeks at the least." the voice grew quiet and then spoke again. "Please eat, your starving yourself to death won't help my sister by any means." Christopher lifted his gaze with stark amazement.

"Your--you're her sister? You're Christine's sister?" he prodded as he snatched her small hand in a fierce grip that made Mary wince.

"Yes...I am her older sister, Mary...hasn't my sister told you about me?" she asked as Christopher let go of her wrist; she flexed what felt like her ripped muscles to restore the feeling.

"No. Never." Christopher said as he looked back down. So that was why Christine was like that, she had fought for her attention, and her desire had only been fulfilled had her family seen fit to fulfill it.

To grant her wish of being wanted, to give her the attention a person like her craved.

"Well...I'm sure she didn't--" there was no venom in her voice, only a bit of pain. "my sister is a very important woman...she couldn't very well stand around chattering about me, now could she?" Mary wasn't asking; she poured the tea and then slipped it into his hand. "Drink." she ordered; Christopher led the crystal up to his mouth and swallowed greedily.

"If you'll excuse me...I would like to see my sister." she walked to the door and clenched the knob, but didn't turn it. She swung around. "I don't have any worries about her...Christine was always a fighter, no matter what, she's just got to have someone remind her to KEEP fighting." and then she disappeared into the black room, leaving Christopher with nothing but the echo of the dull click of the lock.

Click...