False Southern Gentility

Christine laid there, her fingers tracing over the small black hair that laced the back of his hands. What great hands his hands were. They were rough, yet loving. The most miraculous hands that Christine had ever seen in her life.

"Happy?" he asked her as he pulled her body close to him. Christine closed her eyes, feeling him, breathing him in. She never wanted to forget this moment, she would live in it if she could, just stay here, warm and calm with him.

"Always." her answer was short, she didn't want to be distracted from her feelings, she didn't want to lose anything about this moment. Christine closed her eyes, feeling the gentle sway of the train beneath their bed.

"Christopher," she called out to the dark.

A gentle "Hm?" was her answer.

"Can you tell me something? Something that I've thought about for so many months, maybe even for years." she asked quietly.

"Of course, what is it?" he pulled back a few locks of her hair and breathed in the scent of lilacs that seemed to follow her wherever she went. Christopher, being the sensible man that he was, knew that his wife wore perfume, and that her cheeks weren't that rosy without the help of rouge.

"Do you..." she stopped. She couldn't ask if he loved her, then he would think her weak, think her some clinging wife, and she would not be taken for another ride. "What if we had a baby?" she swallowed, praying that he would say yes.

What difference did it make whether he said yes or no, that couldn't change the fact that there was a baby, that after he had left she had found out that she was pregnant and had given birth eight months before now.

Christopher's arms went tense beneath her head and Christine waited for his answer. "You know I never thought I'd hear you say it." he pulled her closer to him. "I never thought I'd hear you say it."

Christine felt weak tears streaming down her face, weak tears pouring over her like a cleansing rain, and then a crash, the worst sound that a human could ever hear.

Christopher jumped up from beside her, the train skidded to a stop and then he hit the floor. "Christopher!" Christine screamed as she reached to the floor, snatching up her nightgown and pulling it up as the train lurched again and she, too, fell to the ground.

"Abigail!" Christopher yelled as he ran to where smoke was now filling their small room. "I've got to get her out, I've got to get her!" Christopher screamed as another explosion went off.

Christine managed to stumble out of their other door, women ran by, gripping their small babies to their bosoms, crying out for their husbands, calling out the names of the small children that they could not find.

"Christopher!" Christine yelled as her lungs filled with smoke, she struggled along the wall as the smoke filled her eyes, Christopher appeared behind her.

"Christine, Christine she isn't there! Where is she? She isn't there!" he hollered over the commotion.

"She's--" Christine gasped for air, "She's probably already out." another loud explosion. "Christopher, we can't stay here--" she coughed, her head spinning. Why was it so hot? All she had on was a nightgown, there was no way that it could be this hot while she was this clad.

She could feel her corset, pulling all the air out of her body, strangling her to death. She snatched his hand into hers. "Chris---" she coughed, breathing in more of the black devil. "Chris--" she coughed and her head spun more.

He saw her coughing, leaning her body up against the wall, her arms and legs trembling beneath the thin white satin nightgown. Suddenly, he swung her off of her feet and into his arms, he could breathe no better than she, but he could survive, get her out and come back to find Abigail.

Maybe Christine was right, he thought as he ran down the blazing hallway, Abigail is a smart girl, she knew when the explosions started that she should follow the swarm of adults to where they were running, she was a smart little girl, she was out, she had to be.

When he reached the last door, he flung it open, running to the wet grass. There were probably a hundred people on that train, and from the way it looked, only half had made it out. Christine lay limp in his arms, the smoke had stained her face in dark circles. He shook her; she made weak motions back to conscientiousness.

"Abigail!" he screamed, but his scream was masked by the sound of another explosion, right in car fifteen...their car. "Abi, Abigail, where are you!?" he screamed as she turned a small little girl around; the girls mother looked at Christopher with sad, afraid eyes.

"Was...was your little girl the one with red, brown eyes?" Christopher nodded quickly. "She had been down the hall from car fifteen, probably six feet from the door," Christopher stared as her blankly. "She didn't make it out before the last explosion went off behind me."

Christopher sank to his knees.

They found her body lying beneath a broken sliding door. She had a large cut, right on her ivory colored forehead, and her arm was bent behind her back in the most gruesome sight that Christine had ever seen. "Oh, Abigail." she said as she bent her head over the still figure and cried.

Christopher didn't say anything, he just held Abigail's thin little body to his chest, smoothing out her hair. When he went to move her arm back into place, a terrifying crack rang out and her arm swung slowly in the air as he sat it on her stomach.

"She's got a cut." he said as rubbed the large gash on her forehead; Christine lifted her head slowly, looking up at the broken expression on his face. "Give me your handkerchief, Christine. I won't have her bleeding like this."

Christine reached to the ground numbly, lifting the small white handkerchief that had already been stained with the blood from her own ankles which had been scorched from the flames.

"There." he said as he dabbed the gash on her forehead, running the handkerchief over the spot, over and over again.

"Christopher, Christopher stop it." she said as she put her hand over his; he looked up at her, his eyes glazed over with that same filament that had covered her father's eyes since her mother had been killed. "No, no, you come back to me, damn it!"

Christopher blinked at her, then he looked back down at the small body of the little girl he had taken in as his own. "Christine, she wasn't supposed to go, she wasn't supposed to go." he said as he pulled the limp body to his face, burying his face in the long black curly hair.

"I know, I know." she said as she pulled him close to her; she grimaced at the sharp pains in her ankles. "It'll be alright, I promise." she moved her feet beneath her; she felt a warm sticky liquid run down her feet, and she knew that her burns were far worse than she could feel.

They sat there for hours, Christopher laid his head on Christine's chest, and slept. Calvary arrived in blue, all astride large black Georgia horses. It made Christine sick. "Ma'am." one of them said as he got off of his horse and approached her.

"Go away." she said as she kept her head down, her eyes on the small lifeless figure that seemed to sleep in her husbands arms.

The Yankee touched her shoulder; revulsion swept over and she thought she would be sick, instead, she lifted her hand and knocked his away. Her eyes met his, and her fingernails dug into her palms.

"Get away from me." she said between grit teeth. She knew this man, she would know that face from three states away. She had seen him in her nightmares, his face looming over her as she cried out, pleading, begging for him to stop or to kill her.

"Let me help you, please." he said as he reached for Abigail.

"Damn you, haven't you taken enough from me! You will not touch my child!" she screamed as she swung at him wildly, the palms of her hands were bloody from where her nails as penetrated the skin, and as Christine's hands made contact with the soldiers body, her blood stained him.

Christopher awoke, her eyes swimming from Christine to the Yankee soldier; the Yankee had Christine by the wrists, no, Christine was pummeling him. "No,no!" she screamed as the Yankee pinned her against a tree; Christine froze.

"Stop." the Yankee said in a monotone voice; Christopher saw her legs shaking, but she stood her ground. He could see her tongue rolling around in her mouth, and, there it was, spit flying into the Blue-coat's face.

"Damned woman!" he yelled as he reeled back in revulsion; he reached forward and slapped Christine.

The sound hung in the air.

Christopher stood, anger, pain, and a feeling that he had never felt before in his life. He craved murder. He walked towards the Yankee, withdrew his pistol, and held it to the soldier's temple.

"You move, and a bullet will be in your skull." Christopher's voice demanded nothing but respect and direct obedience. "Are you alright, Christine?" he asked as he looked at her; trembling on the ground. She turned to her side and vomited.

"P-please, I-I have a wife, a new baby." The Yankee said as his eyes darted from Christine's face to Christopher's.

Christopher went to answer, but Christine intervened before he had a chance to say anything. "I don't care what you have. You can look me in the face, look me dead in the eyes, look at me." she said in a quiet tone. "I said look at me damn it!"

The Yankee looked at her.

"Christopher, give me the gun." she said as she placed her hand to the handle of the Clement and Fagnus; Christopher hesitated. "Give it to me." Christopher did not wait this time.

"You," she said as she pressed the barrel to the back of his head, she swallowed all human emotion in one gulp. "walk." The Yankee didn't move. "I said walk!" She slammed the butt of the pistol into the back of his head; he walked.

"Christine--"

"Don't, don't you dare. He's mine." Christine said as she stabbed the pistol into the Yankee's back, "Did I say you could stop?! Move!"

As Christine walked behind the Yankee that had attacked her all those years ago, she couldn't help but think of Christopher.