False Southern Gentility

She walked for fifteen, maybe twenty miles, the barrel of the pistol sitting to the back of the Yankees head; she had never felt better in her life. Christine had dreamed of this moment for four years.

To have him begging and pleading for his life from her.

"Listen, you don't want to do this-" he began; Christine shut him up with another sharp hit to the back of his head.

They came to a clearing, surrounded by trees, but the small field it's self was open, nothing but a few fireflies and the tall brown green grass. The trees created a circle in the sky;

Christine swallowed. This was the place.

"Stop." she said; the Yankee didn't hesitate at this order.

"Are--are you going to let me go?" he asked in a quiet voice. Christine couldn't help but smirk; she had asked that same question.

"Turn around and get on your knees." she wouldn't answer a single question, the only answer he would get from her would be a bullet, right between his eyes.

"Please." he said as he turned and faced her, his hands held up, just about level with that head of his; Christine cocked the gun. He closed his eyes and a tear rolled out from beneath those cold gray eyes.

"You look at me." she said; her voice was strangely steady for someone about to commit the worst sin a Catholic, no, a human could ever commit.

Murder.

"I'm begging you, have mercy."

Christine smiled to herself.

"I want you to know who I am. My name is Christine Emerald Threlkeld Wilkinson Henry Rudd, you once stood over me, laughing as I wept in my bed, you once set my house ablaze." Christine could see the instant comprehension in his eyes; and it pleased her.

"Don't pretend like you knew my name, I know you didn't, why would you need the name of a woman you attacked?" she waved the gun around, dangerously close to her own head, "Exactly, you didn't. I have gone over that day, over and over again in my mind, and there's always been something that stopped me-" she stopped waving the gun and pointed it at him, "why me?"

He swallowed. "I-" he stopped.

"I want a reason, and I swear, by all that is Holy, if you tell me I don't know, you're going to be eating a little bit of my own Yankee crow." she popped her neck.

"I was lonely." he said it so clearly that Christine took a step back.

"What?" she asked in disgust. Why was she letting him live? She hadn't planned to let him live, that's why she had walked him this far out. So she could kill him.

"You looked like my wife." once again, he said it so clearly.

Christine swallowed and then looked down at the handle of the blood stained pistol. She shook her head. "You've got five seconds, run, now." she turned away.

One, her mind counted out, two, three. She turned around and pulled the trigger. The shot hung in the air for a moment, and Christine saw him stumble and fall to the ground. She didn't take any particularly fast gate to get to him, in-fact, it was rather leisurely.

She rolled him over with her foot, and looked down on him. Red froth had come to his mouth, small bubbles right on the surface. Blood Froth. She shrugged to herself; she must have shot him in the lung.

"You-" he choked out, "you lied."

Christine nodded, "Yes, and you-" she swallowed, "you TRIED to kill me. So now we're even." she pulled the trigger once again.

As she stood there, the darkness engulfing her, she realized what she had done, and she didn't care. She looked down at the bullet hole in his forehead, turned her head to the right , and then the left.

She pulled the trigger again.

"I didn't lie." she said in a quiet tone. "I just didn't tell the truth." when Christine walked back to find her husband, helping dig through the rubble with all the other men, helping to pull out the live children that weren't hers, she breathed in a sigh of relief, and fainted.

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"Christine, Christine!" Christopher called out to her through the black. 'I think she's coming to. Hand me some water." Cool liquid drizzled down her throat and she opened her eyes.

"Oh Christopher, I'm sorry." she cried as she pulled him close to her, breathing in what normally wouldn't be a comfortable smell, but now, everything smelled like smoke, and blood, and gunpowder.

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything wrong, you couldn't help it. Your hands are bleeding, and your ankles, Lord Christine." he said as he gathered her up to his chest all at once.

"I'm fine, Christopher." she said as she laid her head against his chest, listening to the steady thudding beat of his heart. It was at this moment that she wondered if she actually had a heart to match his.

Of course she did, she did what any woman would have done, what any woman should have done.

They rode for hours. The Calvary hadn't even noticed the Yankee had been gone, and so they had given Christopher and she a carriage they had managed to scrounge up and the Yankees horse.

Christine laid in the back while Christopher drove like a mad man. She had closed her eyes while she pulled Abigail's small form to her body and cried. She hadn't known how much this would hurt, she hadn't known that after she had done what she hoped she would have the chance to do...that she would feel so...disgusting.

Why hadn't she loved Abigail while she had had that chance? Why hadn't she been the mother that she was supposed to be, why hadn't she stopped Christopher from leaving that night. She should have given up her foolish pride and clung to him, told him she loved him, and begged him to stay, but she couldn't.

Suddenly the carriage jolted to a stop; Christine opened her eyes and clung tighter to what used to be her little girl. As Christopher came around to the side, he looked over Christine and what had been his little girl, too.

"Christine--" Christine pulled Abigail close to her body, shaking her head no. Christopher grasped her hands, trying to part her iron grip. "Christin let go, let her go." he said in a whisper. Christine let out a sob and her grip fell loose.

Christopher stuck his arms beneath her, pulling her close to his chest. "Come here." Christine laid limp in his arms, the red of her ankles running lightly into small little puddles into the carriage. Christopher swallowed and pulled up the bottom of the gray blanket up over Abigail's small, still form.

Christine looked back up at the sky. It was funny how the sky looked the same when you were a whole person, and when you weren't.

"Christopher." she said as she pulled her head to his chest.

"What is it, Christine?" he asked in a husky voice as they walked into the smaller glow of the morning lights that had begun to show inside of the small shops from the outside of the town.

"Did you know that I had another baby before Abigail?" she asked as he smoothed out her hair.

"No, no I didn't." he said in a smooth easy voice. Christine breathed in the scent of him, absorbing the feeling of having someone to hold onto. Why hadn't she had someone before? Why hadn't she loved someone before? Why was she so cold?

She didn't have to be cold, she knew that. But God had thrown so many things at her all at once, she didn't know what else to do but harden herself. She closed her eyes and went back to that night, the flames, so hot on her skin.

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"Mary, Mary we're almost out. We're almost out." Christine said as she pulled her sister close to her, struggling to hold both of the babies to her chest and keep her sister astride the horse with her. "Stay with me Mary, please, stay with me." she said as she kicked the horses hide.

"Christine, Christine I'm cold, I'm cold." Mary said as she leaned her head back on Christine; Christine felt hot tears rolling down her face, she could feel her own ribs, cracking against each other, she was sure the Yankee had broken many of her ribs with his boot.

"We're almost out, please Mary, please, work with me, please, talk to me, say something." she said as they rode, trying to ride faster than the flames that swelled like Hell behind them. Another explosion went off and the horse rolled onto it's side.

Christine tasted hot blood in her mouth as she hit the ground. "Mary, Mary we've got to go." she said as she scrambled to bring all of the babies up to her and lift her sister onto the already scared horse.

"No." Christine cried as she pulled her own baby to her chest. "Oh God, no, please no." she cried as she felt along the small form that had once been her first child.

Grace, that had been her name, Christine had laughed when Peter had kissed her forehead and said that she would only breed girls.

"What will the men in my troop think?" he had asked as he lifted the small pink form into his own arms.

In spite of the flames and Mary's wailing, Christine sat there, holding onto her small baby. Finally she stood, Grace in her arms. Christine lifted her sister onto the startled horse and smoothed out it's muzzle.

"It's alright girl, it's alright." Christine said as she had walked, walked for miles, in the rain and storms and in the blackness of night. After the second day of carrying Grace in her arms, the buzzards had started to swarm, flying in lazy circles over her head.

"Mary, we'll stop here." Mary sank out of the saddle and onto the ground, sliding over to small creek bed, sipping up the water and drizzling small drops into her babies mouth.

Christine swallowed and closed her eyes as she dug her nails into the hot red earth. Had the ground always been this hard? No wonder the slaves hands had always looked so raw, they dug in soil like this everyday.

Maybe it was because her bitterness was sinking into the ground, making it as hard as Christine was working to make her own heart. Everything she loved died, she couldn't love anything for the simple fact that she had to not love it to let it be.

Christine dabbed her face as she ripped her skirt and wrapped the small form in the now brown and red dress bottom. "There, there my baby." she said as she kissed the small form's head and laid it in the shallow grave.

"Come on, Mary. We're going home." Christine lifted her sister onto the horse; Mary leaned heavily against the horses neck. Christine took the sleeping baby from Mary and walked, pulling the nearly lame horse behind her, jerking it every few steps to make her keep walking.

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"Mrs. Rudd," a voice called above her, "can you hear me?" something tapped on her throat and Christine opened her eyes.

"What?" she asked rather petered at the repeating tapping on her throat. What was it anyway? She'd never had anything tap over and over like that when she had been sick before.

"She's alright, she ought to be a bit groggy the next few minutes, but after that she should clear up some." the tapping slowed down.

Christine felt her head pounding. What in God's name had happened? Where in the Hell was she at? Something touched her hand, but it felt like something had been wrapped thick around her palms.

"Christine. Don't--don't try to talk, you'll be alright." It was Christopher, his voice cooing to her like a father to his child. And then she remembered.

"Oh Christopher, Christopher she's gone, my baby is gone." she cried, cried hot bitter tears, silently cursing God.

"I know, I know. We'll be alright though. We'll make it." Christopher kissed her head and then turned away. "You've been out for a few days. They found a dead Yankee the other day, three bullets in him. One in the back, one in the head, and one in the chest. How strange is that?"

Christine said nothing.

She swallowed, remembering the still body lying there, lifeless, on the ground, the outreaching puddle of blood radiating away from the holes. "He's dead?" she managed to choke out as she closed her eyes. Having seen those rings of color before, she knew they weren't a good sign.

"Mhmm, as dead as a doornail. They don't know who killed him, but they think that whoever it was that started the explosions off on the trains, was the one who killed him. They say southerners--" he laughed, "they say it was a band of old Dixie boys. How hilarious is that? I think it was one of those mean darkies, you know the ones I mean."

Christine nodded.

They didn't think it was her, they had no idea that it was her. She was safe, the strange thing was that she didn't have any guilt. She had taken a man's life and could really care less. Yes, she had thought about his wife, and maybe even about his child, but they were better off without him, just like the world was better off without him existing.

"Where--" she coughed a painful cough. "Where is she?" Christine asked as Christopher looked away from her. "Please--I--I need to see her, I need to say goodbye." Christopher sighed and shook his head.

"The doctors say you shouldn't be up, you lost tremendous amounts of blood, you should just--what are you doing, damn it Christine." she had thrown her feet off of the bed, touching onto the cold wooden floor beneath her.

"What's on my ankles?" she asked as she stood up; gripping onto the bedpost for support.

"If you would have given me more than two seconds to speak you would know that you were burned, badly. That's where most of your blood loss came from...didn't you know you were burned?" he asked as Christine shuffled her feet to the end of the bed; already out of breath she leaned against it for a long while.

"No, I didn't notice. Here, give me your arm." she gestured for him to come over to her. Christopher, knowing that she would do as she pleased whether it pleased him or not, walked to her, and gave her his arm.

"You know, there's still time to turn around. I should think you would want to rest, and you do seem a bit--unsteady." Christopher said as he went to tug her back to her bed; Christine summoned up the strength and smacked him on the arm; for Christopher it was barely a pat.

"Which way?" she asked as she stood in-front two doors.

Christopher sighed and shook his head. "I say back to your bed." Christine glared at him and he nodded towards the door to her right.

She put her hand on the door, pulling at it weakly to get it open; it didn't budge. Christopher took a hold of the door and pulled it open with one small budge; Christine was filled with envy.

As she sat her feet on the dew filled grass, Christine finally noticed how raw her ankles and feet really were. As the water sopped through her bandages around her ankles and feet, she felt the sting of the bitter water.

"Ow," she cried as she bent her head down and stared at her feet; she desperately tried to ignore the insensate rings of colors in-front of her eyes.

"Here, we're going back now." he said as he began to pull her back towards the door; Christine closed her eyes and tried desperately to stand her ground.

"No." she said as she pulled her hand loose from his iron grip; Christine looked towards the small white tent and knew that was where Abigail was. After taking a few steps towards the tent, she then felt her knees shaking.

"Christopher," before she had a chance to finish what she was saying, Christopher had her around the waist, her feet dangling in the air as he walked the two of them to the small tent.

"I'll give you a minute." he said as he sat her down in the small wooden chair that faced the small covered body. Christine clung to his hand; Christopher stayed and put his hand on her back.

"I...I don't know what I'm supposed to say, Christopher. When--when I lost my first baby, I didn't really say anything then either, but I never had the chance to really tell Abigail about my first baby." Christine swallowed.

"You can tell her now, if you like." Christopher said as he leaned close to her, kneeling on the wet ground; he took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Nothing you say, nothing you tell her about, will be judged by me."

Christine swallowed and breathed in a tight chested breath. "Oh Abigail, you probably won't ever understand why your mama was like she was, I didn't know any better than you do. My mother was...as your father said, afraid of the world, and she taught me to be aware, but not afraid, to...to harden myself from it all.

"I had never really learned how to love anything, when you feel like you love something...well, there's a difference between liking something, being fond of something, and loving something. But...but I loved you, more than words will ever be able to describe to you. I loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you...I just was so young, so incessantly young, and you--" she breathed in a ragged breath and turned to Christopher.

"Forgive me for anything I tell her, I just...I just can't lie to her...not anymore." Christopher didn't answer but Christine knew that he would, at least for now.

She turned back to the small body again. "Your father wasn't much to me, he saved my home, my family...they're your family also, you saw your Aunt Mary, once when you were very young, but I'm sure that you don't remember that.

"James Henry was--" she searched her thoughts for the right word." your father was an honorable man, he got himself killed when I was just fresh pregnant with you. Then again, his death was my fault. There have been so many deaths that were my fault. Peters, James's, even yours--" Christopher put his hand on her shoulder in a tight grip.

"She...it wasn't your fault, Christine. You said that you wouldn't lie to her anymore, don't lie. It wasn't your fault." Christopher's voice was soft and soothing.

"Oh, but it was." Christine swallowed. "It was my fault. If I had stopped you from leaving that night, you wouldn't have gone all over the place, and if you hadn't gone anywhere, then you wouldn't have been on that train, and if you hadn't been on the train she would still--" Christine swallowed and Christopher broke in.

"No." his voice broke. "If she hadn't been on the train then death would have found some other way to get to her. Death always finds a way of taking the things we love..." his voice trailed off. "Now, you finish telling her all of the truth, no more of this, 'it was my fault'. I won't hear of it--and I won't have her hearing of it either."

Christine smiled a weak and tender smile as she felt a warm spot on her ankle.

"You were loved--you really were...I know I didn't say it...I never really had the chance to say it...but that's no one's fault except mine." Christine swallowed as she braced herself on the back of her chair.

"Alright, alright...I think you have had enough for tonight, come on." Christopher said as he gripped onto her shoulders and lifted her into his arms.Christopher knew that she would be the last to say she needed rest, and since she wouldn't say it, he would say it for her.

"No, no please." she said as her neck went limp and her head laid back in the most gruesome figure that a person could ever see. God seemed to be giving so many gruesome sights in those past few days. Christopher swallowed as he bent her head back up onto his shoulder, and she lay in his arms.

Her eyes, he thought to himself, I so want to see her eyes. They were the most startling eyes he had ever seen.

Christopher thought back to the first day he had seen her as he walked with her in his arms. He had never thought that she would one day she would he his, but as she frequently reminded him, she wasn't his body and soul.

Yes he had her body, he had always had her body. From the first time he had touched her in their room on their honeymoon, the way he had delicately traced the lines of her body with his fingers.

She hadn't let him kiss her when they were married, she had just put her lips to his cheek and had made him do the same. Oh, but when he had her safe in their room...the way her eyes had danced along the sleek curves of his face!

She had whispered to him, quiet and still. "I don't want to be afraid anymore, Christopher. I don't want to be afraid." and then she had collapsed into his arms, those velvet eyes eyes had fluttered to a close.

"You won't be afraid anymore, Christine. You won't." he leaned her close to his face. "Christine, Christine look at me." he had called out to her as she opened her eyes.

She looked startled, but then those features smoothed out as she leaned close to his face and then her lips were on his, soft and warm as she leaned into him.

What a night. He had loved her in that moment, he had loved her as he did now, but when Christine awoke the next morning she had felt ill, it was so strange. Christopher had never made a woman physically ill before, and it scared him a bit.