False Southern Gentility

He stood there, staring at the closed door where he knew she was standing with her back against the cold wood. He stood there, thinking of all the things that he had done right, and all the things he had done; his shoulders were still warm from her delicate touch, and that made him smile.

For a moment, Christopher let his mind slip back into old places and scenes from their marriage, and then that moment turned into an hour and so on and so on until he was completely engulfed in who they had been, and who he wished they could be.

"Who is that delightful little creature?" the young thirty-four year old, Christopher Rudd asked as he looked up the drive to where a small woman sat, perched in a chair, rising only to help her parents receive guests.

"Who?" James McKinney asked as he looked up the drive for himself. "Ah," he sighed, "That, my good 'ole boy, is Miss Christine Emerald Threlkeld." he smiled to himself as he looked over at Christopher.

"Emerald? Like the stone?" he asked to loudly. James nodded. "Are her eyes green? Is there where her name comes from?" he rambled as he placed his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the harsh Georgia sun.

"Her eyes aren't green, in-fact, they seem to have a red look to them." Christopher turned to him, confusion written on his face clearly. "I know, I didn't believe it myself, not until I saw her, but when you see that face, those eyes just stand out like--" he searched his mind for the right words. "like hot coals in the middle of a piece of white porcelain."

Christopher smiled to himself. "Is she--" he laughed aloud this time. "is she married?" this time James laughed. "What? What is it?" he smiled himself.

"Christine? Married? Ha! Her favorite thing to do is to try and catch a husband, but when she gets the chance to get him, well, then she doesn't want him, it's all for the game to her."

"I bet the right man could keep her, if he tried hard enough. I'm sure I could keep her, if not at-least for a few years." Christopher leaned back and lit a cigar as they approached the house.

Christine, the name of an--of an angel, no, if her eyes were red she wasn't an angel--she was--was a goddess, someone to be worshiped, someone to be taken into and constricted with the looks from others made her breath come short. Christine, the name of a goddess. Perhaps that had been Aphrodite's true name, perhaps Christine was the goddess of love.

Who would know?

"Thank you for visiting, oh, Mr. McKinney, how nice it is to see you, and how lovely you look today." Christine said with a smile, and then her eyes fell on the arrogant looking man next to him.

Christopher smiled, bright and daring. "Christopher, Christopher Rudd." he said as he took her hand and bowed over it; Christine pulled back and then nodded.

"Thank you for visiting Severance Hill, I hope you enjoy your stay here." she turned to her father. Even the sight of her back gave Christopher some pleasure, actually, his gave him eminence pleasure. "Pa, may I go?"

The man, who was apparently her father, nodded and kissed her cheek. "Well then, it's very nice to meet you Mr..." his voice led off as he looked at Christopher.

"Oh, yes. I thought you had heard me before." he cleared his throat uneasily for the first time in his life. "Christopher Rudd." Christopher observed the change in the older man's posture and he extended his hand coldly.

"I see that you are familiar with my name. What fair rumors have you heard?" Christopher asked with a smile as he looked over his shoulder to see if the traffic up to the house had slowed enough to have a consistent conversation with the man.

Christopher saw the man shift uneasily on his feet and smooth out the collar of his coat. "I choose not to listen to gossip, that is my wife's job, she remains--how can I say it--she likes to remain in the loop."

Christopher nodded. "Ah, well then perhaps I should ask your wife what it is that you think about me." he smiled, devious and complex. "Shouldn't we turn the subject to a more pleasant subject?" the young woman's father nodded strangely smooth. "I haven't caught your name yet, sir."

Christopher implied with his hand to the older man.

The man nodded. "Yes, of course, how strangely unlike me. Andrew Jameson Threlkeld, but I prefer Jameson, my wife is the only one that refers to me as Andrew anymore." he cleared his throat as he ran his hand over his small, perfectly trimmed mustache.

Christopher smiled as he looked past Jameson and straight to the small figure that stood in the parlor, laughing and whispering with another girl. "Well then," Christopher said for what seemed like the hundredth time in the conversation. "if you'll excuse me."

Jameson Threlkeld nodded and ushered his through the door as another wave of carriages approached the plantation house.

Christopher stood by, watching the red eyed goddess from across the room. Everything about her drew him into her, the way her hips swung from side to side, the way she moved her hands around when she spoke.

What was he thinking? He wouldn't marry? Why was he looking at her like this, he had plenty of women willing to drop to their knees for him, and he was staring at some nineteen year old child.

Although, he thought to himself, he had known men who's wives were much much younger than they were. In-fact, his own mother had been twenty-two years younger than his own father, and God had given her six, wait, no, seven children.

"Christopher, Christopher you're staring." James said as he smacked him on his shoulder with the palm of his hand. "It's hard to keep up when she's standing in-front of you, wait, look." James said as he pointed to Christine who was smiling leisurely to the man on her left.

"Looks like we'll get to see the 'ole girl in action today. That is Jeremiah Wilkinson, he's the middle son of one of our more prominent plantation owners around here, and heir to a very very large fortune when his father passes away."

"He can't be anymore than...what, twenty-two, twenty-three at the most?" Christopher asked as they both accepted a small glass of Bourbon from the tall black woman standing beside them.

"You're right. He's twenty-three years old, but I do declare, but he's so fidgety that not even one of the women want to lay a finger on him...besides Ms. Christine Threlkeld that is. I don't think she's ever met a man that ISN'T infatuated with her, and I believe that's what she loves about the game...she never loses."

Christopher smiled to himself. "I'd be perfect to her, we're both the same. Look at how she smiles and makes that little boy shake and shiver, she's a master at what she does."

Suddenly, Christine turned around, as if she could feel the eyes bearing into her back. Christopher smiled, raised an eyebrow, and bowed low as he nudged at James to do the same; James did not.

Furious, Christine approached as James fled the scene. "I've seen you watching me, and I would just like you to know, you're terribly rude." she raised her chin high and looked him over. He must have been nine inches taller than her, and she was in heeled shoes!

Christopher smiled. "So you do have eyes for someone besides Jeremiah Wilkinson, how strange, I'm sure the old boy would be terribly upset to have learned this." Christopher's voice showed no emotion other than the slight ring of laughter.

"I have never met a man as arrogant as you are in all of my life!" she yelled in a strange broken whisper as she stomped into the large reading parlor; Christopher followed.

"Yes, I am quite different, but I'm sure that it enthuses you very much. Why, I bet you've never had a man not turn to sand at your touch in all of your life." Christopher leaned against the wall and lit a new cigar.

Christine turned around to face him, then snatched his cigar away from his mouth. "Oh! I just can't stand a man that's as arrogant, impersonal, irritating--"

"Yes, but I'm more fun than you've had in a while, aren't I?" he asked as he smiled to her.

Christine was not amused.

"No, no you're not, now,if you'll excuse me, my fiance is waiting." she said as she started to storm out of the room; Christopher grasped her hand and she gasped at the sincerity she felt in his touch.

"You're what?" he asked, his voice a bit husky and dry sounding.

"My fiance, I'm sure that you're not familiar with the term, but either way, Jeremiah is waiting." she snatched her hand away.

Christopher stood, staring at the cold door that closed him off from her, and, for the first time in Christopher Rudd's life, he felt heartbroken.

"I'll have her one day." he said aloud to himself as he stared at the door.

Suddenly, he had the funniest feeling that he would be staring at closed doors for the rest of his life.