False Southern Gentility

"Christine, no! We don't pull your sisters hair, do you understand?" Jacqueline Threlkeld asked her sixteen year old daughter. "Release your sisters hair this instant!" Jacqueline yelled as she swatted Christine's hand away from her second smallest daughters hair.

"She was the one that started it! She said that I," Christine gestured dramatically to her chest which was draped in a golden satin lace. "would be some old maid! It was her fault!" Christine squawked as she lunged towards the eleven year old Catherine.

"No." Jacqueline said as she shook her head and groaned to herself. "Do you see what you made me do?" she exclaimed as she looked down at her stitching, and then ripped out three or four uneven stitches.

Christine stomped her foot and whined. "I didn't do it, you were the one that mis-stitched! I wasn't guiding your hands, was I?" she asked as she sat back down on the high backed settee and picked up her own stitching. She did not wait for her mother's answer. "No, I certainly was not."

Jacqueline shook her head and silently wondered why her daughter was in such a gruff state. She shook her head quietly, as was in her nature, and looked back up. "Where were we?" she asked as she smoothed out her tight chignon.

Catherine smiled as she took up her place in her book. "You had asked how we would greet an elder in french." Catherine said with a bright smile. She snorted her nose up at her sister; Christine stuck out her tongue.

Both girls acted out in the most un-lady like manner, which was more often than none, committed to the great dismay of their mother.

"Lovely pour répondre à vous, Madame." Christine said as leaned her head back dramatically. Being dramatic was Christine Emerald Threlkeld's favorite pass time.

Jacqueline nodded. "Very good, Christine. Catherine," Jacqueline scolded as she rubbed her forehead. "you should be more attentive, this--" she gestured to the novel her daughter was reading. "reading doesn't suit you."

"Do you have another headache, mother?" Catherine asked in a hoarse whisper as she looked from her mother to her sister. "Here, I'll go get Pa, he'll send for the doctor." Catherine said as she stood and walked out of the room.

Christine looked at the floor and then back up to her mother. Jacqueline Threlkeld was a beautiful woman, and many people saw her as a saint. She tended to the sick and the wounded, and would refuse any offer of money. Christine found that a foolish quality, but still, she envied her mother for what she herself did not posses.

"Are you alright, mother? Should I help you up to bed?" Christine asked as she stood and tried to tiptoe towards her mother; her small heeled shoes clicked and clacked; Christine froze mid-step.

"Non, non, je ne besoin d'aide jusqu'au lit, merci bien." Jacqueline rambled off, her eyes tightly clinched.

Christine stood, confused. "Um, mother." Christine said quietly. "I don't...I didn't understand a word of what you said."

Jacqueline opened her eyes, her face in a tight blush. "Pardon," she started. "I meant...I...I don't know what I meant." she swallowed and nodded, struggling to organize her thoughts. "I said, no, I don't need to be put to bed. Thank you though." she rubbed her forehead as her husband walked into the door.

"Mr. Threlkeld," she said with a smile as she rose to her feet. Jeremiah put a hand on her shoulder and she sat back down. "is something wrong, Andrew?" she asked quietly. Christine couldn't help but smile at her father's expression when her mother called him 'Andrew'. He really did hate his first name.

Besides, Christine thought as she looked over her father's high stark stature, his name really doesn't fit him. Jeremiah Andrew Threlkeld was a wealthy man, he was self made and more than a little proud of himself when it came to his money, his wife, and his children. Though those were the most important in his life, he did not keep them in the proper order.

Money. Children. Then Wife.

Christine had always thought that the way that her father and mother had met was very unromantic. Her father had been in Charleston. "Buying cattle," her father would always say, "but instead I bought your mother." Her mother had told her daughters an over romanticized version of their first meeting instead of the cold greetings that her father described. This version was always changing and it never even partially related to Jeremiah's version.

"Oh, I was only sixteen when I met your father, but I knew it was love." Jacqueline would smile and pretend to look back fondly; Christine always knew when her mother was lying, or trying to lie. Because after she would lie, she would cross herself as discretely as possible.

Christine always noticed.

"You should rest. I've already sent for the doctor. Christine, come. We will serve dinner in the parlor tonight so that we may all dine with your mother." Jeremiah said as he touched Jacqueline's face easily and then turned away swiftly, to swiftly.

Jacqueline looked at the wall, her eyes darting from one place to another. "Mother," Christine started as she touched her mother's hands. "would you like me to bring you anything?" she asked with the cool smile that her father had taught her. Christine never noticed this, nor did she understand why her mother would give her the funniest looks whenever she used this smile.

"No, thank you mon chéri, but it is very sweet of you to offer." Jacqueline said as she lifted Christine's hand to her mouth and gently kissed the palms. "Ah, a ladies hands are always smooth." she said with a smile, and Christine was pleased that her mother was pleased with her efforts to remain in the ladylike standings.

Christine shrugged as she walked away from her mother and bounded up the stairs, stopping only to admire her ivory complexion in the mirror. "You're sure?" Christine asked over her shoulder as she looked down over the railing on the stairs.

Jacqueline, who had already risen from her seat and now stood, looking up at her daughter, smiling the same forced smile that Christine had seen, but never recognized, a thousand times before. "Oh yes, of course I'm sure." she said as she breathed in a shaky breath.

Christine shrugged it off as she finished her way up the stairs and to her bedroom door, grasped onto her door knob and went to turn it. A clatter from underneath her stopped her hand from turning the knob. "Mother!" someone screamed from down under.

"Catherine, Catherine what is it!? Mary, Mary quick, something's wrong down there!" Christine screamed as she pulled open the door that stood next to hers and screamed in at her now startled sister.

"What is it?" Mary asked through sleep covered eyes, which she then proceeded to rub and yawn in immense quantities.

"Hurry!" Christine screamed as she heard Catherine crying out and then rushed footsteps. Why wasn't she there yet? Why was she standing here, screaming at Mary, when she needed to know what was happening down there.

As Christine ran and tripped over her shoes, she kicked them off and ran on stockinged feet. Christine stopped at the top of the stairs, she couldn't move, couldn't speak out loud, but in her mind she was screaming, screaming at the top of her voice.

"Mother, oh mother, wake up!" Catherine screamed as she shook her. Jeremiah walked through the doorway, shoved his daughter aside and lifted his wife into his arms.

"The doctor will be here soon, it'll be alright, it's just a faint." Jeremiah's voice was steady, but none the settling to his three frightened daughters. "Catherine, pick yourself up off of the floor, you look the fool down there. And Mary," he tisked as he laid Jacqueline onto the settee that Christine and her sister had been sitting on only minutes before all of the commotion. "out of your room, and in your nightdress too! I'm appalled at you!"

Mary adjusted her wrap uneasily around her waist. "I'm...I'm sorry father, it's just that--" Mary looked at Christine and then down at the floor. "there was no excuse...I am terribly sorry." Mary said quietly.

"Exactly, now, excuse yourself." Jeremiah said in a cold hard voice that was saved only for the strictest of misbehavior's, each time this voice was used with or around Christine and her sisters, their knees would shake, just as Mary's were doing then.

Mary nodded and looked at her sister in the same quiet manner that her mother often had. "I am very sorry. If you all will excuse me." Mary said as she turned around and stepped up the stairs, slowly at first, and then with a strange gathering speed.

"Thank you, Marcus." Doctor Marshland said as he took off his hat and his coat, passed them to the tall slave, and looked over to where Jacqueline lay, breathing steady, but as white as a sheep.

"How long has she been out this time?" he asked Jeremiah as he nodded to the girls that stood, layered up and down the staircase.

"Oh, probably ten minutes." Jeremiah said as he walked to the chair across the room, poured a glass of Whiskey from his Brandy bottle, (he was always very sneaky about his drinking), and then lit his cigar.

"Christine," the doctor said as he turned around and looked at her. Christine stared back with a stunned look. "will you get me my bag? I've got a few syringes in the side pocket, the one with the clear liquid is the one I need." Christine still stood, stunned. "Well, go." he said as he shooed her away.

Christine swallowed as she walked to the small table and ran her hand over the different colors of needles and all of the different colors of bottles that lay beside them. "Is this it?" she asked as she held up a single needle.

"Yes," Doctor Marshland said as he waved her over. "bring it over to me." he said as he turned back to Jacqueline and dabbed a small bit of rubbing alcohol onto her shoulder. Christine handed him the needle while staring at her father. "Thank you." he said as he jabbed the needle into Jacqueline's arm with such force that Christine jumped as if it had been her own arm.

"Alright, she should be coming back in a few minutes. Send for me again in the morning if she's still a little upset." and with that, Doctor Marshall Marshland gathered his coat, hat and bag, and slipped silently out of the house.

Christine looked from her sister on the stairs, to her father in the chair. "I'm...I think I'm going to go up to bed now, Pa." Christine said as she bent and kissed her mother's cheek. "Goodnight mother." Christine whispered quietly as her mother began to stir.

Quietly Christine crept up the stairs and into her bedroom, there, she laid on her bed and cried. Her mother was weak and breaking down...and there was nothing that she could do about it.

The door that conjoined Mary and Christine's door together and Mary stepped inside. "Are you alright?" Mary asked as she looked into Christine's teary eyes. Christine laid her head on her pillow and cried.

Mary walked to the bed and stroked Christine's hair. "It will be alright, Christine. Mother will be alright. You know how she gets when her headaches start in." she said as she gathered her little sister into her lap and put her head to her shoulder.

Christine jerked away and looked at her bed. "I know that. I'm not a child, thank you very much."

Mary nodded and smiled as she kissed her sister on the forehead. "Alright then, you go ahead and get some rest. We have to help mother greet guests tomorrow afternoon." Mary climbed off the high bed, and waved her sister to sit up. "I'll send in Mammy to help you get undressed."

Christine rolled her eyes and sat up. "Fine then. Go tell her to come up and unlace me." she shooed her sister away with a light hand.

As Mary closed the door, she couldn't help but smile at her sister. They were so different, she was quiet and still, so much more like her mother than Christine...but Christine...Mary smiled, Christine was a piece of silver glass surrounded by the red earth of Georgia.

There was silver glass, the quiet whisper, and Catherine, partially outspoken with a quiet way about her. Catherine was the perfect combination between Jacqueline and Jeremiah, she was the perfect child. While Mary was more like her mother; very quiet with a ladylike air.

Christine was more like her father; she had a head for business, which was always knows as the downfall of a real lady, and Christine, being very much unlike any other young lady, did neither notice or care if people understood that she was intelligent. Christine did not care what the elders thought of her manner, though she always used the manners that were forced upon her, although those manners were always accompanied by a slight upturn of the nose and a large attitude.

And then there was Elizabeth. The daughter that had been married off as, well, as a child. Elizabeth was twenty-one now, and no one knew exactly where she was. But, Mary always hoped that she would come back, that she would return to all of them. She was no longer considered the oldest, because no one spoke to her. Christine was now considered the oldest, for she was second in line.

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After the siege, Elizabeth returned, her one small son daughter with her. No one had expected her return, and it was short-lived.

"Yankees! Hurry, everyone hide, hurry!" Christine screamed as she saw the approaching blue uniforms over the horizon.

Every Southerner and his dog knew what Yankees would do to a bunch of widows and their simple-minded father. Pa would me killed, and she and her sisters, Catherine, Elizabeth, and Christine...they would be killed and raped.

Not in that order.

Christine grabbed one of the babies and ran into the parlor. She wrapped the baby in a shawl, burying it's face against her bosom, trying to keep him quiet.

She could see out the window from her place, see the entire front yard and now...she could see the Yankees.

"Suroun' the house. Well, looke' what we got here boys! Some real Southern belles! Take those babies, aw, where are you running off to, hunny!?" The Yankee captain yelled as a shot rang out.

Christine tried to stifle a scream as she heard Mary's screams rang out.

"No, 'Lizabeth!" Mary screamed as smoke drifted into the parlor.

Christine waited until she heard the retreat of the horses as they left the house. She lifted ever piece of water that was in her grasp and thrust it at the large fire that had been sat beside the front window.

Try to catch my home on fire, she thought to herself in anger as she finally doused the flames, damned murderin', low-down, nasty, vile Yankee dogs.

"Christine," Mary said in a weak voice as she crouched down over Elizabeth and the babies still form. "They--they shot her, she ran and they shot her in the back like a coward." Mary spoke calmly