False Southern Gentility
Atlanta
The carriage rolled to a stop, sending Christine's head thrashing forward and her bonnet flying out in-front of her. "Why in God's name did you stop!?" she hollered as she sat up, hearing the sound of horses hooves swooping around her once quiet space.
She clenched her jaw tightly, praying that it wasn't the Yankees that had visited the plantation so long ago.
"Well boys, looks like we've got a negro on the move, what you go packed away in that little carriage of yours, huh?" a deep voice asked as something heavy slammed against the side of the carriage; Christine let out a frightened cry before she could catch herself, a hand flying over her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut.
Damn!, her mind screamed, damn, damn, damn!
"I ain't got nothin' in there to concern none of y'aww, now you bes' be let me be on ma' way, if you please sir." Marcus said as his voice faded out with fear.
Marcus had been raised to be respectful to white men and woman, and the unconscious reminded that he should never raise his voice to those that were considered superior set in.
"Nothin' in there that should be concerning us then? Well, I think that's up to us, don't you? Well? Speak up. Don't you!?" a different voice yelled as the sound of a whip cracked through the air.
Marcus spoke up this time, "Yes sir, I b'liev' that would be up to you, sir." he said quickly, his voiced raised only high enough to be heard with some great strain.
The voice laughed, and with it came the sound of at least two other laughs, "Well then, open up this carriage here and let us take a look for ourselves then." A different voice said as the carriage shook.
Marcus must be coming down, she thought to herself, Dear God, what do I do, what do I say? Praying isn't going to help me, if Rosary didn't help my mother and sister, God sure as Hell isn't going to help me now.
The door opened slowly, a small and steady stream of light burning, slicing through the darkness of the small space, "I shore is sorry 'bout this Miss Threlkeld, but I gots to be thinkin' 'bout my family too." Marcus said as he took a step back, allowing the door to open fully.
The different voice stood in-front of the carriage door, his silhouette shining dark against the sunlight, "Lord, boys, we stopped a lady.Which plantation did you come from, honey? Lord, we thought that this Negro of yours was running off--you know you can't be to sure about them these days." he said as he put his large hand out towards her.
Christine stared at it, not knowing what to think or do.
"We come from Sevr'ance Hill, suh." Marcus said, his accent falling back to what it had been when he had first been take to Severance hill.
"You can take it, you know." the voice said as he reached further towards Christine, ignoring what Marcus said in full; she slid farther away from the out-stretched hand. The voice let out a deep laugh, loud enough for her to hear, but quiet enough for the other men to miss, as he took his hand back, still staring at Christine. "I'm quite saddened, and hurt, I must say, by the fact that you don't remember me. What a pity." his voice was cool and crisp, floating around Christine lazily.
Christine swallowed and, having finally found her voice, she spoke. "I thank you for stopping him, but my Negros know their place, they aren't flighty like some of them are these days. I am on my way to Atlanta, we must be only few miles out by now, so if you'll just let Marcus and I pass, we'll kindly be on our way." she said as she lifted her bonnet and slipped it over her hair. "Composure," she thought, "maintain your composure and everything will be fine."
The man looked confused as he looked at her dark chestnut hair, braided tightly beneath her bonnet, "Yes ma'am, you and that Negro of yours...what did you say his name was? Marcus?"
"Yes," she answered back, irritated by his questions.
"Peculiar for a negro. How's it spelled?" he said as he leaned on the side of the carriage, making it sway lightly. He smiled as her eyes narrowed.
Christine swallowed, sitting up straight, head at a tilt. "M-a-r-c-u-s."
"Oh--hm--," he said, observing her for another moment. "We'll let you all be on your way then, you have a real nice day there Miss..." he stopped, motioning towards Christine for her name.
Christine lifted her head highly, "Christine, Christine Threlkeld, very nice to meet you, now if you'll let us be on our way." she said as she looked the silhouette straight on, peering into the darkness that seemed to be where his face might have sat.
The silhouette nodded and then took a step back, "Very nice to make your acquaintance Miss Threlkeld, it is 'Miss' isn't it?" he asked as Christine nodded her head, he smiled to himself, "Then, Miss Threlkeld, it was lovely meeting you," he said as he stepped around the corner, "and you also Marcus, you make sure Miss Threlkeld gets where she needs to be, you hear? I must admit, I'm a bit saddened by the fact that you don't remember me. What a pity." he said as he closed the door.
Christine heard Marcus utter his reply of 'his sir's' and then the carriage rolled to a start. Christine leaned back into the seats, "His name..." she thought to herself. "What was his name?" She laughed to herself, "For once there is a man that seems to have the jump on me...well then, at least I won't have to see him again...but what in the devil did he mean by 'I'm saddened by the fact that you don't remember me. What a pity.' " her voice trailed off as she laid her head on the back of the cushion.
"Stranger." she thought as her eyes closed slowly, letting the rocking of the carriage soothe her to sleep once more.
~*~
"Miss Christine, is you up? Come on Miss, we is fin'lly hea'." Marcus said as he pulled the door open. Christine glared at him, his head automatically went down in shame. He had given up his mistress, and knew, had it not been for the Yankees, he would have a stern lashing coming once they returned home.
Christine's nostrils flared at him, "Such concern now." he said as she stood, her bonnet dipping slightly to the left; Marcus remained quiet. "Now we're quiet?" she hissed in a venomous whisper. "You are the most--the worst--ugh!" she exclaimed as she stepped onto the red dirt; slipped her fingers into her gloves, and smoothed the tips out gracefully.
She walked smoothly up the broken and cracked steps, trying her best to envision the quiet home as it had been years before. Four years of warfare had done awful things to the house.
It had once shown high above the neighbors homes, making them small and inconceivable lesser in comparison, but after the flames and smoke of the Atlanta burning, it was almost gray, faded in places, filled with large cracks that gaped in the walls. Oh, how the times had changed...
Marcus stared at her, and Christine glared back, "Well, what are you just standing there for? Get the blame door." she said, her voice crisp and hard; Marcus sprang into action, knocking on the door and standing back behind her.
The door creaked open slowly, her Aunt standing the edge, her small white hands gripping onto the door, her knuckles white from pressure, her entire body called out, 'ready for battle'.
As quickly as the hard lines had appeared on the plump face, they relaxed now, falling into a warm and open smile. "My darling Christine, come in Angel, come in!" she exclaimed as she pulled the door open the rest of the way.
Christine smiled and stepped inside, trying to cover the sound of her gasp. The room was freezing, the floral wall paper that had once shown in a light blush shade, had now faded and had begun to peel from the bottom up towards the high ceilings. The delicate shade of purple that had shone through the thick curtains had rolled away with the winds and the dust from years ago...this was no longer the sanctuary that it had once been.
Now it remained a cold memory of what had happened...of what she had went through...of what the entire South had gone through...
Yes, in the two years that she had been gone from Atlanta, the small city had changed into a blistering fortress. So unlike everything else in the insane world that Christine was living in, Atlanta had been burnt to nothing but ash and from those ashes had come pride and dignity, faith and cold smiles to the invaders. Atlanta had blossomed while the rest of the world had crumbled.
Atlanta was...perfection.
She clenched her jaw tightly, praying that it wasn't the Yankees that had visited the plantation so long ago.
"Well boys, looks like we've got a negro on the move, what you go packed away in that little carriage of yours, huh?" a deep voice asked as something heavy slammed against the side of the carriage; Christine let out a frightened cry before she could catch herself, a hand flying over her mouth as she squeezed her eyes shut.
Damn!, her mind screamed, damn, damn, damn!
"I ain't got nothin' in there to concern none of y'aww, now you bes' be let me be on ma' way, if you please sir." Marcus said as his voice faded out with fear.
Marcus had been raised to be respectful to white men and woman, and the unconscious reminded that he should never raise his voice to those that were considered superior set in.
"Nothin' in there that should be concerning us then? Well, I think that's up to us, don't you? Well? Speak up. Don't you!?" a different voice yelled as the sound of a whip cracked through the air.
Marcus spoke up this time, "Yes sir, I b'liev' that would be up to you, sir." he said quickly, his voiced raised only high enough to be heard with some great strain.
The voice laughed, and with it came the sound of at least two other laughs, "Well then, open up this carriage here and let us take a look for ourselves then." A different voice said as the carriage shook.
Marcus must be coming down, she thought to herself, Dear God, what do I do, what do I say? Praying isn't going to help me, if Rosary didn't help my mother and sister, God sure as Hell isn't going to help me now.
The door opened slowly, a small and steady stream of light burning, slicing through the darkness of the small space, "I shore is sorry 'bout this Miss Threlkeld, but I gots to be thinkin' 'bout my family too." Marcus said as he took a step back, allowing the door to open fully.
The different voice stood in-front of the carriage door, his silhouette shining dark against the sunlight, "Lord, boys, we stopped a lady.Which plantation did you come from, honey? Lord, we thought that this Negro of yours was running off--you know you can't be to sure about them these days." he said as he put his large hand out towards her.
Christine stared at it, not knowing what to think or do.
"We come from Sevr'ance Hill, suh." Marcus said, his accent falling back to what it had been when he had first been take to Severance hill.
"You can take it, you know." the voice said as he reached further towards Christine, ignoring what Marcus said in full; she slid farther away from the out-stretched hand. The voice let out a deep laugh, loud enough for her to hear, but quiet enough for the other men to miss, as he took his hand back, still staring at Christine. "I'm quite saddened, and hurt, I must say, by the fact that you don't remember me. What a pity." his voice was cool and crisp, floating around Christine lazily.
Christine swallowed and, having finally found her voice, she spoke. "I thank you for stopping him, but my Negros know their place, they aren't flighty like some of them are these days. I am on my way to Atlanta, we must be only few miles out by now, so if you'll just let Marcus and I pass, we'll kindly be on our way." she said as she lifted her bonnet and slipped it over her hair. "Composure," she thought, "maintain your composure and everything will be fine."
The man looked confused as he looked at her dark chestnut hair, braided tightly beneath her bonnet, "Yes ma'am, you and that Negro of yours...what did you say his name was? Marcus?"
"Yes," she answered back, irritated by his questions.
"Peculiar for a negro. How's it spelled?" he said as he leaned on the side of the carriage, making it sway lightly. He smiled as her eyes narrowed.
Christine swallowed, sitting up straight, head at a tilt. "M-a-r-c-u-s."
"Oh--hm--," he said, observing her for another moment. "We'll let you all be on your way then, you have a real nice day there Miss..." he stopped, motioning towards Christine for her name.
Christine lifted her head highly, "Christine, Christine Threlkeld, very nice to meet you, now if you'll let us be on our way." she said as she looked the silhouette straight on, peering into the darkness that seemed to be where his face might have sat.
The silhouette nodded and then took a step back, "Very nice to make your acquaintance Miss Threlkeld, it is 'Miss' isn't it?" he asked as Christine nodded her head, he smiled to himself, "Then, Miss Threlkeld, it was lovely meeting you," he said as he stepped around the corner, "and you also Marcus, you make sure Miss Threlkeld gets where she needs to be, you hear? I must admit, I'm a bit saddened by the fact that you don't remember me. What a pity." he said as he closed the door.
Christine heard Marcus utter his reply of 'his sir's' and then the carriage rolled to a start. Christine leaned back into the seats, "His name..." she thought to herself. "What was his name?" She laughed to herself, "For once there is a man that seems to have the jump on me...well then, at least I won't have to see him again...but what in the devil did he mean by 'I'm saddened by the fact that you don't remember me. What a pity.' " her voice trailed off as she laid her head on the back of the cushion.
"Stranger." she thought as her eyes closed slowly, letting the rocking of the carriage soothe her to sleep once more.
~*~
"Miss Christine, is you up? Come on Miss, we is fin'lly hea'." Marcus said as he pulled the door open. Christine glared at him, his head automatically went down in shame. He had given up his mistress, and knew, had it not been for the Yankees, he would have a stern lashing coming once they returned home.
Christine's nostrils flared at him, "Such concern now." he said as she stood, her bonnet dipping slightly to the left; Marcus remained quiet. "Now we're quiet?" she hissed in a venomous whisper. "You are the most--the worst--ugh!" she exclaimed as she stepped onto the red dirt; slipped her fingers into her gloves, and smoothed the tips out gracefully.
She walked smoothly up the broken and cracked steps, trying her best to envision the quiet home as it had been years before. Four years of warfare had done awful things to the house.
It had once shown high above the neighbors homes, making them small and inconceivable lesser in comparison, but after the flames and smoke of the Atlanta burning, it was almost gray, faded in places, filled with large cracks that gaped in the walls. Oh, how the times had changed...
Marcus stared at her, and Christine glared back, "Well, what are you just standing there for? Get the blame door." she said, her voice crisp and hard; Marcus sprang into action, knocking on the door and standing back behind her.
The door creaked open slowly, her Aunt standing the edge, her small white hands gripping onto the door, her knuckles white from pressure, her entire body called out, 'ready for battle'.
As quickly as the hard lines had appeared on the plump face, they relaxed now, falling into a warm and open smile. "My darling Christine, come in Angel, come in!" she exclaimed as she pulled the door open the rest of the way.
Christine smiled and stepped inside, trying to cover the sound of her gasp. The room was freezing, the floral wall paper that had once shown in a light blush shade, had now faded and had begun to peel from the bottom up towards the high ceilings. The delicate shade of purple that had shone through the thick curtains had rolled away with the winds and the dust from years ago...this was no longer the sanctuary that it had once been.
Now it remained a cold memory of what had happened...of what she had went through...of what the entire South had gone through...
Yes, in the two years that she had been gone from Atlanta, the small city had changed into a blistering fortress. So unlike everything else in the insane world that Christine was living in, Atlanta had been burnt to nothing but ash and from those ashes had come pride and dignity, faith and cold smiles to the invaders. Atlanta had blossomed while the rest of the world had crumbled.
Atlanta was...perfection.