Thread: Southern Comfort (shadoweclipse)

The damned cicadas were out. OUt and plasting their irritable song. Summer was in full swing and the humidity accompanied the heat. It was very much like breathing through damp cloths. Everything stuck to everything. No amount of powders or cotton clothing would save you from the sweat. Your only savior was swimming. And around these parts, all you had was Mr. Coulter's dry-as-a-bone 'fishing' hole. It seemed rather dreadful. And it was as long as Mrs. Annabelle Beauclair lived. She wasn't a widower to be messed with. Just ask her husband. Or her previous four. It seemed as if she had a terrible luck with the men folk in her personal life. But only the ones who married the loon. She had several hired hands to do her dirty work around her family's plantation. The cotton and the corn wasn't going to grow themselves, now were they? Being the type to shun the latest fads, Mrs. Beauclair had been ferried into town on her well kept buggy. Samuel, her house negro as she called him, drove the mixed breed dapple stallion at an even pace, steering around the obvious bumps in the road. The imposing black man, sitting a full head and half taller than his employer, made sure he kept his eye forward. She held her dainty umbrella high over her pale face. If there wasn't one thing Annabelle hated the most, besides them damned Yanks, was the sun. How she loathed it's heat and brightness. Flipping an errant piece of her dark brown hair from her steely gray eyes, she looked over to Samuel. He was focused on the road as he should be. Arthur, his younger brother, ended up losing an eye for looking at Mrs. Beuaclair when she hadn't asked for his attention. Now, one might think that she was a little crazy and in the same vein think anyone who's work for someone so chaotic would be even crazier. Sadly, Mrs. Beuaclair had a vast fortune that her family had passed along to her when she inheirited the plantation as well as the fortunes of her pervious five husbands. She could afford to pay her workers well and that's why they stuck around. Even through the abuse, her dollars afforded her second class citizens luxuries and necessities for themselves and their families. The pair reached the slowly modernizing town shortly after 400 in the afternoon. Mrs. Beauclair raised her white gloved hand, signalling Samuel to stop. Pulling gently back on the reins, the buggy came to a slow and gentle stop. The people in town knew of her strangeness and her 'violence' so not many were inclined to greet the woman as the passed. Still, there were several who did so out of having been raised right. Samuel hopped down from his side of the buggy and rushed around it to aid his employer down. Taking a clean cloth from the seat beside her, he offered his clothed hand so she wouldn't dirty her gloves. After inspecting the cloth, she took his hand and made her way down the two steps to the dusty town street. The trip they took today was to purchase some pork and beef as they had nearly drained their holdings back home. That was another quirk of the older woman. She also disliked going into town. Most days, she'd send one of her hired hands, but when it came to groceries, she had to go. She would only allow the best in her home. The meat had to have the right amount of fat or else it wouldn't store properly. It also had to be fresh and pleasing to the eyes. The woman was picky about several things, meat being one of the most acceptable things. After a long and heated argument with the butcher, they were back on their way towards her home. She was glad to be out of that rank building. She always swore the butcher never cleaned the floors, much less his counters. Samuel guided the dapple stallion back to their home where they had a curious set of people waiting on her front porch. Suprises. Another thing the widower hated. Not knowing or being informed was one of her least appreciated things in her life. And here, she not only had the unfortunate suprise of guests on her porch... they were on her porch uninvited. Mrs. Beauclair flared her nostrils and reached in the back of the buggy. Finding the stock to a well kept bolt action rifle. Pulling it from under it's blanket, she hoisted it up to her shoulder and cocked the bullet into the chamber. You've got till the count of three to tell me why yer tresspassin' here in my neck uh the woods! she shouted at the three people standing on the porch. One was a city-type woman, her hair all gussied up. Another was an older man who had a familiar look about him. The third was a young boy with dark black hair. Annabelle thought she recognized the boy, but hadn't seen that brat since he'd been born. Her floozie of a sister had gotten herself all hitched up to a damned Yank and birth a boy. She had brought him around to her place before when he was really little, but this is why Annabelle was confused. Why would that brat and these two people be here? The city-type woman shouted something and ducked behind the familiar man. The man wore a white face and raised his hands in surrender. Mrs. Beauclair! Please, don't shoot! he shouted. As the approached the strangers, Annabelle kept the rifle up and aimed at the trio. I said you had till the count of three... she said with venom in her throat. The man, who lowered his arms some out of fatiuge finally spat it out. Mrs. Beauclair, I've come to deliver Eric into your posession. His mother, your sister, and father, my brother, both died last month. The house burnt down while- he was cut off by a laughing Annabelle. She lowered the gun, holding her side. That bitch finally got it! I told her marryin' a Yank would get her burnin' in Hell! she shouted through the laughter. The man and the city-type just stared at the widower. They couldn't belive what they had jst heard. Mrs. Beauclair, I'm Barbara Davis. I'm from the State. I'm here to inform you that you're the only kin available to take Eric in, unless you choose not to. At which point, he'll be property of the State. Do you wish to take him in. she said trying to get the laughing woman to calm down a bit. With all seriousness, and frightfully fast, Annabelle ceased her laughter and looked at the trio. Of course I will. As long as the boy can work, I'll spare him the whip. she said in all seriousness. So how about it boy? Can you work? she said to the dark haired boy. She aimed the gun a little lower, not fulling trusting the three here still.