Thread: Southern Girl [ Ariamella & Reydan ]

RE Southern Girl Ariamella Reydan Virgil gazed forlornly out of the window as the carriage rattled through the streets of New York. Now they were heading towards the factory the landscape was changing. Fashionable boulevards and shady parks were replaced by the creaking tenements and dark buildings of industry. All around them moved a sea of people, pressing against each other, rough clad and desperate. They wanted the same thing, he knew, wanted what everyone in the Yankee North wanted most of all. Money. A decent wage. A way of living. And bettering oneself. This was, he knew sadly, the world that little Lucille Rayne would have to acclimatise herself to. What the South would soon become. Her mention of his family caused him to close his eyes briefly. He refused to look at her when he first began his reply. I can't Lucille he said in a cracked voice. It had started to rain, a wild, windswept spattering, so different from the bright sunshine of the morning, and droplets ran down the window of the carriage. I can't. There's been so much hurt. So much pain. My leaving was.... he sighed, turning to her, letting her see the pain in his eyes, my leaving spoiled everything. Drove Alexander into the Rebel Congress to prove our family true. Drove Thomas to his death at Gettysburg. Hounded my mother to her grave, almost. He paused, the pain of the memories etched into his face, eyes fixed on the young girl who was no longer the willful madam of his past. I ruined us. You were....you were everything to me Lucille Rayne. Everything. I lived and died for your approval. To hear you laugh. To see you smile. There was a time when it was my sole intention to see you the happiest woman in Virginia... He broke away, unable to meet her eyes anymore, and turned back to the window. It was steaming over with condensation. I have, in my room, a stack of the most heart-breaking letters you could ever read. From my mother. Each one begins with Dear George and in each one I can hear her heart break again and again and again. Some of the pages are stained with her tears. And each one is unanswered. What could I say then? He hung his head low, running his hands through his hair and looking at his feet. And what can I say now? I know you mean well, Lucy Rayne, that you have a gentle Southern heart that treasures family and passion and reconciliation, and I love you for it. Always have and always will. But do not ask this of me anymore. Then he turned away for the final minutes of the carriage ride. What else was there to say? Instead, his mind drifted back to another rainy day, another fogged window, and another time. The train, steaming away in Richmond Station, had engulfed the platform with clouds of steam but there was just enough space for Virgil to watch the passersby. He felt deadened, cut to the quick by Lucy's rejection the night before. In his mind he saw, again and again, the locket sparkle and arch through the evening air and land in the brook. It was awful. Then, through a gap in the smoke, he saw a carriage pull up. A familiar carriage. And his heart leaped. It was the Rayne family carriage. He saw the livery. The servants. And, as one leaped down and opened the door, he saw a dainty female form descend and move, hesistantly, towards the train. A conductor was pointing at his carriage as, with a huge grin splitting his face, Virgil pushed open the door. To see Viola. V..Viola? he asked, his heart breaking, his face falling. She stepped close, her golden curls peaking out from beneath a wide hat. Oh Georgey she whispered, tears in her eyes, and cupped his cheek with a gloved hand. Apart from his mother, she was the only one who used his middle name. It was a mark of how close they had been growing up. It had always been assumed that it would be the two of them that married. They were the same ages, the same quiet temperament, the same caring souls, but little Lucy had captured Virgil's heart from a young age. Yet he and Viola had stayed close. Georgey she whispered again come back. She's young. She doesn't.... she paused, stroking his cheek, looking into his eyes, she's waiting for you, all primped and preening at the kitchen table she smiled sadly. She loves you, deep down, but you know what she's li.... She's not here he said softly, placing his hand on Viola's. You are. But it has to be her. She has to understand. She's youn.... I'm sorry Viola. I'm sorry. And with that he stepped back onto the train, his heart hardening as he saw, as if for the first time, the crowd of black porters heaving the coal into one of the carriages. He had to leave this cruel world behind. They were arrived and, glad to be jolted from memory, Virgil sprang out of the carriage and helped Lucy down with a smile and a gentle hand. This was going to be, he thought, a shock to her. But she had to realise why he'd left. What it had been for. M..Mr Abernathy, Greggs, his foreman, was hurrying out of the door to them. We didn't expect... He smiled widely, shaking the man's hand, before introducing Lucy. I'd like you to take us on a tour of the factory, Mr. Greggs, he smiled Mistress Rayne is a dear old friend. Very well Sir the foreman said and, with a flourish, opened the grand doors of the factory. Welcome to Union Boot and Shoe Company he said proudly, the raised entry space giving them a clear view over the factory floor below. Almost four hundred men and women worked away, sewing and cutting leather, and, Virgil knew, more than half were black. Freed slaves. People earning a wage. Paid, fairly, for their work.