Thread: Southern Girl [ Ariamella & Reydan ]

RE Southern Girl Ariamella Reydan The petite blonde gave Virgil a small, distant smile as she daintily stepped from the carriage to the ground, keeping her distance from him even as his hands clasped one of her own as he gently helped her down. Her mind was lost in a sea of bittersweet memories -- some were sweeter than others -- but in the end they all led to the same broken memory of the realization that Virgil would never go back to Virginia, and that he had abandoned everything he once knew. Whether he was aware of it or not, his words had cut deep, and no matter how well the pair seemed to get along that morning, the words served as yet another reminder of the enormous rift between them. She used to be everything to him she used to be the woman he sought to make happy. And that's what she was now to him a had-been, someone who used to be of importance to his life but was no longer on that level. Even given the chance he didn't feel that way, there was still nothing she could do to change the fact that he was now married to Camilla. All she could cling to was his statement of love for her, but she was sure it was just a way for him to express his admiration of her family values. Not that she didn't appreciate it -- she really did -- but she knew it wasn't the same heart-stopping, all consuming passion that they both shared 5 years ago. Lucy greeted Mr. Greggs warmly, flashing a bright grin at the man before following him and Virgil to the doorway to the factory. She lagged behind a bit, picking up the skirts of her dress with one hand to avoid the small puddles of rain, while the other hand reach up over her head in poor attempt to shield her carefully styled curls from the falling droplets. The tall building loomed over her, dark and shadowed under the grey skies. But for whatever reason, the weather seemed to match the rest of the environment around them the grey dullness fit the equally dull and repetitive industrial cityscape. Upon entering the factory, she noticed the simplicity and coldness of the interior matched that of the exterior, but still she was glad to be under a dry roof. Welcome to Union Boot and Shoe Company, the foreman said, and Lucy stepped forward to see the factory workers. They all reflected the people from outside, tired and rough, yet most looked content with the manual labor of the shoe making. Her bright blue eyes scanned the large room below, first lingering slightly on the women who were busy sewing and cutting leather to even notice her entrance. Their hands looked calloused from the constant labor, hair slightly disheveled from the long warm hours, and their plain dresses were obviously old and most likely specifically for working. Curiously, Lucy lifted her hands to inspect them, silently wondering what her life would have been like if she had followed Virgil to the North. The life of tea parties and debutante balls definitely would have been long gone, replaced with... with... what? Would she have had to work in a factory to do her part in supporting the Union? Or had there been any possibilities of continuing the life she knew on the plantation? Lucy turned her head to glance at Virgil, only to turn back to the sea of workers as she followed his proud, fond gaze over the factory. Good afternoon, Mister Abernathy, a bass voice echoed up from below, belonging to a cheerful-looking black man. And good afternoon to you as well, Mister Greggs. He smiled and waved respectfully to the two men, paused as his eyes met Lucy's, then waved to her as well. The woman noticed, as if for the first time, the fraction of Virgil's work force that were free black. Her eyes widened as she took them in, examining as if it were the first time she had seen an African man at work. Having lacked any kind of interaction with the plantation slaves save for the maids who worked in the home, she could only stare back at the man for a few brief seconds before he turned to look back at the half-made boot in front of him. It was also the first time she had noticed the blacks working alongside whites, as if the situation was completely normal. A look of confusion crossed her face and she cocked her head to the side, eyebrows furrowed as her eyes settled back on the black man who had spoken. It had been a little over three weeks since her father had left the plantation to fight in the war. Her mother, Helen, was left in charge of the plantation while he was away, and in the short span of three weeks, things had already begun to go awry. The children were never privy to the workings of the plantation and deep family affairs, but it had been fairly easy for Lucy and her older sister to guess that something was wrong. There were rumors among the servant girls about slave rebellions happening in plantations when the master went away for war. There were other rumors about crop sabotage done by the slaves who took advantage of the master's absence. Was -- was it you who placed the stones at the bottom of the cotton sacks? Her mother had asked one of the slaves that night at sunset. Lucy had only stumbled upon the scene by accident, after a walk back from the creek that ran through the Abernathy estate. Yes'um, the black male drawled confidently, seemingly unafraid of the plantation mistress. I's did. Helen paused and quieted, then sighed tiredly. Please... take them out. Is you's gonna whip me? What you's gonna do 'bout it, Mis'ress? I'm... not going to do anything, Helen answered him truthfully, You're not going to get whipped. Lucy knew her mother was compassionate and detested using brute punishments against anyone, including the slaves. Just please take the stones out! But de Marster isn't heah, is he? I's been workin' de fields since I's was ten, and I ain't gonna work no mo'e. Lak hell I's will! And with that, he spit at her feet and walked away. Lucy turned to Virgil, the memory still fresh in her mind, and then stood on her tip-toes and whispered, Do they always talk to you? Do they ever say...bad things? Her eyes swam with visible confusion and just a hint of fear, and also the unmistakable hint of Southern entitlement that had not yet left her.