Southern Girl [ Ariamella & Reydan ]

[Chai]

New York City, New York
November 2, 1865​

---

Lucille wrapped the ends of her shawl more tightly about herself, then brought her gloved hands up to breathe hot air into them as the chill of the November air bit deep into her bones. If she were a man she would have cursed the cold weather with words fit to come from a sailor's mouth, but as it was, she was a well-behaved young lady who wouldn't dream of being portrayed as a scandalous little thing who didn't know the meaning of proper civility or manners. At least, she wouldn't dream of it in public or the presence of company, and seeing as the coach was empty save for her belongings and herself, she muttered, "To hell with the cold."

It would be her first winter here, and she was quickly discovering that New England definitely was not kind to misplaced Southerners. New York - and all other parts of the North she had already traveled through - was like a foreign land that was too difficult to navigate despite having larger cities and denser population than her home state of Virginia. The young woman looked out the window to the streets of the city, and she couldn't help but feeling that everything was just so different. The plantations and farmhouses of the rural countryside seemed much more welcoming than the cold brick and compact buildings of the urban areas, and she held close to the same opinion about the people that lived there. At home people greeted each other brightly no matter who they were, but above the Mason-Dixon Line it was as if greeting a stranger was a completely absurd concept that was unheard of. She had wondered on more than one occasion why the people seemed so cold, and wondered why there seemed to be no plausible reason they were so stiff and serious. Maybe the weather had done it to them.

The differences between her and them didn't stop there; it was in the way she moved, carried herself, and even in the way she looked. Northern girls looked impossibly prim and proper, all slimmed up in their too-tight corsets that were obviously the popular London fashions. They were bred to be tall and elegant as dictated by society's standard of beauty, all pale skin, light hair, and pastel gowns. Lucille, or Lucy as she was known back home, had appearances that gained much appreciation in Virginia but had garnered attraction up north for all the wrong reasons. She stood on the petite end of the height spectrum at 5'4", and her skin glowed with a light tan that had captured the Southern sun's rays over the years. Her own wavy, long blonde hair that had soaked up much of the same sun shined with a mix of natural highlights and lowlights, framing a delicate face that held bright blue eyes and a naturally pink, full lips. Her manner of dress was acceptable enough; she, too, came from money and was able to afford the expensive taste of the upper class, but she found the prospect of being unable to breathe rather distasteful and avoided wearing overly tight corsets when she could. The women here eyed her oddly, but she guessed it was just another difference between the North and South.

If the choice had been hers, she wouldn't have stepped any closer to Northern territory than ten feet from the Mason-Dixon, but at her mother's insistence she had gone. The Civil War had left much of the Southern economy and way of life in ruins, and with her father's and fiance's death, her mother was not fit to run the plantation herself. She had enough trouble during the war, and the grief of losing her beloved had taken a great toll and left her weak. There was no one to care for the land, so it was sold, most of the inheritance left with Lucy for security reasons, and her mother made plans to live elsewhere. Lucy, being the youngest and only unmarried daughter, was to make arrangements to live with one of her own sisters until she was able to secure another engagement. Luckily - or maybe not so lucky from the way the New England had received her - relatives from New York had agreed to take her in. The families hadn't been particularly close in the past, and any reason they might have wanted to maintain current close relations escaped her, but she was grateful all the same for a place to stay.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, jolting the girl out of her thoughts, and she looked out the window once more to inspect her surroundings. No longer was she in the congested inner city, but in the more open suburbs. The large houses with carefully pruned lawns and gardens made it obvious she was now in the territory of the wealthy upper class, and right in front of her stood a Victorian-style home that was bordering on being a mansion. It was slightly smaller than her plantation home back in Virginia, but it was still of impressive size with equally impressive embellishing on the front columns, and quality trim that framed the roof and windows. Her new home screamed luxury and status, but then, what else did she expect from a Holland?

The Holland family, relatives through her father, were a wealthy bunch who had attained their fortune through business and banking, and had set her to stay with Camilla Holland, an elder cousin of hers she hadn't spoken to or seen in years. From her understanding, Camilla and her family detested the use of slave labor on the plantation and ceased vacationing South for that sole reason, and Lucy had stopped communicating with her ever since. Even as children Camilla had been too prim for whatever silly games the other children wanted to play, and Lucy suspected that her attitude and demeanor hadn't changed one bit. If she was 22 now, Camilla had to be... 25? 26? She must have been married as well as she remembered the older girl to be quite pretty in her own way, and judging by how she lived in a home apart from her family, there was no doubt in Lucy's mind that her cousin was likely married for a year or two now. And still, as she was about to live with her, Camilla remained as distant as ever. Rather then collect Lucy herself, she had sent over one of her private coaches to make the long journey.

"Ms. Rayne?" The coachman opened the door, stepping aside and offering an arm to help her out. "You'd best get inside. I will take care of your belongings."

The young woman only nodded, unable to answer as a breeze of cold air flew in the carriage and chilled her face. After straightening herself out, she walked to the door and knocked, unable to help feeling that this would likely be the best or worst decision of her life.

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

An iron grey sky. Scudding clouds overhead. And pain.

It was the same nightmare, Virgil Abernathy knew, the same one that paralyzed him every night. But he couldn't escape from it. Knew it had to play out.

Chickamauga. The Indians had called it the River of Death, he had heard, but it had been nothing but an ordinary creek when his unit had hurried into position. The rebels they had been chasing across Tennessee had turned, almost trapping them, and Rosecrans had hurriedly concentrated his army by the creek to prevent the piecemeal destruction of his scattered force. Virgil, unwilling to serve in his native Virginia, had opted instead to go to the Western theatre and, therefore, had found himself amongst his blue-coated company hunkered down amid huge boulders by the stream. A whole company, almost one hundred men, looking to their southern Captain for orders.

And then the shells had come. God knew how the rebels had managed to get artillery up into the rocky hills around the valley but they had and, suddenly, the air had been full of that terrible whining drone. Then explosions, shrapnel, and screams. Virgil watched, for perhaps the thousandth time, as his mind replayed the image of his staff sergeant being ripped almost in two by a chunk of whirring metal. He'd stood, screaming at his men to run for the high ground behind and then...pain. He remembered lying on his back, looking up at a steel grey sky that threatened rain and thinking he was dying. The breath rasped in his throat.

He awoke groggy and, sitting up in bed, fingered the scars on either side of his lower torso. The shrapnel had torn a hole, the size of a quarter, through his middle, side-to-side, but had, miraculously, missed any vital organs. He sighed, running a hand through dirty blonde hair, and looked about. Alone. Of course he was alone. He maneuvered aching legs out of bed, swinging them down to the cold wooden floor, and sat, still groggy from sleep, on the edge of the bed. "Get up" he mumbled to himself. "Get up".

He glanced over at the clock on the mantelpiece. Nine. He knew Camilla would be up and about. Cold air rattled the windows of the single room he slept in and he stood, awake now, to splash some water on his face. Taking his time, meandering before that late Saturday breakfast that awaited him, he ended up stripping down and washing all over from the jug and bowl. He combed out his close cropped beard, a similar sandy blonde to his hair but streaked with a little white despite his young age, and slowly dressed in a powder-grey suit. These suits were his only remaining concession to his Southern heritage, Virgil steadfastly refusing to wear the more somber and darker shades that were steadily becoming the only option in the North. Dressed, finally, he stepped out of the door and, passing Camilla's room, clearly vacant, he stepped downstairs into the main hall.

Hoskins, their mild-mannered English butler, greeted him as he stepped down. "Good morning Sir" he intoned, holding out a tray of post, "Mrs Abernathy is in the breakfast room". Smiling politely Virgil moved into the adjoining room. The breakfast room, with its high windows, was usually a delightful sun-trap, but on this horrid November morning it flickered with the light of a series of gas lamps. His wife, Camilla, was sitting at the small breakfast table sipping at a cup of coffee. Smiling at her he sat down opposite and, before he could say anything, a plate of bacon and eggs and a cup of tea was placed before him. "Thank you Milly" he smiled at the small serving girl, barely fourteen, who curtsied a little clumsily and retired to her place along the wall.

He glanced over at his wife as he sipped his tea. Camilla was tall, almost at his own six foot, and raven-haired. She was wearing a demure blue dress, corseted in place, and her hair was piled high on her head in keeping with what, he supposed, was current fashion. She was two years older than his twenty three and they had married when he had only been twenty one. Barely a few months after his honorable discharge from the Union army as a wounded veteran. He had courted Camilla for a couple of years. Others had been put off by her stiffness and formality but Virgil had, at the time, found it charming. She could be funny, in her own way, and very kind. She'd been keen but her parents had had their reservations. Her previous fiancee, a young Pastor's son from their native Boston, had died in the early weeks of the war and here was a renegade Virginian asking for her hand. Yet his wounds and subsequent medals at Chickamauga had washed away any lingering prejudice on their part...

She was looking at him, eyebrow raised, and he smiled. "Were you up early?" he ventured, the air between them as frosty as the morning outside.

"Yes" came the terse reply as she sipped at her cup.

There was no need to ask where she had been all this morning. At chapel. Praying for a child. Virgil frowned. He knew the unspoken tension between them. If it was up to him he'd have said that the single bedrooms were the biggest obstacle to their family troubles. But, then again, she never did seem to ask him.

"You haven't forgotten about this morning? Our guest? My cousin?" she asked abruptly, looking levelly at him, but as he frowned and opened his mouth to respond, Hoskins opened the door with a flourish.

"Miss Lucille Rayne" he announced and a figure out of Virgil's past entered the room.

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

It would do good for her to have more shawls and half-capes made as the ones she brought from back home were far too few and far too thin, Lucy thought as she waited patiently at the door. If it had been any colder she would have turned to ice! She had thought this morning's ride would be much like the previous morn, slightly chilly but still with the warmth of the sun to brighten the spirit. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Then after what seemed like eons, but was more likely a few moments, the entrance of the home swung wide open to reveal a butler standing before her.

"Miss Lucille Rayne," she introduced herself before slipping an envelope out of her purse and displaying a formal letter of introduction, proffering it to the man.

"Miss Rayne," he said in a kind voice, accepting the letter and stepping aside, allowing her her walk inside. "Please do come in. My apologies for the horrid weather. Shall I take your shawl?"

"Please," Lucy responded quietly, hearing him shut the door softly. She shivered one last time at the instant change of temperature, embracing the warmness of the indoors. She began unwrapping the over-sized linen material from around her shoulders and body, revealing a simple, corseted, deep red day dress with white lace embroidery around the sleeves and the bottom of the skirt. It had a moderate neckline that stopped just at her collarbone; not as high as other day dress fashions, but not low enough to be considered an evening fashion. Handing it to the butler, she smiled politely at him. "Thank you."

The butler led her through the house to just outside a closed door. "Mrs. Abernathy has been expecting you."

Lucy nodded and adjusted her hair, fixing the pins that kept her long golden tresses to one side, all the while thinking to herself: Mrs. Abernathy? So Camilla was married, and to a good, strong last name at that. Though, that particular name gave her an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if it were the ghost of a wound that had barely healed. But she reminded herself that Abernathy was not an uncommon surname, and she was nonetheless happy for her cousin. Marriage was such a beautiful thing when done out of love, and Lucy could relate to the feeling of being completely enamored with a man. Well, she figured maybe love had lightened Camilla up since their childhood days.

"Miss Lucille Rayne," the butler announced after opening the door, and she walked through the threshold. She smiled at the sight of her cousin, surprisingly happy to see someone familiar. Then her eyes drifted to the man across from her. Lucy's smile faded at the face that was too familiar, and the empty pit in her stomach filled with a myriad of emotions that could only be brought forth by the image of Virgil Abernathy. She hadn't realized Camilla married that Abernathy. She hadn't even thought it possible that they would ever meet, but it apparently wasn't so. And all she could feel was the bite of shock, anger, and pain; the memories of fondness and affection; and even now as he was seated across Camilla, she felt the irrational thoughts of betrayal and jealousy.

As for Virgil, the last she had seen of him was 4, almost 5 years ago when he departed Virginia, and he hadn't come to bid her farewell. The news came from his family, and all he had left her with were broken memories and an equally broken heart. But here, memories mixed with reality in the few seconds that she was able to freely look at him, and she noticed the changes to his appearance that had been absent in his 19 year-old self. Though he now sported a beard, he still looked mostly the same despite looking a bit aged... Older somehow, even though he was still young. Then again, the war had aged everyone, and whether the soldiers came from the North or South, the effect was the same. Distantly she wondered if his eyes still held the perpetual twinkle of amusement and silent laughter that she used to love, but when their gaze connected, she quickly looked away.

"Good morning, cousin," she greeted Camilla in the same polite tone she used with the butler, careful not to disrupt introductions by making it a known fact that she knew Virgil. In fact, Lucy tried to ignore his presence as much as possible as it was terribly distracting just being in the same room with him.

If Camilla could sense the tension in the air, she said nothing of it. "Thank you, Hoskins," she said before gesturing for Lucy to take a seat. "How was the journey, Lucille? Tea or coffee?"

"Oh, it was fine, thank you. And tea, please." Lucy took a seat beside her cousin, and at once a young girl filled an ornate teacup and set it on a matching saucer in front of her.

"Good. And this is my husband, Virgil," Camilla continued, waving a hand in front of her. "He was a captain for the Union army, you know." It was obvious she was trying to show off, even if her voice affected nonchalance at the matter. She was a Holland through and through.

Lucy shifted her eyes to the dirty blonde male in front of her. "Oh was he now? What a delightful match. Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Abernathy." Her pink lips turned up in a sweet smile, but the steely gaze she held in her eyes belied any amiable nature in the way she greeted him.

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Lucille Rayne.

Part of him wanted to shriek with laughter. Lucille Rayne. His ex-fiancee. Not officially, of course, more of a promise and understanding as was the way in the South. Five years of his life dissolved before his eyes. Suddenly they were back in Virginia. 1860. Him seventeen, attempting elegance but achieving just an awkward youthful charm. She sixteen, all blonde girls and demure simpering.

"So Master Abernathy, will you love me forever?" she teased, giving him one of her sharp looks from beneath beautifully arched eyebrows.

They'd stopped beneath the shade of a willow tree, alongside the brook that ran through his father's plantation. The wind rustled the spring leaves and, in the distance, a lilting song carried from the fields of tobacco. Whilst many families in the South, the stereotype ran, were built on cotton, the Abernathy's fortune was based on tobacco. He paused, looking down at her shinning face.

They'd been thrown together, he and Lucille, arranged since childhood, but there was, they both felt, something between them...

He'd looked down at her, all youthful gallantry, and smiled. He'd reached down, brushing a lock of hair out of her faced. "I'll love you forever if you'll let me Miss Rayne" he said quietly and then he'd kissed her. It had been youthful and chaste but, suddenly, she'd thrown her arms around his head and pressed herself to him as the slave song lifted and swelled on the breeze around them...

The slave song.

Just like that five years came rushing back.

He stood, Camilla staring at him surprised, and inclined his head. Stiff and polite. "Miss Rayne" he murmured, still unable to suppress the Virginia lilt in his voice, "welcome to our house. I trust your journey was not too harsh in such weather."

He turned to Camilla, hardly hearing whatever Lucille said in reply, and glanced at his New England wife. A woman who represented everything of the five years between he and Lucille. "Darling Camilla, I shall be in my office. I have business to attend to." He turned back to Lucille. "Please forgive my abrupt absence Miss Rayne. My office is just across the hall".

It wasn't until he stepped out to the Hall that he realised he had added that last section. Why? Camilla knew where his office was. Then why....had he wanted Lucille to follow. He sighed deeply, fingering the ache in his side, and pushed through the door ahead, closing the heavy oak behind him.

His mind wandered again as he sat at the desk.

"Because it is WRONG!" he had practically screamed at Lucille, standing by the creek in a cold December morning. December 1860. Things had shifted so quickly.

Tears were streaking her face, agony painted across both of their visages, and he frowned at her.

"To keep people as objects...can't you see Lucille?"

He couldn't replay her words in his mind, too painful, but nor could he avoid the final action of that scene. He had pressed a locket on her. His hair, set behind glass, on a thin silver locket and chain. And Lucille, so unable to understand, had hurled it across the creek into the water.

Virgil sighed again, frowning, as he sat behind his desk. What a mess. What a bloody mess.

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

"Odd," Camilla commented after her husband's departure, "Virgil often loves guests at the house. I think he likes the company, as many of you Southerners do. In fact, he's Virginian, like yourself, though his moral compass prompted him to move up north. He must be feeling under the weather to not receive a guest as he usually does. Please excuse his sudden leave."

Lucy smiled and sipped her tea, eyes fixed on the door Virgil had just exited. She suspected he'd be feeling under the weather for quite some time as long as she was around. "The accent made that much obvious. Tell me, has marriage been treating you well? It has been too long since we last talked."

"I married two years ago. My first fiance perished early during the war, and though I was still grieving him, Virgil had offered friendship and then later, his hand. We are yet to expect a child, but I pray daily for it, and the good Lord will provide. And yourself?"

"I understand the loss of a loved one during the war... I grieved both my father and fiance, but I trust that this new beginning for me will be for the better. But Camilla, please excuse me. The journey here was long, and I must retire to my room if that's alright...?"

"Of course. Hoskins, please show Lucille to her room. I have errands to attend to this morning, so if you need anything, please do ask Hoskins or Virgil, and I'm sure they will more than willing to assist you. One of the other serving girls, Caroline, has seen that your belongings were properly put away." Lucy nodded and found herself being led away through the open door of the breakfast room.

Her eyes paused at the closed oak doors of Virgil's office. Soon. Or would it be to visit him later? No, sooner was better. Hoskins led her through the large home, up the stairs to a spacious room. A mahogany canopy bed was situated against the far wall, violet silk sheets and feather pillows atop the mattress. A small table, dresser, wardrobe, and writing desk made of the same dark wood completed the furniture. The decor was simple but tasteful enough, and off to the side was another room that was most likely the washroom and boudoir. In the corner, stacked neatly as possible, was her empty luggage carriers. The young woman spent some time rearranging her dresses just the way she liked them, and when she looked back at the clock, thirty minutes had gone by. Camilla was sure to be gone.

Lucy made the trip downstairs, stopping before the doors of the office and taking a deep breath. Should she knock? She knocked anyway as it was polite, then turned the knob. Her body paused as she silently debated on whether to close the door. It was highly inappropriate for her, a respectable young woman, to be alone with a married man behind closed doors. But in the end she softly clicked it shut, deciding that it was better not to have Hoskins, Milly, Caroline, and any others possibly hear the nature of the conversation that was about to take place.

Virgil was seated at his desk, doing whatever work that he was a part of now, and she took the time to get a good look at him. All she could feel was the odd mix of emotions as she had before, but only one was safe enough to bubble to the surface: anger. Her thoughts sifted through the various memories she had of him; she was six, playing and running through the fields with the rest of his siblings... she was 13, complaining to her mother that Virgil hadn't come around to say hello anymore... she was 18, all primped up for her debutante ball, and Virgil had been there as her first dance of the night. They basically grew up together, and then he had left her. It was an impossible task to think of something proper to say, but she steeled her nerves and opened her mouth.

"Virgil," Lucy said aloud, interrupting his flow of writing. "Virgil, that wasn't very kind of you to leave your guest right when she arrived. What would your mother say?" The question was one she always asked when he did something rather ungentlemanly, like kiss her in an unchaste manner. Back then the question was charged with teasing affection, but now the words rang empty and awkward as they hung in the air. "You know, I had wondered on more than one occasion if you'd ever come back to visit, or if I'd ever see you again, but those worries are now put to rest as I see that you so conveniently married Camilla. Tell me, did you promise her forever as well?" She couldn't help the bitterness the poisoned her tone, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest as she waited for his reply.

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Virgil didn't look up for a moment when he heard Lucille let herself into the room. He was, he told himself, busy with work. Engrossed in company figures for the boot workshop he owned in the City. Yet really he was afraid to meet her eyes. Angry too. She always let herself in. Always stuck her nose in or offered an opinion. It might not have been true, but it was how his conflicted mind remembered it.

The mention of his mother, however, blew any chance he had of remaining calm and detached away like the stalks of a dandelion. Wafting away in a sudden gust of air. His mother. A tall, sickly, tired woman. Rail thin. Sandy blonde hair. Crying delicately into a handkerchief.

"But George you could work for the Government. Your brother Harry, he going to go to the new Confederate Congress. You wouldn't have to fight!"

Frail fingers, pale to an almost ghost-white, clutched his hands. His mother had always used their middle names when talking about her children. He gulped, eighteen, and broke the grasp. She sobbed as he left the room.

"George, please, George."

Lucy had always teased him with the thought of his mother. She had always seen the external Mary Ann Abernathy. Charity co-ordinator. Virginia socialite. Capable mother of five. Not the sickly, tired, anxious figure she was in private. Terrified of loosing her children. The only things she really cared about in the world. She had been so thrilled, so happy, when Virgil had come to talk to her seriously about marrying Lucille Rayne...

He scowled. Bad memories bubbling to the surface. Like the scum of a cook pan. Or maybe just memories that made him feel bad...

He pushed his chair back with a scraping suddenness and rose. He glared at Lucille.

"I have received you into my house Ma'am" he said, cold politeness, "and will, as my wife asks, perform every kindness and courtesy our relationship as family requires. But do not presume to know me. We may have been...familiar...before but now...". He was trailing off. Unsure now. Conflicted.

He rallied.

"I seem to recall you made it abundantly clear that you no longer wished my attention five years ago. You cannot expect me to have held true to a bond that you yourself willingly cast aside. As for visiting...I seem to remember a war being fought, Ma'am, although maybe you were a little too caught up in Cotillions and Tea Dances to take notice."

He swept from behind the desk, striding across the room, and paused by her. He reached slightly behind her for the door handle and then froze. They were close now, almost touching as his arm reached behind her. And there was a slight smell. A waft. Of something that recalled tobacco fields and hot summer evenings and...passion. "Excuse me Ma'am" he said in a deep low voice, "but I find myself in need of a walk in the garden. A headache". And he swept around her and out the back door into the cold garden.

Virgil managed a few paces before sitting on a cold stone bench. Memory after memory assailed him. There was one in particular...

His sixteen year-old self stood on a veranda overlooking a starlight sky. The warm hubbub of a party rose and fell in the house behind him. She was perched, in a soft lavender dress, on the white-painted wooden rail than ringed the veranda. She kicked her heels, watching him as he leaned on the balustrade beside her.

"Do you intend to bore me all evening Virgil Abernathy? There are plenty other young men inside who would feign to adore me!" Always teasing. Always pushing her luck with that arch smile of hers.

He stepped back and the leaned in, cupping her delicate face in his hands and kissing her. His tongue had pushed past her shocked lips to slid into her hot little mouth. He'd leaned in further, pressing his body to hers, feeling her little legs wrap slightly around his sides. Felt her hands in his hair. Stroking, caressing and then, teasingly, pulling him off.

She had held him a fraction from her flushed face, eyes sparkling, and delivered her piece de resistance.

"Why Virgil Abernathy?! What would your mother say?!"

He groaned. He looked up at the brick facade of the back of the house. His house. His marital house. Three bedroom windows graced the west side of the first floor. His window on the far side and Camilla's closest to the centre. The guest room, for decorum's sake, was between the two.

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Lucy was left standing in the open doorway, too stunned to say anything as Virgil left the room. She was no longer 'Lucy' to him, but Lucille and Ma'am, names that symbolized the distance that had grown between them. No, he wasn't the same Virgil Abernathy at all. The 18 year-old boy from her memories, so warm and charming, had transformed into a stiff 23 year-old man who was as cold as the November weather outside. What happened to him? She tentatively placed one foot in front of the other, quietly shut the door to his office, and began to follow him through the house and to the back door. How dare he ignore her! How could he just walk away when there was so much to be said between them? Then she realized, as she watched his form traverse the garden, that there was nothing left to be said at all. He had a family now, and a wife, and as he had harshly stated within his office, he couldn't - and didn't - wait for a woman who had cast his affections aside. She watched him through the window, waited until he disappeared behind a hedge of gardenias, then retreated to her own quarters.

Inside the comfort of her room, Lucy set herself to doing varying tasks in order to forget about her confrontation with Virgil. All proved to be equally useless, and in the end she could do nothing but to succumb to memories of Virginia, all of them leading back to the same scene that haunted her every day since that cold December morning of 1860...


"Because it's WRONG!" He was screaming at her now, hands wildly gesturing about as he tried to make her understand.

She shook her head, refusing to listen to him about slaves and morals, and more importantly, refusing to listen to him voice desires of possibly wanting to leave Virginia. Wet, angry tears slid down her cheeks, and she balled up her fists and stepped away when he tried to reach for her.

"To keep people as objects...Can't you see, Lucille?"

Why couldn't he see that slavery was a necessary way of life for plantation owners such as her family? His family? And if he felt so strongly of it, leaving wasn't the only choice. They could refuse the plantations... they could settle somewhere else, possibly in the city... But she didn't know, she just didn't know...

He reached for her again, softly and gently this time, and she let him. Carefully, he turned one of her fists up and opened it, pressing something against the soft flesh. Lucy looked down for a brief moment to inspect the object, and fresh anger bubbled up to the surface. A locket? He had come to talk to her about running to the North, and all he was going to leave her with was a meaningless trinket? A bauble on a silver chain that was supposed to make her feel better?

Her fist closed around the silver ornament, and in the most dramatic tone she could muster, she looked at him in the eyes and said in a deadly quiet voice, "I hate you. I hate you, Virgil Abernathy! Go and leave! I never want to see you again!" As if to affirm the words with action, she turned from him and hurled the locket over the short distance to the creek, and they both heard the 'plop' of necklace against the slow-moving water before she turned from him and ran without a glance back.


Lucy's mind refocused to the present, and a wave a guilt washed over her. "I hate you." She hadn't meant to say that, so long ago. Not really. She had been so young, and teasing and letting the boys chase her had been her game. She liked to keep them on their toes; she liked to see how far she could push them before they left and she had to come back with the intent of starting the game all over again. And no other boy had liked to play as much as Virgil. In fact, over time, the teasing affection had become a way for her to show exactly how much she wanted and loved him. And it amazed her that every time she had pushed him away, he always came back. No matter how many times she annoyed him with the thought of other men, no matter how many times she had been angry or upset with him, he had always appeared to her with an apology on his lips and an easy smile on his face.

But she had pushed him too far with her final words to him.

Lucy remembered waking the next morning, expecting to see Virgil with flowers that he usually brought from her family's greenhouse when they had gotten into a large argument. Would they be roses? Carnations? Or maybe the large chrysanthemums? But waiting for him was a task that took from morning, to afternoon, and she had been so confused as to why he hadn't called upon her yet. It wasn't until two weeks later, when Mary Ann Abernathy showed up, Lucy learned that Virgil had done it. He had actually left... Left his family, her, and their future together.

There had been talks of a late spring wedding, when the bluebonnets and other wildflowers were in bloom, but those plans were to never come to fruition. And Lucy had been so optimistic, so faithful, about Virgil's return. But as the days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years, she found herself unable to wait any longer. After two years of misplaced hope, and one more year of finding a weakly-desired match, she was engaged to Samuel Collins, the son of another tobacco plantation owner. That marriage was more for the two families to combine their wealth and land, and while Samuel had the financial means necessary to support a family, he lacked all of Virgil Abernathy's natural charisma and charm, and Lucy often found herself cross with him at his refusal to take part in her girlish games. But through it all, she had still kept the small sliver of hope that she and Virgil would one day be reunited.

She hadn't allowed herself to fully cry over the loss when he left, although it pained her that the last words she had ever said to him were an ugly, harsh curse that could never be taken back. But he was Virgil Abernathy, and he had to come back to her. He always did. It had been so easy to believe it to be true, and she had spent countless days at the Abernathy plantation, keeping his mother and younger siblings company. She couldn't remember how many times Mary Ann had apologized for the missed marriage ceremony, but still Lucy had painted a smile on her face and reassured his mother that he was never far away if they kept him in their hearts. And now, sitting on the bed of the guest room of the Abernathy house, she realized that perhaps Virgil Abernathy had not kept them in his heart at all.

For the first time in five years, Lucy stretched herself out the violet sheets and buried her cheeks to one of the soft feather pillows. Underneath the teasing and arguing, there had been genuine love for Virgil. But all of that was gone now, and tears streaked her face as she wept softly into the silk material. Finally, she had gotten the closure that she had waited so patiently for, and the young woman finally mourned the loss of a friend and almost-lover. She wasn't aware of how long she had cuddled herself up in the bed, but when the tears ceased and her breathing returned to normal, she heard the door to the house open. Good, Camilla wouldn't have to ask questions about her tired state. Quickly, she splashed cool water onto tired eyes, re-powdered her face and wandered to meet her cousin.

"Camilla?" Lucy asked, watching as her cousin sat in the parlor and leafed through list after list, design after design. "Are you commissioning new furnishings?"

"Yes."

"Oh... for which room?"

"The ballroom. We're going to need it rather soon, and right now it's empty." Camilla paused and looked up. "Where's Virgil?"

Lucy shrugged, darting her blue eyes away to look through the nearest window. "I haven't the slightest clue," she murmured. If Virgil wanted to ignore her, she could play that game as well. And, as she recalled from their adolescence, she had always won.

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Camilla fixed her cousin with an odd gaze for a moment or two before returning to flicking through her design book.

"Really" she murmured, half to herself, "I would rather be decorating a nursery. But Virgil and I seem...cursed." She looked down at her hands. At the slender gold wedding band that tied her to her husband. She was fond of Virgil, very fond at times, but she doubted if she had ever truly loved him. Her betrothed, Elijah, a member of her church in Boston and a true abolitionist believer and upstanding middle-class Yankee, had been killed in the first months of the war. Shot in northern Virginia somewhere. She had cried for weeks, sobbing into her pillow, and had never truly let him go. Oh Virgil was sweet, charming, and reminded her more than a little of Elijah. But he was different and, she thought ruefully, she would never be able to stop measuring him against her first love. She smoothed the design book on her knees, resolving to be a little more kind to her husband that evening. He had not even blanched at the idea of bringing her cousin into their home, happy to do whatever she needed.

She glanced over at Lucille with a smile. "My husband's business partner is coming to dinner with his wife and children this evening" she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice at the mention of the word children. "It will be fairly informal, Lucille, so don't feel the need to change into anything ostentatious, but we would like you to attend". That said, she bustled off to take care of the organisation required for dinner.
--------------------------------------------------------------------

"They are here!" called Virgil, who had locked himself in his study all day and buried himself in work, from the main hall. The carriage disgorged Harold Benson, his rough and ready Ohio business partner, his slender celtic wife Sinead, and their three little red-headed children.

"Harold" he smiled, clasping hands with his friend. Harold Benson had been a fellow officer in his regiment, trailing around the Western Theatre with him and toughing out all manner of campaign horrors. After the war they had taken up a long discussed plan to go into business together. Aware after years of marching of what made a decent boot.

Sinead smiled warmly at him. She had been one of the workers in the factory, something that rankled a little with Camilla who clung to class distinction like a suit of armour, and Virgil had been instrumental in pushing her and Harold together. Better they marry, he told his wife whenever she brought it up, than he ruin her as a kept woman. That always annoyed Camilla but, deep down, Virgil firmly believed in it. Now, with Lucy's appearance and the memories that stirred up, he wondered if his actions had not been a little inspired by his guilty conscience.

"Good evening my darling" Sinead said softly, kissing his cheek, as her children tangled around his legs. "So nice of you to have us."

He swept up the youngest child, a girl of five named Eliza, and held her giggling before him. "And how big are you now? Shooting up like a little beanpole!" he grinned, his Southern accent trickling in as he laughed, and the girl giggled again before pointing over his shoulder.

"Who's that?" she said in her soft breathy childish voice, her little arm jabbing towards the staircase, "She's so beautiful".

He turned, holding her in his arms, to see a vision of Southern beauty come down the stairs. His heart caught in his throat. "Yes" he murmured "so she is."

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Lucy examined herself in the mirror of her boudoir, slipping a mother-of-pearl comb into the blonde pile of hair that was carefully styled upon her head. A few tendrils of gentle curls escaped the pins that held them in place, falling and framing her face quite nicely. Pearls were strung about her neck, and attached to them was a diamond jewel that hung just below her collarbone. The necklace had been a gift from Samuel, received shortly after he proposed to her, and it had been his way of letting her know that he loved her. He lavished her with jewelry and flowers, but in the end she hadn't shared the same emotional intimacy that she had with Virgil. She wore the matching ring as well - the ring that was used in the proposal itself - except it sat on her right hand instead of the left.

The jewelry pieces were beautiful in simple, understated manner, and they matched the simplicity of the emerald green dress she wore; they were perfect accent pieces to the almost daring neckline and minimal embroidery of the deep green fabric. But deep down what she really hoped for was the possibility that they would catch Virgil's eye, which might let him know that he hadn't been the only one to move on. It was a foolish and juvenile hope, one that was as far from the truth as the east was from the west, but her damaged ego and heart convinced herself otherwise.

As she patted a powder pouf down the bridge of her nose, she heard Virgil's voice carry through the house, announcing the arrival of the guests. A quick swipe of kohl to rim the blue eyes seemed to finish her look, and she stepped out of the room and to the top of the staircase that led down to the foyer of the home. Sounds of childish giggles and warm greetings floated up to her ears, and Lucy suddenly felt oddly out of place in the gathering of the two families. She watched for a few moments as Camilla and a woman of auburn hair gave each other delicate hugs, and a larger man with a handlebar mustache clasped hands with Virgil. A sinking feeling sat uneasily in her stomach; how would these people receive her? Would they judge her Southern background as everyone else had?

It wasn't until a little girl who had jumped into the sandy-haired man's arms pointed at her that the room when quiet, and Lucy found herself smoothly gliding down the steps to meet the Bensons.

"You're very pretty," the child repeated once she had reached the bottom, smiling shyly as she clung to Virgil. Lucy ignored him completely, seemingly disinterested in what he might have thought at the girl's opinion, and instead she slightly ruffled the long red hair, smiling as she did so.

"Well aren't you cute as a button, and very beautiful yourself! Even more beautiful than me. Tell me - what kind of beautiful name does such a pretty girl have?"

"Eliza," the girl answered, giggling at the compliments.

Camilla cleared her throat and took a step forward. "This is my cousin, Lucille Rayne. She is staying with Virgil and I for some time and arrived just today. This morning, in fact."

Harold Benson nodded, eyes sparkling curiously as he turned to look at Lucy. "A pleasure, Miss Rayne. My name is Harold and this is my wife, Sinead... A Southerner?" He chuckled when the blonde visibly paled at the question, and he shook his head. "No no! I mean you no harm. Virgil and I have been friends for years, and damn what anyone else says about Virginians - this one right here is a decent man!" He clapped his friend on the shoulder as his wife silently reprimanded him for his language in the presence of the children and company.

"Virginia as well," Lucy smiled tightly at him, "And please, call me Lucy."

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Virgil let Eliza down from his arms as Harold and Sinead made their introductions to Lucille. She looked incredible. Unlike the tightly bound women he had grown used to in the north, with their tight metal corsets and pinned and piled hair, she was a vision in dark green fabric.

"Hello again Lucy" he murmured, eyes on her own, and flushed a little when he realised his lapse into the familiar old nickname. Silently he cursed, turning slightly to allow Eliza to lead him through to the dinning room. He loved the child, as with her older brother and sister Adrian and Lillian, and lavished attention on the three children. Virgil knew that it aggravated Camilla, reminding her of their failures to have their own children, but he couldn't help it. Virgil had grown up around large families, both rich and slave, and really couldn't stop himself indulging the young things.

The dinner was a stiff affair. Virgil frowned slightly as he sat, noticing the use of the best silver and the overly ornate table decorations. Was Camilla deliberately trying to show of to her sister? Or snub Sinead? Or was she just being difficult? None of this, not even the elaborate food was suitable for the little ones when it arrived and Virgil was tempted to send it back to the kitchen and have them just bring up desert. But he held his tongue, not wanting to maintain the frosty reception he had experienced that morning from his wife.

The table was round, and with no head to sit at Virgil found himself flanked by Camilla and Lillian, a quiet girl of fourteen, and directly across from Lucille. He couldn't take his eyes off her, despite hating it, and kept watching her through the flickering haze of the candles between them on the table. The dress she was wearing was very daring, a plunging neckline with the sparkle of diamonds at the neck. Her slightly tanned skin taunted him with memories of their shared Virginian past. There was also an ostentatious diamond ring on her right hand. Virgil wasn't certain but, potentially, this was the gift of the fiancee she had lost. Camilla had mentioned something about that...

His attention was caught up by Adrian who, after fidgeting for a few minutes, finally blurted out a question that he had clearly been holding in ever since he had first been introduced to Lucille.

"Miss Rayne, uh, was your family on the right side of the war or the wrong side?" he said, hurriedly, before his mother could hush him.

"Awh Addy" his sister hissed from Virgil's side, but the young man wouldn't be dissuaded, clear blue eyes fixed on Lucille.

"I was wondering" Mr Rayne had drawled, across a fantastic outdoor dinner table, a hot Virginia night beating down on the group, "How you boys will prove your metal these days?"

His eyes had scanned his own children and also the Abernathy boys, the two families arranged around the table, late into the June evening of 1859.

"You've missed your chance with Mexico, its done now," he'd drawled on "But you'll have to find something. Ladies love a woman in uniform."

Virgil had looked over to where Lucy sat, preening a little under his attention, and was struck by the thought of how wonderful it would be to be dressed in uniform with Miss Lucille Rayne hanging off his arm. Or maybe Mrs Virgil Abernathy...

He snapped back to the present, unsure if he had missed Lucille's reply or not.

"Come now, Lucille," Camilla was urging "its a plain question".

"Enough Camilla" he murmured, but she was too fixed on Lucille to hear him. This was the firebrand element of Camilla's abolitionist upbringing that Virgil could never bear. He hated slavery, but hated the intolerance of the Northern radicals almost as much.

"Enough Camil..." he stood, suddenly, angry with her for not nipping this in the bud. Pain, sharp and stabbing, shot through his side like white lightening and he stumbled against the table suddenly, shaking the settings. His face lined in pain.

Harold was on his feet, face creased with concern. "Wound again?" he asked in a serious low voice.

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

At Eliza's suggestion and insistence that Lucy sit next to her, the southern belle found herself situated with Harold, Sinead, and Camilla on her left and Eliza, Adrian, and Lillian on her right. And across from her sat Virgil, making it difficult to ignore him as she had previously planned. He had already thrown her off balance with the use of her nickname, and in that moment she had made the mistake of meeting his eyes. The reaction couldn't be helped; it was Virgil, after all, who had started calling her that back when they were children - he six years-old and she only five - when he teased her with shortening the name that she thought was elegant and womanly. Over the years, all of his family and hers had adopted use of the name, and she had grown to like being called Lucy rather than Lucille. But as she'd stared at the pair of male eyes that seemed to penetrate her soul, she realized that it hadn't been the nickname itself she had liked, but the fact that it came from a person who had the ability to make her stomach fill with butterflies at the mere murmur of the name. And after five years of not hearing the name 'Lucy' come from Virgil's lips, the sound had only made her want to cry, and she had hurriedly torn her eyes away from him.

Dinner proved to be no better for her than the introductions. Sinead and Harold shared the story of how they met, felt an almost instant connection, and at Virgil's gentle encouragement had finally married. The talk then turned to Harold recounting tales of his time spent within service of the Union Army, and on more than one occasion, Lucy tuned herself out of the conversation, instead letting her mind wander on safer topics such as questioning why Camilla had brought out her best silverware despite the dinner being an informal affair. And why did she say she and Virgil were cursed...? Distantly she wondered how it must've felt to yearn for a child and yet receive none, knowing it must have devastated Camilla. Then, a sly voice entered her mind, a poisonous thought that asked, And how many times would they have had to make love to ensure that they were incapable of conceiving a child?

Lost in anger at the horrid thought, Lucy stabbed the piece of roast she had recently cut with much too force, clanking the silver against the porcelain china set loudly, which startled her out of the daze. She looked up suddenly, afraid to have disrupted the meal, but quickly realized everyone was equally lost in some amusing tale woven by Harold, laughing and giggling away at whatever it was. No one had noticed... except Virgil, who was staring intently at her beyond the flickering candles. She stilled, lowering the hand that held the fork as a memory came unbidden to the forefront of her mind...


Stars softly lit the October night of 1860, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees and surrounding long grass stalks, but Lucy felt no chill. She lay in Virgil's arms, a blanket underneath them so as to not dirty her dress, taking care not to leave traces that they had both snuck out to see each other. He had an arm draped about her shoulders as he leaned, seated back against the willow tree, and his fingers idly rubbed along the smooth flesh of her arm before traveling to the nape of her neck to gently turn her head toward his.

"Yes, Mr. Abernathy?" Lucy asked, smiling up at him when he stayed silent, his eyes sparkling with emotion as they searched her face. "It's rude to catch a lady's attention and then refuse to speak to her!"

He said nothing still, but then gently pushed her neck to support it as he leaned down to kiss her. Instinctively, her arms reached to wrap around his neck and tangle in his hair, and she let out a small gasp as he deepened the kiss, his tongue meeting hers and making her head spin. She knew she should have stopped it, but it was so sweet, so tender, and it was Virgil...

Then in a moment of sudden decisiveness, Lucy pulled him off only to pull him back down, laying him down with her on the blankets. "Virgil..." she whispered wide-eyed, the rare use of just his first name hanging between them for a moment before the needy, loving gaze in her blue eyes indicated to him what it was that she wanted.

Conflicted emotions ran visibly through his features before he reached up to stroke her cheek. "No, Lucy," he said to her crestfallen face. "No, not that. Not yet. But I can show you other things..." His hand move down from her cheek, replaced by his mouth, as he kissed her cheek down to her neck, nipping the sensitive skin near her collarbone, then kissing down further to the swell of her breasts. And Lucy, lost in the onslaught of sensation, had closed her eyes and let Virgil Abernathy show her the firsts tastes of pleasure.


Lucy swallowed dryly at the memory, eyes catching Virgil's once more. The longing sadness in her gaze was irrepressible, but she said nothing, and towards the end she was almost sure she saw him eyeing the ring on her right hand....

"Miss Rayne, uh, was your family on the right side of the war or the wrong side?" Adrian had interrupted her silent moment with Virgil, and she was unsure of whether to thank or reprimand the boy for what he had done. But she also knew that a child's curiosity was something that would never be put at rest until the need to know had been sated. After all, she had been the same way, always asking questions and wanting to meet everyone who came to visit the plantation.

"Hm?" she smiled politely at him, pretending to not have heard the first time.

Adrian looked giddy with excitement at having his question answered, and he hurriedly repeated, "If you're from the South, was your family on the Union or Confederate side?"

"Well," Lucy began to answer carefully, "I'll tell you that my family was Unionist both before and after the war." Of course, she tactfully left out that they had been of Confederate alliance during the war, and hopefully the boy would let things drop.

But to her surprise, it was Camilla who continued the uncomfortable topic. "Come now, it's a plain question."

Lucy began to open her mouth, discomfort written plainly on her face, when she heard a familiar voice come to her defense. "Enough, Camilla." Her eyes snapped to Virgil, who was looking at his wife with displeasure. "Enough, Camil--"

The table rattled under the force of Virgil's weight as he suddenly stumbled, eyes closed and features contorted in pain, and without turning toward the large man who's chair had scraped the floor as he stood, she heard Harold ask, "Wound again?"

Wound? What wound? Lucy jumped in her seat, about to stand and rush to his side, when she remembered that she wasn't supposed to be so familiar with him. No one save for their families knew about their intended arrangement, and she doubted he had told Camilla about their shared history. No, with their marriage already strained from the lack of children, she knew Virgil would avoid additional stress if he could. Instead, she watched pale-faced as Camilla and Harold stood to steady the sandy-haired male; her fingers locked tightly together as she inspected his pained face. A pang of sympathy, guilt, and regret washed through her at the sight of him, and she couldn't help but think that maybe if she hadn't pushed him away, he wouldn't have had to sustain such a heavy toll from the war....

"Hoskins," she motioned quietly for the butler, "If Mr. Abernathy has any medication for his wound, please bring it. If he hasn't any... liquor with a small amount of opium will help ease the pain."

The butler nodded and shuffled away, most likely used to being asked for such things when it came to the Abernathy household. Lucy nervously fidgeted her hands in her lap, clenching and unclenching fists that, at times, were so held so tightly that her nails had left indentation marks from where they had dug into the flesh of her palms. Then finally, Mr. Benson and Camilla had been able to seat Virgil, leaving the dinner table awkward and stiff with the recent conversation paired with the unfortunate accident.

"Ahem," Lucy cleared her throat, feeling all eyes turn toward her, and she smiled at Adrian, though she hoped both Camilla and Virgil were paying attention to what she had to say. "Truthfully, my family, like many Southerners, never fought with 'right' and 'wrong' in mind. We fought to preserve our culture and way of life, how we maintained economic standing. We don't have all the fancy factories that you New Englanders do. Farming, agriculture... these are the things we know. It may be difficult to imagine, but when you're told suddenly that you have to change your entire lifestyle, it can be... difficult." She paused then, pensive for a moment as she contemplated her next words. "And then more than that, we fought to preserve our families. Many were torn apart when the Southern states began seceding into the Confederacy, and more than anything, we wanted things back to the way they had been, if it meant returning family members back home. I... I haven't seen my eldest brother since he left, and there are others still, not necessarily family, but those that I had cared very deeply for."

She refused to look at Virgil as she said the words, instead opting to look away and out on of the windows before returning to look at Adrian once more. "In short, yes, my family fought for the South. But I also have a brother that fought for the North, and he's family too, isn't he?" A sad smile touched her lips, knowing that the tone of her own tales held none of the heroism of Harold's Unionist war stories, but the depressing realities that had hit many Southern families and even some of the Northern ones as well. In truth, she had no idea where her brother was or if he was even still alive. The last she had heard of him was when he had sent a farewell letter to the only other male child of the family, the second eldest who was now happily married somewhere in Richmond.

"Well," Camilla was the first to comment, donning a sour look on her face, "What a... touching story." It was obvious there were more than a few words she wanted to say, but she tactfully held her tongue on the matter. "Desert? I'll have Hoskins fetch it from downstairs." She briefly motioned to the butler, who had been back for a while and left the medicinal supplies on top of a small table off to the side. "Virgil, are you alright, darling?"

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Virgil, weak at the knees, allowed himself to be lowered into the chair and, at Camilla's urging, drank down the mixture of scotch and opium that Hoskins brought in a heavy glass tumbler. It was an odd mix of sweetness and bitterness, and he couldn't help smiling sarcastically. Just like this evening.

His side throbbed, a dull pain now, but a constant reminder. He was barely listening to the conversation, but bits and pieces flooded into a consciousness increasingly hazy with opiate. He'd never had a head for the stuff.

Her brother...gone. He wondered which one. Which one had fought for the North? He tried to reach for names, faces, people he had grown up with, but the details kept fogging, dancing in and out of the reach of his brain. He frowned, memories continuing to flood back unbidden.

"When you marry my sister...." A young man, same sun-kissed skin and blonde hair as his sister, paused in a room wafting with cigar smoke and the warmth of a Virginia evening.

"Leave off..." He heard his own voice, younger and keener, full of laughter, and he felt the smooth wood of the pool cue in his hands.

"Dead sure!" the other brother spoke from behind Virgil, his face and name a blur too, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Dead sure" echoed the first, leaning in to take a game-winning shot. He straightened, still chuckling, eyes triumphant.

"When you marry my sister you must take her in hand! She's a little madam, that one, and you'll need to keep her in check as her husband!"

"Keep who in check I wonder?" came a soft voice from the door and in Virgil's addled memory a figure seemed to glide across the room. Lucy, soft and gorgeous, but smiling wickedly at their discomfort, pressed in between him and the pool table. Her lips were a stained deep red, and she held a glass of what looked to all like red wine in her hand. Yet Virgil knew it would be cherry cordial, so strong the spoon almost stood up in it. She loved sweet things, Lucy, and also the pretense of being a sophisticated drinker.

"Just teasing" he murmured, reaching up and stroking her cheek, his lips inclining to her own...

He jerked back to the present, aching and muddled, to hear Lucille finish her speech. And suddenly he was angry. Angry with...he didn't know what. Her. Himself. The War. Every God damned thing.

"Slaves" he croaked, his voice thick and stretched with the drink and drugs, "they kept slaves Adrian. That was why they fought." He waved his hand passionately, weaving a drunken pattern in the air, getting into his staggering stride. "They kept people as chattel, chained and whipped, until they worked themselves to the bone for them. All that guff about tradition and agriculture and...and..." he glared at Lucille, hating himself as much as her, "it was all built on cruelty. Cruelty to fellow men."

He turned, facing Adrian, not seeing the fright in the young man's face. "They branded them," he hissed, glaring still, "chained them together. And if they tried to run away" he drew his finger across his throat in a sickening cutting motion. "That's what the South's grand cultures and traditions amount to."

He slammed the table, making the assembled company jolt and the silverware clatter. Visions of all those dead friends, those boys in blue who had followed him into that accursed Georgia valley. All because of slavery.

"The Union forever! Hurrah Boys Hurrah!" he sang drunkenly, slurring the words, "Down with the Traitor and Up with the Star!"

Then he realized no-one else was singing. Adrian was white faced. Several people were crying. Only Camilla was looking at him admiringly and the sensation made him sick.

He didn't remember being taken upstairs. Only lying on his back and watching, hazily, Camilla unpin her hair dressed in only her shift. "You were very brave, you know," she smiled. "It was a terrible place, the South, with its horrors and unspeakable depravity. I am so glad you saw the light."

She paused, smiling, her face golden in the gaslight. "I think its good for my cousin to be put in her place when it comes to the war. You should really come back to chapel, hear the assembly. We're lobbying our Representative to be harsher on the Rebel states. Less money and more land appropriations."

"Leave them be Camilla" he mumbled, unable to meet her eye. "They lost".

She sighed, unfurling her hair. She ran a tenative hand along his lower leg. "Would you like me to stay..." she began, but he could sense the hesitation in her voice. He knew, as always, that even this offer of intercourse would be laced with guilt on her part. He rolled onto his side, still hating himself, and listened as she settled in bed, unable to tell if her sigh was one of sadness or relief.

He lay awake. Unable to sleep. Fearing to dream. Yet the memory came anyway. The worst one. The horrible one.

"Virgil!" His father thundered. The map book lay, scuffed and ripped, on his oak desk. "Do you know? Do you KNOW?" He rubbed his fingers into his furrowed forehead and seven year old Virgil sank into his chair further. His father was angrier than he had ever seen him.

"This was a gift to my Grandfather!" he roared "From Thomas Jefferson! I have told you time and again not to play with it. Not to touch it! Not to even think of it!"

"Jackson!" he roared, and his overseer entered, clutching the cane. Virgil froze, whimpering a little, at the sight of it. His father had struck him before. Many times. But the cane was for the slaves. Thick and lined and heavy.

Then small, terrified, Virgil Abernathy did the unthinkable.

"It was Solomon!" he screeched. Solomon, the little house slave. The serving boy. Virgil's best friend. And, when Virgil saw his father's face, that furious mask, he wished he could cram the words back into his mouth.

He rose. It was dark. Maybe 1am? 2? He wasn't sure. Heavy feet compelled him out of the door and into the silent corridor.

With trembling heart he tapped at her door. Lucy's door. He needed her apology. Didn't deserve it. But, in that witching hour when guilt was heavy upon him, Virgil needed it anyway.

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

"Are you in need of anything, Miss Rayne?" the butler finally approached Lucy, walking to where she had been sitting long after the Bensons had left.

Yes. Sleep. Family. Friends. Home. Virginia. "No thank you," she said softly, shaking her head. "If Caroline and Milly could ready a warm bath in an hour's time? It would do well after the long ride this morning and the... eventfulness of today."

Hoskins nodded, sympathy crinkling the corners of his eyes as he flashed a brief, sad smile to her and then went away in search of the two serving girls. Lucy climbed the stairs back to her room, thinking to herself that she wished people wouldn't look at her like that. She didn't want pity, sadness, or sympathy from anyone; she just wanted them to understand. But no one understood, and the only person in her life now who would have even understood half an inkling of what she felt was also the person who had just humiliated and insulted her family. The family that he had also grown up with; the family that was also supposed to one day be a part of his own family. As she stopped at the top of the stairs, she heard voices coming from the far left, and her curious ears picked up on Camilla's voice.

"Would you like me to stay?" her cousin asked, the sounds of shifting bodies and bedding following her voice, barely audible through the closed door.

Lucy locked herself in her room, bitter emotions springing up. She had no right to feel disgusted and put off by the question. She had no right to feel the inexplicable annoyance and anger that the question brought forth, but Lucy felt all of it, her mind wandering back to when she had asked Virgil for such things. It was unladylike to seem wanton, but she had so loved him, and at almost 17 she had wanted nothing more than for him to be her lover as well as her love. A true gentleman, he refused to take her and instead wanted to honor his mother's promise of not ruining the her before their wedding night. But she knew even he wanted to act on the impulses of love, and in the heat of passion much like that first October night, he had given her glimpses into the bliss of pleasure. And he had left her like that, touched but not touched, still whole but also impure, her innocence taken away but reputation left intact. How upset Samuel had been when he learned of how far she had explored with Virgil....


"Come, Lucy," Samuel urged her, tugging at the strings of her corset and grabbing a fistful of her skirts. Lucy was 19, almost 20, and he 24.

"We mustn't," she whispered back, pulling away and starting to detangle herself from his embrace. "What if someone sees? Think of the shame!"

He chuckled, patted her cheek like one would a child, and said, "Just teasing, Miss Rayne. I had just wondered if I could finally get something before one of those Abernathy boys did, but he probably hadn't been able to get past your virtue either, hmm? Which one was it again? Victor? Vernon..?"

"Virgil," Lucy whispered, fidgeting slightly, her eyes cast downward. She didn't know what it was with the Collinses, but her fiance's family seemed to hate the Abernathys, always talking about tobacco growth and sales competition. But being the horrid liar that she was, she withered under Samuel's intense glare, who was suddenly suspicious of her past.

"You let him touch you?" he asked quietly.

"No! No... yes... but never intercourse. Never."

He raised his voice in vicious tone, grabbing hold of one of her wrists and gripping it much too tightly. "Here I was, thinking you a bashful bride-to-be, but are you nothing but a common whore, Lucille Rayne? Lifting your skirts for that Abernathy boy when you were but barely a woman? Shameful." He released her and walked away, leaving her to wallow in the guilt of her broken past.


Samuel never mentioned anything to anyone. He had not ruined her reputation, which Lucy was grateful for, but he hadn't treated her the same since that night. A part of her wondered if his behavior was partially due to his dislike for Virgil and his brothers, but she had never been able to ask him. Near the end of the war, not even the most privileged of plantation owners were spared as the Confederate Army was sorely in need of soldiers. Samuel was one of those to be drafted and he had never come back, but Lucy couldn't help but feel a little bit relieved. How would she be able to live with a man such as him?

Caroline's voice penetrated her thoughts, and she opened the door to let the two serving girls fill the porcelain tub in the washroom with hot water, thanking them after they were done and undressing herself to step in the bath. Various thoughts and memories ran through her mind as she washed herself, all of which involved Virgil in some form or another. She compared them all to the man at the dinner table, unable to understand how he had changed so much. Her Virgil... her precious Virgil, who was most likely tangled up in the arms of her cousin.

Lucy sighed and stepped out, beginning to brush the long blonde hair that hung down to between her breasts and navel. It was late, just reaching one'o'clock, and she dimmed the lighting in her room by blowing a few of the candles out, thinking that the darkness would help her fall asleep later. Then, a knock sounded at her door.

"A moment please," she called out softly. What was Camilla doing up so late?
She quickly pulled a white linen and lace shift over herself and hurried to open the door, simply staring at the person standing out in the corridor.

"Mr. Abernathy," she greeted him smoothly after fighting to find her voice for a moment. Then, a pink flush colored her cheeks after she realized what she might have looked like, dressed much too inappropriately with golden tresses still wet and tumbling over one shoulder. She suddenly felt the need to cover herself.

He's seen more than that, a tiny voice in Lucy's mind reminded her. But then, he was a married man now...

"Do you need assistance? Is Camilla alright? The hour is late, and I'm sure you know a lady must sleep."

The reprimand was gentle, a ghost of the games she used to play, and Lucy returned to sitting at the bureau, and brushing her hair in the mirror that sat atop the dark wood. The door was left open with Virgil standing outside, and she flicked her eyes to look at him through the mirror. It was an unspoken invitation to come in, though the cautiousness and hesitation was written plainly on her face.

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

She shimmered a little. Soft in the candle light. Angelic and delicate. But also sensual and promising, he thought, eyes following the long tresses of golden hair that hung down from her head over her bare shoulders to caress her midriff. He wanted to speak but his mouth hung open a little, words unable to utter forth, and he simply nodded, slightly, and stepped into the guest room at her invitation.

There was a soft whiff of...something in the air. Something floral and delicate that spoke of long hot summers and the wind rustling in fields of crops. Something of their home.

She was a few paces away from him, eyeing him warily in the mirror, and he knew if he wanted to he could reach out and take her in his arms. Hold her as he had, so many times before, yet never truly appreciated it till she was gone. A sudden gust of cold winter wind rattled the thin panes of glass in the window. His heart beat fast.

"Lucy..." he began, croaking a little, his voice cracked and low. The fuzz of the drink and the opiate had subsided now, a dull background hum in his consciousness, and now his senses seemed sharpened. He was aware of everything around them. The tiny droplets of water in her hair and on her peach-tinted skin. The slight hint of a tease in her eyes and her voice. The thudding of his own heart.

"Lucy...I'm sorry" he murmured, inadequate but also necessary. "I humiliated you at dinner tonight. It was cruel and horrid and utterly unworthy of you". He paused, feeling leaden in both gesture and tongue. He passed a hand over his forehead. Anxious.

"We've all suffered" he said in a low voice. "No-one here knows how hard the South have suffered. Our families..." he paused, images of their combined relations flashing before his eyes, "our families have been torn asunder. Brother against brother, father against son, hus...". He stopped, cheeks reddening, but unable to pull his eyes from her own. Finish the sentence he urged himself as her eyes drew him on. "Husband against wife" he said, placing a gentle yet firm emphasis on the significance of that phrase.

"It was wrong of me to speak of you so cruelly. Of your family so cruelly. William. Heath. They were my friends. Close friends. I suppose you know my little brother Thomas died at...at Gettysburg. Wearing the Virginia Grey with pride". He spread his hands in supplication, begging her forgiveness without words. "We've all been torn apart" he concluded, sadly, "And you will find that life in the Yankee North is less...delicate to us Virginians than we might wish. I am only sorry that your first taste of it came from me. Truly sorry".

He turned towards the door but paused, back to her, unable to meet her eyes if they were full of hatred. "But I promise, Lucy Rayne, from this night on that you will have a friend in me. I will always be here to talk to you, whatever comes, and I will never again speak so poorly to you as I did this night. You have my word." He paused, a tiny regret-tinged smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Besides", he added softly, "I still harbour great affection for you deep in my heart!"

It had been after that October night in 1860, spread out on the blanket beneath the stars, when he had gently turned down her affection. Three days and nights she had cut him socially, snubbing his attention, unused to not getting her own way. Until he could stand it no longer.

He'd called, early one evening, and her mother had practically had to thrust her out onto the veranda. The air had been full of the smell of blossoms falling from the trees, warm with a tinge of the chill of winter to come, and he had stood at the bottom of those white-washed steps, looking up at the diminutive frame above him. Arms folded tightly in anger, hair whipping in the breeze, she had frowned down at him.

The step had creaked beneath his foot as he rose, retrieving from behind his back a bunch of Dogwood flowers. The state flower. Picked from the trees that ran between their estates. She had frowned deeper, he suddenly uncertain of the gift, and her little nose had wrinkled like a folding button.

"Dogwood, Mr Abernathy?" she had teased, haughty and proud, "Is that it?"

He had stammered, off guard, until she had peeled with laughter.

"It is good that I still harbour great affection for you deep in my heart!"she had giggled and then, snatching up a blanket from the porch she had led him by the hand into the quiet peace of the peach orchard and there they had...

He gulped, trying to dispel the memory of soft, yielding flesh and breathless moans from his mind. The taste of a small, sassy, sweet little mouth...

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Two weeks had gone by since Lucy's first night, uneventful and almost agonizingly slow. She had purposely distanced herself from Virgil, preferring to spend time with Camilla or the two serving girls, not necessarily because she preferred their company, but because she couldn't bear Virgil's. Their encounter had left her confused, lonely, and curious, and more often than not she found herself thinking of his words. "Husband and wife... I still harbour great affection for you deep in my heart!" She thought of them, analyzed them, pushed them out of her mind only to re-analyzed them within the confines of her room:

He stepped into the room at her invitation, until he stood almost close enough to reach out and touch her. "Lucy..." his voice finally came, and the hands that brushed her hair froze in place at her name. Curiously her eyes watched as he began his apology, all too aware that the last time he'd managed to sneak in her room during the night, it had ended in a rush of passion.

Then she listened, her blue eyes softening and hardening at the mention of their shared past, rolling through emotions she thought had been locked away for so long that they were no longer accessible. She did know that Thomas died at Gettysburg. After all, it had been her who had come to comfort Mary-Ann and the rest of his family after the news had hit their corner of Virginia... His family that still treated her as one of their own, despite her engagement to another man. They all knew, somehow, that she still belonged to Virgil in spite of his leaving. Southern culture was funny like that. Some might have thought them harsh and uncaring because of their use of slavery, but the ties of family were respected and near unbreakable.

By the time he was finished, she had moved from the bureau to the foot of her bed, looking away from him. It wasn't that she was upset with him or that she found his apology inadequate, but the simple reason that the wave of emotions that rolled through her was almost too much. She wanted to laugh, smile, scream at him and cry all at once; she wanted to run to him, cling to his strong arms, bury her head in his neck and breath in his scent; she wanted to strike him across the cheek for the lost years. And still, she wanted to apologize to him for pushing him away so many years ago. But whatever words she had to say refused to come out, buried beneath the pain, hurt and love she still felt for him.

"It's late, Mr. Abernathy, and I wish to sleep," came Lucy's quiet, terse reply when Virgil had fallen silent. She heard him start to walk away, and because she couldn't resist, she turned her head to watch his retreating form, her blue eyes watering with unshed tears. "Virgil! ...Goodnight," she finally whispered as he was about to leave, knowing that he would hear the forgiveness in the one word. Then, emotionally exhausted, she laid her head down on the pillow and wept.

The following days were the most difficult, and she was unsure of what to do about the matter. A part of her wanted to march straight into Virgil's room the next morning and demand an explanation for the past five years, but at the risk of Camilla learning of their past, she hadn't done so. Or maybe it was because she didn't want him to tell her what she feared the most; that he no longer believed her worthy of his affection after what she had said to him, and subsequently ceased loving her. But if that was the case, why had he offered her his friendship? And mentioned familiar words that, he knew, would mean something to the both of them?

It was for these reasons that Lucy found it best to avoid him, to avoid the confrontation and any possible mention of what had transpired that night. She made sure to she spent her time busying herself with anything and everything, if just to keep her mind occupied and off of Virgil. Some days she would help Camilla choose decorations for the home, then wrap herself in a blanket and read in the gardens despite the winter cold settling in. Other days were spent tidying up the house and - when she yearned for home - whipping up a traditional southern desert or snack, much to Camilla's displeasure. And while she convinced herself that she made them because she missed Virginia, she knew in her heart that she had made them for someone else....

It wasn't until those two weeks had passed that Lucy suddenly found herself tired of the repetitive day-to-day actions. And on the third Saturday morning, when Camilla had gone out to attend to errands (as she always did), she sought out Virgil for the first time.

"Mr. Abernathy," she started, appearing in the open doorway to his study at noon; cheeks pink and flushed from her time reading in the garden. There were so many things she wanted to say, all of which seemed much too familiar and inappropriate for a first conversation, so she relayed what she wanted to, the only way she knew how when it came to Virgil Abernathy.

"Mr. Abernathy, while I am delighted that you have opened your home to me, I find that I am bored. Surely there's something in the whole of New York that may relieve me of my predicament?" A slight frown turned down her lips, reminiscent of her pouting, adolescent self, though her eyes were warm and tone mild.

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

The next few weeks were torture for Virgil Abernathy. A long, drawn out, pain. There had been no apology. No...He wasn't sure what he had hoped for that night, in the guest bedroom, but what had transpired, the soft words and stinging eyes of his former love, were not what he had expected.

He sighed, siting behind his desk, watching the winter sun hang lazily overhead. Only a day or so until their party. He frowned, signing yet another piece of unimportant factory paperwork laid before him on the desk. Yet another bill or something. His eyes, ringed with dark circles, had hardly been able to take in more than the essential details.

Camilla had, over the past two weeks, returned to his bed. She always left in the morning, eager to have her own space again, but she seemed to be warming again to his company. Virgil could hardly jump for joy, however, given the content of their nocturnal encounters. Camilla didn't want to sleep with him, despite his half-hearted urging, but instead wanted to discuss the party. Or more specifically the guest list. She seemed to be dragging half of her blasted family to the thing. His frown deepened. What a nightmare. Camilla's relatives were ever so earnest, ever so keen on very little besides the bible, each other, and being right. He briefly wondered why his wife was dragging so many of her Boston cohort down, but gave up, staring instead out of the window.

She came into his room uninvited and unannounced. And with that cheeky little tone that had always tugged at his heart strings. At first Virgil, turning to smile at her, lost track of where he was. He was in his family library again, with his brothers, playing some game or reading together when a small head, with tumbling hair, poked around the door and demanded his attention. Demanded his love. And he had always given in. Always given her what she wanted.

He smiled, ear to ear, flashing Virginia warmth at his fiancee...

Then his eyes went wide and, blushing, he looked down at his hands. She wasn't his fiancee. They....and like that the intervening years came rushing back. Virgil could have wept, although he didn't know why.

Yet he felt oddly compelled to please her. Besides, he had promised her.

"Very well," he said, smiling, taking his coat from the stand by the desk. "But I hope you have your coat, Mistress Rayne, as the New York climate his harsher than you might imagine".

Soon they were moving through the suburbs and into the city proper, sitting facing each other in the enclosed space of his carriage. Virgil watched as his knees jolted, lightly, against hers. For some reason the sensation sent a flutter through his system. He brushed the thought away.

"So Mistress Rayne" he teased, falling unwittingly but ever so easily back into their familiar Virginia back-and-forth, "Where can this poor servant take you today to keep you amused?"

He had a few ideas, sights of New York that, he suddenly realised, he had always wanted her to see. He frowned again. Just how much of his life was still touched by Lucille Rayne? It was a thought that would linger. Yet he wanted to hear her thoughts, her ideas, whether she knew anything about this great city.

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Sparkling eyes watched Virgil as the carriage rode into the city. Given the weeks of minimal interaction, the situation seemed all too intimate, but it wasn't uncomfortable in the slightest. They had fallen into a cozy silence since their departure from the manor, during which Lucy found herself admiring the man in front of her. He was tired and his face was tinged with signs of fatigue, that much was obvious, but still he looked at ease being alone with her. His demeanor had changed considerably since that first night, and she wondered if it was because he was only keeping true to his promise or if it was because he genuinely was okay with being around her. Then she wondered, had he told Camilla? Her cousin's retirement to Virgil's room each night hadn't gone unnoticed, and Lucy thought perhaps he was more comfortable around her because his concscience was finally cleared by telling his wife. But Camilla hadn't said anything, so she was still unsure...

"Poor servant?" The southern woman raised her eyebrows, playfulness coloring her blue orbs. "Mr. Abernathy, are you implying that keeping your guest entertained is a chore? How very ungentlemanly of you! Although, I do recall you being rather adept at keeping me amused," Lucy replied, her blue orbs shining while a smirk graced her lips. Then her eyes widened as she realized the full implications behind the words, and she blushed, unable to tear her eyes away from the face in front of her.

"Forgive me," she murmured at last, eyes shooting down to watch their knees bumping gently together. She frowned slightly. She hadn't meant to say something so inappropriate, but it just slipped out without thought, like it was just another thing to fire off in their usual banter. But not one to dwell on upsetting thoughts, that frown wiped itself off as quickly as it had come, and she beamed at Virgil.

"Actually, I have a few things to do here, if you don't mind? I need to visit the tailor to pick up a dress. Camilla says I need it soon, and she also thinks I might want to participate in those outings with her friends. She says I should invest in more ladylike activities than ruining my health by reading in the cold or making cornbread and peach cobblers." Lucy wrinkled her nose at the memory of her cousin sitting her down to inform her that she couldn't lock herself away in the house. How was she supposed to be a cultured, well-mannered woman if she didn't take part in all the things that shaped a woman to be fit for society? At least, that's what Camilla argued. And she had always been that way since they were little, taking the time to shame Lucy for tumbling around in the dirt or wiping muddy fingers on her dress.

"You don't think they're all that bad, do you? The cobblers, I mean. They're probably a touch too sweet, but I just can't help myself..." But of course Virgil knew that already. How many times had he teased her about adding an extra sugarcube to her tea? Oh, but she knew he had loved her sweet tooth, especially when he could taste the sweetness in one of their kisses...

She blushed silently again, smiling to herself and looking out the window as she thought of fond memories. The air was frosty, but suddenly a warmness overtook her, heating her cheeks and neck.

"Oh, and I'd love to get some stationary. To write home to family! I'm sure mother would like to know I'm doing well. Rose, too. And Mary Ann might like to know that her son has an exceptional home and... And a beautiful wife." The statement was genuine, even if the last phrase did sound a bit forced on her end. How could she not still harbor jealousy and a little disappointment toward Camilla? It had barely faded since she arrived, but Lucy thought herself excellent at hiding those particular emotions. If anything, her cousin might have thought Lucy sour due to her pushiness in getting her out of the house. Her expression softened, and she smiled kindly at Virgil. "Then you can entertain me with whatever you wish to show me. I am a stranger here!"

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Peach cobblers. He leaned back in his seat and laughed a little to himself. She had always had such a sweet tooth, Lucy Rayne, the sort of girl who would suck on sugar cubes after finishing her cup of tea. Would eat a little taste of honey with a spoon. "You always were the sweetest of things" he murmured, not caring how it sounded, too lost in the thoughts of peach cobblers and sugar mice. He closed his eyes slightly as she spoke, feeling the memory wash over him unbidden of soft, sweet, slightly sticky lips. Of hot summer evenings. Of Lucy Rayne, the only girl who had ever held his hear......

He stopped. Enough. He leaned forward again, nodding distractedly as she told him her desires. Virgil planned to indulge her today, to make himself feel a little better for how he had treated her before. That was the only reason, he had told himself this morning, but now, looking at her smile vivaciously, counting off her tasks on her small, delicate fingers, he wasn't so sure. Was he really trying to steal another moment from those sweet lips of hers?

Then she mentioned his mother. "Don't" he said simply, his fingers pressing into the corners of his eyes, "don't". His mother... "She doesn't need to know anything. What would it do for her to know that whilst her youngest lies in an unmarked grave in Pennsylvania and her eldest languishes in disgrace in prison in Richmond until he his bailed, that only her middle son, the one who ran away, was doing well". He sat back, sorry for making the situation awkward, but still glad to have pinched that in the bud. His mother... The carriage went over a bump, his knees knocking slightly against her own. Virginia was lost to him now. Another world. Even though Lucille Rayne had appeared, as if blown in by a southern wind, and threatened to reattach all the old connections. As for having a beautiful wife....his mother had already approved of his first choice. Had never stopped approving of it even after he had left Virginia. Her letters from the war lay, read but unanswered, in his bureau drawer. Urging letters telling him to take Lucy back. To leave, if he could no longer stomach the South, for California or Europe or wherever, with his Southern Belle. He folded his hands in his lap, looking across at her knees. They were covered in her soft dress, fabric concealing the tender lines beneath. He had broken this girl's heart, his mother had told him, as sure as she had broken his. Was that true?

They pulled up outside a stationers, and Virgil covered the purchases with a soft smile, before the moved on to the dressmakers.

He sat in the outer-room whilst the fitting took place, flicking idly through a periodical. Something from Britain, talking of industry and commerce and everything so profoundly Northern. He read dozens of the things for work but now, in this gentile surrounding, the magazine seemed odd. Out of place. He wondered idly who had left it there.

"Would you like to see the dress on, Monsieur, before you purchase?" said the fitter in what Virgil thought was quite an obviously fake French accent. He stepped into the room and paused, a sudden anger welling up in him. This was Camilla's doing. Wrapping her up, trussing her up, like another Northern girl. The dress was all high collar and corset and....wrong.

"Its wrong on her" he said flatly.

"Monsieur?"

He saw Lucy turn to stare at him from the slight dais she was on for the fitting, unsure about what was happening.

"This lady is a Southern Belle, Madame" he said softly, eyes fixed on Lucy's. "She has hair like spun gold and skin like a sweet peach. This is all wrong on her."

"I agree, of course, Monsieur, but Madame Abernathy..."

"I don't give a damn about Madame Abernathy today" he said, a little more forcefully than he meant, but continued on. "Mr Abernathy is paying, so Mr Abernathy says put something together that Mademoiselle Rayne is truly suited to".

Then, slightly red in the face, he retired back out of the sunlit room.

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Lucy's eyes watched Virgil as he came in and walked out, curiosity filling her shining blue orbs. She almost beamed at his words but smiled to herself instead, thinking for the first time since arriving that this was the Virgil Abernathy she knew. His words coated her like honey, making her giddy with warm emotion that sent butterflies through her stomach. How was he able to still make her feel like this after so long? He always did have a way with words, able to weave them together to make a her feel beautiful. Well, probably other women as well -- Camilla was evidence of that -- but he was the only one to ever make her feel that way. Oh, she loved playing those games when she was younger. She remembered a party for when she turned 16; she remembered a young Virgil telling her she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever set eyes upon. "You're an outrageous liar," she'd told him, only to hear him laugh back and say, "I'm a liar about many things, Miss Rayne, but never about you."

She closed her eyes, the memory washing over her like the warm sunlight from the windows, and her breath caught as she remembered the kiss that followed after his kind words.

Her breath!

Lucy swayed on the spot, slightly dizzy from the lack of oxygen in her lungs. She opened her eyes, looking at the girl in the mirror across from her. The dress was a pale orange, almost peach color that washed out her skin and made her blonde hair seem dull. It didn't look bad on her . . . not really. The conservative high collar wrapped around her neck, the sleeves extended down to her wrists, and the dress puffed around her with mounds of petticoats, accented by endless ruffles and lace. It wasn't a typical dress she'd wear to a party or an event and it was something that still screamed luxury and expense, but . . . like Virgil had said, it just didn't look right on her. The worst part was the corset, strung up much too tight and making it difficult for her to breathe.

"The corset," she almost gasped out, "How many inches is it?"

"Eighteen," the dressmaker said fondly, stepping back to look at what she probably thought was her masterpiece. "Eighteen inch waist, and you do look so very beautiful. Like a doll."

Lucy shook her head. "Loosen it! Loosen it, please."

"Mademoiselle? The slim waist does look very pleasing to the eye -- all the best fashions from London call for such a slim waist, and your petite figure matches it very well."

Lucy shook her head again, already beginning to reach behind her back to undo the buttons of the dress to get the boned contraption underneath. "No. Lace me up to nineteen and a half, or twenty, or twenty and a half. Eighteen is much too small!"

With a slight look of regret, the dressmaker removed the dress and unlaced the corset, pulling it apart then tightening it to twenty inches. "Is there a style of dress you'd prefer to this one?" The dressmaker started putting the dress away, leaving the Virginian woman in a bundle of stiff crinoline and underskirts, and she gestured to the dresses that lined the walls.

"No high collars," the younger woman answered almost automatically, "And something a bit . . . simpler? Do include the ruffles, and maybe a bow?" The grand patterns of the Northern fashions never really appealed to her, and the heavy floral prints made her feel like a walking tablecloth. No, she much preferred something simple in its beauty, with just enough accents to truly make it a masterpiece. She tried on half a dozen dresses before stopping at one, a wide smile lighting up her face. The dress had a layer of white with a layer of ruched scarlet skirts lying atop the white, and the bodice and sleeves were the same deep shade of red. The sleeves were off-the-shoulder and slightly ruffled, the neckline was almost pushing scandalous with its sweetheart design, and a sash wrapped around the waist to tie in a bow at the back. Yes, she thought, this was her dress. "This one," she said at last.

"Mademoiselle? Are you sure? The current styles are pastels and --"

"This one, please," Lucy repeated once more, clearly happy with her decision.

The dressmaker circled around her, a smile on her face. "Yes, this one does suit you. Not quite what Madame Abernathy prescribed, but if Monsieur Abernathy finds it acceptable . . . then that will be good, non? Would you like to present this dress to him as well?"

Lucy nodded, then paused as her eyes caught one of the tired dresses laying across the chair next to the dressmaker. A lavender one. "Wait! I think I would like a pastel gown . . . that lavender dress? Yes, that one." The color and style were close to the one she had worn at fifteen, during her older sister's debutante party, except this dress was obviously made for a woman and not a budding adolescent. The neckline wasn't as low as the dress she had on now, but compared to the red, the lavender dress seemed calmer and sweeter, like a warm flame rather than a burning fire. "Can I have it boxed now? No, it's fine if Monsieur Abernathy doesn't see it . . ."

As the dressmaker nodded and grasped the lavender gown, Lucy hopped off the platform and poked her head into the doorway leading to the room over, blonde hair tumbling over one shoulder. "Virgil?" she asked, eyes sparkling with unmistakable playfulness. "Mr. Abernathy, I think I should like two dresses today. One for each week I was holed up in that grand home of yours, yes?"

Then in a calmer tone with an expression of pure delight, she said, "You needn't pay for the other dress, actually. Mother left me money to buy my own clothing. But wouldn't you like to see this one?" She flashed a quick grin at him before turning on her heel back into the room.

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Virgil paced the sunlit outer room, thinking. Thinking about Lucy. That intrusion into the dressmaking room had taken him back, the years melting away, to how they used to be. He clasped his hands nervously behind his back. "Hells" he muttered.

It had been a party. Some society event his mother had organised? No, they were at her house. The setting floated back, like mist forming around the younger him, and he was there again. The flowers, violets, in every buttonhole. Her sister's sixteenth. He remembered now. Violets for Viola. That had been the joke. Lucy had fumed all day, seeing his buttonhole the same as the others, knowing that for once she was not the center of attention. Not even from him.

She'd tweaked it out of his jacket, or tried to, as he came into the room. She'd been too short and he twisted this way and that, feeling her stretch to reach, laughing at her reddening face.

"Virgilllll!" she'd practically shrieked, swatting at him in frustration.

"You're such a spoiled little madam" he'd chuckled, letting her little hand connect with his cheek. It was a tiny blow, hardly felt, but he liked the caress of her touch. The small finger tips meeting his jaw.

There was no-one else in the room, just the two of them. The rustle of her soft dress and the smell of her perfume filled his senses and he'd leaned in, cupping her face, and kissed her. Passionately. It had been one of the first truly loving kisses he'd given her, and her eyes had been wide open in surprise.

When he drew back he bent down and, plucking the violet from his buttonhole, tucked it behind her ear. "Here. Its Viola's day. So take this, behave yourself, and know that you'll always be the belle of my ball". Then he kissed her lips again, holding her close to him.

"I'll always love you Lucy Rayne" he murmured to her "and when you're my wife you can always tell me exactly how to dress to best please you".

He turned, jolted out of his memories, when he heard Lucy call to him. His heart fluttered a little in his chest as he saw her stick her head out of the door, a cascade of golden locks tumbling down along the side of the woodwork, flashing him, inadvertently, a hint of tanned shoulder. He arched an eyebrow at her request.

"Two dresses?" It was pure Lucille Rayne. Cheeky and spoiled and he felt himself instantly give way. This had been, before 1860, the life he wanted with her. Giving her everything. Spoiling her. Living to see that smile.

"I wouldn't dream of making a fine woman such as yourself pay" he teased, stepping towards the door she skittered back from, "I mean, this isn't Castle of Otranto or any of the gothic books you love so much. How else can I prove I'm not your evil jailo....."

The words died in his mouth. There, on a slight pedestal, stood a cheekily grinning Lucille Rayne. He felt like his heart was about to burst at the sight of her.

The dress was a pale white with scarlet ruffles on the skirt, whilst the bodice was red. A warm, deep red that caught the light. She shifted, turning on the spot to face him, and his breath caught. Lucy Rayne was, truly, a woman now. The dress had a scandalous neckline, at least by his new Yankee standards, and his gaze fell to her delicate throat and the swell of her breasts. The flesh was pressed up, creating a fine valley, but the dress as a whole seemed less tight than the last one. Lucille was free to breathe and, swishing her skirts at him, giggled before him.

He swallowed. "You...." he paused, thinking of Camilla. He pushed the thoughts aside. He was just cheering up an old friend, he tried to tell himself, just that.

Virgil smiled, his old polite yet teasing smile from Virginia. It had been a long time since that smile, that had so often been reserved for her, had creased his face. "You look the belle of the ball" he smiled.

"Box it and charge them both to my account" he told the girl.

Within ten minutes Lucy was changed again and they were heading back into the carriage.

He paused, on the pavement, considering. He had been meaning to take her to the theatre but maybe he needed her to see something else. To understand.

"Wo...Would you care to see my factory?" he asked suddenly, earnestly looking into those eyes he now craved, "I know it is hardly an exciting venue but...."

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

"Thank you!" Lucy beamed at the dressmaker then she followed Virgil out of the shop, a bright hop in her step as she walked.

You look the belle of the ball. She pondered the words, letting them run through her mind. Virgil had said words just like those a long time ago... She almost chuckled, remembering how she'd earned them.

Pouting around, sulking about how Viola had all the attention. Viola was beautiful, Viola looked like an angel, and Viola's dress was the prettiest. Lucy had watched as he sister was whisked around the ballroom by the young men, watched as her teary-eyed mother looked on fondly at her eldest daughter, and even watched as the Abernathy boys who were of age completed Viola's first dances of the evening. She had stormed into one of the adjoining rooms when she saw, at last, a tall, dirty blonde male step forward and take Viola's hand. They were the same age, her sister and Virgil, and it had irrationally angered her to see him hold her so close. But he had come to her afterwards, tucked the violets behind her ear and said, "You'll always be the belle of my ball. I'll always love you, Lucy Rayne." And he'd danced with her afterwards, stayed with her when she got bored, and entertained her with stolen moments out on the veranda.

Her grin softened to a sad smile as her eyes followed the man in front of her, when he stopped suddenly. His factory? She could sense the hesitation in his question, and for just a moment she wanted to take his hand and squeeze it, to let him know that she did, in fact, care. A younger Lucy might have pouted about wanting to go sightseeing; a younger Lucy might have complained about it being boring, but she knew now that spending time with Virgil was simply a treasure in itself. Distantly she wished she had realized it much sooner, back before 1860, but then later was always better than never.

"Yes please," Lucy responded with a smile, "I would love to see your factory. How else would I repay you for those two wonderful dresses?"

She laughed lightly and stepped into the carriage, openly staring at Virgil as he took a seat across from her. She knew he wanted to drop the issue of family earlier, but her stubborn self didn't. Was he not aware of how much his family missed him? Of how much his mother missed him? Of how she would rather have one son to hold in her arms rather than lose all three? ...Did Virgil know how much Lucy had missed him?

The rode in silence, then after a few minutes had passed, she opened her mouth to speak. "Virgil... She does want to know. Your mother, I mean. It would do her well to know that one of her sons is living a prosperous, good life. Do you think it would pain her to find that you are well off? Do you think it would bring her worry to know that you are living a life she wanted for you? Do you think she would be upset because you ran away? Well, it won't do any of those things."

Angry blue eyes flashed at him, upset with his unwillingness to connect with his family. "Family is family. We Southerners should know that better than anyone. Just because you live in Yankee territory doesn't mean you've lost near 18 years of your life, Virgil. They -- your father, mother, siblings -- have missed you starting the very second you took your first step out off the Abernathy plantation. My family missed you terribly after you left."

And because she couldn't help herself, she looked out the carriage window as she said her next words. "I missed you..." A brief look of hurt washed over her face before the steely gaze returned. "I hoped... we hoped for days, weeks, even months for your return, and if you think for a second that we stopped missing you or stopped caring about you even after five years, well, you hardly know your family at all."

The carriage came to a stop outside a large red brick building, and Lucy's eyes cooled and softened, melting into a kinder expression. "I believe you have a factory to show me, Mr. Abernathy."

 

[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.

 

[Chai]

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.

 

[Reydan]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

It had been a cruel idea. To bring Lucy to this place. A cruel idea. Virgil cursed himself for it, as he watched her struggle to come to terms with what she saw. He had almost forgotten how she really was, after years of pushing her to the back of his mind. Of convincing himself that she had been symptomatic of the world he had left behind. Had cursed on that train as it sped North. But in truth that was unfair. The slaves on the Rayne plantation had not been that badly treated. No worse than at the Abernathy estate. And Lucy had not been a part of that, only attached to it as he himself had been. On the train up his ardent young mind had not seen any difference. Now, he was not so sure.

He watched her study the faces and the work, moving between the long benches at his side, as Greggs served as guide, pointing out small things here and there to her. She paused, by the women, and Virgil saw her bring her hands up, study them, turning them over and over. Was she wondering what such work might do to her slender fingers? He watched as a shaft of dusty light caught her actions, enshrining her hands in a golden glow, and he felt something stir within him. Old feelings moving about, detaching themselves from dusty ledges and crevices, shaking off the weariness of inaction and age. He was all a-stir since Lucille Rayne had returned to him. He swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

He walked along with her, letting her take it all in, not wanting to thrust his opinions or thoughts upon her lest she think him judging her. The factory had, until this day, been Virgil's moral compass. A sign that, whatever heart-ache and sadness accompanied his cold marriage and lonely life in the North, his flight from the South had been the right decision. The moral one. He could not believe in his wife's cold evangelical vision of God, although he loved her as a husband should, for he had grown up in the warm luxuriousness of an episcopal faith. As Lucy Rayne had done. Where good deeds were not just their own rewards but the way of atoning for past sins. The factory was his atonement. But now...

...Now Lucille Rayne was here, walking around as if in his heart or his mind, and all his senses were jangling. They were discordant and lilting, and his mind was sent back to the windchime that hung from the veranda of the Abernathy home. His mother had put it there, to gauge the weather in its own subtle way, and it had chimed sweetly as he waited for Lucille Rayne of an evening. How he had loved her...

He almost missed her question, so wrapped up in his reverie was he, and he stared at her for a moment or two before answering. He could see the tension in her eyes, the strange mixture of interest and fear, and saw her lips tremble in anticipation. She was levering up, on her tiptoes, and at that moment he almost craned his neck down and kissed her. So powerful was the muscle memory of such a moment. He almost reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pressed his lips to her sweet little mouth. Almost.

"Sometimes they say bad things" he smiled, trying to put her at ease, "When they have to work very hard for an order. But they always talk to me. And I to them. And I pay them. They are free to go at the end of the day. And....if we are not friends then, I think, we respect each other".

He took her arm, wanting to guide her through to the finished shop at the front of the warehouse when the doors swung open and a cart of boots was wheeled past on the rails. Lucy, on her toes, was caught off balance, tumbling against him, and he caught her in his arms. They were pressed together, in the small space of shadow behind the door. He could hear Greggs, on the other side of the wood, chastising the cart man for his carelessness. In that small space all was Lucille Rayne. Her soft curves. Her rumpled silk. Her unmistakable Southern scent.

"I never stopped waiting for you to come to me" he whispered, eyes locked on hers. He didn't know why he said it, the words falling from his lips before he could even realise, but he said it. "I wanted you so badly Lucy. Needed you. Don't think you were alone in yearning. I still...."

Then the door was pulled back by an apologetic Greggs and Virgil righted Lucy on her feet once more.

 

[Chai]

RE: Southern Girl ::: {Ariamella & Reydan}

Friends? Lucy wanted to ask, more than a little confused by his words. Did they not resent him? But before she could open her mouth, the doors behind them opened in a rush and she felt a firm object catch on her bundles of dress. It knocked her forward, making her elicit a quiet "oomph!" and grasp at Virgil's arms in front of her as she tried, and failed, at steadying herself. Instead she went tumbling forward, her face falling into his chest and her small frame pressing against him. She froze as the sensations enveloped her; the familiar feel of lean muscle underneath the suit, the fresh scent that could only be described as 'cotton and Virgil,' and the feel of his warm arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

Maybe it was their past history. Maybe it was the nearness of their bodies. Maybe it was some urge to be with him that had been suppressed over the years he was gone. But whatever it was, it triggered not a second after the fall and Lucy melted into Virgil like she had done so many times before, her small hands tugging the fabric below his shoulders. There was something so natural about the action and, for the first time, she felt as if she had finally found a piece of home in New York. It never crossed her mind that Virgil was a married man, that his wife was her cousin, that this was extremely inappropriate behavior for a unmarried lady, or that Mr. Greggs was just beyond the barrier of wood. No, what did cross her mind was the feeling of satisfaction that coursed through her entire body.

Lucy flashed her blue gaze upwards to meet his eyes, her own orbs wide and shining with shielded emotion. He carried the same shocked expression as she, but she knew him well enough to tell that he was comfortable all the same. A million thoughts ran through her head, all fighting to come out, and she simply stared up at her former love with searching eyes and her mouth slightly ajar from the lack of words. But they both seemed to connect with each other despite the silence.

"I never stopped waiting for you to come to me," he said just a moment later. "I wanted you so badly Lucy. Needed you. Don't think you were alone in yearning. I still...."

Virgil was cut off by the sound of the moving door, and he gently pushed the blonde upright, loosening her grip on him and allowing her hands to slide off his coat sleeves. Startled, Lucy jerked backwards and ran her hands over the skirts of her dress, smoothing them down in nervous movement. Greggs was shaking his head and offering apology, but Lucy only vaguely nodded, her mind and gaze dead set on the sandy-haired man still in front of her. More specifically, she couldn't shake the words out of her head. Those were words that she wanted to hear the past 5 years, yet when they were finally said, she could hardly believe it! The moment had gone by so quickly; had she imagined it? No... definitely not. There was no mistaking the sincerity of his tone, and she wanted to respond accordingly by pressing herself to him and pulling his head down to hers in passionate embrace. But there was still one thing to settle: his last phrase. "I still..." He still...what? Wanted her? Needed her? Loved her? She needed to know.

"Thank you," Lucy smiled at Greggs, flashing him and Virgil a grin of pure radiance. "It was hardly any trouble at all. Mr Abernathy and yourself must have a very strict schedule to follow, and having me here likely disrupted that schedule. This is a very lovely factory, and I'm sure Union Boot and Shoe Company is flourishing under your care. Admittedly, this is different from where I'm from, but it is interesting all the same. Now pardon me, gentlemen... I'll just step outside for some fresh air..."

She stepped through the set of doors that led back from where they came and started walking away from the factory floor. Of course, her intention never was to go outside, but instead to find an area where she could converse with Virgil without Greggs present. She had always been one to decide things and go off by herself, and, if Virgil was anything like he had been before he left, he was the type to follow her. At least, that's what Lucy was hoping for as she turned into a silent hallway where the muffled sounds of factory workers could barely be heard. At the end of the hallway was a room that was slightly ajar, and upon pushing it wide open she could only presume it was an office belonging to either Virgil or Harold. The decor was fairly simple; an oak desk sat in the center of the room with a chair on the far end behind it. A tall bookcase with various items was situated on the left of the room, and a window on the right looked out the busy New York streets.

Lucy strode to the window and peered out at the industrial North, feeling slightly pleased with herself. Then with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, as part of what she always did, she counted the seconds until Virgil approached her.