Truly Blessed

By Penny Garrity

Truly Blessed tells the story of DW Wilcox from her life as a sharecropper's daughter becoming the young bride of a Mississippi plantation owner to leading a wagon train of freed slaves to California where she builds a life with the man she loves and becomes the matriarch of a most unusual family. At one hundred and two years of age, in telling her life story she teaches a young writer the true meaning of faith, family, love and courage.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Penny Garrity
• Release date: Aug 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005855260

Penny Garrity

I don't have what most people would consider an interesting life. I have an intelligent, gorgeous daughter, 3 fabulous grandchildren and fantastic friends. I've worked some interesting (another word for weird) jobs like cooking chicken feathers and climbing telephone poles but most of my life I've just worked and taken care of my family. I started writing in 6th grade encouraged when my teacher submitted my short story assignment to a magazine. Unfortunately at that time, years and years and years ago, you couldn't be published unless you were 18. My freshman year of high school I wrote most of my class' short story assignments. Almost everyone got an A except me because I didn't get mine finished. However I got a B and made almost $100 so I was happy. My senior year I worked for a tiny weekly newspaper. I worked for awhile as an editor, copywriter and every other needed position for Prevue movie magazine (not as exciting as it sounds). There was a long time when I didn't write at all (made for a very grouchy mama, just ask my daughter) and then along came the internet (yes youngsters there was a time when the internet didn't exist. We used things called typewriters or pen and paper) and an angel named Glenda who introduced me to fan fiction and re-ignited my love of writing and fanned the flames of my imagination. I've written (or am in the process of writing or editing) several books but with my family and friends encouragement Truly Blessed is the first I've published. It's taken years to work up the courage to put my work out there (except for my Stargate SG1 and M7 fanfic) and I hope everyone enjoys it.

Book preview

TRULY BLESSED

By Penny Garrity

Chapter One

IS SHE HERE? WITH that question, the quiet crowd in the huge room parted to allow me access to the elderly woman who was seated in a wheelchair near the window.

Title it Truly Blessed for that's what I was and am. With those soft words, her violet eyes gazing into the distance and a wistful smile on her lips, D. W. Ford took the hand of the Angel of Death and departed this mortal life. This is the story of a remarkable woman who changed the lives of everyone she knew and whose faith in God never wavered.

_______________________________________

I first met Miss D. just over a year earlier when my wreck of a jalopy broke down not far from the turn off to her remote property. A young man of color who introduced himself as James Nathaniel Ford, stopped to offer his assistance and, unable to repair the problem himself, instead offered the use of his great grandmother's telephone. Raised in a tiny town in Wisconsin my parents taught me never to judge someone by anything other than their actions, but truth be told, I was becoming nervous as we traveled the long lonely road through the hills. Growing up, the only colored person I’d ever met was Joe who worked at the Seed and Feed. He was quiet, polite and friendly but he and his family kept to themselves.

Times were hard and the entire country was in an economic crisis but young and naive I hadn’t realized just how bad it truly was until I left home. I had now seen for myself the endless lines outside soup kitchens in every town I passed through. Crowded slums, shanty towns and people living in tents, struggling to survive.

Realizing no one knew where I was, I nervously twisted my fingers into knots as horror stories I had heard of bandits waylaying and killing travelers, of people desperate for money beating and robbing someone for the change in their pockets, began to filter into my brain. I was thinking of how badly I might be hurt if I jumped from the moving vehicle and where I would go or how far I would get before being caught, when the tree lined road suddenly gave access to view an old two-story hacienda style building in the middle of a beautiful little valley.

Several smaller, more modern homes with flower and vegetable gardens had been built near the ancient stone walls which enclosed the enormous main structure and off to the side was what appeared to be a small church complete with steeple and bell. In the distance behind the house were several large barns, corrals and empty fields that had been harvested of their crops.

Curiosity began to well inside me. This definitely wasn't a shantytown or the tiny farm I had expected from the beat up old truck James was driving. A dozen children of all ages, who didn't seem at all surprised by the appearance of a stranger, stopped their play long enough to call greetings to my escort as we exited the vehicle.

Following my rescuer, I wondered if I was expected to do the same when James lightly touched an elaborately carved silver tube attached at an angle next to the door then kissed his fingers, as he entered the house.

I'll give Able a call and have him come look at your car. If it's got an  engine, that boy can fix it. James had informed me as I followed him into what appeared to be an office or perhaps a library. Shelves full of books  lined two walls. A large desk sat near the windows and several small tables with chairs and comfortable sofas were situated around the room.

As he finished his quick conversation, a smile of pure love lit his face and I turned as a young woman of Hispanic descent entered the room. She wasn't what most people would describe as beautiful. Even if it hadn't been obvious she was several months into her pregnancy, she was slightly on the heavy side, but was one of those women who carried her weight well. Seeing the love in her large dark eyes and her soft sweet smile, the word beautiful immediately leapt to mind. 

This is my wife, Bonita. After a quick kiss, he introduced us while bending to scoop up the two-year-old toddler that shot past her on chubby legs. And this little fireball is Juan Roberto or JR for short. Able's on his way out to look at Miss Wells’ car, he explained my presence to her. It broke down near the turnoff.

Well if anyone can fix it, Able can. Meanwhile I'll go set another place at the dinner table.

My quick protests that I didn't want to be a bother were just as quickly ignored with friendly smiles and assurances there was always room for one more.

Miss D would take a switch to all our backsides if we let anyone leave this house hungry. James laughed.

You call your grandmother Miss D? I didn’t know my maternal grandmother who had passed on when I was two but grandma Cora would have yanked a knot in my tail if I’d called her by anything except Grandma or ma’am.

You will too. He shrugged, Everyone does. Always have.

When my offer of assistance was politely refused I attempted to remain out of the way as shortly, noise and laughter filled the house when children rushed to wash up for supper or were sent back by an adult to do a better job amid the controlled chaos. The delicious aromas had my mouth watering and stomach grumbling as platters of fried chicken, corn on the cob, fried green tomatoes, and bowls of mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green beans, cornbread and rolls were placed on two of the four long tables currently occupying the dining hall. Since leaving home, my meals had consisted of a sandwich and sometimes a bowl of soup. I was grateful, knowing there were those who couldn’t afford that much.

Names spun dizzily through my mind as everyone introduced themselves and I couldn't help but wonder with so many people, if they ever forgot the name of a family member.

James had insisted I sit to the left of the older woman at the head of the table as everyone clambered for a seat. Silence momentarily reigned as, taking the hand of the person next to them, everyone bowed their heads and a teenage girl a few chairs from me said grace, her words genuine and sincere as she gave thanks for their many blessings.

Having met James and Bonita, I had expected to be having dinner with a colored family, but instead found myself surrounded by a mix of nationalities. I couldn't help but think that these people had happily offered help and a meal to a complete stranger, yet if this were a public restaurant, most of them would not be allowed through the front doors. I had to wonder, what did that say about our country? The United States was a nation who supposedly welcomed all immigrants, but equality for all wasn’t a given. It was October of 1933 for heaven sakes. Weren't we supposed to be a civilized nation?

However, nothing surprised me more than Miss D. herself. She had  entered the room as regally as the queen of a foreign country. A slightly built white woman of indeterminate age with silver hair and bright violet eyes, wearing a tee-shirt and faded overalls.

The lively conversation centered on everything from what happened that day to current world events. Even the children were encouraged to join in, their numerous questions answered and opinions offered and argued without anger or looks of derision.So what brings you to our tiny part of the country, Miss Wells? Miss D. finally turned her full attention to me.

Bet she's headed to the city ta marry her beau.  A small boy with laughing green eyes and large dimples grinned at me from the other table.

That's Asa. He's our little gambler. James chuckled. He'd bet on which way the wind was gonna blow next if he thought it would make him a nickel.

Comes by it natural. Miss D. gazed at the child with a special fondness.

I smiled as I shook my head. He'd lose his nickel this time. I'm hoping to get a job writing for one of the newspapers or even a magazine. I suddenly felt like a bug under a microscope as the adults fell silent and all turned their attention to me.

You're a writer? Bonita questioned, giving her husband a sideways glance.

I hope so. I nodded. At least I would like to be. My folks have a small farm in Wisconsin, but I've wanted to write since the first time I held a pencil. I couldn't resist giving the little gambler a teasing wink. Maybe I'll find myself a beau while I'm here. It would certainly make my mother happy.

Did the bank take away your farm, too? A little girl questioned.

Amanda Jane! Mind your manners! Her mother admonished her. You know better than to ask a guest such personal questions.

But the man on the radio said lots of people are losing their farms, the child clarified with a frown.

I guess that's true. I nodded. The country's going through a terrible time right now, but my folks’ farm, like most of them in our town, has been in the family for generations so they didn't owe the bank. Being pretty well  self-sufficient, the area hasn’t been hit as hard as some of the big cities where everything has to be bought or even larger areas where farms borrowed seed money from the banks. Neighbors help each other with harvesting and they're all growing just what they need for their families. Any extra they sell or barter with the local grocery store or other shops.

Just like us, Amanda Jane stated.

I like to think it's how it was when people first started settling the west, I added.

James suddenly choked on his coffee and some of the adults as well as Miss D. laughed outright as Bonita pounded on his back.

It seems like there would be more opportunities for a writer back East...maybe New York or Boston or even Chicago, James suggested when he could breathe normally again.

More competition too but I did consider that. Something kept telling me to go west and I've always wanted to see California, so....

At that moment, a young man in his mid-twenties, with bright red hair and a face full of freckles, hurried into the room. Dropping a quick kiss on top of Miss D.'s head, he snatched a chicken leg from a platter before dropping into the nearest chair and bowing his head said a quick silent prayer.

Looks like your carburetor might be clogged up, he told me as he filled his plate. Got your car hooked to the truck outside. I'll haul it down to the shop in the mornin' and see if I can get ya all fixed up.

I must have blanched, wondering if what was left of my meager savings would pay for the repair and leave me enough to rent a bed in even the cheapest boarding house.

We were raised to help when possible so just pay when ya can, he  quickly assured me.

Miss D. announced I would be spending the night, refusing to take no for an answer and ordering me to call my parents and let them know I was safe. With that pronouncement, conversation returned to normal, but I had the distinct feeling that something very important had changed.

_______________________________

I’m really sorry to intrude on your family reunion, I apologized to the young woman whose name I couldn’t remember. Not wanting to appear the unsophisticated country bumpkin I felt like, I tried not to stare at the beautiful decor as I followed her to the room where I would spend the night.  Even with the Depression, it wasn’t what I had imagined a California mansion to look like. Where were the crystal chandeliers, marble floors and grand staircases? Where was the fabulous artwork and expensive furniture you were afraid to sit on, shown in magazine pictures? While none of the furnishings or paintings I was seeing seemed particularly expensive, there was a quiet elegance and yet a hominess that made one feel at ease.

I had hesitated long enough to admire the painting above the fireplace of a girl who looked to be in her early teens with black curly hair and enormous eyes just a slightly darker color than the lavender gown she wore.

You’d need to add a couple hundred people for a family reunion. Her look of confusion disappeared with a giggle. That was just one of the weekly get-togethers. Those of us who live here in the main house eat with Miss D. every night, but once or twice a week, everybody gets together for dinner.

The room she motioned me into was twice as large as my room back home which wasn't saying much. There was a definite masculine aura with a comfortable bed, dresser, a desk and a worn, well used leather chair. A crystal container of amber colored alcohol and matching glasses sat on a silver tray on top of the dresser.

A small settee and table sat near the window which overlooked a courtyard where I could see several of the adults had gathered around a small fire pit, engaged in lively conversation while some of the children happily played nearby.

I know you'd probably like to join the young’un's down by the fire, but I was wonderin' if you'd mind keeping an old lady company for a spell. Using a cane for support, Miss D. stood in the doorway and at my quick nod of assurance, crossed to the sofa.

Close the door behind ya, Ruthie. Miss D. grinned at the girl who had dawdled about, turning down the bed and pouring the two of us a small portion of liquid from the container as if she were a maid in a fancy hotel. And I have perfect hearing so I don't need another set of ears on the other side.

I'd never had any form of liquor before and tried not to choke as, following Miss D's example, I took a small sip. The amber liquid burned its way down my throat and a moment later warmed my insides.

She doesn't really eavesdrop, but her and Asa seem to know everything that goes on in the family. They're both extremely observant and if it's meant to be a secret they're both as tight lipped as a snapping turtle that's latched onto your finger. It can be very annoying when ya really wanna know something. Her eyes softened and a small smile touched her lips as she gazed about the room. This was Phineas' study. We put the bed in here for those times when he worked late, but I don't think he ever used it. When he was home, I can't remember a morning I didn't wake up beside him until the day after he left for heaven. I still come in every night and have a touch of his favorite scotch.

Perhaps I should stay in another-

Nonsense! I chose this room for a reason. Miss D. once again turned her full attention back to me. Now, tell me Miss Wells.

Please call me Melanie.

Alright, Melanie. Tell me about yourself.

I found myself telling her about my family and growing up on the farm. Talking to her was easy and I told her about going to work as a part time receptionist and proofreader at the local paper after I'd graduated. Mr. Benson didn't believe a woman should work outside the home unless, of course, it was as a secretary or nurse or some other female occupation and then, only until she married. Under no circumstances was a female to be a reporter. To put it in his words, there's a reason they're called ‘newspapermen’. He finally relented and let me write some small things like obituaries, birth announcements and upcoming church socials.

All the essential news. Miss D. laughed brightly.

Not to mention a couple of articles about the baking, quilting and jam contests at the county fair. After the crash, there was plenty of news for him and Frank, his son, to write about, but as things got worse, he couldn’t really afford to pay anyone else. For as long as I can remember, I'd been saving every penny I could so I gathered up my courage, my small savings, loaded the car and headed for parts unknown. I was twenty-years-old. Most of my childhood friends were already married and raising children. My parents had always hoped I would follow suit, settling down to life on a farm but understood it wouldn’t make me happy and always encouraged my dreams.

I found myself describing my cross country trip to this enigmatic woman. The beauty of the countryside, the crowded cities, tiny towns, and Hoovervilles, the sad desperation, and yet hopeful expressions, of other travelers I'd met or seen on my journey as they went about their daily lives or searched for work to support their families. I told her how, in order to save money, I'd often bathe in creeks and sleep in my car parked on busy streets or hidden in out of the way cornfields or groves of trees.

Now, here I am, intruding on your family, I concluded, embarrassed by how long I'd monopolized our conversation.

Nonsense! You are exactly where you are supposed to be, Miss D. stated with conviction. I have a proposition for you, Miss Melanie Wells. Last month, I turned a hundred and two years old. She laughed at my stunned expression. For the past few years, my family has been pestering me about puttin' my life story down on paper, although they've all heard the tale and probably know most a it as well as me. They seem to think it's important that all the little ones are able to pass on their history when they have their own children...Don't know why they can't just tell 'em...It was done that way for hundreds a years. People should never forget where they come from and families should know how they came to be. She sighed, listening to the laughter filtering in through the window. Anyway a couple of years ago, they even offered to hire a professional writer, but I told 'em if God wanted 'em to have a written record, he'd pick the person ta write it. And I reckon now he has.

Excuse me? It took several moments before I fully comprehended what she was suggesting. You...you...want me to write your life story? I shook my head in disbelief. Why me?

Why not you? she countered.

Flustered, I finally blurted out, I'm not a professional. Not really. Not yet anyway.

Honey, you don't think you ended up here by accident, do you? That your car broke down practically at our front door or that James just happened to have finished his shifts at the hospital and come home when he did. She reached over and patted my knee as if I were one of the children playing in the courtyard. God has a purpose and a plan for everyone and everything. He gave you the desire and the talent to write and He sent you to us. Now, I'll give you room and board and pay you ten dollars a week. When it's finished, if you can sell it, you can keep all the profits as long as my family gets a few copies for themselves. If ya can't sell it just make a copy for the family.

I was still sitting in stunned silence when she again patted my knee and pushed to her feet. Think about it...Better yet pray on it and give me your answer when you're ready.

For the next several hours I did nothing but think about it. The  truth was, I knew the answer before Miss D. had even left the room. Excitement burned through me as bright as the fire in the courtyard and warmed me more then the alcohol. I wanted to write her story. I wanted to discover how this unique family had come to be. I wanted to hear about the things she'd seen and done over the past one hundred and two years. Amazingly, I found it hard to believe she was one hundred and two years old!

Then, the doubt had set in. Could I actually do this? Could I put pen to paper and do justice to her life and the events she had experienced? In the end, I had done just as she suggested and kneeling by the bed, asked for God's guidance.

The next morning, the children helped as I unloaded my car and moved into what would become my temporary home and with those who would quickly become my second family.

This fits that old chest. The morning we began, she had laid a small key in my palm and gently closed my fingers over it, nodding to an ancient trunk, trimmed in strips of leather and metal studs, sitting in a far corner of the room.

It contains Phineas’ journals. In all these years I've never been able to bring myself to open it.

You've never read them?

Always seemed like an invasion of privacy. Besides, we never kept any secrets from each other. She smiled. But this is his story too so I reckon his side needs told.

A routine was just as quickly established as each day after breakfast, I gathered my notebooks and settled in for the morning to listen to this fascinating woman's story of courage, strength and faith.

This is her tale.

Chapter Two

I WAS BORN DORTHEA Wilhelmina Jenkins in late 1832. Dorthea after Mama’s mother and Wilhelmina after Papa’s. I loved my grands dearly, but hated my name...still do. My folks were sharecroppers in Maysville, Mississippi. I don't know if you could really call it a town, more like a spot in the road with a general store, tavern, and livery surrounded by plantations and sharecropper plots. Miss D began.

"I was the youngest of seven children and the only girl. The oldest was Henry, who died of the fever when he was just a baby. Then there was George, David, Abraham, who died of a snake bite when he was six, Gabriel and then Jacob, who was seven when I come along.

They were all good brothers, but maybe because the others were older and mostly grown, Jake was closest to me. He looked after me, played with me and it was Jake who first called me D.W.  I'm not sure if it was because he knew I hated my name or just because saying my full name was a mouthful, maybe a little of both, but it tightened that special bond between us. To Papa's amusement and Mama's consternation, while she was teaching me to cook and sew, Jake was helping Papa teach me to hunt, trap and skin.

There was something special about him. He was tall, handsome and full of life and laughter and it about broke my heart when he headed out to see the world. Mama said she knew right away Jake was a born drifter. Said there was a natural curiosity in his eyes and from the first time he could raise his head he was always lookin' around. Always wanted to know what was around the bend or over the next hill. Papa told her that would end as soon as he met the woman he was supposed to marry. Said it would hit him like a bolt of lightning and he'd settle down, happy as a hog in mud. Guess he was right cause... well, I'm gettin' way ahead of myself.

My folks might have been poor sharecroppers, but they were rich in their beliefs...God, family, hard work, and education. Mama always said God would always be there ta help ya through the hard times and ta celebrate the good ones. All you had ta do was trust that He knew what He was doin' and Papa said it was easy for people ta cheat ya if ya couldn't read or do your sums.

We had two rituals in the mornin' before we started our chores. Mama read to us from the Good Book and Papa gave us each a sip of corn mash. I don't think Mama was happy about Papa's part of the ritual, but he claimed it would kill the bad germs and help keep us strong and healthy. Said he didn't reckon God would mind help in that area seeing as how there was so many other folks who needed lookin' after.

Of an evening, soon as supper was over and cleanup done, my folks helped us with book learnin’ and on the rare times when Papa could get his hands on a newspaper, he made sure we all read every word. On Saturday nights, we’d sit around and sing, Jake playing his harmonica, or the little banjo he had earned money to buy, for he dearly loved the sound of music and Papa playin' his daddy's old fiddle.

I was fourteen when Charles Wilcox asked Papa for my hand.  We were married two months later and, I guess ta be honest, that's where my story truly begins.

By then, George had married and was working some property the other side of Maysville. Him and his wife, Sue Ellen were expectin' their third baby. David had married Becky Summerfield and had takin' over runnin' the general store when her daddy had passed on a couple years earlier. Gabe was still helping Papa and hired out for odd jobs when he could.  Jake...well, Jake had left for parts unknown a few years earlier, although we did get the occasional letter from him lettin' us know that he was all right and always with a special message for his baby sister.

Charles Wilcox was our landowner. He had the third largest plantation in our parish and strange as it seems, him being rich and all, was my Papa's best friend. They had grown up together, played together as children, hunted together as young men and Charles had stood up with Papa at his wedding.

Our marriage caused quite the scandal in the parish. Not because of our age difference because in truth, lots of girls my age were already married and had at least one baby. It wasn't even because, although they didn't say so out loud, since he'd never married; most people thought Charles was one of those sissy boys.

What was so scandalous was that he had married so far beneath his social station. I wasn't a debutante or even a poor relative of one of the other plantation owners, but the daughter of a simple sharecropper. The only thing that might have caused a bigger scandal was if I had been a penniless Yankee.

_______________________________________________

A few inches taller than Dorthea’s  five-foot-four, Charles was handsome enough with straight blond hair, gentle blue eyes and the slight beginnings of a paunch around his middle, but he was a good man. He was kind, sensitive and intelligent with a wonderful sense of humor.

I really don't need a big party, Mr. Wilcox.

Their wedding had been presided over by an itinerate preacher with just her family in attendance, but a large reception ball was already being planned for the following month.

Dorthea, I realize you've known me as your father's friend your entire life, but most wives call their husbands by his first name. He reined the carriage horses to a stop and turned in his seat to face her. Allow me to introduce myself. He held out his right hand, Charles Wilcox of Maysville, Mississippi.

What a coincidence, I’m Mrs. Dorthea Wilcox, although I hate the name Dorthea. she laughed as she shook his hand. I'm from Maysville, too.

You don't look like a Dorthea...How about Dorothy? He shook his head.

Dot? He grimaced giving an exaggerated shiver. Perhaps I'll just call you Dee.

She thought  it was his way of honoring Jake without usurping the bond she still held with her favorite brother.

And Dee, every woman deserves a big party once in a while and especially to celebrate her wedding.

She couldn't help glancing at the carpet bag as he clucked the horses back into motion. The old piece of luggage contained her few dresses, night clothes, the old shirt, pants and battered hat she wore when helping her Papa in the fields. From the corner of her eye, she’d seen her Mama try to hide her smile when she'd carefully placed the hat on top of the clothing before closing the bag. It was Jake's old hat. He'd given it to her when it no longer fit him and she knew DW would never leave it behind.

DW still couldn’t help but feel ill at ease as she ventured, But I reckon I don't exactly fit in with your friends.

You fit in perfectly with the friends that truly matter. He smiled at her. "However, if it will put your mind at ease, I guarantee that by the day of the ball, you will fit into high society, it sounded as if he were sneering at the term, as if you'd been born into it."

She suddenly realized while they'd been talking they'd turned into the drive and would soon be within sight of the main house. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears and folding her hands in her lap, hoping she looked prim and proper as she stiffened her spine to keep from shaking.

She’d been to Charles' house several times with Papa over the years. Then, she would sit in the kitchen and visit with Glory while she cooked and the woman always sent a special treat home for the family, but this time was different. This time she’d be here longer than it took to eat a few cookies and drink some sweet tea. This time she was coming here to live. This time she was coming here as Charles Wilcox’s wife. This time she was coming here as the mistress of the house.

The mistress of the house! The reality of that suddenly hit her fully.

She was a slave owner!

How could you own another person? She was aware slavery had been around as long as anybody knew. Hadn't there been slaves in the Bible? Joseph's brothers had sold him into slavery and Moses' people had been slaves. Evidently God didn't approve of slavery or he wouldn't a sent a bunch of frogs down on the Pharaoh when he refused to set Moses' people free. Course if he'd done that in Mississippi, most folks would have just said a prayer of thanks, gone giggin' and had good eats for supper.

But whether a body agreed with it or not, slavery was still a way of life in the south just as much as sharecropping. That being said, DW wasn't ignorant either. She knew how some plantation owners treated their people. How could you call them people, but claim they were property? How could you talk to them, watch them with their children, let 'em be nursemaid's to your youngun's and still say they were just owned animals like the milk cows or plow horses? That they were a commodity like cotton or tobacco to be sold for money or traded for wares?

She had grown up hearing the stories of how slave owners were terrified of what would happen if their slaves ever rose up against them and what happened to those slaves caught trying to run away. Horror stories that gave her nightmares and made her want to throw up because she knew they weren’t just made up tales, but stories of things that really happened. Beatings, torture, working from sunup to sundown, unspeakable horrors and sometimes death.

She was so caught up in her pondering it took a moment for what she was hearing to register in her brain and pull her attention back to her surroundings.

Charles’ slaves were lined up on both sides of the road quickly following as they passed, cheering, clapping, happily calling out greetings and their congratulations.

A teenage boy hurried forward to take control of the horses when Charles stopped at the front veranda which held even more slaves waiting to welcome them.

Everything alright, Tobias? Charles questioned a mountain of a man with skin the color of hickory.

Right as rain, boss.

Quickly removing his hat, the man gave her a toothy grin and Charles stifled a chuckle when she hopped from the carriage without waiting for help...so much for prim and proper. Dee, you know Tobias. He's my right hand man around here.

Welcome home, Missy Dee.

As if realizing they were being glared at, both men chuckled and Charles hurried up the stairs to give the tall sturdily built woman who stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, a quick hug. I stand corrected. Tobias is my right hand man outside the house. Glory runs everything else...including me and Tobias.

With a wide smile that lit up her entire face and an indulgent pat on DW’s new husband's cheek  the woman hurried forward and wrapped an arm around the young girl’s shoulders. Come on, child, let's get ya settled in. She turned back to the others. All y’all get about yer business. Y’all get a chance to meet her quick enough.

DW was led up the wide staircase to a set of rooms which seemed to her almost as big as her folk’s entire house. There was a sitting room with a desk and several chairs and settees. Vases of flowers sat on the tables and lamps had been lit, chasing away the first shadows of the setting sun. The dressing room held a vanity table, full length mirror, dressers, an armoire and a bathtub big enough to sleep in. Bolts of cloth of every color and fabric were spread about the room and she couldn't help but run her fingers lightly over the silks, linens and soft satins.

First thing tamorra, Lucinda'll get started makin' ya some dresses fit for the lady a the house. Glory smiled. She's the best dressmaker in the parish. Even better than them fancy sewin’ ladies in the city.

The bedroom contained a few chairs, a small sofa and a canopied bed that could probably sleep a family of four. Like the sitting room, there were large windows to let in plenty of light and fancy French doors opened onto a balcony overlooking the flower gardens below.

She was standin' on the balcony enjoying the evening breeze and listening to what sounded like laughter and music in the distance when Charles entered. I hope you like everything, but if there's anything else you need, my suite is right next to this one.

He had changed into clothes DW imagined he would wear to inspect the property.

You're not sleepin' in here? She could feel her cheeks warm at the blunt question.

Contrary to what anyone might think, dear one, you are still too young to share a marriage bed.

DW wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insulted by the gentle statement, but realized this kind man was simply doing what he thought best.

Come on. Taking her hand, he hurriedly led her back down the stairs and through the enormous house to the dining room where a fancy meal sat on the table waiting to be eaten, but instead of stopping they continued out the doors. When they left the gardens and crossed the well groomed lawns, the chatter and laughter became more distinct and the music louder.

As they entered the slave quarters, she was surprised to find well cared for little homes instead of run down shacks, some with flower pots or curtains in the windows and a few even had their names proudly painted on the doors.

Torches were being lit and people of all shades of brown from a light caramel to a dark walnut filled the area, children playing, the adults visiting or dancing to the fiddles and homemade drums being played in a corner of the large area. Surrounding a fire pit where volunteers had been slowly turning the hog on the spit, were makeshift plank tables filled with all types of food from pots of soup to collard greens.

This is their wedding reception for us, Charles softly whispered in her ear. Their wedding gifts consisted of several bouquets of wild flowers tied with pieces of colorful ribbon. Someone had carved a perfect wooden stag and doe and the children all smiled proudly when she immediately slipped the necklace they had each added a wood or glass bead to, over her head.

Later, having eaten of everything until she thought she might burst, DW was sipping a glass of sweet tea and listening to several of the conversations going on around her when she felt a small tug on her skirt and a silent little girl about seven-years-old bashfully pressed a piece of white linen with perfectly embroidered Forget Me Nots in the corner, into her hand.

This is the prettiest hanky I've ever seen. DW exclaimed with a bright smile. Did you do this?

That's Lucinda's grand, Glory seemed to appear out of nowhere and offered an explanation. Lost her folks to the fever a while back. Lizzie was born with no hearin'.

Kneeling down to look into those enormous dark eyes, DW pressed the cloth to her heart, then wrapped her in a warm hug, receiving a bright smile before she skipped off to play with the other children.

Watching Charles that night as he mingled among the men and women, she realized these weren't his slaves, they were his friends.

They truly were his people.

______________________________________

Over the next month, her life changed dramatically as, keeping his promise that she would fit into high society, the days were filled with dress fittings and lessons on how to speak, sit and even eat properly. Glory taught her how to issue orders as the lady of the house and after dinner each evening Charles helped her practice the waltz and other dances she would need to know while they discussed culture, art, history, current events and even business.

Her favorite times were in the afternoons when, if Glory or Lucinda didn't need her, she rode with Charles and Tobias as they discussed crop rotation, better ways to irrigate the fields and other plantation business.

Little did she know God had even more drastic changes planned for her life.

Chapter Three

CAN'T WE FIGURE OUT a graceful way ta cancel this and send everybody home? The question was muffled by the fabric as Sally and Anna slipped the silk gown over her head, careful of the hairpins Sally had used to finally wrestle the unruly curls into a fashionable style.

Not after all the work Lucinda did on this gown. Anna grinned, adjusting the lavender folds over the hoop and layers of crinoline petticoats. We'd all be headed ta the woodshed.

Don't worry you'll be shet of all of 'em right after breakfast tamorra, Sally assured her mistress, tying the embroidered sash around the younger girl's slim waist.

Dee had been shooed out of the kitchen as soon as it was announced the first arrivals were nearing the house. Glory had ignored her protests, quickly reminding her that the mistress of the house planned the menu but she certainly didn't help with the preparations. She was supposed to be a lady of leisure not assisting with the cooking, cleaning or working in the gardens.

Most of the guests had arrived that morning and not wanting to travel the dark roads would spend only the one night, but a few guests who lived further out had arrived two days earlier and Dee was already tired of their wearisome company.

She was tired of the women’s silly ladies' games. She was tired of their incessant whining about the humid heat, their biased guessing of who would be wearing the most fashionable outfits, their talking about the plays they'd seen (and she had not), restaurants they'd eaten at and people they'd visited on their last trip to the city and she was especially tired of their constant biting gossip.

Of all the early arrivals she would be extremely happy to wave goodbye to Simon and Patricia Beaumont, distant cousins who were visiting the Hastings. She was really tired of Simon's repeated hints for a bed warmer, each time Sally or one of the other girls were in his line of sight, his lascivious glances and flirtatious innuendos towards herself, and Patricia's patronizing attitude and condescending corrections.

She was tired of the men drinking Charles' best whiskey, smoking his cigars and Simon constantly advising him on ways to improve the plantation. She  was weary of the indulgent smiles when she tried to join their conversations about the upcoming elections or the possibility of Texas becoming a state. She half expected one of them to pat her on the head and send her out to play like she was a prattling child.

Charles had hired Gabe to play overseer and help Tobias protect the slave quarters from guests like Simon while the others were here, so at least she had family to visit with, however, she just wanted the visitors to leave so she could do what she wanted and that was to ride out with Charles and Tobias, help Glory or Lucinda and eat cookies with Lizzie.

You look beautiful. Charles assured her as she finally stepped into the sitting room.

That morning during her family ritual, she had prayed for extra strength and guidance to get her through the day and now sent another quick prayer heavenward.

Charles gave her arm an understanding pat, One more night of playing hostess.

Inhaling deeply, she took his offered arm and stepped through the doors of the ballroom. Clinging to his arm, as if he were her lifeline in a hurricane, Dee tried to memorize names, accepting compliments and what she knew were insincere congratulations with what she hoped was a gracious smile as Charles introduced her to other land owners, their families and their visiting relatives.

Come on, there's a couple of people you still need to see. Charles whispered, leading her through the crowd.

The only thing that could have pleased the young woman more was if God, Himself, had been standing there when she spotted her parents near the tall doors leading to the gardens. Clean shaven, his graying curls slicked down with hair tonic, her father was wearing a suit as fine as Charles'. Her mother looked like an angel in the gold silk gown trimmed with light yellow and browns which she knew Lucinda had created, and her hair was styled as perfectly as any other woman in the room.

I'm so glad you're here! Dee rushed forward, suddenly feeling like a small child again as they wrapped her in hugs. Mama, ya look like ya dropped right down outta heaven.

You do indeed. As if she was visiting royalty, Charles dropped a light kiss on the back of her mother’s hand, giving her a small wink before looking at his oldest friend. She looks just like she did the first time we realized she was actually a girl, not just our fishin' buddy.  They stood and talked of old times seemingly oblivious to the others in the room.

As it was announced that dinner was ready, Dee pretended not to notice but couldn't help but smile at seeing Glory and Lucinda release the breath they had each held as she managed to take her seat at the end of the table, adjusting the skirt perfectly so the hoop didn't flip up and show her underclothes as it had the first few times she had tried sitting down in the unfamiliar silly contraption.

Dinner and the first few dances went off without a hitch and she became more at ease as she moved about the room, attending to their guests as a proper hostess. She pretended not to hear the snippets of conversations that abruptly changed or stopped altogether when someone noticed her approach. She danced, smiled, nodded in all the right places and tried to remember all of Charles' and Glory's lessons on being not only mistress of the house but the perfect hostess as well.

Feeling overwhelmed by the newness of it all, she slipped into the garden for a moment of solitude and some much needed fresh air. Dee couldn't help but compare this reception with the party in the slaves' quarters and remember how much fun that night had been.  Standing in a dark shadowed corner she was apparently unobserved by the guests who drifted through the French doors.

Nearby, Simon and Patricia were holding court, commenting and drawing comments on everything from the size of Charles' bank accounts to his manhood and, of course, his poor choice of a bride.

When you don't prefer women, what difference does it make if your wife is an aristocrat or a lady of the evenin'? Simon chuckled. At least thankfully, she’s white.

As unbelievable as it sounds, the little trollop has come to breakfast every mornin' reekin' of liquor. Patricia sneered.

Patricia! Eugenia Hastings appeared shocked at the bold lie. Eugenia was one of the guests Dee actually liked. Two years older, she was quiet and sweet natured with a kind word for everyone which appeared to make her an easy target for some of the others’ snide remarks. More than once she'd heard them comment on her plain looks and portly figure and how fortunate it was that