Summer Stinks and Winter's Waiting, Welcome to New York

Goodbye Louisiana

TRIGGER WARNING: MINOR RACIAL DISCRIMINATION TO IMITATE LIFE IN THE 1890s

"I believe that's all miss," Margret, my maid, said with a little curtsy as she finish packing my travel trunk.  I smiled. "Margret, I told you, you can call me Nell," I replied in my thick southern accent. Margret was one of our few slaves that stuck around after the war. She had no where to go and she was like my best friend. Now she was more of a servant than a slave. Growing up in southern Louisiana,  I had always been taught things like "don't treat Negros as equals", but I didn't care. To me they were people, like me. Margret returned my smile. "That wouldn't be proper, miss." She gave me the evil eye, and reached over to tickle me. I howled in laughter. I was not ticklish,  except for a few places that only Margret knew and only she would know.

"Margret!!" We heard an angry voice come from downstairs, no doubt from my father. Margret and I froze, my laughter fading. He still treated the servants as slaves and he was still a little salty about the confederate defeat in the war. Oh who am I kidding, VERY salty. We had been one of the most prominent plantations in the south. When the Confederacy lost, most of our slaves left for freedom despite my father's threats, and, as father says, our name was diminished. "Get your lazy ass down here and pack up the carriage or I'll grab the belt!" Margret's eyes widened. She had several scars decorating her chocolate skin from the belt. "Yes, sir," she called back. She grabbed my luggage and hurried downstairs. I reached for a small embroidered bag my mother made me, containing my 'anti train boredom material' for the 30 hour train ride to Manhattan, and headed downstairs.

I caught my father whipping Margret with the belt when I reached the top of the stairs. There wasn't anything I could do about it. I had to act against African Americans in my family or friends's presence. My father finished and looked up, noticing me. "Why, you look beautiful darling," my father smiled as I made my way down our grand staircase. He hugged me from behind and placed a kiss on the top of my head. He wasn't necessarily wrong. I had fair skin with a light, natural tan, curly, strawberry blonde hair that was pulled up in a braided bun with pieces falling out in the front, emerald eyes, and naturally pink lips. I was wearing a casual, yet elegant green dress with elbow length sleeves that stuck out just a little at the bottom with lace, and a lower neckline that showed just enough cleavage. I also a green hat to match and black boots. I hated this life. I wanted to run around without worrying about tripping on the hem of my dress. Be free to go where I wanted and do what I wanted. Choose who I love and marry instead of my parents finding some "eligible male". I didn't want people to be waiting on my hand and foot 24/7. 

Our butler stepped through the threshold. "Sir, your carriage is ready," he directed towards my father. "Thank you Henry," he replied politely. My mother came downstairs and kissed my father's cheek. "I apologize for making you wait, I had to deal with that good for nothing servant of mine," she apologized. My father nodded. She was referring to Harriet, her personal servant. Harriet was Margret's sister. I never got too close with her because she was always around my mother, but I had talked with her a few times. She was very kind, very polite like her sister.  

"One moment," I said. I headed towards the kitchen. "Margret!" I yelled without looking behind at her. She scrambled over. I made sure we were out of earshot and view before I turned to her. "Are you all right," I asked, concerned. She nodded. "Yes miss, I am. Just a few marks and scars." I looked a her sadly. "This shouldn't be your life," I said. I grabbed an apple and held it up. "In case they ask." She nodded. I grabbed another and tossed it to her, she needed something. She murmured a slight, "thank you miss," and shoved it in her pocket. I put mine in my bag and headed back into the front room where my parents were waiting. They smiled at me, their pride and joy.     

My mother took father's left arm while I took his right. He escorted us out our front doors and to our family carriage. It was a cozy thing, with cushions, and pillows. The windows had curtains for privacy and there were candles in each corner. I looked out the window at our grand New Orleans mansion and bid goodbye as we were driven away in the direction of the train station.