The Gallant South- Part One

Chapter X- October 19, 1912

When Cora awoke with a start, it was the middle of the night, and she was laying on the long couch in her living room. It was too dark to make out much other than what was right in front of her. She had an earsplitting headache, her eyes were sore, and her entire body ached, but she was dry and warm, and she wasn't choking or coughing or inhaling water, Colby wasn't there, and for that she was beyond grateful.
When she looked up, she saw and felt that she was wearing nothing but a chemise and  cotton long-sleeved nightgown. It was the same chemise she'd been wearing, but it was untouched by water due to all the other layers covering it. She was laying on her back, and her head was resting on one of the pillows from the bay window seat in the living room. Her hair was mostly dry, and she could feel her body once again.
Suddenly, she thought about the fact that Alice Whitbaker had taken her home, essentially broke into her house, took a nightgown from her closet, took off her sopping wet clothes, dressed her in a nightgown, and laid her out on the couch. If Cora weren't so tired and weak, she would have laughed. It was a ridiculous thought, and somehow, it was true. Still, she remembered why Alice had done all of that, and a tear slid down her face, and then two more, and then several more, and then she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and fell back asleep.

The next time she woke, Masterson, Cecelia, Mary Ellen, and Jesse were crowded around her. It was morning, and sunlight streamed in through the tall living room windows. The grandfather clock read 8:34.
"Cora, are you alright? Why are you down here?" Masterson asked with concern. Cora drowsily sat up and walked past the group, towards the stairs.
"I came down here to read and fell asleep," she announced before walking up the stairs. Of course, she couldn't tell them the real reason why she was down there. It would probably be better if she did, but she didn't want to ruin everyone's morning.
She walked into her bedroom, closed the doors, and collapsed into her bed. After a moment, she crawled under the sheets and lay there, looking out the big window. Then she realized that it was a Saturday morning, and after resting for a moment, she stood up and got dressed for the morning in her regular undergarments before making her way into the powder room in order to do her hair and makeup.
When she got into the powder room, she closed the door behind her and put her hair in a neatly-twirled low pompadour before pouring some rose water from the pitcher into the basin so she could wash her face. She cupped her hands and dipped them into the basin before leaning over and splashing the water onto her face.
When she did that however, she was overcome with remembrance of the previous night, and without thinking, jerked backwards. Her arm swiped the pitcher and it crashed to the floor, pieces scattering about. Cora stood there, leaning against the wall breathing heavily.
"Cora! Cora, are you all right?" Masterson asked, throwing the door open. Cecelia was standing behind him. Cora drew herself back up and smiled as if nothing had happened.
"Oh yes, I'm alright. I dropped the pitcher and it startled me, is all," she practically chirped, bending over to pick up the broken pieces. When Cecelia saw that Cora was alright, she walked away. Masterson, however, bent down as well and began cleaning up the shattered porcelain.
When Cora reached a hand out to pick up one of the larger pieces, it was obvious that her hands were shaking. Masterson noticed immediately, and looked up at Cora.
"What happened last night?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me."
"I don't know what you mean. The bar?" Cora asked, pretending to be confused. Masterson, unfazed, saw right through it. "I waited until eleven for you to come home. You said you'd be home by ten thirty. What happened after the bar?" he asked, and Cora sighed reluctantly, wondering how much she should tell him.
"I saw Colby driving down the road, so I followed him. That was at about eleven," she began.
"Where did he go?" Masterson asked, alarmed. Cora sighed and sat down on the bench against the wall. "He and some others burned a cross in the field behind the fishing district. Something with the KKK, I'm sure of it," she admitted.
"So what happened afterwards? Did he catch you?" Masterson asked, sitting on the counter across from Cora, who nodded slowly. Masterson put his hand over his mouth in shock. "What happened then?" he asked, not stopping until he got the full story.
"He put my head underwater a couple times and then said it was a warning. It didn't scare me at all, though."
"You just broke a water pitcher."
"Alright, well I didn't want it to scare me."
"No one wants anything to scare them," Masterson reasoned. "So then what happened? How did you get back here?" he asked.
"Colby had Alice bring me home. She really felt bad about the whole thing, I could tell. God, I feel so bad for her!" Cora cried.
Masterson remained silent for a moment, taking in the situation. Then finally, he spoke. "How do you feel right now?"
Cora shrugged. "My head hurts a tad. Other than that, I think I'm fine," she said, and it was true. Her eyes and throat were no longer sore, and her body felt fine, although still a little shocked.
"You really should rest. You may be physically fine, but that isn't enough," Masterson advised.
"Nonsense," Cora chirped, picking tiny pieces of porcelain off the floor. "I've got plenty to do and one silly little injury isn't getting in the way!"
"At least take it easy. And you should tell Bettirose and all of them about it."
"And why, exactly?"
"Oh, I wonder why?" Masterson exclaimed sarcastically. "It isn't as if you were attacked by a man who wants you and hundreds of others dead. Why would you think that?"
"No one needs to know about it. I wasn't even planning on telling you," Cora replied quietly.
"And whyever not?" Masterson asked. Cora stood up and threw the last of the broken pitcher into the trash. "I suppose I don't want to look weak."
"No one's going to think that. Especially not them."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"Look, I just don't feel right taking a recovery day because of a small injury while Alice Whitbaker and many others have it much worse. I should be out helping and doing things."
"You aren't Alice Whitbaker," Masterson replied as the doorbell rang. Jesse, sitting closest to the door, ran to answer it. He came up the stairs a moment later, out of breath. "It's Alice Whitbaker."
Masterson snorted.
"Anyone else?" Cora asked. Jesse nodded. "Two other women."