"Ruin and Redemption"

Scarlett and the Will

Another short chapter, thank you all for bearing with the story and continuing on!

Scarlett’s brother helped her to the desk, where she found a writing implement, an ink well, and some parchment, as well as a board for her father to press down upon.

Mr. X’s handwriting was a jagged scrawl as he wrote out what he wanted Scarlett to have of his. It was a very simple and direct will. Cordelia wrung her hands and glanced worriedly at her father as he wrote.

Cordelia’s fear of being left out of her father’s will and upstaged by Scarlett was unjustified. The bulk of Mr. X’s property would still be left to his legitimate children, Thomas an Cordelia. However, Scarlett would receive enough of his property to secure her if and when she became a free woman. Scarlett was given two ponies and a cart, as well as two hundred and fifty dollars and a handkerchief that had been embroidered with her father’s initials. She was also receiving two silver candlesticks for her mantle and two crocheted doilies to set them upon, and an old rocking chair he had rocked her in on occasion as a baby.Her father paused, thinking. Scarlett hoped now he would write leaving her some of his land. However, her father glanced up and caught Cordelia’s eye, who was hovering angrily above him.

Perhaps he thought she might fight his will if he were too generous with his other daughter. Mr. X. quickly finished the will, leaving his human property, his land, his home and all the remaining furniture and implements to his legitimate heirs.

The will was signed by him, and also by the lawyer who had been summoned for the purpose. Scarlett’s father then looked at Scarlett and squeezed her hand warmly, a questioning look in her eye. Scarlett was hurt and disappointed that more had not been left to her, and was boiling with rage towards Cordelia. Nevertheless, she managed to give her father a sympathetic smile, as if she completely understood his plight. She wanted her father to die in peace, yet now her brain was raging with the insult of being put so far behind her siblings. Two hundred and fifty dollars and a couple of ponies would not get her far in the world. In fact, the ponies might even be more burdensome to keep. She wondered how far the money would go in their keeping. Would Derrick and Lizzie even allow them to be lodged in the stable or build another for her? At least they would get her home, she decided, realizing she had no desire to stay near the property and probably wouldn’t even be wanted after her father’s death.

Patsy took Lizzie’s and Derrick’s sheets out to the side yard to beat them over the railing. She had just finished washing them, aided by Lizzie. Now, since Lizzie said she was tired and feeling faint after dealing with the boiling water, Patsy was left to herself to flick the excess water off, wring the sheets and set them to dry.

Patsy was tired of serving Lizzie and Derrick. Lord knows, Lizzie needed someone to look after her, but Patsy had just about had enough of both of them. Lizzie just wouldn’t listen, insisting on going her own headstrong way. Patsy tried often to coax her out of the house for a walk on the land, or to help with a birth, and Lizzie would hardly come out, and when she did, she was forever wringing her hands and looking about her like a frightened sparrow, who is constantly expecting the cat. At first, when Lizzie had almost been killed by the mob, Patsy had been relieved to have her back, and had made every effort to sympathize with her new phobias and her shock over discovering her ancestry. But now six months had nearly passed, and Patsy’s patience was running low. Patsy had done her best to reassure Lizzie that so long as she did not try to restart the school, or do anything else illegal or threatening, she most likely had nothing to worry about. She had shared her opinion of how Lizzie’s affectation was affecting her husband. Still, Lizzie insisted on keeping fear her close companion, or perhaps she could not shake it. At any rate, she was entirely worrisome to be around. Although, Lizzie now insisted on helping with the chores, Patsy almost wished she wouldn’t. There was less physical work for her with Lizzie’s sincere efforts to help. But Lizzie’s help meant that Lizzie was constantly around, and the emotional effort of dealing with someone in her condition was almost more that Patsy could bear. She was more relieved than ever when Derrick was in town and in the house, and she, Patsy could retire to her cabin at night, certain that Lizzie was being looked after. In the mornings, Patsy could hardly bear to meet Lizzie in the morning wearing her same old navy or even black dress, her hair pulled sternly and quickly back, wringing her hands, and stoically awaiting whatever work needed to be done for the day. Patsy would be grateful if she could simply get Lizzie to read a book for an hour or two and leave her to cook and clean in peace.

Patsy spied a rider on the road.

“Ma’am, I’ve got a letter for Lizzie and Derrick LePoint. Would you be so kind as to give it to them?” The man was red haired and wearing a navy union uniform.

“Of course I would, sir. I’m a trustworthy servant.” Patsy avowed.