Remember Me

Run Away With Me

Mason Plantation
March 3, 1863
Late Evening

The sun which beat at his back finally began to sink into the abyss of the violet sky, and Archer’s gratitude because of the fact abounded. The grey, woolen uniform of the Confederacy, that scratched against his skin, hung heavy against his shoulders while his heart fared no better as it continually fell in his chest at the thought of having to leave the people and place he had begun to call home.

He removed the grey cap from his head when the soft breeze grew stronger in measure, wanting to feel the cooling wind against him.

But he realized that with every second that ticked by, the time of his imminent departure drew nearer, and he was helpless to stop his forced deployment.

“Mr. Taylor!”

Archer lifted his eyes from where they had fallen to stare at his boots to the man he had come to see. Mr. Mason stood at the top of the stairs that led up the porch, dressed, as always, in his immaculate white clothing. He glimpsed of the woman that remained behind her father, and he stood straighter, clasping his hands behind his back with his cap still firmly captured in his palm. In the sinking sun, Archer looked every bit the part of the loyal Confederate soldier his father and uncle hoped him to be. He refused to appear as anything else in front of Mr. Mason and his darling Emmeline; his pride would allow nothing less.

He waited until Mr. Mason helped his daughter down the stairs before he returned the greeting with a polite nod, saying:

“Mr. Mason,” He bowed before Emmeline when she came to stand at her father's side. “Miss Mason,”

“Mr. Taylor,” She returned his bow with a small curtsy of her own. Her expression remained politely impassive though her sapphire eyes revealed the anxiousness she felt at his sudden, unannounced arrival. Her lace-gloved hands smoothed over the fabric of the green satin dress as her father spoke again.

“I received a letter from your father entailing your recruitment, Mr. Taylor,” He said. “And on behalf of myself and my whole plantation, they couldn't have picked a better man to fight against those self-righteous Yankees!”

Archer intoned his head. “Thank you, sir,”

Mr. Mason looked between his daughter and Archer for a moment. When he saw his daughter's attention was focused elsewhere, Mr. Mason threw a wink at Archer, continuing on:

“I believe I'll go fetch my darlin’ bride. I'm certain the missus would love to see you,”

Mr. Mason quickly shook hands with the younger man before dashing into his home, calling out his wife's name.

Archer returned his attention to the belle in front of him when Mr. Mason disappeared from his sight.

“Emmeline,” He greeted, his voice less formal than before, but maintained every bit of the politeness a gentleman was expected to display no matter the place or circumstance. “You're lovely as ever,”

Much as he expected, Emmeline immediately forewent the small talk and jumped to the question she wished for him to answer.

“So it's true?”

He sighed, his eyes dropping for a moment in shame. “Is what true?”

Her directness and candor was always an attribute he found refreshingly attractive in Emmeline, but he was uncertain if he could withstand his opinion on the topic he needed to speak to her about. His mother and sister had already shed enough tears for him; he knew he would not be able to bear it if he was the cause of his dear Emmeline’s tears as well.

“That you are to leave for war,” She answered solemnly, an attitude that did not match her joyful personality. “To fight against the North,”

“Yes, it is true,” He was unable to give any other answer, even though he wished that he could. She took a sharp breath, stepping back away from him. His hand reached out for her before he quickly retracted it, not wanting to push her any further because the present distance already felt to be miles. “Emmeline..”

“Why?” She demanded quietly. “Why must you! I know you do not support the slavery for which that uniform stands,”

“No. You know that I do not, but I cannot stand by ,idly, and watch my brothers die at the hands of scoundrels who will show no mercy toward them nor give any time to understand their plight,” His cobalt eyes flashed fiercely before dimming in sadness. “I am left with no choice but to fight,”

“And give your life?” She asked strongly.

“If I must,” He replied immediately.

“But what if there was another choice, Archie,”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

She surged forward, taking both his hands in hers; her eyes softened in adoration for the man in front of her. “We’ll run away! As far as we can get from this war ridden place,” She saw the confusion rising in his expression. She squeezed his hands tighter, stepping closer. “Please.” She implored. He closed his eyes momentarily before returning her gaze. “Run away with me, Archie,”