HAUNTING ANNABELLE: A SOUTHERN GOTHIC HORROR

CHAPTER SIX: THE JOURNAL OF ANNABELLE LEIGH 12 MAY 1861

When I thought I was the queen of my world, God showed me just how small that world really was. Today, Jeremiah left for Montgomery. From there, he is to command a regiment that will escort the new Southern Government to Richmond, Virginia. He considers it an honor to ride alongside his good friend Jefferson Davis. I imagine he also considers it good business to cement his ties with the newly elected President.

For me, it is the end of my brief happiness. This new home was supposed to be a new start for both of us. Jeremiah promised that this would be our last move, our last sacrifice to his insatiable desire for industry. To show his commitment, he even named our new home after me. But who needs a scrap of dirt named after them? I would gladly name every damn weed, tree, or rock after Jeremiah if it meant that he would finally stay home and be a real father to Sam. Instead, he goes off on another conquest and I am left alone again. Annabelle Plantation? It is more like Annabelle's damnation.

However, I will wait. I will persevere. It is what I well. Why? Why do I put myself through this torture time after time, knowing that things will never change? I do it for Sam. One day, long after I am dust in the earth, he will happen upon these words I write and know that I did it all for him. He is my entire world. Everything I endure, everything I create, every scheme I plan, it is all for him. One day, he will be a giant among men. Books will be written about his greatness, kindness, and generosity. And when they ask him how he came to such grandeur, he will lovingly point to me and say it was all because of the love of his mother.

But first, I must make him strong. He was born far too early and has been spending his whole young life trying to catch up to other children his age. Not that there are many children to compare him with around here. The nearest family is two hours away by foot. Even when we have time to visit, their son is a good five years older than Sam and a bit of a ruffian. Sam tries valiantly to keep up with the boy. However, the young man, though polite, grows bored with Sam's inability to run as fast or play as long without a rest. Sam tries to keep a brave face. But I know it crushes his spirit. So, more often than not, I keep him at home.

Yet, there is hope in my world too. It is a hope that includes Sam. Just last week, Jeremiah presented me with a gift. He had returned from Montgomery with a family he had purchased. Although it was a commonly held opinion that an owner should choose slave workers by their skills and strength alone, Jeremiah believed we must consider other attributes. It was his feeling that much like a horse who is treated well will work harder, a servant who is happy will work harder too. Thus, he reasoned what better way to make a man happy than to keep him with his family. However, I find it strange that he did not seem to find his own happiness in such a situation.

But that is neither here nor there. What is important is the addition of this new family to our plantation.For, this new family came with their own son. And God be praised, he is the same age as Sam. At last, my boy has someone to play with. His name is Ishmael. What a wonderfully biblical name. His mother, Sarah, has proven to be a godsend. She is a wonderful cook, and The Lord knows we can use that here. I have never had the inclination or the skill to spend more time in the kitchen beyond making tea.

I worry about her husband though. You would think he would be grateful that Jeremiah kept his family together. Instead, he looks upon him with hateful venom. He thinks he hides it. Whenever he is in my husband's presence, it is all smiles and nods. But I see how his eyes grow dark the minute Jeremiah turns away. He does not know I see him. I will watch him like a hawk.

This evening, I saw a long line of young men marching east. Sarah and I were at the front gate. At her suggestion, we take the boys on a walk every morning and evening. She says the exercise will do Sam good and help him get stronger. Sam and Ishmael love the walks. They run along ahead of us and play tag among the trees. Ishmael is much stronger and faster. However, he seems to have an unusual gift for such a young boy. He shows genuine care for other people. Most children think only of themselves. It is only natural to be selfish at their age. They know the world revolves around them. Ishmael is not like that. He notices when Sam tires, often even before I do. Then, he slows his step or suggests they rest as if he were the one tired. I do not believe Sam ever notices.

Sarah watched the soldiers but did not say a word. I do not know how I feel about this war. It is, after all, a real war now. Our men have gone way beyond words that can be retracted. Blood has been shed. I do not care for the politics of men. I care only about my family and my home, and God helpthe man who threatens them. But how am I to do it alone? Jeremiah has left me again for the sake of business. This time, it is the business of war. I do not doubt that he will profit from this venture. But for every coin he earns, he loses a tiny piece of his family. I hope that he notices before there is nothing left.

 Sarah, like her son, has a gift for caring. She noticed my unwavering gaze and knew it stretched from the long line of dusty soldiers all the way to Richmond. She touched my arm and though startled at first,I felt a growing comfort. I know it sounds silly of me even as I write this. However, I truly feel she and I share a deep bond. There is a connection through the shared love of our sons. We will survive this trial and we will do it together.

As I sit here at my writing desk tonight, I feel more at peace than I have in ages. It is blessedly cool this evening and the scent of baking bread is coming through the window. Somewhere in the gathering evening, a voice is softly singing a hymn. I cannot make out the words, but it is a soothing sound. It makes me believe that all will be well. I just heard a boy laugh. I do not know if it is Sam or Ishmael. However, it does not matter. As long as there is children's laughter at the Annabelle Plantation, all will be well.

****This is a Southern Gothic Horror. So, you know all will NOT be well. Thanks for continuing to read. Watch out for Missy. She's about to kick the story up a notch. Also, please remember to vote. It helps the author.****