A True Southern Belle

Mrs. Winter sighed and told Charlie she was excused - in her own room. 

Such was the conclusion of Mrs. Winter's chastising. 

Mary's was far worse. Mrs. Winter might not raise her voice to Charlie, but Mary certainly would and did.

"Why'd you want to dizgrace this famlay?" Mary lamented aloud, her grammar long gone. 

If only Mary would take a leaf out of Charlie's book and give her the silent treatment. "I cain't believe in frawnt of all those people- ev'body! the whole town! - you argued wit that man. He ain't nothin' but white trash; he an hiz famlay."

Charlie perked up when she heard the last sentence. Maybe Julie hadn't known everything, and if she found out first, she could hang it over his head before anyone else knew, and tell Julie about it later, showing her not to be so pompous. She could kill two birds with one stone. But first she had to get the information from Mary, and that must be done with delicacy and care so as not to arouse suspicion.  Mary often became suspicious at the snap of a finger, or a whispered word, and most definitely at an outright question.

Charlie had never trusted women though. They couldn't keep a secret, so she had to come up with a just-in-case plan in case Julie blabbed like all other females. Mary was not any different, she was sure. Men could keep quiet, some even when they were drunk. Women couldn't and even if Mary was not a gossip gatherer, she was not - could not  be, very different from the rest of her sex.

Charlie pretended to be in shock.

"No! His family too?"

"Yes ma'am. His father and brother both, but mostly his father."

Charlie's hand flew to her mouth and she sank down on her bed. Mary was please by her reaction.

"That's right. His brother took up wit' a not very nice woman who wanted to take up with him, and  their father is a mean old man with a temper. I've always felt sorry for the mother and sister."

"Oh Mary!" Charlie found it delightful how few words it took to bring forth such an array of information.

"His father lost everything to a Yankee and threw out his two sons because of it. The older one ain't never married and is still 'titled to it all though; they reconciled. But Jason made his fortune in bad ways."

"Oh? How?" Charlie cursed herself. She asked a direct question.

"Enough, Missy. Don't talk to that man again, you hear?"

Charlie nodded, considering everything she'd just heard. It was all very... attention capturing.

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  Bella was silent the entire way home. Only in the last few minutes did the constant blush that had been on her cheeks since they left finally begin to fade. Jason recalled with guilt the reason for it. Never would his sweet sister admit it, but he knew that she knew Jane and Mrs. Winter;s cold farewells were caused by his presence. After that dispute with... Carrolyn? Cara? (What was her name? The young Miss Winter... ah, Caroline.) Civility, not warmth followed them from Scarlet Oaks.

  It was Jason's nature and part of his everyday habits to be a scoundrel and a cad, but he swore he'd try harder not to be for Bella - in her presence and in that of her friends, snobby and stiff as they were.  He'd show them he was a gentleman.

  As for that insolent Caroline - Charlie - Winter, who was no more than sixteen, surely, she had a fascinating, sharp tongue and a flaming, red-hot temper that burned a healthily sized fire in her eyes. And her gaze could burn just as her words could freeze. Never had he met a girl who could balance anger and an imposing disposition the way she could. Miranda especially could not.

 Oh, he did not want to think about Miranda now! But her false blonde hair, brown Doe eyes, and annoying face entered his mind anyway. (Her real hair was caramel colored.) He still blamed her for everything; as far as he was concerned, everything was her fault. But, because she was a woman, she didn't have to and could not take the blame. He was beginning to hate all women. Except his mother, whom he could do nothing more than pity, Bella, whom he dearly loved, and maybe Charlie Winter. Though that still remained to be seen, for she was a very irritating person, however a surprisingly tolerable woman.

  The horse he was driving was so well mannered he could hold the reins in one and think at the same time. Paul, Bella's husband, knew how to pick a good horse for a woman, but that was all Jason could say for him.  He glanced down at Bella, of whom sleep was now getting the better of. Her eyelids were closing, her head was on his shoulder, and she circled her arms through his free one, holding it.

How Paul could ever leave her - and go all the way to Connecticut, for that matter, Jason didn't know. He would never leave his  pregnant wife for any business matter. But as Bella said about the people in the world who were different reality from what she thought she  originally saw, no one was perfect.

Betsy and the other maids, and most of the people who worked for the Winters - they did not own slaves, they bought (excuse me, Charlie and Mr. Winter bought)  and freed slaves, then offered them jobs. Keeping the County bewildered and oblivious was something Charlie and her father were good at, though abolitionists, the South was slowly discovering, were not entirely mythical people after all. Of course, the few Bambergians who were above judgement helped. And no one dared to judge a Winter - were all in agreement over the previous night. 

  Betsy and the others knew, from the scullery maids to the grooms, that Charlie Winter and the scandalous Mr. Asher were alike, and there was something of interest between them. The men never talked about it and it was all Betsy and the other maids could do to keep from telling Mary. (True was this behavior to Charlie's theory about secrets and women.) Most, after witnessing the upbringing of Charlie Winter, saw the same vivacious fire in Asher's brown eyes  that burned as brightly in Charlie's gray; trouble was written on both their faces.

 If told, Mary would not believe it. Not that she needed telling. Surely Mary, who had eyes sharper than a hawk's when it came to spotting dirt, uneven stitches or dust, noticed what was between them. But if she did, she would not let on, and would deny whoever told her.

But Charlie to see the stares that came from the painted eyes of the portraits on the walls and from those all around her. She found them extremely irritating. 

  By pure, coincidental luck, however, Charlie was saved by Jane's upcoming wedding, the preparations of which were claiming the attention of all, even Charlie. Her job was to calculate figures in terms of guests, food, seating, space, and expenses.

Yet, before the wedding, was the Foster's annual spring ball.