Charles + Maggie

Chapter 2 (Charles)

Charles' POV

Today was the day; I was going to sock Henry in the face- for real this time. If I had to hear about this bloody girl for one more minute, I was going to break his nose. Apparently, some partner of Father's was coming to stay and bringing his daughter for some unfathomable reason. I can't imagine willingly coming to a plantation in the middle of nowhere during the hottest season of the year, especially to spend time with Henry. Somehow, my brother had gotten it in his head that this girl would be practically willing to marry him by the end of the week. I don't know women, but that sounds like a different kind of desperation. Or greed. Now that I think about it, definitely greed. One does not marry my brother, who has the conversation skills of an oven mitt, for love, but money? That's an entirely different story. My dearest brother, Henry Clarence Johnson, was set to inherit practically everything after my parents kicked the bucket, including but not limited to a 1000 acre plantation, 75 slaves, and one 'deadbeat' brother who just wanted to go as far North as possible. He had already mastered the no-nonsense, miserly, and ruthless personality of my father- what a lucky lady.

I roll my eyes; she probably wasn't much of a catch either if she was willing to consider Henry before even meeting him. I shudder, praying, likely in vain, she's not too obnoxious' because technically she'd be my sister-in-law. I wasn't sure if I could handle the presence of another snobby airhead aristocrat in my immediate family. It was already 3 to 1, and their attempts to turn me into a 'respectable young man' were relentless and exhausting. I'm sure the only reason they haven't sent me a girl yet is that Henry had failed to marry, and I couldn't find love before the golden boy. I sigh and put my head in my arms as mother bustles into the dining room.

"Posture Charles, you know how I feel about slouching," she tuts, and I groan.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," my dad says, striding in with the paper. Usually, I was the early riser of the family; a habit heavily influenced by my wish to spend as little time as possible sitting at the table with them. They're hard enough to deal with after I've had my morning cup of coffee.

"So Charles, you remember what we discussed last night, correct?" my father asks and fixes his piercing gaze, which had lost its effect long ago on me, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes Father," I sigh, "I'm to imitate the tabby cats of Thornton: a mysterious being only sighted around mealtimes who hisses at strangers." I snigger as my father's glare sharpens.

"This is exactly why I need you to stay away from our guests; you'll do nothing but embarrass me and ruin a prosperous opportunity for your brother."

"If his personality doesn't scare her off first," I mutter.

"Excuse me?" Father says, in a booming voice.
I grimace, "Nothing Father, I was just asking to be excused."

"Fine, but remember they'll be arriving around one, and I want you out of sight until dinner. God forbid they meet you before Henry and think you'll be inheriting. Any smart investor would run for the hills."

I roll my eyes as I stand, grab my bowl of cold cornmeal mush and book, and push my chair in. He glares, finally focusing on the newspaper spread across the table. I glance down, and my eyes are drawn to the bold headline 'Breckinridge or Bell? Who's best for Virginia." I snort; of course, Lincoln isn't even mentioned, but I keep my mouth shut, knowing my father's opinion on the Republican. I place my dishes in the kitchen, though my family frowned upon me doing 'slave work,' slip some leftovers into a paper sack, and head out of the servant's door. I don't know why my father is so worried about me harassing the esteemed Brown family; I don't spend much time in Thorton regardless. I'd much rather spend time in the few acres of woods on our property than in the stuffy study going over slave prices or in the drawing-room planning the next superficial event to exhibit our success.