July 1862….
Leslie winced as her chambermaid, Nelly pulled tightly at her corset. The laces groaned against the strain of Nelly's tugging as she quickly secured them with a double bow. Leslie gave a deep blow of air through her pursed lips as she pressed her hand to her newly flattened belly. Grabbing at her bedpost, she steadied herself as she began to feel light headed.
Nelly and her little sister, Simmy slipped Leslie's gown over her head. A waterfall of royal blue satin and lace fell over Leslie's shoulders and plummeted to the ground over her crinoline skirt. The lace swished across the floor delicately sending small wisps of dust into the air that danced in the beam of the last of the day's sun that spilled through the open window in Leslie's room. Leslie peered over at the full length mirror in the corner. Soft blond curls hung across her bare shoulders. Her cheeks were rosy and her lips plump and moist. She was beautiful. Her amber eyes had a flicker of fire in them when the setting sun's light hit them. She winked at the glare and turned her face back to the mirror, her eyes took in the view as she stood in her ball gown. Nelly noticed Leslie's disinterest and pout as she eyed herself from head to toe.
"Mr. Spencer throws such magnificent parties, Miss Leslie! Why are you so sad?" Nelly asked as she smoothed out Leslie's skirt and clasped a pearl necklace about Leslie's neck.
"Daddy loves a good party," Leslie retorted. "But you know me. I would much rather be out at the creek fishing for catfish than standing here in this silly ol' gown! I can't breathe! The men Daddy brings to see me are so OLD! They're horrible the way they touch my hair and stare at my breasts. What is Daddy thinkin'?"
"Well, he's thinking it's high time you find yourself a husband, that's what!" Nelly laughed as she folded Leslie's night clothes and placed them on her bed.
"What am I supposed to do with a husband? I am 19 years old! I don't need no husband!"
"Miss Leslie bite your tongue! When my momma was 19 she was raising you 3 chil'ren, not to mention 4 of her own!"
"Oh, bother, Nelly," Leslie looked back with a knowing glance, "You and your momma aren't me."
Nelly stopped abruptly next to Leslie and matched her gaze into the mirror. Nelly's hair was wrapped tightly with a white rag, the hem of her skirt dusted with dirt and her hands were calloused, the fingernails, shortened by wear. Nelly's dark eyes scanned herself and then rested at Leslie's returned stare through their reflection.
"No, ma'am. I isn't you." She collected Leslie's soiled clothes from the floor and quickly yet silently headed for the door.
Leslie knew she had offended Nelly. And although a slave, Nelly was her lifelong friend. Nelly kept walking as she heard Leslie call out, "Nelly! I'm so…" but Nelly was already down the stairs when the word "sorry" fell from Leslie's lips in a whisper. Leslie punched at her billowing skirt in frustration as she felt the sting of tears burn her eyes. She hated her gown. She hated parties. She hated being proper and most of all she hated hurting her friend.
The sound of music started to waft through the hallway to Leslie's room and she knew that was her cue to make her entrance to the ball. Yet another ball. Here they were amidst a war that was literally right outside their front door and her father, ever the opportunist, Lucas Spencer was throwing another party. She was disgusted by the display of opulence at a time of great suffering for so many. But appearances mean more than anything as she's been told over and over again. Leslie let out a small groan and then a sigh. She reached through the top of her dress and pushed her breasts up so they nearly spilled over the neckline. May as well give the old men a good show, she said through gritted teeth. She grabbed two fistfuls of her skirt and with a swoosh, hurried out the door.