A/N: I have started another Haunted Mansion fanfiction, inspired by my recent trip to Disney World! I'm really fond of this one so far, and I hope everyone enjoys it!
Disclaimer: I don't own Disney.
Liberty Square, Florida was a sleepy little village that hardly even passed as a town at all. It mainly comprised of a few scrappy stores, a couple of cottages that lined the streets, and a weekend market that set up in the middle of the four intersecting streets. Beyond that was fields and farmland for miles around. The main attraction of the community was the great cotton plantation at the north end of town, which sat, as if it were placed at the head of a long table, gazing grandly around at all the lesser landmarks of Liberty Square.
All of the farmer's wives that gathered at the market once a week referred to it as 'that Gracey woman's place' when they shared in their favorite pastime, seeing who could get out the most whispered gossip before they had to dash off back to their fruit or vegetable stands in time to look busy when their husbands came round from inspecting a neighbor's new mare for pulling the plow, usually returning either pleased and proud or rather disgruntled, depending on how broke the horse was.
There were many rumors that floated around Liberty Square pertaining to the plantation owner, Mary Gracey, who lived in the manor house at the head of the plantation along with her two children, George and Charlotte. The plantation used to be run by Mr. Gracey, but seventeen years earlier, he had mysteriously disappeared over night. She had assured everyone (quite publically, in fact) that he had been called away for business in Europe, but that idea was quickly brought into question by Rusty Gates, an wizened old character quite known throughout the village for knowing things that he shouldn't. He gave a little tidbit of gossip to the tittering village women in exchange for some tobacco for his pipe, that Mrs. Gracey, who, up until that point, had recently been known as 'that poor widowed Mrs. Gracey', had actually taken an axe to Mr. Gracey's head. And since that day, mothers advised their children to keep far away from the Gracey place when they were playing in the village square, the grand, impressive house was looked upon with disdain and fear instead of awe and wonder, and Mrs. Gracey was christened 'that Gracey woman'.
However, seventeen years previously, George Gracey had been only four years old, and his younger sister two, and both were so well cared for and sheltered from the outside world, that it never occurred to them to question the tale of what had become of their father. They were brought up comfortably and were content to accept that their father had been kept abroad managing the affairs of their plantation. When their mother presented the idea that if he were to return, they might not be able to maintain their luxurious lifestyle, any ideas that may have wandered into their young minds were instantly chased away.
Now, that's not to say that George wasn't growing impatient and itching for some adventure outside of his life of fancy dinner parties and custom fitted suits. Over the years he had begun to grow weary of the grandeur, though he knew he was somewhat dependent upon it, which greatly frustrated him. There was tension building in their country, he knew that much. It was 1859, and James Buchanan's term as president was almost up. If a Republican president were to take office, it may mean trouble for their plantation, as those Northerners and Republicans seemed so against slavery. They couldn't even begin to understand how much the South depended on their slaves! Without them, their economy would literally shrivel and die away with the untended crops.
However fiercely George may have felt, though, he was not exactly pushing to get to the front of the line for getting enlisted in the army if war were to break out. He was not yet that desperate for adventure. What he was mainly interested in was traveling to find his father. He was now old enough to understand matters of the plantation, and he knew that if he could just get to his father, he could help get them out of their troubles and bring him home finally! Unfortunately, his dear mother would never even consider the notion. She would never allow her little boy to go all by himself abroad. It was rather irksome the way she babied him and his sister.
So for now, he would have to remain content gazing at the portrait of George Gracey, Sr. that hung in the foyer above the mantle. He was sure that Charlotte did the same.
George sighed as he stared out the window in the library as he drew himself out of his thoughts. For a moment he sullenly watched the slaves working out in the cotton fields, then pulled his eyes away from the sight and drug himself from the room. He was in desperate need for some company. He ambled down the hallway with the purple demask wallpaper and tall windows that were framed by lacy curtains that were usually open to allow sunlight to fill the space, and then past that wing of the house that seemed to stretch for miles and miles. He rarely ventured down there. It usually gave him a bit of a headache, and he wasn't really even sure what the purpose of building that wing of the house had been, since they generally just had guests stay in the hundreds of rooms that lined the elongated hall.
He finally reached his destination as he entered through the impressively carved archway that led onto the balcony above the ballroom. He sauntered down the curving staircase and wandered over to where his sister Charlotte, a thin little thing with curly red hair and the violently blue eyes that he shared with her, sat with their Aunt Melinda, who looked similar to their mother: dark brown eyes, a thick head of hair where you could just see a few strands left of the flaming red between all of the silver wisps, and a thin nose, but Aunt Melinda wore the look much more cheerfully, George often liked to think.
His sister and aunt were engaged in yet another wild dinner party at the long table that occupied the center of the ballroom. Charlotte was giggling and blushing towards a handsome young gentleman, who George ventured a guess to be Tom Clarke, the man Charlotte had recently taken a fancy to, and had chattered on about nonstop for the past three and a half weeks. George noticed with a hint of annoyance the smug look that was splashed across the man's face, as if he were used to receiving this sort of attention from girls at parties. George was still fighting the wave of brotherly protectiveness that had splashed over him when Aunt Mel noticed him standing at the foot of the stairs and called him over. He quickly donned a convincing smile and took the only remaining seat at the table left, next to Tom and across from an attractive young woman whom he had never met before. Aunt Mel, always trying to play matchmaker, hastened to introduce her to him.
"Oh, George, I don't believe you've met dear Margaret here, have you?" she asked as innocently as possible.
"No, I don't believe so," George replied, flashing his aunt a look. Melinda, however, was too busy enjoying herself to notice.
"Oh, Margaret, this is my dear nephew, George! He's a handsome lad, isn't he?" she tittered. George glared at her as fiercely as possible, but this just seemed to encourage the woman, for she pressed right on.
"Yes, I would say so," Margaret said with a giggle. George felt somewhat relieved when he noticed her porcelain cheeks had taken on a rosy little glow of embarrassment as well. When he actually gave her a good long look, she was really quite beautiful, he noted. She had sandy colored hair that was fashioned into ringlets around her heart shaped face, and a pretty little mouth that seemed to always have a little smile on it. But, he decided, her most lovely features were her wide, velvety brown eyes.
George caught himself staring at her when he noticed that his aunt was still talking, and vaguely understood her mentioning something about how Margaret was just visiting from Georgia, and how she'd be returning there in two days. George turned to look at his aunt in dismay, a crestfallen feeling settling in his stomach. Two days? But he suddenly wanted to know everything about her, to know who she was and what she was like! She couldn't be leaving the state in just two days!
George gave his head a little jerk to try and clear it. He had just met this girl not five minutes ago! Why was he acting like this? But he couldn't help but notice his own disappointment reflected in Margaret's eyes, and a flicker of hope was rekindled in his heart. Maybe she wanted to know him, too? He quickly mouthed to her: 'Meet me in the gardens?' and gave a little jerk of his head towards the door. She nodded once, then quickly hastened to join back in the conversation, but George was too elated to pay any attention to what everyone else was saying. He wished that this party would hurry up and be finished with, so that he could take his stroll with Margaret through the grounds.
After what seemed like years, the party guests began to excuse themselves from the table and head back towards their rooms to rest up for whatever festivities Melinda had planned for the next day. At last, only he and Margaret remained in the room, and he politely held out his arm for her to place her hand on, and they walked together back up the stairs and towards the awaiting moonlit gardens.