Friends and Relations

Sarah McAllister watched with pride as her only daughter greeted guests at her bridal tea. It seemed impossible that her youngest child would soon be someone's wife; it felt as though she should still be a little girl.

Margaret had never given her mother a moment's worry. As a little girl she had clung to her mother's skirts, mimicking Sarah's every move. She sat entranced, watching in amazement as Sarah prepared for a ball or a party. She twisted strands of Sarah's hair in her fingers to fall asleep at night. Sarah very distinctly remembered her daughter's cherubic face as she said her nightly prayers: "God bwess Daddy and God bwess Gwey and God bwess Mommy. Bwess Mommy most of all…" Margaret lived to please her mother, and Sarah McAllister was, indeed, very pleased with the way her daughter had turned out.

While Meg had been an "easy" child to raise, Greyson had required a bit more work. Greyson was a daredevil, unafraid of anything or anyone. He was most at home in a mud puddle or a sand box, getting himself as filthy as possible. He loved the outdoors; in fact, Sarah often told friends that Greyson would just live outside all of the time if she'd allow it. On one occasion, Greyson's bedroom windows had to be nailed shut after he escaped through one during the night. Fortunately, one of the Negro workers spotted him before he made it off the grounds and promptly returned him to the house. But despite his worrisome childhood and, later, his heated debates with his father, Greyson had grown into quite an accomplished gentleman. He had cut his own path, and although he didn't necessarily go about things they way his parents would have chosen, he had proven quite intelligent and successful in his own rite.

Sarah began placing tea service items on a silver tray, blinking away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. There's too much work to do today, no time to reminisce, she told herself very matter-of-factly. There'll be plenty of time to be sad once the wedding's over.

"Now Miz Sarah, you let me do that," Bessie insisted, bumping Sarah's hip with her own and forcing her toward the parlor. "You go on in there and enjoy yo'self. You the mama of the bride."

Obediently, Sarah went into the parlor and greeted the ladies who had entered. Some nibbled tea cakes while they balanced tea cups on their laps, others stood just inside the foyer and chatted. Meg was among the younger in attendance, describing the details of her wedding gown and glowing with an air of happiness Sarah remembered feeling just before her own wedding. She stood and watched her daughter for a long time before hearing the voice of her oldest and dearest friend, Francine Landry.

"She is lovely, isn't she?" Francine said.

"She certainly is," Sarah agreed quietly. "Every time I look at her, I remember the little girl she used to be. Oh Francie, where has the time gone?"

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to be that young and full of life again? To have a whole life ahead to look forward to? It seems like these days, all I have to look forward to is my afternoon nap!" Francine Landry was tall and lean, her hair had once been as black as tar, but was now completely gray. She had sharp features including a pointed nose, which looked only slightly too long for her face. Her posture, though slightly hunched, still bore a refined air.

"Why Francie, you have your daughters who adore you. Lily has married and moved away, but Violet is still home with you, isn't she?"

"Yes, but you know my Violet," Francine said, shaking her head. "She's not one bit interested in being a lady."

"Oh, let the girl be, Mrs. Landry!" Grey's voice boomed from behind them. He put an arm over each lady's shoulders and grinned slyly.

"Why Greyson McAllister, what are you doing here?" Francine asked. "Don't you know this is a ladies' party?"

"Mother said Violet might be coming," Grey said. "I haven't seen her in months. Where is she?"

"I suppose she'll be here eventually." Mrs. Landry rolled her eyes, then repeated, "You know my Violet."

"Greyson has some company in from Atlanta," Sarah informed her friend. "A young lady."

"What's this all about, Greyson?" Mrs. Landry wanted to know.

"She's a friend I made during my most recent trip," Greyson informed her. "Miss India Wilkes. She assisted me in choosing a wedding gift for Meg, so I invited her as a 'thank you'."

"Well where is she?" Mrs. Landry spun her head from side to side so quickly, Grey wondered if it might spin all the way around without stopping.

"She'll be down shortly, I'm sure," Greyson assured her with a chuckle. "Now if you ladies will excuse me, I believe I'll wait outside for Violet." He patted their shoulders and smiled politely at the ladies who watched him curiously as he moved through the now crowded parlor, the foyer, and finally out into the afternoon sunshine. The day was surprisingly mild for June, and Grey found shade beneath a bay magnolia tree to wait for his childhood friend to arrive.

Violet Anne Landry was two years younger than Grey and two years older than Meg. She had long, dark hair which she never turned up, and a porcelain ivory complexion. Her eyes were brown as chocolate and she had long eyelashes that were the envy of every other female in Baton Rouge. She was known as Violet to everyone in town except Grey, who called her "Vi" when they were alone. Violet and Grey had played together as children; Violet had opted to play with Grey rather than her sister Lily and little Meg, who enjoyed dressing up baby dolls and having pretend tea parties. Violet was as athletic as she was attractive. She was an outstanding horsewoman who never rode sidesaddle, much to Grey's amusement and her mother's disdain, and never wore dresses, as she tended to tear them or simply get them too dirty to ever wear again. Grey teased that Vi was the brother he'd never had. Mrs. Landry hated it when he said that.

Violet had fallen in love with George Davenport, a handsome, young riding instructor who moved to Baton Rouge about a year before the war. George was mild-mannered and quiet, quite the opposite of the boisterous, opinionated Violet. But somehow, the couple managed to find common ground. They were married the day before George left to fight for the confederacy. Violet had only one night of being Mrs. Davenport; she never saw George again. Eventually she went back to calling herself Violet Landry, and nobody in town ever questioned her decision except Grey. She told him she'd changed her name back to Landry because her heart hurt everytime somebody called her Violet Davenport.

She arrived in a cloud of dust, her horse's hooves clopping loudly against the ground. Violet wore a white button-down blouse and a pair of green riding britches, which were tucked into a pair of black boots. Had they not been so dusty, the boots might have matched her long black hair perfectly. Her hair was tied into a long tail at the nape of her neck and fell almost to her waist. She dismounted her horse and knew immediately where to tie it up and fetch water. She spotted Grey on her way back toward the house and hurried to him.

"Well, look who it is!" Grey exclaimed as he embraced her warmly.

"Greyson McAllister, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?!" Violet took a step back, placed her hands on her hips and smiled up at him. "How's everything? How's work?"

"Busy," Grey replied. "But I guess that's a good thing."

"I love to go into town and count all the buildings you've built. I wish I could do something like that."

"Wouldn't your mother love that?" Grey chuckled. "I can just see her walking out of a dress shop and catching her daughter hammering nails or pulling a saw through a piece of wood."

Violet pursed her lips, squinted her eyes, and did her best impression of her mother: "Violet Anne Landry, you wouldn't act that way if you could see how ridiculous you look! I've never met a girl who cares so little about being a respectable lady. You're not a child any longer, Violet! It's time you grew up!" The friends shared a laugh and began toward the house together.

"Isn't that what she said to you the time you challenged Hank Arnold to a horserace?" Grey asked.

Violet laughed loudly. "I would've won too, if mother hadn't found me out!"

"Come into the house, Vi. Mother and Meg will be tickled pink to see you."

"Is little Meg really getting married?"

"She is, and she has her big brother giving her away. Just come see her and let her tell you everything!" The two walked into the house arm in arm, unaware that they were being watched from an upstairs window by a very shocked and angry India Wilkes.