before getting ready earlier in the day.
“That Caroline, she really is a sweetheart,” Blanche thought.
Slipping the silk over her left then right arm, pulling the material together to be buttoned up the front, Blanche closed her eyes enjoying the silk as it caressed her body.
“Mmmmm, that does feel good,” escaped her lips, as she pulled the bottoms up and made a quick knot in the drawstring.
Ready for bed, she fluffed the pillows, pulled the light switch on the end table lamp illuminating the adjacent space and lifted the book that would be her companion for the next hour. ‘
Initially, Blanche thought she must have been hearing the distant sound of people arguing. She tried to ignore it, going back to her book, reading a few more lines, concentrating on the images formed in her head, but the incoming sound seemed to ebb and flow, soft, muffled then building then dropping off again. She placed the book on the bed and listened more intently trying to figure out where it was coming from. There were two distinct voices, male and female, but the exchange didn’t make much sense. She would periodically pick up a word here and a word there but nothing that could be associated with typical dialog. The more carefully she listened the more concerned she became, it sounded as if the woman was being assaulted.
“Should I phone someone or wake up Caroline?” she thought.
“No, no. No, no. Stop, stop, stop! Give me a minute!” she heard the female voice say louder now.
Blanche held her breath. Suddenly, there was a knock on the wall directly behind Blanche’s head, startling her and making her drop ‘
“Just lovely!” she said, picking her book up and climbing back into bed.
Before long the distraction next door died down, her eyes heavy, she placed the book aside, turned off the light and began drifting in and out of consciousness, her last sarcastic thought being, “never should have given that ashtray to Holly.” And she gave up, giving herself to the fatigue that enveloped her.
Blanche stood between the white columns that pushed up from the porch supporting the second story of the plantation mansion. Ahead she could see the gardens to the right and left of the walkway that extended over a hundred feet before reaching a gate and brick fence that surrounded the property. Beyond the fence she could see ten housing structures also of brick running in a uniform row, but shielded by large oak trees that dotted the property. Seeing her, as if from someone else’s perspective, she was dressed in the most beautiful gown, orange and cream, with a necklace of gemstones around her neck, sparkling in the noonday sun.
The dress was exquisite, made of multiple layers of taffeta, the inner layers being a rustic burnt-orange with the outer shell, having a satin like texture in a subtle, off white. Her waist was cinched tight with the assistance of a bone corset accentuating both her tiny waist and bountiful bosom. From the waist there were six runners of orange fabric over the cream that terminated in a bow six inches from the bottom of the dress. The lighter fabric draped over the orange and inside the runners giving a three-dimensional look to the dress that was striking. Between bows the cream taffeta cascaded down creating folds and a scalloped border allowing for an orange trim around the bottom of the dress, reaching the ground.
The lower half of the dress was unique and beautiful but it was the top half that had the Southern Gentlemen on the porch, and the black butlers staring in obvious admiration and lust. The sleeves began a few inches below the roundest part of her shoulders and only covered a few inches of each arm. Her neck and shoulders were completely bare except for the necklace that shimmered and reflected light with each slight movement of her torso. Lace trimmed the fabric at the top of the dress that rode just above her shoulder blades in back and dangerously low in the front. The white of her upper breasts spilled to overflowing from the top of the gown, drawing attention from male and female alike.
Blanche moved about the porch making small talk and enjoying the discomfort she was creating amongst the guests that were there. Other women moved about within the confines of the gardens but none ventured beyond the gate, except to mount a horse drawn carriage to be escorted from the property down the long, oak lined lane that led to the border of the plantation. Black male servants stood at the entrance to the gardened expanse, helping individuals in and out of carriages as more and more people arrived, filling the porch and surrounding area.
She knew that some sort of party was taking place but was confused, not really knowing anyone but being the center of attention. She flirted, fanning herself and bending lower than needed to allow the young men to get a better look at her assets. Within minutes she had men fawning over her, offering her drinks and requesting the opportunity to dance with her later in the event. The power of her position was readily apparent and she was reveling in it. In her dream, she looked about, taking in the eyes of the men around her, all intent on her form.
Her role as plantation tease complete, she excused herself and retreated into the mansion. Large, imported doors from England swung open to a grand entryway, hardwood floor and spiral staircase that dominated the center of the home. Two butlers opened both doors to allow her entrance; the bone hoop skirt needed a wide birth. She could hear herself speaking with a thick Southern accent, moving freely among the guests in the drawing room, stopping to see if any conversation was of interest to her but knowing that she was only there to entice the men and drive them crazy. A goal she was easily attaining. Growing tired of the little game she was playing she looked about for the man she knew truly wanted her and she, him.
Searching the main floor he was nowhere to be seen. Gliding up the stairs, she went from room to room, trying not to be obvious that she was looking for a particular individual, for if she was found out it would lead to certain ruination. Unable to locate him in the plantation mansion she ventured outside to the rear of the house that led to the river and the rice fields beyond. Holding up the dress to move more quickly, she moved to the kitchen adjacent to the mansion, peered inside and saw the source of her yearning. Two black female slaves stood, sweat beading up on their skin from the intense heat of the kitchen and the warmth of the day. Both reacted with surprise when they saw Blanche at the doorway.
“You ought not to be here ma’am this here’s for slaves and kitchen worka’s. There be sumpin’ we can hep ya wit?” the older one asked.
“Not you, but I need a strong back to do some lifting for me, need that big fella there,” Blanche said, pointing to the black man, back to her, putting wood on the large fire where the pig was roasting.
Jasper recognized the voice, turned around, but could not stand fully without cracking his head on the shallow ceiling. A wide smile crossed his lips, which he immediately muted when the kitchen workers scowled in his direction.
“Yes ma'am, Ms. Delaney, ya’ll be needin’ Jasper’s help with somethin’?”
His broad, hairless chest, turned dark from the hours in the cotton fields glistened with droplets of perspiration, expanding in and out as he recuperated from the job of feeding the fire.
“Yes, I surely do Jasper, come out here a minute and let me get a better look at you. Need to make sure you’re up to the job,” winking at just the right moment so the other help couldn’t see.
Jasper ducked his head low enough to exit the kitchen and stood before his owner.
“What you be needin’ missy?” he said, a knowing look in his eye.
“You know perfectly well what I ‘be needin’ and I’m not going to get it here! Come with me.”
Blanche turned and strode in the direction of the river, Jasper close behind, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was looking or following. Once at the river, the pair knew there was an old kitchen structure that had partially burned down, with three walls still erect. Standing inside, one could see across the river but those in the house could not see what was going on inside. Blanche scurried around the wall and into the structure, turning to face Jasper as he entered.
She went to him without worry of soiling her dress or fear of retribution but to quench the fire that was burning in her loins. Their lips meshed, his massive arms pulling her close, lifting her from the ground he dropped his hungry mouth to her neck and lower. Blanche pushed his mouth away and motioned for him to put her down. She backed up, reached for the rope that ran through the loops of his knee-length pants and began untying the
