Caution: Fiction

The Gray Wall

            A cool breeze gently rustled her tattered brown skirts as Annabelle settled upon the hard wooden bench. She watched as the station boy deposited her portmanteau onto the wooden platform and disappeared amongst the crowd. Men in top hats and overcoats strolled past her, avoiding her gaze. Little children dressed in their Sunday best stopped and gawked at her frayed white linen shirt and wrinkled red coat until their mothers would shoo them away. Annabelle, however, never wavered. She remained sitting and kept her head raised. Under her straw brim hat, her hazel eyes lingered on the ruin beyond the tracks.

Crumbling stones lay beside the battered gray wall; holes from bombs punctured through it. Once it had been the pride of Charlottesville, protection for their beautiful city. It had been created to keep out the Indians and wild-men in the rolling hills of Northern Virginia. It was supposed to protect them from anything.

            But it had not. The war had ravaged through the small town of Charlottesville and left behind its marks. The wall was a prime example of this. Like the rest of the town, it showed the marks of aggression. It reflected the hardship of a lost war, martial law and the ever increasing poverty of its people. It mirrored the decay of the South.

            To Annabelle, life had always been like this. The wall had always been decrepit. The town had always been suffering from the presence of the ambitious and greedy Northerners or carpetbaggers. Her mama, papa and two younger sisters, Lily and Rose Anne, had always been working in the tobacco fields. She had always been helping Mama mending clothes, or the young’uns scrape for food.  Although never discussed, the war had always been lost. The absence of a brother and uncle had always been due to northern aggression. The North had always been the blame.

            A low Yankee voice disrupted her stillness. “Annabelle, I did not know if I would find you here.”
            She craned her neck to see her handsome young gentleman approach. Seeing him in his dark brown overcoat and trousers made her heart beat faster. She smiled.

            “Dylan, I thank th’ Lord that ye survived the night despite ‘em burning crosses.”

            Dylan grimaced, and his face darkened. “As much as they would like, I refuse to give way. I still want to help this town modernize. Even if I am forced to do it from a distance.”

            Annabelle silently nodded. She knew that he did not want to leave this town. Before Dylan, she would never have understood that. She had always believed any Northerner “modernizing” the South meant taking advantage of the South’s misfortunes. But Dylan was not this way. With his youthful good looks and bright ideas, he had marched into Charlottesville two years ago, determined to help the town. He had set about helping the children gain a better education, the farmers grow their crops more efficiently and rebuilding the town’s streets and railroad systems.

            It was in that time she had first met and fallen for him. She remembered looking into his clear blue eyes framed against his black hair as he conversed with her father. She had just stood there and absently nodded, not understanding anything he said. She had only known that she was supposed to stay away from the “likes of him.” That Northerners were never to be trusted.

            Time had told differently, however. Every week over those two years he had come to her plantation. At first she would remain in the distance, silently observing. Eventually she had gained enough confidence to address him, even without her father. As she had rambled, he had listened. His eyes had held her hazel ones. He even had smiled. He had given her time. Before him, she had never known a gentleman that would do that. She had never known someone so caring. 

            “Annabelle, are you alright?” She felt his hand against her back. She winced away in pain.

            “I’ll be fine again, soon. Thank ye,” she whispered in her delicate drawl. She forcefully smiled.

            A look of concern flickered across his face. His eyes searched hers. “Yes, it looks like your bruises are healing.” He gently brushed an auburn curl from her eyes, avoiding contact with her purple and blue skin. He took her hand in his and pressed it against his lips.

“I am so sorry, Annabelle. I blame myself entirely for what happened. I never thought my help could bring so much opposition and hatred. I never thought it would injure another, especially you. I still do not know how they found out about us . . .” He squeezed her hands. “I promise, though, that I will never let it happen to you, again.”

            “You cannot blame yourself, Dylan.” Truthfully, how was he to blame? He had just been trying to help. It was not his fault that others had not wanted his assistance. It was not his fault that the Klan had come after them, because he was a Northerner and she was courting an “outsider.” Despite the threats and burning crosses, they had thought that it would subside. Neither of them had predicted this outcome.

            Annabelle shook her head. Tears pricked from her eyes. She had tried to stay strong for too long. “Dylan, ye saved me life. I shudder to think what may have happened if ye had not been passing . . .” her voice faded.

 Images of that night flashed in front of her. She saw the burning flames and their terrifying expressions in white hoods. She felt their rough hands against her, violently pushing her to the ground. She felt their legs trampling upon her. Harsh words echoed in her ear, whispering that she was betraying her ancestors. She sensed their hatred and disgust.

            Suddenly she felt Dylan’s protective arm wrap around her and envelope her. She rested her head against his shoulder. His warmth comforted her.

            “It will be alright. Everything will be fine. Soon we will be far away from here. Soon you will be safe,” he whispered in her ear.

            She closed her eyes. His words soothed her. He was right. Only leaving Charlottesville ensured her a life. Soon she would not have to worry about anything, especially the Klan. She would be safe. She would have monetary security, enough to send some to Papa and Mama. Most importantly, she would have Dylan. She would have someone who had given up his dreams for her. She would have someone who loved her and would always care for her. She would have the chance to spend her life with that.

            As she heard the whistle of the train, she pulled away from him. She smiled. “You are right. This train is our calling from God. Everything shall be fine now.”

            She smoothed her dress and adjusted her ring. With his help, she rose from the bench. She raised her head and confidently glided toward the train. She ignored the stares from the other passengers. She did not care what they thought; they did not understand her situation.

            Dylan quickly boarded the train in front of her. Her heart began to race as he held out his hand. She looked around at the station. This was it. This was the moment when she should feel the most excited and liberated, but all she felt was uneasiness.

In the distance she saw the rolling hills of her home, illuminated with the bright orange and yellow leaves. Soon her family would begin harvesting. She could imagine Papa in his dirty breeches and ragged mud-colored shirt bending over the plants. Sweat would be dripping from his brim, and by the end of the day, he would be out of breathe. Only with extra pairs of hands would they meet their quota for that fall. In the evening, she would help Mama mend the clothes, turning her gowns into smaller dresses for Lily and Rose Anne. As Mama would sternly lecture the girls on the proper technique of sewing, she would watch as Lily would quietly pester Rose Anne.  In the other room, she would hear the loud voices of Papa and Dylan conversing on new farmer techniques.

Her heart glowed at the thought. As much as her family needed her, she needed her family’s love. Plus as much as Dylan wanted to help the town, it needed him. Without him, the town would continue suffering. It would continue to deal with the conquest of the Northerners and opposition of the Southerners. The town would try to rebuild but remain broken. The wall would remain a ruin.

Annabelle’s eyes widened as she turned back to Dylan. She shook her head and walked away from the train. Despite the Klan, she would never be able to leave her home. With Dylan behind her, she watched as the train pulled away from the station, and her chance for complete safety disappeared. Rather behind it, the gray wall remained.