Astor Property

With winter's claws in full retract, summer had raged into the world with the vigor of a newly-reformed priest let loose in a whorehouse. Elie Astor was not that priest -- at least, not this time. He was in a small section of the yard, watching his son sprinting back and forth chasing some dragonfly. News worried him not, nor did the sweat streaming down his jaw as a result from the blistering Apollo's anus overhead. No, life was lovely.

Rachel was sitting in an elegantly shaped oak chair behind, with her wide dress skirt fanning out. The blue of the fawn made Rachel's eyes appear brighter, and the white stitched flowers added a hint of delicateness to her. Underneath was the corset which was tightened as much as possible without Rachel not being able to breath. Then there was the steal cage of the hoop skirt, and the many petticoats and drawers to give Rachel the best shape possible.

Rachel's seamstress Maddie had sewn it just for her. Working with her needle far into candlelight, she had designed it for her mistress in mind. So her mistress could look as best as possible.

But it was a labor of love. There was no other dress in the whole of Virginia quite like it, and no one else would look quite as elegant in it as Rachel. Though her father would always call her homey, she made a beautiful picture as she was bent of her embroidery. Occasionally, she'd glance up lovingly at her husband and at her son.

Her pretty little mind was far away from the onset of political unease.

Elie took his eye from the boy a moment to fetch a net for which for him to catch the devil's advocate insect. He entered the sunroom, beaming beneath his film. He paused on his way past her chair to plant a rather wet kiss on his wife's cheek. "Have you seen the bug-catchin' net, darlin'?"

Rachel smiled lovingly at her husband. "Oh, it was in the nursey, the last time I checked." Rachel stood up, her skirts rustling all over the place.

"Shall I go get it?" she asked him politely.

"Oh, that's alright," he said, trailing off up the staircase -- the second part of his answer half-concealed by the creaking oak and the thud of his feet. "I can geddit."

"Gah! Pa!"

Clarence had manage to toddle into the house and stand beneath the staircase. His eyes shone with utter happiness, as if he were Peter Pan and he was choosing to remain as a child forever. Rachel peaked from her room and beamed at her son.

In Rachel Astor's opinion, there wasn't a son as beautiful as Clarence. His eyes were the same shade of viridian as his father's, with the finely shaped face. He was going to have Elie's chin, that was for certain. And his head was already full of hair. There was no other baby as healthy and happy as him in the whole state of Virginia, or the South for that matter.

He was halfway down with the net when the lad called up. "Yeah, boy?"

"Lee!" He gurgled, and he trotted up with him with his clumsy little legs. He raised his arms up towards his father.

"Up!" he commanded, like a little Southern gentleman.

Obediently, Elie set the net down on the step he could reach and lifted his infant son into the air. "You're light as a stone, boy! Doesn't your mother ever feed you?" he teased, loud enough so his Ray-of-sunshine could hear just below.

"Come on Elie, you know that stones can be heavy!" Rachel teased right back, in an attempt to scold her husband. But the happiness could be heard through it.

"A li'l one. A pebble, even." He carried Clarence downstairs and rejoined Rachel in the sunroom. "A grain of sand," he tacked on, enunciating each word in proper English for emphasis.

"The Rosensteel's party is tonight," Rachel took Clarence into her arms, and let him play on her lap. "Everyone from town is going to be there... I suppose they're trying to marry off their daughter." Rachel gave Elie a glance but didn't say anything more about Serenity. Serenity was going to certainly be the belle of the ball that evening.

"We weren't invited, were we?" Elie asked, taking a seat on a nearby footstool. He laced his fingers together, and let his fisted hands droop off the ends of his knees.

"Well... no, I suppose not." Rachel looked a bit uncomfortable as she said that. She always felt that when she was invited to high class social affairs.

"But, if possible, you should try to go anyway. Your brother will be there."

"You implying I'd care enough to hang around that son of a --" He recalled they shared the same mother and stopped himself in time. "Notwithstanding. I ain't going. That Rosensteel girl's a hussy, anyway."

"A hussy! You'd go so far to tell her that? She ain't one... well, not a huge one anyway. Though, I was at the opera one day, and she was there, and her bosom was hanging out all over the place..." Rachel shook her head disapprovingly.

"Well... she may not be a hussy, but she ain't a gentlewoman." She finally decided on, firmly.

"T'mato, tuh ma toe."

"Oh shush... to be honest, I still wouldn't mind attending that party." Rachel stood up. "Do you think it's too late to get the horses hitched up?"

July 21st, 1861.

Rachel was in her sitting room, embroidering. By name only, however. She was more so plying her needle up and down through the muslin, leaving a mess of uneven, unslightly stitches.

So the war had really began. A war about slavery thing and unification that. It didn't matter-innocent boys from town would be murdered all because the Yanks were so stubborn.

Live and let live, Rachel thought as she made another stitch. Let the South have the slavery and farm production and the Yanks can just go along their way.

"The talk about women's rights may seem improper, but perhaps we can bring some sense to the government..." Rachel mumbled to herself. She looked down at the piece of muslin. She was supposed to have been embroidering the stem of a rose, but it looked more like an overgrown weed.

Oh, it didn't even matter.

(I don't care if anyone replies, I just want to write. :u)