Epistolary Histories

My dearest Mary Belle,

It seems like only yesterday I stood beaming next to you at the wedding—oh, sister, you were a most beautiful bride! I cannot believe that three whole months have passed since Fergus and I bade you goodbye. I received your first letter to me as a married woman last week, and it brought me such joy! You sound as if you are creating a wonderful home for Gregory, just as I knew you would. I am so happy that your first party hosting went so well! It is very impressive indeed, darling, that the Mayor of Mobile and his wife attended!

How are you managing your slaves? Sister, I must compare notes with you on this topic. Here in Atlanta, everything is a ruckus. Before all of this Union Army unpleasantness, Fergus and I had five slaves. The three women attended to domestic duties around the house; the two men—strong, stable lads these were—we out-hired to plantation owners in rural Georgia. You may remember the cook, Hilda, a short, squat little thing. (Or you should remember her apple pies at least—I recall you remarking upon how delicious they were last time we had the good fortune of you visiting.)

Now, dear sister, how many slaves do you expect we have? Two! The instant they could, our two male slaves deserted us to join the Union Army. Can you believe it? After all Fergus and I had done for those ungrateful brutes! We had even let them keep a percentage of the wages they earned, Mary Belle! And it was a generous percentage! Then the youngest girl, Jeanine, ran off three days later! Fergus has done all he can to try to determine her whereabouts, yet no one has seen any trace of her. This may not be ladylike of me to say, dear Mary, but I hope she’s lying somewhere dead in a ditch. That will serve her right for her complete lack of loyalty toward Fergus and I!

And then the two women that remain—oh, Mary, it gives me a headache just thinking about them! They think they are God’s gifts to us just because they stayed behind! Tamara waltzes around like she owns the place and has become careless and lazy with Fergus’ washing. Just yesterday Fergus was forced to wear a blue shirt because all his white shirts were dirty. Can you imagine? And Hilda’s pies are nothing in comparison to what they once were. And she has started, on occasion, refusing to make Fergus a midnight snack. The thing complains that she doesn’t want to be woken up to cook once she goes to bed. I tell you, Mary, these slaves are just the most inconsiderate beings on the planet.

I do hope that the Confederates claim victory soon. I am getting sick and tired of managing such unruly specimens.

Your loving sister,

Kate