Expressway travel, like plane travel, is a non-experience . . . hours of boredom with the ever-present possibility of sudden death.
Traveling south on I-65, from Birmingham to Pensacola, there is an amusing sign with a likeness of the devil that says: “Go to church or the devil will get you!” My wife and I can chuckle over this for a few miles; then monotony reasserts itself. There are, however, some interesting green road signs—each with the names of two upcoming towns. Four of these double-name signs (TYSON / MONTGOMERY, GEORGIANA / STARLINGTON, JEMISON / THORSBY and GRACE/GARLAND) inspired my wife and me to compose this sultry yet tender . . . taut but smoldering, antebellum romance.
GEORGIANA STARLINGTON, clad in her petticoat, pouted in front of her full-length mirror. She had been holding her cascading auburn curls away from her neck while powdering her already perfect creamy shoulders. She spoke to her cousin, GRACE GARLAND.
“Ah do so hate it when it’s sticky! Grace, darlin’, how am I to look cool and fresh for the ball tonight? Ah know my silk dress (seeulk drayus) will simply wilt (weeult) in this heat!”
Grace—lovely in her own right, with olive skin and dark brown hair framing her small, oval face—cast a cynical, brown-eyed glance at her beautiful cousin.
“Georgiana, you have everything (evruhthing)—beauty, love . . . everything—and still you’re never (nevuh) satisfied. Do you think for a minute that TYSON MONTGOMERY will care if your silk dress is a little limp (leeump)?”
Georgiana had, in fact, just been imagining Tyson, her tall, hawk-like Confederate captain, resplendent in his gray uniform. She had been seeing herself sweeping down the long, curving staircase to greet him while the light of a hundred candles caused her green silk gown and auburn curls to twinkle with jewel-like fires.
Grace would have been more patient, but her cousin’s pouting remark had interrupted her own reverie. Reclining on the chaise in her petticoat, she had been dreaming of JEMISON THORSBY, the tall, black-haired young doctor who was visiting from Savannah. Grace had met Jemison only two days ago, but his eyes had locked onto hers with a dark intensity that made her catch her breath with a little gasp. . . .
I would tell you more about how the lives of these four young people were entwined—only to be driven asunder by the war—but the Evergreen exit is coming up, and it’s time for turnip greens and fried chicken at the Quality Inn!