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July 24, 2007

Jim: Casualties of War

Back and forth, he paced the parlor, his scowl deepening with each lap of the polished hardwood floor. Every now and then a harsh, “Damn them!” escaped his tightened lips.

“It’s what the North does, my dear,” said the thin woman in a lavender hoopskirt. “We’re at war, remember?”

He stopped and spun; rage lighting his eyes. “I’m running a plantation here,” he hissed. “I paid over a hundred dollars for each head and now the Yanks come and take them away!

“They’re just cows, dear. It would have been much worse if they’d found where you’d hidden the slaves.”

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