Chapter 1: Everclear Plantation, 1832
Terri and I first became acquainted when she moved to Louisiana in 1832 during the boom times. I had just completed renovating my small plantation home forty miles north of New Orleans, set back a little from the Mississippi. Her husband worked for me and managed the plantation commerce.
We grew sugar cane and shipped it down to New Orleans. The crop was reliable and the plantation prospered. I had fifty-three Negroes working for me and they lived on the plantation in fourteen two-family cabins under the oak on the road leading back to the sugar cane processing plant. I had selected the most reliable workers to take care of the cooking and housekeeping. My brother and his wife lived in my home along with me. My wife returned to Boston after only a few months of living in the slow-moving south. She preferred the theater to nights at the Sugar Shack, a local tavern and eatery next to the river. I preferred black beans and rice to Lobster Newburg.
I had to go into New Orleans to talk with my lawyer about some finance matters. It takes about eight hours by buckboard and that is with a change of horses at the halfway point. It a long ride but the scenery is beautiful. I made this trip about every month. Terri’s mom lived in the French Quarter and she asked if she could go along with me. I said sure and asked if she had a place to stay overnight.
She laughed and said, “Yes, with my Mamma." I said, “Sure, if that is the way you want it." Terry had move in about a month before and she was really fine to look at, and she had a lot of exuberant energy. I would go out of my way to be around her whenever I could, without drawing the attention of her husband.
We started out the next morning, just before the sun came up. The workers were already getting the day started in the kitchen and in the barns. I greeted them all with good mornings all around. They really were the ones that made the plantation work and they made me feel like a guest in my own home. We boarded the buckboard and drove out under the oaks. There were already children climbing in the trees and a few mothers nursing their young ones on their front porches. The horses were frisky and felt the adventure of the trip.
As the morning sun came up over the Mississippi it cast a warm pink orange glow on everything and made the water look like wine. Terry was sitting next to me on my right and pretty face reflected the warmth of the June morning. She was wearing a long blue dress and a white hemp blouse, with a drawstring at the open neck. With the rhythm of the buckboard, I could not help but notice her breasts bouncing and I was very aware of our hip touching and brushing against each other’s as we made turns. She smelled like vanilla flowers, if there is such a thing. We kept the conversation light and made each other laugh all the way to New Orleans. When we arrive, I dropped her off at her mom’s home and went off to meet my lawyer.
The next morning after we I was done with my lawyer, I met Terry at Brannon’s for a late breakfast and some eye-openers for the road. Breakfast was good as usual, and her company was extraordinary. She seemed to have resolved something that I knew was bothering her during her visit with her mom.