Life at The Mist, Cotton's family plantation had not only survived the Civil War but they were actually thriving. Most of the former slaves had remained, now employed by Cotton. Although they were receiving a very menial amount of cash, Cotton insured that they had food, shelter and, above all, fair treatment.
She was making the farm a success both financially and socially. As for the latter, she had begun seeing young Charles Godfrey, the son of a neighboring plantation owner whom she had known since childhood. Charles was, to say the least, a small man both in stature and personality. He was, however, heir to the only other Plantation in western Mississippi that had not been burned to the ground by the Union army.
Cotton was well aware that his father, Carlton had likely engaged in the same traitorous acts as her own father in order to prevent such devastation.
She still saw Thom whenever her highly active hormones might desire. And, in fact, she had even taken to inviting him into the main house, which was a rare thing for a white woman to do. And even more exceptional, up the big curved front stairs and into her bed. The black workers were aware of what was happening, for sure, but such a secret was being guarded and protected with a loyalty that even Cotton would not understand.
When Mr. Godfrey would call on Cotton, the black workers never came near the house and he never had a clue that Cotton was anything other than the sweet virtuous southern bell he had always thought her to be.
It was that summer on a hot night setting on the porch swing that Charles first hinted at the possibility the two might marry. It was not the first time she had thought of a time when she might be expected to lay beside someone other than her black man.
Cotton sipped at her lemonade. "Charles." She said. "I am the owner of a 3,000 acre plantation. I run a successful enterprise with near seventy employees." She looked at him and placed his hand into hers. She continued. "I was educated in the north and I am certainly the most independent woman you shall ever likely know." She squeezed his hand. "I live a life I do not wish to change."
Charles spoke up. "Victoria, I would not expect anything less. I know you are a strong woman. That is what attracts me to you. I assure you, I would never wish that to change."
Cotton could not convince Charles to use the name the black workers had given her.
So, three months later, the two were married in a production fit for such a beautiful flower of the great south. As time went by, Cotton was not at all surprised by the disappointments in her marital bed. She soon took to slipping away well into the night after Charles was fast asleep to visit Thom in his sometimes cold and drafty cabin.
On one such morning after falling asleep in his arms, Cotton found herself slipping in the kitchen door well after the sun was up. Dallia was at her usual cook station. "You be famished again, I reckon?"
"Dallia!" Cotton scolded but of course the woman was right and they both knew it.
"Sit child." She directed Cotton to her regular kitchen stool. Cotton pressed her forehead onto the butcher block table top.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" Cotton mumbled.
"Not that much." Dallia offered. "You just got what you don't want and need what you can't have."
"Painfully wise." Cotton replied.
"You need to stop this sneek'n round." Dallia advised.
"Sure." Cotton said. "I'll be road out of the county on a rail."
Dallia came over and placed breakfast in front of her. Cotton reached for a fork but Dallia put her hand on Cotton's preventing her from eating. "Good news is you got yourself a weak man." She patted Cotton's hand. "Bad news is you not using it to your benefit."
After breakfast, Cotton and Dallia had a long talk about life and men and taking charge of both. A few days later, after the evening meal, Cotton asked Charles to walk with her. She was in a long light weight white cotton dress. If you saw her just right with the moonlight behind her, you could imagine the delicate form hidden beneath. She was growing more beautiful every season.
They made their way down the path and the row of houses for the workers. When she stopped in front of Thom's cabin she looked at Charles. "This where I come when I have a need." She started. "I have that need now." Charles became quiet but clearly nervous.
"I would like for you to come with me, to see for yourself." She touched his cheek. "But your options are many. You can return to the house to wait for me. You can leave the plantation and forget about me. I suppose you could return with your pistol and end the pain this could cause you." She turned and walked up on the porch. She looked back at Charles. "Whatever you decide, it will be the right thing for you. What I do is the right thing for me. I think that only fair.
Cotton disappeared into the cabin as Charles was left standing in the dirt road.
