Date: Thu, 28 May 2009 19:03:54 -0400
From: John Ellison <paradegi@sympatico.ca>
Subject: The Landing - Chapter 11

This story contains situations and scenes of graphic sex between consenting
males. All legal disclaimers apply. If this topic offends you, do not read
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locations,
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental, although it may be
loosely based on real events and people.

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Copyright 2009 by John Ellison

Additional works publish in Nifty in the Military Category:

The Phantom of Aurora
The Boys of Aurora
Aurora Tapestry
The Knights of Aurora
Aurora Crusade

The "Aurora" books are a series and should be read in sequence.

A Sailor's Tale

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Please feel free to send comments to: paradegi@sympatico.ca


The Landing


Chapter 11


	The morning of Mummy's barbecue and gala dawned sunny, clear, and
cool. The skies overhead were a brilliant shade of blue and if the weather
held, as everything seemed to indicate it would, today would be a wonderful
day for a barbecue.
	The wonder of the day increased as a lump that was sprawled under
the covers behind me moved and shuffled closer. Looking over my shoulder I
saw a clump of red hair peeking above the covers and knew Wade Hampton was
back in town. However . . .
	I was in my usual morning condition: full on hard and a full
bladder. I slowly moved out of bed and scampered into the bathroom where I
took care of pressing business. After my usual struggle with my rampant
pecker and obstreperous bladder, I peed, washed my hands, and went back to
bed.
	"Feel better?" groused Wade Hampton from under the covers.
	"Much, thank you," I replied nonchalantly. "Even washed my hands."
	Wade Hampton pulled down the covers and grinned toothily. "Hot
damn, Cooper, that pecker of yours looks good enough to eat!"
	I looked down to see the head of my pecker, all pink, bright-eyed
and bushy-tailed, poking out of the slit in my boxers. I quickly tucked it
back into the striped cotton and pulled the covers protectively over my
most prized possession. "The only thing you're going to eat this morning is
bacon and eggs, that is if Mam Berta is in a good mood."
	Struggling into a seated position, Wade Hampton stretched,
scratched and then reached down to adjust himself. Then, as brazen as
always, he reached down to give me another feel. "So," he drawled
languidly, "we gonna fool around?" He grinned at me and waggled his
eyebrows.
	To be honest, I was tempted. Wade Hampton was a satyr of the first
order, and always aimed to please. However . . .
	"Wade Hampton, it's going to be a long day," I began as I pushed
his hand away. "If I know my mother, or more importantly, Mam Berta, we'll
be too busy and . . ."
	Wade Hampton sat up with a start. "What do you mean `we'll be too
busy'?"
	I sighed at his obtuseness. "Wade, we've got half the county coming
for barbecue, which means we get to hump whatever needs humping . . ."
	"Frottage?" Wade Hampton all but leapt on that.
	"NO!" I shook my head. "Really, Wade Hampton. You run out of
peckers in Charleston?"
	Defeated, Wade Hampton crawled from the bed, stretched, and then
walked to the window. He looked down at the hubbub brewing on the
lawns. The tents were up and being staked, a large truck was parked outside
the kitchen entry, the men unloading barrels of beer. Mr. Sullivan, the
official barbecue cook, had set up two huge smokers and was busy basting
joints of beef, pork ribs and loins, while nearby his sons, under Mam
Berta's gimlet eye, were prepping the salads.
	Since I knew that much of what I would be doing would be dragging
boxes of glasses and dishes, and bottles of wine from dusty cellar and even
dustier attic, I didn't bother to shower.
	With Wade Hampton grumbling every inch of the way, we went
downstairs, navigating past what seemed to be caterer's assistants and
florists as they prepared the ballroom for the dinner.
	The kitchen was packed with people prepping food and washing the
plates and bowls and glasses that would be used to set the tables in the
ballroom. Off to the side, busily folding linen napkins into "Prince of
Wales Feathers" shapes, Flora and Annette were giggling away, putting the
moves on one of the caterer's assistants, a coffee-colored man who looked
embarrassed at all the attention.
	As we stood watching the bustling crowd, the back door slammed and
Mam Berta entered. She was in a pet about something, the ingredients in
Mr. Sullivan's secret, handed-down-from-generation-to-generation barbecue
sauce, and told us that breakfast would be what we could find. What we
found was a jug of milk and a box of corn flakes!
	After eating, Wade Hampton and I went outside. Not really wanting
to be put to work so early in the day, we wandered over to Sinjin's house,
where things were in flux. The dress Sinjin's mother had chosen to wear for
the dinner that evening was being fitted and altered to fit her, and she
was sequestered in the front parlor with Miss Hester and Miss Adele Finch,
and a seamstress from Lucille's, the ladies' shop downtown. Sinjin told us
the parlor was officially "No Man's Land" and he'd been ordered to stay
away as his mother was insistent that her dress was not to be seen until
she made her appearance later in the evening.
	Lily, the Tradd family cook, took pity on Wade Hampton and me, or
to be more accurate, grew tired of our whining about not having a proper
breakfast, and fed us: bacon, eggs, biscuits and gravy, and the inevitable
grits. After eating, we were banished to the outside. Lily had things to do
and she didn't need three boisterous boys under her feet.
	We went outside and sat on the front porch, watching the world go
by. Mr. Tradd was there was well, busily polishing the silver scabbard of
the Mameluke sword he would wear with his costume at the ball. He would be
wearing a Confederate Army Major's full dress uniform, all gray and gold,
which his great grandfather had worn. It was a little the worse for age,
but it was quite grand and was, I would later find out, more or less the
costume of choice for the male guests.
	As we sat we watched as small vans and trucks rolled by, delivering
chairs and china, flowers and comestibles. If nothing else, the guests at
the barbecue would eat well.
	Eventually we grew bored, at least Wade Hampton did, and he began
giving Sinjin the eye. Grinning, Sinjin asked us if we wanted to go up to
his room and look at his latest airplane model. Sinjin loved the thrill of
building the latest model fighter jet, and his room looked like an aerial
dogfight with models hanging on strings from the ceiling. >From the
definite bulge in Sinjin's shorts I knew model aircraft would be least
studied, and while I was tempted, a threesome, even with two beautiful guys
such as Sinjin and Wade Hampton, really didn't appeal to me. Excusing
myself I left the porch and ambled to the roadway, which was clear for the
moment.
	I glanced back to see that the porch was empty - they sure weren't
wasting time, I thought, not paying attention to the traffic at
all. Stupidly I let my mind wander, only to be blasted back to reality by
what sound like the Atlanta Limited rushing by. Instinctively I flung
myself to the side, and watched, terrified, eyes wide and mouth open as the
biggest, reddest, Cadillac convertible screeched to a halt, bare feet from
me. For the benefit of aficionados, the car was a candy-apple red, 1968
Cadillac de Ville convertible, streamlined, powerful and totally out of
place in a state and area where only undertakers drove Cadillacs, and never
red ones.
	"Is the little boy all right?" came a somewhat constipated female
voice as doors opened and slammed.
	Now, one way to not win friends and influence a fourteen-year-old
male is to call him "a little boy"! I puffed up like a toad and yelled
indignantly, "I am not a little boy!" I did not add, although I desperately
wanted to, "You half-blind, dizzy bitch!"
	I felt a firm hand shaking me and a voice asking me if I was all
right. When I didn't reply the hand shook me again. "Cooper, wake up! Are
you hurt?"
	I looked up to see the firm, square face of my oldest brother,
Philip Charles. He actually looked worried! I shook his hand away. "I'm
fine!" I groused. "But some people should look where they're going and
. . ."
	Philip Charles straightened. "Cooper, the lady is my guest," he
murmured.
	I bit my tongue. Philip Charles had muttered the two secret words:
"lady" and "guest" and this, in the scheme of things, put her beyond the
pale. No matter what she said or did, I could not criticize. I gave him a
dirty look and then looked into the car. Behind the wheel was a flaxen,
rather good looking, willowy blonde girl, whom I did not know and who, if
her accent was any indication, was a Yankee. In the back seat, wearing
undress summer uniforms were Charlie Pegram, the light of my life, and a
firm-jawed, near poster-boy, dark haired cadet. He was slim, or so he
seemed, seated as he was in the back, and very good looking. He saw me
looking at him, and waved lightly. Charlie grinned at me. "You okay there,
little man?" he asked brightly. "Nothing broken, nothing fall off?"
	I could not help myself and giggled. I got the allusion. Philip
Charles' guest did not. "How could anything fall off?" she asked, looking
at me with washed out, pale blue eyes. She spoke very clearly, but there
was something about the way she spoke that made me think of someone who'd
broken his jaw. Her words were clipped and exaggerated and she sounded as
if she was talking while having a gas attack. I would later come to learn
that this way of speaking was common to the self-appointed third or fourth
generation "aristocrats" of the Northeast, notably the Philadelphia Main
Line.
	"Is he all right?" Miss Philadelphia Main Line called.
	"He's fine," replied Philip Charles, as he gave me a slight
squeeze. He then ruffled my hair - which he knew I hated. "This is my
little brother, Cooper," he introduced me.
	"Well, he's cute, as cute as a bug in a rug!" She laughed
raucously, a booming bellow that made me cringe. "But come on, Philip, I'm
broiling!"
	Well, had she not been wearing too tight khaki shorts and an even
tighter Citadel shirt tied under her none too ample breasts, she wouldn't
be broiling, I thought to myself. My musing was interrupted by the hooting
of a klaxon-like horn and I looked to see my grandmother, Mary de Marigny's
ancient, boxy maroon Daimler slowly pass. Had I not been so pissed off I
would have waved to see her, for she was my favorite grandmother. She
always gave the best birthday and Christmas presents, and insisted on being
addressed as "Granny". While even though as aristocratic as my other
grandmother, Arabella Huger Pelham, who insisted on being addressed as
"Grandmama", Granny May preferred "Granny", never put on airs, rarely
disapproved, and always had a twinkle in her eyes when confronted with
mischievous grandsons.
	I had a glimpse of Granny May peering from the back seat of the
Daimler, her face registering her disapproval of the Cadillac and the young
female driving it. In Granny May's world young ladies did not drive red
Cadillac convertibles or parade about in tight shorts with their breasts
bursting out!
	As the Daimler passed down the street and turned into Broadlands
House, I could hear the bugles sounding the call to war. Soon enough Granny
May would register her disapproval of Philip Charles' "lady guest" and the
battle lines would be drawn.

******

	I dawdled on my way home, still pissed off and not wanting to hurry
the formal introduction of me to Miss Philadelphia Main Line. When that
happened, no matter what she said or did, I had to keep my mouth shut. I
saw that another tent, long and open, had been erected close to the river
bank, the better to catch the cooling breeze blowing from the west. Beside
the tent was parked a large van from which the caterer's assistants were
busily unloading boxes of tea sandwiches, cakes, strawberry tarts, scones
and huge silver urns that would contain the tea and coffee that would be
served. My mother had lived all her married life in the Landing, and had
planned well. She knew that many of her guests, particularly the country
ladies, did not drink spirits. They were all good, Christian women and
alcohol of any kind never touched their lips. A tea tent was also a sop to
Granny May who, while she was known to take a glass or two, never did so in
public, and only if it was a family affair or dinner. She drank wine with
dinner, as did my mother, but booze in the middle of the afternoon was not
in the cards.
	Seeing the assistants hurrying about and plating the tea treats on
huge silver trays, I had to snigger. After meeting Philip Charles' lady
guest I felt certain that Mummy would want something a little more
substantial than tea, probably her favorite tipple: Dubonnet and gin, with
a slice of lemon.
	I debated avoiding the inevitable and was about to go up to my room
when Annette hurried past, carrying a tray laden with tea things. She
looked frazzled, and not at all pleased with having to lay up a table for
the white folks, leaving Flora alone with the handsome young caterer's
assistant.
	"Your momma says to come out to the piazza," Annette said as she
went past. She fixed me a stern look. "And your Granny she's says you is to
mind your manners!"
	Granny May knew that I did not suffer fools gladly, and apparently
informed of my near death experience with the Cadillac, wasn't taking any
chances with her mouthy grandson.
	On the terrace Mummy, Granny May, Philip Charles and his guests
lounged on the battered wicker furniture while Annette busied herself with
the tea table. Miss Philadelphia Main Line had apparently already made an
impression. When she screeched to a stop under the porte-cochere, narrowly
missing Damian Lee, who was helping to carry one of the tents, she had
given him an appraising look (he was wearing his basketball shorts, sans
shirt, and looking sweaty and "hunky", whatever that was). She popped the
trunk and waved toward the pile of Vuitton bags.
	"Can you take these in, please?" she had asked.
	Philip Charles almost choked, and muttered that Damian Lee was not
the house boy, but his brother!
	"Oh? I am so sorry; I thought he was one of the servants." She
flashed what she thought was a devastating smile at Damian Lee, and swept
into the house, leaving him fuming as he stared at her crimson
calliope. Damian Lee assumed she wanted the damn thing parked, and was not
at all pleased at being relegated to the ranks of "servant", which was in a
way a terrible faux pas. Those who worked in domestic service, no matter
their color, were never referred to as "servants". They were "Staff", and
treated with respect and courtesy.
	When being introduced to my mother and grandmother, Miss
Philadelphia Main Line thrust out her hand, arm straight, and pumped away,
declaiming how happy she was to "meet y'all!" "Y'all" was something no one
used, except writers of fiction. Miss Philadelphia Main Line never noticed
the look my mother and grandmother exchanged.
	Noticing my presence, my grandmother smiled and held out her
hand. "Ah, here he is at last." She gave me a look that said "belt up", and
continued, "Looking quite handsome and in need of a bath!"
	"Oh, he is cute, and he wasn't hurt at all," Miss Philadelphia Main
Line interrupted.
	"Fortunately," offered my mother. She was obviously upset. As I
later learned, she was not at all pleased at having to leave off
supervising the goings on and trying to make time for the seamstress to
finish the alterations for her gown. She was also not at all pleased that
Philip Charles had dragged home two extra, unexpected guests. Not only was
Mummy's dinner board (as she called her seating plan) thrown for a loop,
she would be expected to find a place for them to sleep as by the time the
dinner and ball ended it would be much too late to drive back to
Charleston!
	Ordinarily, sleeping arrangements were not too much of a
problem. Broadlands House had been built to entertain relatives, friends
and neighbors. As relatives never came just for a day, and dawdled at times
for weeks, there were extra bedrooms, especially needed as many of them
traveled with a valet, or a maid, or both. However, Granny May, as the
matriarch, took the main guest suite (bedroom, dressing room sitting room
and bath), Alva her old rooms and, as there was no way in Hell that Miss
Philadelphia Main Line would be bunking with Philip Charles, both she and
the young man (introduced as Louis Belmont Yorcke), needed beds. There were
also friends coming from as far away as Savannah, Atlanta, and Richmond,
and "doubling up" was the order of the day, which meant I would share with
Wade Hampton. Several of the guests had had the foresight to book rooms in
the Landing Inn, but still beds would be needed. Granny May, her annoyance
barely in check, suggested the staff quarters.
	At one time, in its salad days, Broadlands House had been staffed
by a butler, a wine steward, four footmen, a cook and three maids. They all
needed to be housed and much of the fourth floor had been turned into small
rooms, some with baths. The rooms were pokey, bed-sitting rooms, and hadn't
been used in years. More work and guess who got to make up the beds and
make sure that the bathrooms were clean and provided with fresh
towels. Louis Yorcke didn't seem at all displeased. A bed was a bed and, as
it turned out, he was from a large family and knew how stressed a house
could become when it was filled to bursting.
	I liked him immediately. He had flashing brown eyes, perfect teeth,
and what can only be described as a swimmer's body. He also had perfect
manners, the type of manners that are taught from birth. My grandmother,
who knew everyone with the slightest claim to gentility, was pleased and,
as it turned out, knew exactly who Louis was. More importantly, she knew
his family history.
	The Yorckes were an old, established family, with a fine pedigree,
having lived in Columbia for generations. They were goldsmiths, very well
regarded, and produced scholars and . . . rabbis. In fact, Granny May had
gone to school with Louis's grandmother, who had been a Cohen.
	"I remember her well," Granny May told Louis with a warm
smile. "All the girls at school thought she was so beautiful, and she was
so very kind. I was sorry to hear of her passing."
	Before Louis could answer, Miss Philadelphia Main Line put her foot
in it, and began chattering about her school. Granny May stiffened. She had
heard of the school and was not impressed in the least. Located in New
England, on a huge sprawling campus, the school housed the daughters, very
expensively, of the wealthy elite that had sprung up after the War of
Northern Aggression. The girls majored in basket weaving, and weekends in
New York. I assume that the girls had learned to read and write before
entering, because they sure as hell didn't do much of either, concentrating
on skiing weekends at Hunter Mountain Resort in the Catskills, or, if they
did not ski, they could spend time at the school's "Southern Campus",
another sprawling spread outside of Miami, where they worked on their tans
and partying with college boys.
	When Louis complimented Mummy on the wonderful preservation of the
house, Miss Philadelphia Main Line launched into a travelogue of the homes
her family owned. Their primary residence, it seemed, was a large, leafy
estate, somewhere between Paoli and Hell, in a county that was, in her
words, "exclusive and restricted".
	Louis colored. He knew exactly what she was referring to. So did my
Granny May, who rose to the occasion. "Exclusive to whom and restricted to
what?" she asked coldly.
	Miss Philadelphia Main Line glanced obliquely at Louis. "Well, um,
our kind of people."
	Mummy almost fainted. She did not, however, need a domestic battle
royal and quickly rose to her feet. "Well, you must tell us about that, but
perhaps you will excuse me." She smiled thinly and not at all
sincerely. "So much to do, you know." She looked at me. "Cooper, will you
help Annette prepare the guest rooms? Then you must bathe and change."
	"Change?" I thought I looked fine, a little dusty, but fine.
	"Yes dear. Wear your blue suit please."
	I sighed. I should have known that this was coming. Mummy had
invited people who would never dream of showing up improperly dressed. As
it turned out, the men wore suits, and the ladies light frocks and
. . . hats. For some reason it was considered rude not to wear a hat at
what was essentially turning into a garden party. Because the guests took
the trouble to dress, it followed that the family would also, although
Mummy was not planning on wearing a hat.
	"And I must get ready," Granny May said as she rose to her
feet. "Thank you Annette, for the tea," which I thought a bit much, since
Granny May hadn't taken a sip. She turned to me. "Cooper, let me help you
with the bedrooms and you can show Mr. Yorcke his room."
	As we entered the house Granny May nodded to Louis and said,
deliberately loudly, "Your grandfather on your mother's side was the Chief
Rabbi?"
	I could not prevent laughing as the sound of a shocked gasp drifted
from the piazza.

******

 	Upstairs I showed Louis to the best of the staff rooms, which
actually had been the butler's suite. It was furnished with pieces that had
once seen duty downstairs but for some reason were deemed unsuitable and
relegated to staff use. The bedroom was large, with a sleigh bed, old but
well maintained, an English dresser and wardrobe, and had an en-suite
bath. There was also a small sitting room.
	"I'm sorry," I told Louis as I made the bed. "I don't know what
Philip Charles was thinking, inviting that Yankee bitch!"
	"Here, let me help," Louis said as he took up a sheet. "She puts
out is why," he said as he expertly spread the sheet. He saw me looking at
him and explained, "No maid service at the Citadel. Everybody makes his own
bed, even your brother."
	I slid a case over the pillow and placed it on the bed. "No maid
service here either," I giggled, if Mam Berta is in one of her moods.
	Louis laughed. He sat down on the half-made bed. "So, what's the
drill?"
	"Huh?"
	"Sorry, what happens now?"
	"Oh, well, everybody is supposed to show up at 1:00 o'clock, get
something to eat, walk about and listen to the band. If it's hot most folks
will sit under a tree, or in the tents. Mummy and Papa will walk out around
2:00, and just walk about."
	Louis shrugged. "And we have to dress." He opened one of his bags
and pulled out a starched, white, short-sleeved shirt and a pair of
shoulder boards. From the number of stripes on the boards I thought he was
someone of importance back at the Citadel.
	"I'm a Company Commander," Louis explained as he fixed the boards
in place. "Not bad for a Jew."
	I gave him a look. "Hey, we're not like that. Granny May knows your
people and she don't give a shit that you're Jewish."
	"Unlike some," Louis observed sadly.
	I nodded and grinned. "Just not `our kind of people'!"

******

	The guests had been asked to attend at "1:00 of the clock", and
while the road was soon lined with cars and pickups, and an occasional
mule-drawn wagon, the main doors to the house remained firmly closed. Most
people remained in their vehicles, for it was considered the height of
rudeness to arrive before time. A small group dawdled and gossiped at the
bottom of the steps leading inside, chatting and laughing. No one bothered
with their watches. They knew when the time came things would be done they
way they had always been done.
	I had half expected my mother to complain about me asking
Pendleton, Mike and Jack as my guests. Nor did she complain that Philip
Charles had dragged home Charlie Pegram, who lived down the street, for
cripes sake, or Louis Yorcke. There was, it seemed, a method in her
madness.
	Mother had gathered all the "stags" if you will, including Wade
Hampton, who was looking a little frazzled to say the least, in the drawing
room and given us our instructions. So it was, when the Westminster chimes
of the old tall-case clock on the landing began sounding the hour, I opened
the doors and the first of the guests, the Misses Finch, followed by the
Conynghams walked up the steps. I was not surprised to see them all dressed
to the nines, the ladies in summer, light colored frocks, the gentlemen in
suits. The ladies, as was predicted, also wore hats and white gloves. I
smiled, greeted and welcomed them to my home. I also breathed a sigh of
relief that Mummy had insisted that I wear my blue suit. I was, after all,
the "Chief Usher", and needed to look the part!
	The game plan was simple. I would greet the guests and then turn
them over to either Wade Hampton, Mike, Pendleton, Jack or Louis, who would
escort them down the long, wide center hall lined with Adams sofas and
chairs, past the grand staircase leading upstairs, through the music room
and out to the piazza where they would be greeted again by one of my
brothers, who would point them to the food tents, the tea tent, and offer
refreshment of a different sort in beer tent, although Damian Lee told me
later that half the men carried flasks of home brew or something more
up-market, and Papa Ravelli showed up with a case of his home made wine - a
gift to the celebrating couple.
	Gifts, or rather the non-receipt of same, had been quietly and
discreetly requested. Nobody had any money to spend on expensive silver
presents, as was the custom, and so none would be expected. However . . .
	Before proceeding down the corridor Miss Hester Finch stopped and
handed me a small package, nicely gift wrapped, and tied with a large,
silver bow. "This is for your mother, Cooper," she said as she handed it to
me. "Just a little something to help celebrate the day." She then looped
her arm through Pendleton's and walked down the hall, followed by her
sister.
	At first I didn't know what to do with the gift, and I wondered
what the Finch sisters had given. They were as poor as church mice, and I
hoped Mummy would not be upset with their generosity. I saw Wade Hampton
standing in front of the pier table, admiring himself in the mirror and
hissed at him. "Put this somewhere!" I told him as I turned to greet the
Conynghams. "Somewhere" turned out to be a longish table set outside the
doors to the Morning Room.
	My mother's garden party/barbecue turned out to be a very elegant
affair, and the "ushers" turned out to be a nice touch. All the boys from
the Citadel and Parker-Semmes wore more or less the same uniform: gray
tailcoat with three rows of brass buttons, starched, white drill trousers
and shined shoes or boots. Even Pendleton had left off his kilt for
occasion. I thought they all looked very handsome, especially Louis. His
coloring accented the gray and white, and his carriage was perfect, as
befit a Company Commander of the Military College of South Carolina.
	The first hour passed quickly as more and more guest poured through
the house. While some had also brought gifts, many had not, substituting
bouquets of flowers, which Wade Hampton laid on every flat surface in the
hall and Morning Room. I stayed in the hall, listening to the muted chatter
as the guests passed through, smiling and bowing in my best drawing room
manner, hearing the thump of the band outside playing show tunes, with the
sweet delight of barbecue tantalizing my taste buds. Mam Berta had been
right, the house would be full of the scent of barbecue and I could
envision her walking the rooms, opening the windows and grumbling for a
strong breeze.
	By a quarter to two, just about everyone who was going to show up
had. I noticed then three black ladies, hesitating at the bottom of the
steps. Now, while I had not been privy to all the details, I had assumed
that all the guests would be white. "Mixing", as Mam Berta called it, was
something not commonly done, usually only at funerals. Then too, the
lingering anger over the King Riot was still strong in certain quarters,
although Stubby Richmond and his cohorts had not been asked to attend. My
mother was hardly a liberal activist, but each of the ladies held a cream
colored card of invitation, so I smiled and waved them in.
	The first lady I knew. She was the wife of Mr. Theophilus Monroe,
the man who had mowed the lawns and tended the flower beds. Miss Nettie, as
she was known, wore a multi-colored, paisley dress, more like a muumuu than
a dress, the better to hide her bulk. She was a large woman who had borne
sixteen children and brooked no lip from little boys, white, black or
colors in between. The other two ladies, more conservatively dressed in
pink and blue, and corseted to the nines, were two of Miss Nettie's
daughters.
	"My, my, Mist' Cooper, you sure do look handsome," Miss Nettie
chortled as she reached the top of the steps. When I held out my hand she
shook it and glared at her daughters. "Now this young man has manners!" she
declared. "He was raised right!" Then she sniffed. "Not like some I could
name!"
	Obviously there was a bone of contention between the ladies, which
I had no intention of getting into. I looked around and saw Louis wandering
down the hallway and waved him forward. "Please, Miss Nettie, Mr. Yorcke
will escort you."
	Flashing a bright smile, exposing large, perfect teeth, Miss Nettie
gave Louis an appraising look. "My, my, and just who is this handsome young
man?" she asked brightly.
	As Louis escorted the ladies away, Wade Hampton sidled up. "I sure
hope your momma knows what she's doin'" he rasped.
	I sighed. "Man, so do I," I replied. "So do I."