Evelia Sheffield sighed as she closed the heavy leather cover of the book in her lap and looked at the Mississippi River just beyond the rolling cotton fields from the bouncing back seat of her family’s red and black barouche carriage. She traced the words on the crisp cover of the Collection of Observations on Electrodynamics by Andre-Marie Ampere with her index finger thinking over the implications of the last chapter. Ideas swirled in her head as the warm spring breeze blew in her face. An electric current creates a magnetic field. It presented interesting possibilities.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her father’s voice. “EVELIA, did you hear a word I’ve said? Where is your head girl?”
She shook her head and focused on her father. “I’m sorry father, what did you say?”
He exhaled loudly and scowled at her. He had thinning short brown hair that matched the color of his almond shaped eyes which seemed out of place on his flat face. His eyes would often crinkle with joy and the brown color would become a rich amber for his only daughter when he took in what a beauty she had become. The joy in Mr. Sheffield’s eyes would never stay for long however as the reality of his only daughter intruded on the fantasy. He was immaculately dressed in his Sunday best. His vest was gold and mustard striped and his jacket and pants were a deep, warm, chocolate brown that looked almost black in the right light. Two rows of brass buttons ran down the front of his jacket. The long tails of the jacket lade to either side of him as he sat cross-legged facing her. The buckles on his patent leather shoes matched the buttons of his jacket. His brown top hat sat to the side of him and he held his mahogany cane tightly in his coarse hands.
“I really wish that just once I could be around you when your nose was not in a book and your head was not in the clouds. Sometimes I wish I had never sent you to that school.” He said for what seemed like the one hundredth time.
Large oaks began to obscure the cotton fields from view as the carriage bounced closer to New Orleans. Without looking at him she answered him for what seemed like the one hundredth time, “Now father, we both know that you could have never found time in your busy schedule to educate me, and my poor mother died on my birth bed. How am I supposed to educate my future sons if I don’t have an education myself? The nuns at the Ursuline Academy were the only choice you had.”
“That does not mean I approve of all of this science that they filled your head with”, he said pointing the cane at her. His face was beginning to flush and he had to take a moment to calm himself. “Evelia, I do not wish to fight with you today. I wanted to speak with you about Mr. Blackmon.”
Evelia looked away from the majestic oaks and fuchsia azaleas that lined the road and looked at her hands in her lap preparing for this inevitable conversation. Evelia had her father’s almond shaped golden brown eyes, but she knew from portraits that the rest of her features came from her mother. She had cream colored skin, a small up-turned nose, full lips and a single freckle on her left cheek. Her dark brown hair was hidden away in a woven straw bonnet with a white silk ribbon that tied in a bow under her chin. Her hands were covered in short dainty white lace gloves. Her tangerine dress had a low neckline and short tight sleeves that ended with white lace that draped from the elbow. A satin ribbon ran the circumference of the empire waist and was tied in a bow at her back. The soft satin fabric of the skirt fell loosely and close to her body. Evelia preferred the regency fashions of Europe over the ridiculously large skirts supported by cage like crinolines that were currently popular in the south. While she still wore such clothing for truly important events the toga inspired regency style dresses were much more practical. Around her neck she wore a white ribbon chocker with a single tear-drop shaped tiger’s eye stone pendent which had belonged to her mother.
Her father continued, “How do you feel about Mr. Blackmon?”
“He is handsome enough I guess. There is no doubt he is a good man, well educated, and fairly charming.” she answered woodenly. She meant every word she said. He was a good man and treated everyone in his life fairly. He had made her laugh on more than one occasion and he had an athletic attractive physique that was neither over-bearing nor under-whelming. His green eyes were very lovely and his smile was extremely charming. Her one fault with him was his narrow-mindedness over the future of the sciences. While he was well-educated and willing to discuss intellectual pursuits with her, it was obvious that he felt dubiously about the applicability of scientific endeavors in the antebellum south. She vehemently disagreed with him and instead of seriously considering her arguments he had patronizingly patted her on the head like she was some silly child. While it secretly made her want to stick a knitting needle in his eye, it was not a good reason to decline a marriage proposal from him if it came.
“Good, I was hoping you would say that.” he said with a satisfied smile without even noticing the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. It could only mean one thing. Mr. Blackmon had asked her father for his blessing to ask for her hand. She had always hoped that perhaps she would be able to attend a university before being married off, but that was obviously too much to hope for. When she considered her future, she felt caged just like when she had to wear the crinolines for balls. She had searched for a way to escape her fate but no other option had presented itself. She found comfort in the fact that while Mr. Blackmon could be a patronizing ass, he would not restrict her from her intellectual readings and inventions as long as she did not ignore her wifely duties. She thought that motherhood might even suit her, if unlike her own mother she did not die in the attempt to have children.
Her father didn’t speak another word to her for the remainder of the trip and she appreciated it. Large majestic houses began to appear on either side of the road. In the distance she could see steam boats paddling up and down the Mississippi but the river disappeared from view and was replaced by multi-storied buildings that comprised the outskirts of New Orleans. Some were large white wooden houses with large oaks in the front yards that dripped with Spanish moss. Iron fences would separate the yards from the streets. Other buildings were large brick complexes with iron railings along each story that butted directly up to the street. The dirt road turned into cobblestone and the bouncing of the carriage subsided. The clacking of horse hooves echoed and reverberated off of the buildings and overpowered the general murmur of people going about their business.
As they neared the Holy Trinity Catholic Church she could hear the dual bells ringing out calling people to mourning mass. The 12 year old black slave that served as their driver pulled the horses to a halt in front of the Spanish style church. It was a large, white, stucco and brick building with twin towers flanking the front entrance. Two large crosses stood atop the towers and the deep ringing of bells echoed out of the arches at the top of each tower. Three large arched oaken doors squatted between the towers and were thrown open as patrons made their way into the interior of the church.
Before she could exit the carriage Mr. Blackmon appeared seemingly from nowhere flanked by his mother and sister, perched on each of his arms. His father had passed the previous year and Mr. Blackmon was now the owner of a sprawling sugar cane plantation just north of her father’s cotton plantation. He wore a modestly stylish black coat and tails over an apple green paisley vest, with matching black pants and top hat. His mother had aged well and wore a powdered blue and green plaid dress that cinched at the waist before billowing out in a layered skirt that had a four foot diameter. The neckline came down in a wide V from the shoulders to her cleavage exposing the slightly thinning skin of her chest. She had powdered blue wrist length gloves that matched the blue in her plaid dress. Her hair was arranged in a pile of curls that peeked out of her stylish French hat which only slightly covered her head. It acted mostly as a base for the arrangement of green and white feathers and bows that perched perfectly on her head. She had plain features and wrinkles were beginning to set in around her green eyes. His sister was 14 years old and while she had the same plain features as her mother the blush of youth made her very attractive to look at. She was wearing a dress much like Evelia’s only it was lilac with chartreuse trim. She did not wear a hat and her lovely blonde hair was braded and looped loosely on the back of her head and pinned in place by a crown of small purple flowers.
Mr. Blackmon offered a hand to Evelia as she exited the carriage. “Ms. Sheffield, you look radiant this morning.”
She took his hand lightly and smiled at him. “You are too kind Mr. Blackmon; it is lovely to see you as well.” She turned to his mother and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek as Mr. Blackmon greeted her father with a firm handshake. She finally turned to Cathleen, Mr. Blackmon’s younger sister and gave her a warm hug. “Oh Cathleen, it has been too long since I have seen you. I do believe you look taller and more radiant each time I see you.”
Cathleen hugged her back and responded, “Evelia, you flatter me too much. I will never look as lovely as you do. That color looks exquisite on you.”
One of the things that Evelia looked forward to with her eventual betrothal to Mr. Blackmon is the fact that she would have Cathleen as a sister. She was smart but she never said anything derogatory or at the expense of others. She was sweet and quick to encourage and compliment others and she was a phenomenal painter that showed amazing skills with colors. Her watercolor of the setting sun over the sugarcane fields was so exceptional it took Evelia’s breath away when she looked upon it.
Arm and arm they walked into the church and sat together leaving the remainder of the family behind to discuss business. Evelia tried not to think about the fact that as she gossiped with Cathleen her life was being planned out without her. The church had a black and white checkered tile floor. There were approximately 30 rows of golden brown oak pews on either side of the central aisle. The roof arched overhead with modest dark brown tile patterns running along the lengths of each arch. Large stain glass windows ran the length of the church depicting scenes from the New Testament set into the white stucco walls. Murals framed the altar at the front of the church and a large wooden crucifixion stood behind the priest adorned in white embroidered robes who had taken up residence there.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw her father enter with Mr. Blackmon and his mother. Everyone looked pleased, but she felt empty. As the sermon began, she had trouble paying attention. Her thoughts undulated between ideas for inventions involving electricity and magnetism and what she imagined her life would be like with Mr. Blackmon. It was odd because when she thought about the science she felt excited but when she thought about Mr. Blackmon, she felt nothing. She felt neither dread nor anger nor sorrow nor happiness nor excitement. She was a wooden puppet, and she would have given anything to become real.
She went through the motions as mass continued. She sang when she was supposed to, kneeled when she was supposed to and recited prayers when she was supposed to, but when it was time to take communion, she couldn’t really remember any specific part of the morning service. She stood up woodenly and walked down the aisle to stand in a line before the priest. As she moved closer to the altar she could smell the smoky incense that filled the air. It had a dry woody aroma mixed with subtle hints of lemon. The longer she was in line the thicker and more suffocating the aroma became.
That was when Evelia noticed the rising cacophony near the entrance of the church. Her eyes were beginning to burn and as she turned her head to see what was the matter she rubbed them with the back of her hand trying to remove the pain. Suddenly the world came into focus as she saw flames licking up the curtains framing the closed doors at the front of the church. One man had taken off his jacket and was attempting to pat out the fire. His attempts to put out the fire only resulted in the curtain disconnecting from the wall and falling in front of the doors. The carpet in front of the doors immediately caught fire cutting off the exit.
People were beginning to panic and a growing tide of hysteria was rolling towards her as people began climbing over the pews and each other trying to retreat from the growing flames. She began to step backwards instinctively retreating from the oncoming tide of people who had flames licking at their feet. Her heart pounded in her ears and she began coughing. The thunderous screams assaulted her ear drums and the smoke bit at her nose and eyes. She didn’t remember deciding to turn and flee but it was happening all the same. Unfortunately so were everyone else and she found herself at the mercy of everyone surrounding her. Instead of being able to choose which way to escape she was forced to flow with the crowd towards the altar. She almost tripped as her feet stepped on something soft below her but the crowd was so tight around her that she did not fall. She felt the air being squeezed from her as the press of people attempted to squeeze through the small door at the head of the church. She attempted to turn around so that she might find Cathleen but it went against the flow of people. The last thing she remembered was being hit square in the face by an elbow and falling back against the crucifix.
ns 15.158.61.16da2
