The sun shone through the smudged glass window and through the musty curtains resting its rays upon my grandmother’s pale face. She opened her bright blue eyes and gazed at the light as if longing to go towards it. I reached across from the old wooden chair I was sitting on and took her hand. As I ran my thumb across her skin I could feel every wrinkle and the veins felt as if they were ready to burst forth from her skin. The South Carolina air was humid and the heat of the small farm house was palpable.
My grandmother, as if coming out of a trance, suddenly looked over at me, and I could tell she was just noticing that I was there. She smiled at me and rested her other hand on top of mine. She cleared her voice to speak and in a hoarse voice said, “Dear how nice of you to spend the night with me! Such a nice surprise for a little old lady like me to wake up to.”
“Anything for you Grandma,” I replied with a small catch in my voice as I tried not to think of how little time I had left with my father’s mother. She got very sick the previous February, and the doctors said she could go any day. I pushed those thoughts back into the deep recesses of my brain and asked, “Is there anything I can get you? Perhaps some water or maybe I could get you something to eat?”
“No thank you dear, but how genuinely nice of you to ask.” It never failed to amaze me how well she could dictate her sentences, even in her state of health. She struggled for a few minutes as she maneuvered herself into a sitting position. Once she got comfortable I grabbed a pillow from a nearby chair and positioned it behind her back. My grandmother took a deep breath and looked deep into my eyes. “No my dear Charlotte, I don’t need anything. I never was one for eating much, even when I was a young girl. Back then we weren’t supposed to eat a lot; it just wasn’t the way things were.” She gazed again to the window and I knew she was longing to be young again
“Oh Grandma! Please tell me a story from when you were a girl! I just love hearing stories about the Old South.”
She looked away from the window and brought her gaze to me. She wasn’t looking at me, but instead through me into the past, to the days I knew she longed for to return. “The Old South, oh how I miss those days. I can only hope that once I pass I will be able to return there.” As she came back to reality she focused in on me and said, “Now you wanted a story didn’t you? Well let’s see here.” After thinking for a moment she asked, “Did I ever tell you about the time Robert Tiller made a fool of himself at the Charleston Ball?”
I smiled and then squeezed my grandmother’s hand tight. “No Grandma, but will you please tell it to me?”
“Alright dear, if you insist.” And with a twinkle in her eye that I only saw when she was remembering her childhood, she began.
“In those days, the days before the war, the wealthiest families lived on the rice plantations along the Ashley River. Ours was called Sleepy Hills, for the rice grew on the gentle hills that rolled all along our 20 acres. On the largest hill in the center of our property was the main house. It was a grand house with great white pillars, like those of the Greek Parthenon and just as majestic. They came down from the arch in the roof to the veranda that jutted out 10 yards or so from the front of the house. The house in total had two floors. On the first level were the dining room, the parlor, our family library, my father’s study, the ballroom, the kitchen, and our house slaves’ quarters. The second floor was where our bedrooms were, another family sitting room, and a nursery we used when we were young. The two floors were joined together by a marvelous staircase made of mahogany.”
“Surrounding the main house were all of our out-buildings. Nearest the river were the stables where my father kept all of our horses along with tact that went along with each horse. It was essential to keep the horses well groomed and rested. You see besides modes of transportation and plowing fields, horses were used for horse racing and hunting because that was how respectable white men passed their time in those days. Next to the stable we kept a carriage house for guests to use when they visited. Up from the stable and to the right of the main house was the shed where we stored the bushels of our crops. Next to that was our chicken coop, and down a few hundred feet was the barn where we kept the rest of our livestock.”
“Behind the main house, just at the edge of our property line was where our 30 some field slaves’ quarters were. Each family had a whitewashed cabin with two rooms and a porch. The slave’s with more important jobs, such as the overseer and the foreman, had cabins closer to the house. Those who worked in the fields lived near the back. It went unspoken, but everyone knew that there were social classes among them. We could see it in the way the interacted among each other. The house slaves would look down upon the stablemen, and the stablemen would look down upon the field slaves.”
Despite what the abolitionists thought about all of us who owned slaves, we were quite fair to them. It was the few cruel and heartless slave owners who gave us all the bad reputation. We thought of them as our people, even as part of our family. They were punished how you might punish a child, only when severely breaking the rules. In fact I can only remember on one account of someone being whipped. That was when a young boy ran off, but besides that life was peaceful at Sleepy Hills.”
“I always knew the reason for the everlasting peace was because of my Mammy Lou. That kind black woman raised me, more so than my own mother did. And likewise I loved her as I loved my own mother. For my sister Mary and me, she was our shoulder to cry on and the one to confide our every secret in, but she was also our punisher. She gave no hesitation to slap us square across the face if we talked back or misbehaved. She taught us how to be the proper young belles of the county we were expected to be once we were of age.
“Grandma,” I interrupted, “I thought that you were going to tell me about the Charleston Ball?”
“I’m getting there dear!” She retorted with a hint of laughter to her voice, “You must be patient Charlotte; I’m setting the scene so that you can understand how different things were when I was young. We didn’t have any of things you have now days what with your automobiles and telephones. Anyways, where was I?”
“You were explaining how Mammy Lou taught you how to be a young belle.”
“Ah yes! That’s right. Now, I will never forget the first time I attended the Charleston Ball. It was June 1855, before the war of course, and I was a young girl of 16 years. I awoke quite early that morning in anticipation and excitement for that night. Mammy Lou came in with my breakfast, and I smiled at her. As if reading me like a book she gestured toward the deep, satin purple dress I had laid out the night before.”
“’Is this what you plan to where child’ she inquired with a humorous glint in her eye.
“’Why of course Mammy Lou! Why I wouldn’t wear anything less magnificent to the most wonderful ball of the year!’”
“’Now now, I know you only picked out this lovely dress to impress that young beau of yours, Robert.’”
“I giggled and replied, ‘Mammy Lou, you know as well as I do that Robert Tiller is only a boy! The only reason I even keep a dance for the young fool is to please Father. His family is the richest on the Ashley, and Father hopes to make an alliance between our two families one day.’”
“’Well none the less child, you will look like an angel of the Lord himself in the dress. Now let’s go over the rules you must remember tonight. You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself, or worse ruin your reputation would you?’”
“’No, no I suppose that would be horrible.’ Then as if reciting from a book I said, ‘Well ok, let’s see, I have to remember that when with a man make sure there is a chaperone present. The man must be approved by Mother and Father and must be from a respectable family. Never show anger in public, always smile and act like a lady. Be elegant and graceful with the proper etiquette. In times of distress act helpless because it isn’t lady like to show just how capable and clever you are. And most importantly, charm charm charm!’”
“Mammy Lou beamed with the pride a mother might express towards a child of her own. ‘You will make a wonderful wife one day Margret.’ That was the only time I can ever remember Mammy Lou calling me by my first name.”
“I spent the rest of the day pacing around the house becoming horribly impatient. Finally at 2:00 I took a nap so that I could be well rested for the long night ahead of me, and when I awoke I finally began to get ready. First, I put on my under garments and then my petticoat. Mammy Lou helped me tighten the strings of my corset so that my waist was slimmed down to the ideal size of 18 inches. After that we slipped the purple dress over my head. The hoops of the dress widened it on the bottom and came up to my waist making me look just as sophisticated and beautiful as Queen Victoria herself. Once the dress was on Mammy Lou undid the rollers in my hair we had put in before my nap. We did my hair in the up do that was fashionable at the time. Once we were done, I had only a minute to admire myself in the mirror before my mother called up to me from downstairs that it was time to go.”
“We arrived in Charleston at 7:20. That was the appropriate time to show up, being both fashionably late and providing a perfect opportunity to make a grand entrance. Everyone could see how beautiful I looked that night as I walked through the doors of the ballroom. The string quartet was playing a reel, and right away I could tell several men were trying to meet my eye in the hope that they may have me for a dance. If I had met even one of their eyes, my reputation as a respectable young belle would have been thrown away in the blink of an eye. Instead I searched the entire crowd not focusing on anyone in particular. “
“Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder from behind. I turned around and almost shivered when I saw who it was. I quickly collected myself and put a smile on my face.
“‘E-excuse Margret,” Robert Tiller stammered looking simply foolish in a suit much too big for a boy of 15. ‘W-would you be so kind as to join me for this dance.’”
“I could barely hold back my laughter, but managed to answer, ‘Why yes my dear Mr. Tiller, it would be an honor to dance this reel with you.’ To amuse myself I bated my eyelashes and gave him a flirtatious smile. I thought the poor boy was going to faint then and there in front of all of Charleston.” I took his clammy, shaky hand, and he nervously led me onto the ballroom floor.”
“As we danced, I was surprised to find that Robert was a great dancer. We moved all throughout the dance floor and everyone stopped to watch us. When the reel was done I didn’t see any other available dancing partners, so I decided to dance again with Robert. Oh how his dancing skills intrigued me! No matter what dance, he knew exactly what to do. Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more astonished, the most unexpected thing happened. Do you have any guess what that could be my dear?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.” I replied not wanting to interrupt the amazing story I was listening to.
“That silly boy, in front of everyone, got down on one knee and proposed to me! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing! He hadn’t asked my father for my hand or even consulted his parents! He explained it to me as ‘a sudden impulse caused by my striking beauty.’ I was fuming with anger that luckily I was able to hide. My Mammy Lou had thankfully prepared me in case something like this ever happened. I was just hoping I would never have to use it so publically. After clearing my throat and in a voice that was both cool and collected I said to him, ‘My dear this is happening all too fast. You are only a boy and I only a girl. Perhaps in a couple years when we are older and you have permission from my father, you may ask for my hand again.’”
I was about to say more, but Robert cut me off and kissed me! He kissed me right there in front of everyone! I pushed him off of me immediately and ran out of the ballroom. I stayed outside until the ball was over crying to myself in embarrassment and self-pity. Then as soon as our driver brought the carriage up, I wiped away my tears and stepped inside carriage.”
“The entire way home I was silent despite my sister Mary’s attempts to talk to me about what had happened. When we finally reached Sleepy Hills I jumped out of the carriage, ran inside, bounded up our grand staircase, and into to my room. I kicked off my silk slippers and laid face down on my four poster bed sobbing. A few minutes later Mammy Lou came in and gently began to rub my back. With my voice almost undistinguishable from sobbing and hiccupping, I told Mammy Lou what had happened. When I finished I was at first surprised and then fuming to see that she was laughing. I pounded a fist on my bed and shouted, ‘How in the world can you find this-‘ and then to my surprise I started laughing too.
“’You know child, it isn’t you who is affected by this,’ she said through her laughs. ‘You reacted exactly how a respectable woman should have. Young Robert is the one who will be ruined by this. I wouldn’t be surprised if after you left the other young men ran him out of town.’ And then Mammy Lou broke into a fit of laughs and guffaws that were uncontrollable. Once she left my room I was feeling much better. Before I knew it I was asleep still with the humor of it all enveloping my brain.”
As her story drew to a close, my grandmother looked at me, and I could see the intensity she felt as she relived this in her mind. She took a deep breath and said, “And that my dear is the story of how Robert Tiller made a fool of himself at the Charleston Ball.”
“But Grandma,” I questioned, “Whatever did happen to Robert? Did he get run out of town like you said?”
“Yes my dear he did. The gentlemen of Charleston were kind enough to defend my honor and ran the boy north. A few years later I heard word that he settled somewhere in Pennsylvania and married a silly Yankee girl.”
“It seems like life was so much more wonderful and fun when you were a girl!” I exclaimed.
“It was my dear, it was.” She made no effort to hide her despair.
“Then why did it go away?”
“My dear, the life I lived was great, and like everything great, it had to come to an end. It was taken away from us through war and hatred between two sides of a nation who couldn’t resolve their issues without violence. That way of life was run out of the south much the way Robert Tiller was run out of it.
“That’s horrible! How could they let such a great culture die?” I exclaimed empathetically.
My dear, it may be gone from life physically, but the Old South still lives on in the minds of all of us who lived in that time. Our numbers grow smaller every day, so to you I leave a gift. In the attic there is a leather bound trunk with all of my journals from the good days. I want you to have them, to read them. Tell the stories to your children and them to their children. Keep the memories of the Old South alive for my sake and for the sake of my entire generation. If you don’t, that way of life, the memories, and southern hospitality will die along with all of us.
My grandmother looked at me longingly. I again took her hand and looked into the shining blue eyes that had dazzled men years ago and said, “I will Grandma, I promise I will.”
My grandmother looked back to the window that had caught her gaze when she first woke up. In soft, sad tone she whispered, “I can go now Mammy Lou. Take my hand and lead me to my younger days.” She gently closed her eyes and exhaled her last breath. I kissed her hand as a tear rolled down my cheek. I knew she was on her way back to her people, back to where she belonged, back to the Old South.