The Chronicles of Marr-nia (Short Stories Starring Barbara Marr) by Karen Cantwell

small Negro woman who would not look directly at either of them.
    “Good day, Miss.”   Rosabelle offered the young woman a friendly smile.   “We are here for a meeting of the Alexandria Women’s League.   Please tell your mistress that Rosabelle and Flora Raines have arrived.”
    A large voice boomed from behind the servant, followed by the sudden appearance of the elaborately jeweled woman who belonged to the voice.   Mrs. Harriet Franklin was large in body, personality, wealth, and reputation.   Rooms seemed to shrink when she filled them.   Her billowing, silk and lace skirt only accentuated her wide girth, and Rosabelle was certain Mrs. Franklin intended it exactly so.   Mrs. Franklin loved the spotlight.
    “Miss Raines!”   Mrs. Franklin bellowed.   “Such social graces are not necessary when addressing my Negroes,” she laughed.   “They may not be slaves any longer, but their station remains the same.   What a surprise to see you.   We thought you had another engagement.”
    “Yes, but your lovely neighbor and our esteemed friend, Miss Amelia Patton, convinced us we should change our plans.   Is she here yet?”
    “I’m afraid not.   Any moment I should imagine, though.   Lucy, take their capes and bonnets, then get back to help with the preparations.   There is much to do; I will not stand for slacking today.”
    “ Yes’m .”   The girl curtsied to her demeaning employer.   Lucy took Flora’s wrap and muff as they were handed to her, then reached for Rosabelle’s .   Rosabelle smiled again at the shy Lucy, who looked more toward the floor than toward Rosabelle while attempting to take charge of her overgarments .   During the exchange, Rosabelle grazed Lucy’s cold, dry hand.   Before she could catch her breath, she was in another time.   Looking around, she knew she having another recollection.
    But there was something oddly familiar about this memory.   She was crouched behind a massive bush that pricked her skin, and the air was cold and damp.   She heard the sound of a horse’s hooves on hard ground and a man calling another man’s name.   Crawling on hands and knees to peer around the bushes, Rosabelle gasped.   It was the fair man on the horse and the dark man tending the fields.   This was the same recollection as the one she experienced when introduced to Eli Witherspoon, with the exception that everything seemed enhanced a hundred fold.   Sounds were clearer, colors brighter, and she felt . . . emotion.
    She looked down at her own body.   Dressed in peasant rags, Rosabelle had the hands of a small girl of eight or nine, maybe.   She was breathing shallow, erratic gulps of air.   She was afraid of this thin-skinned, blond man, but she did not know why.   As before, the dark-haired man greeted his visitor, words were exchanged and hands were shook.   Rosabelle’s fear grew, knowing the end of this story and feeling hopeless to stop it.   Once again, when the dark man turned around, the fair man drew his blade and sank it deep into the farmer’s back.   Rosabelle covered her eyes hard and screamed.   When she opened her eyes, she was on the floor in the Franklin ’s foyer, with Mrs. Franklin waving a foul-smelling vial under her nose.
    As usually happened after her recollections, Rosabelle was unable to speak.   She would remain mute for a minute or two.   Flora twittered on to the many women who had gathered around.
    “She has these fainting spells.   I am so sorry to be a burden like this, as is Rosa .   So sorry.   She will be fine.   If someone can help me raise her from the floor . . .”
    “The sofa in the parlor,” Mrs. Franklin exclaimed.   “She can recover there.”   Turning to one of the young women, she added, “Anna dear, fetch Dr. Gordon.”
    Rosabelle shook her head violently while scanning the room for Lucy.
    “You are so kind, Mrs. Franklin,” Flora said.   “But Rosa does not want . . . I mean . . . she has already