ELIZABETH LINDEN sat on her front porch, lounging in the comfortable settee she had demanded be moved there. A black slave girl poured her some ice-cold lemonade from a crystal pitcher into a crystal glass.

"Go inside now, Rosa," Elizabeth told the girl, "Go help your mother prepare dinner and take it easy a bit. God knows we all need a rest, on this sweltering day. Also, tell your mamma that the pork is already salted. Run along now."

Rosa said, "Yes'm," and Elizabeth closed her eyes as she heard her tiny feet pattering across the wooden floors.

It had been a deciding long day, though Elizabeth, even though the day was not yet over. There was still dinner to be held. And, as everybody in the small county of Monroe knew, dinner was no small affair tonight.

For Elizabeth and her husband, Henry Linden, had invited over almost the people in the County for dinner and dancing at their rich, southern plantation, Linden Hill. Everybody, of course, except for the 'white trash' of the County: the Andersons and the Mildreds. Henry had a strong disliking for these two families, as he prided himself on being a classy and gentlemanly sort of individual and he found that the Andersons and the Mildreds completely lacked bthese key characteristics necessary to be in his favour.

The Lindens were quite an important family in their small County. They were the richest in the region, and had a fine family with a hard-working father and a beautiful and gentle mother, and five wonderful children: three girls and two boys. Henry was a forty-five year old man, and Elizabeth was thirty-four. Henry and Elizabeth were quite proud of their five children. The eldest, John Henry, was seventeen and was handsome and strong. He had his eye on Mary Ann O'Conner, a pretty County girl whose family owned a well-off cotton plantation. He was diligent, audacious and full-of-spirit.

Their second was a girl, aged sixteen, who the family Bible knew as Elizabeth Carolina Rose. But everybody else knew her as just Liz. She was the belle of the county, with her thick, auburn curls and large green-gold eyes. Long, black lashes framed her eyes. She had inherited a straight, thin nose from some Amerindian blood running in her mother's veins, and the high cheekbones possessed by many of the Linden women. She had many beaux, but it was whispered that she cared not for any of them.

The third child was another daughter, named Theresa Jane. Jane (as she was known), was fourteen years old. She was not as stunning as her older sister, but she had a pretty, heart-shaped face framed by yellow curls. Her eyes were a soft grey, and they seemed to be pools of warm water. Jane was kind and gentle, and when she entered a room it felt as if a fairy had suddenly entered, gracing the party with her small but much-felt presence. Her family and her friends petted her, and treated her like a little pet.

The fourth child, James, was ten years old. He was a rambunctious scamp, and was always getting into scrapes. He was bounding with energy and vivacity. He had eyes like his father's, blue and round, and a freckles were splattered all over his rosy face.

The fifth child, the baby, was named Mary Ruth, but was known as Ruthy. She was seven years old, and was the spitting image of her mother: soft, straight blonde hair; slightly slanted green-gold eyes; and the tiniest button nose.

Yes, they were quite a family.

And tonight they were having a party.

*

The first guests to arrive were the Grahams, a fine family of three children. Mr. Graham was an especial friend of Mr. Linden and Louis Graham was a pal of John's and a beau of Liz.

As they knocked at the door, a house slave, Milsa, answered.

"G'evening mis'r and missus Graham," greeted Milsa, "Mis'r and missus Linden and the chil'en will be glad to see ya."

"Thank you, Milsa," replied Mr. Graham, who knew the Linden's house slaves as well as his own, "Let me see Mr. Linden. I want to speak to him about what an honour it was to be invited tonight."

Milsa let in her master's guests. Mr. Linden and Mr. Graham sat in the parlour, smoking tobacco and discussing the threat of war. Louis greeted John and then pounced on Liz, showering her with compliments, which she accepted with ease.

"So nice to see you, Miss Liz," he said, kissing her hand, "Why don't we go take a stroll in the garden, while we await the rest of your guests?"

Louis was a smart boy, and he knew that as soon as the others came Liz would be surrounded by boys and men and there would be no way that he would be able to talk with her alone.

"Very well, Louis," replied Liz, "and why do you address me as 'miss'? We have known each other since birth and you have never used that title before."

Louis was a good-looking boy, with strong shoulders and light-brown hair. He was used to girls and their flirting tactics, but Liz's forward questions had always bewildered him.

"Perhaps it is because I have realized what a beautiful woman you are." Louis said as he and Liz strolled through the gardens. He smiled as he saw her blush.

"You need not compliment me so," she replied, "When there are so many other young ladies in the County that are more beautiful than me."

Louis laughed, and slid his hand into Liz's small one.

"I find that hard to believe," he said, "And you are so self-denying as well!"

Liz grinned slyly. Hah. Was that what he thought? Well, she better play along.

"I—I—don't know what to say," she stumbled out, hoping he saw her blush.

Louis grabbed her shoulder, and turned so that his blue eyes looked into her green-gold ones.

"Liz," he said firmly, "I know you have many other suitors, and certainly many much better than I, but I ask you to marry me."

Wouldn't Liz blush? Maybe even faint? But she'd been having these proposals ever since she was fifteen, and she had not yet accepted one.

She looked at Louis calmly, and said, "Sir, thank you so much for your proposal. But—I feel overwhelmed. Perhaps, we could talk of this again?"

Women, thought Louis, are such frail creatures. They need men to take care of them.

"Very well," he said, smiling smugly, "Good night, Liz."

He kissed her hand, and walked back inside.

The door closed behind him, and Liz sunk onto a bench.

"Why," she thought, "Say yes to Louis? Never! And he probably thought me a weak woman. I feel like I know men better than I know my own sex, though that thought is eerie. He probably thought I was too overcome by emotion and my fragility couldn't take it. Well, I'll show him!"

No, Liz was no frail, doe-eyed creature. She went totally against the expectations of a southern belle, except for being beautiful. She was not gentle, not fragile, not likely to faint, not romantic and certainly not incapable of taking care of herself—thought everybody took care of her so much you'd never know.