White Doves At Morning

               This is just a taste of my dialogue writing from an assignment in my American Lit. 214 course. Recreating the characters of White Doves At Morning.

            “My momma always says I’m cursed with the gift of Cassandra, and that I’m not going to fit in and I’m always condemned by others, but I feel obligated to fight, you know?” Willie Burke said as he dropped down alongside a tree.

            “No, Willie, you should believe in what you’re fighting for.” said Robert.

            “But if I don’t go out and fight I’ll just be that lazy son of a bitch who is too cowardly to fight. I have to show I care somehow.” Willie continued.

            “Willie, you can’t fight a war and expect to win if you don’t know what you believe or stand up for. If you just go out there killing men it’ll change you.” Robert tried to explain.

            “But I’m too afraid not to fight…” Willie confessed.

            “You’re a good man, Willie Burke. I hope we run into each other again someday, old pal.” said Robert.

            “I will definitely see you again, as long as you don’t get caught up in some Yank prison camp or something,” Willie laughed nervously as he patted Robert on the back.

            “You know that won’t happen ‘cause a man like me won’t get caught with doin something awful risky like a Willie Burke would try,” Robert winked at Willie.

            “I wish I had the bravery and guts you got there, Robert.”

            “It comes with believing in what ya stand for, old pal.” Robert said as he rubbed the pommel of his knife in his pocket.

                “Miss Abby? Can I ask you a question?” Flower cautiously stammered as they mustered together on a park bench.

            “Anything sweetie, you know I’m always here to answer anything that’s troubling you,” replied Abigail.

            “How did you learn to read and write?” She asked while starring at her shoes.

            “Oh Flower, I grew up in Massachusetts and went to school and received a proper education. My daddy also taught me well,” Abigail stated with pride.

            “You embarrass me a great deal with the way you talk to me sometimes, Miss Abby,” Flower stated.

            “I’m sorry, Flower. I have a lot of respect for a woman like you who never gives up.”

            “I forgive you, Miss Abby, I don’t understand why you and Mr. Willie decided to help a poor nigger woman like me though,” Flower wondered.

            “Don’t call yourself that name, Flower! And Willie Burke is a good man at heart, but he should be running off with girls with flaxen hair, not fighting a war,” Abigail said more to herself than Flower.

            “I wish he makes it back safe so he can give me more books, Miss Abby.”

            “He will be back, he always makes it somehow,” Abigail said thoughtfully.
           

            “What is it exactly you want me to do with these men sir? And what are the boundaries?” asked Atkins fixing his meretricious outfit.

`           “I want you to continue to get the same amount of work from these men as if they were your slaves, but treat them a little better so we don’t get shut down.” demanded Jamison.

            “Yes, sir. Do you want us to do anything about the nigger girl?”

            “Leave Flower alone. Any man to lay a finger on her will have to answer to me,” threatened Jamison, “But do with Ms. Dowling as you please.”

            “Yes, sir, she’s ruined your reputation pretty well with all the newspaper talkings and such.” Atkins pointed out stupidly.

            Jamison glanced at Atkins bitterly, “Burn her house for all I care, as long as no one harms Flower and I get my pay from the penitentiary on time.”

            “Should the children of the prison still be required to take on manual labor, sir?”

            “Most definitely, make them work just as hard as they can. Don’t let them screw around or tell them they will go without a day’s worth of food.” Jamison sighed.

            “I will make sure they get their work done. Even if they are now prisoners, they’re still damn nigger to us, and will deserve what’s comin to them...” sneered Atkins.

            “We won’t let the South forget the preponderance of white males and their status.” Jamison reassured Atkins.

            “Carrie, if you wanna save your white-trash business, you gotta help me with sometin.” Jean-Jacques pressed, waving a plot in her face written on a napkin.

            “I’ll do anyting if you can rid me of the terrible tings I done back home, just tell me what to do,” Carrie begged, “Or else God won’t hear none of my whining when the time comes.”

            “I’m helping Miss Abigail smuggle them Negros out of Jamison’s grasp with my ship just up the river into Yankee territory,” Jean-Jacques confessed.

            “I ain’t got any money to spare, Jean, least I can do is leave my money in my will to the poor Flower girl and maybe my house so she won’t be bothered by them bleating paddy rollers no more.”

            “Damn it, Carrie, haven’t you got any money at all from the grog and company at your whore house? Or even some room to hide them overnight?”

            “I can’t risk having them blackies here while the Captain is still in line for my girls upstairs every night!” exclaimed Carrie.

            “Can you at least lend a guy some grog for the trip? You write that will for Flower while I’m gone,” demanded Jean, “You best watch your back ‘cause you know that Todd McCain is on to you and wants your house for his own profits.”

            “ I know, Jean, word has it there’s an auction for that big white house, and I ain’t gonna let Todd McCain start runnin the business round here. I’ll try to help Flower best I can.”

            “Sister, I know I’d never heard myself saying this, but you should see the priest for your guilt if you can’t help me now to save men,” suggested Jean.

            “I reckon you be right,” agreed Carrie, “I’ll write my will and count my days, and try to ask the Lord for forgiveness of my sins. Good luck, brother.”

           

            “We gotta get these niggers and their nigger-lovin folks in line or Marse Jamison might fire us,” Rufus Atkins smiled at his out loud remark while his yellow teeth glistened in the last bits of sunlight before the sun was covered by the gloaming.

                “Those bitches ruined my chances of a perfect place for meetings and making money,” complained McCain, “I say we start with LaRose and Dowling, they both are part of the nigger-smuggling group and are getting in our way.”

                “I know one way we can get inside their minds and rip them to shreds. We begin by ravaging the nigger bitch who walks around likes she owns the town ‘cause she can read and write,” Atkins spat.

                “But Marse Jamison told us not to touch her any more or else we be feeling a lot of pain…”

                “He doesn’t have to find out about it, ‘cause the only person on this land who would go cryin to Jamison about that nigger is Abigail Dowling, and we’re going to shut her down for good.” said Atkins.

                “I suppose she ain’t never gonna come out of her house ever again after we’re through with her.” McCain agreed with a smirk dancing on his lips.

“The Knights are gonna restore power to the rightful white landowners and get rid of this stupid shit idea of niggers walking free with a purpose other than making my meals and picking my crops.” continued McCain as they stepped out onto the gallery.

                “I agree, they’re only good for pleasure and work because they are soulless, and the nigger-loving president should put them all back where they belong. But to hell with what Jamison says about Flower. She’s mine to do whatever I want.” Atkins claimed.

                “Just as long as we send these Underground railroad people back up to their Yankee states to mind their own God-damn business.” McCain noted while the sweet scent of rain gathered from the distant storm.

                “Don’t worry, we’ll restore our power and continue to have our peace after the White Camellias rise above all.”