Blue Paramour: The Blue Ridge Saga by Louise Ligon

Author:Louise Ligon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, love, southern, gay, historical fiction, epic, erotic romance, historical romance, antebellum south

After a few hours, Jackson threw his pitchfork to the side as his dehydrated muscles ached at the joints. The field hands were busy clearing the dead brush as men sang work songs under the beating sun. He desperately needed a break and sought the shade of a tree where he could quietly cool down. He stepped away and leaned against the trunk. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the cigarette he had swiped from Mammy. He lit it and slid down to the ground with his back against the tree. His head still pounding with thirst, he would have killed to have a quick slug of whiskey to stop the pain that wracked his body. He shut his eyes, enjoying the cool breeze on his face. He could feel his pulse beating through his skin. His father, now too old for the work, had always taught him that to understand the land you had to feel it with your bare hands. Usually the labor was a great distraction from his troubles but today he wanted nothing more than the luxury of rest.

He heard the sound of a snapping twig and looked up to see a small slave girl holding out a pail of water with a ladle as if answering his silent request. He stamped out his cigarette and gratefully took a hold of the metal handle sipping from its bowl heartily. He winked at her and she giggled.

“What’s your name?” He grinned at her tiny round face.

“Bess, sir,” she replied with the soft chirp of a small bird.

“Thank you, Bess,” he answered. As he handed the spoon back to her, she ran off.

He contemplated the young girl working so hard at such a tender age. She would never know what it was like to have the kind of childhood he and Patricia Mae had taken for granted.

He took in the rest of the slaves toiling in the unforgiving sun. He could see the pain in many of their faces. It was then he saw one older slave stumble from exhaustion. He watched in amazement as the slave slowly regained his footing and quietly started singing one of their spirituals, drawing from its strength.

Jackson instantly felt ashamed for believing somehow he was above the people of Sandy Oaks. He never wanted to behave like a tyrant toward them. He loved the plantation and all of its inhabitants. He looked over at the men who had not stopped their efforts even as the sun continued to ruthlessly beat their skin. He had no right to demand their respect while nursing a hangover and watching them work. He never wanted to be like the other spoiled heirs who surveyed the work from the comfort of a saddle or the quiet shade of the porch. He stood and walked back over to Wilson who was wiping his sweaty brow with a cool rag.

“I think we might have this all clear today,” he boasted.

“It looks that way, sir,” Wilson respectively agreed.

“Only if we keep moving that is.

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