"I told you I was by birth a Mississippian. My mother was from
Boston, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, who, failing in his
business, soon fell in ill health and died, leaving his wife and two
daughters almost entirely destitute. Mother, the youngest, was always
very fragile, and, having been reared in luxury, was poorly calculated
for a life of trial and poverty. However, she was urged by a wealthy
Southern planter to return with him to his home, and take the position
of governess to his little daughters, her friends all approving of
this offer, knowing that a Southern climate would improve her health;
so she became the inmate of Colonel Ashton's family, and soon was
beloved by the father and mother, as well as her pupils. I have heard
that neither the colonel nor his wife could bear her out of their
sight. She had been with them nearly a year, when the young son and
heir, Edgar Ashton, returned from his college. He soon followed the
rest, and was deeply in love with the governess. My mother was very
beautiful, possessing so much gentleness, with such a merry
disposition, that I have heard them say that grandfather used to call
her his Sunshine. The negroes said that she had a charm to make all
she looked upon love her. But when the son, their pride, declared his
intention of making May Everett his wife, it was met with a decided
objection by both parents. Impossible! marry a Northern teacher; he,
the son of Colonel Ashton--the heir of Ashton manor! preposterous! My
mother then prepared to bid adieu to them and return to her home,
never for a moment listening to the repeated petitions of her lover to
marry him. She would not go into a family where she was not welcome.
Her high-toned principles won for her additional love and respect. And
when the hour of parting came, the old colonel opened his arms, and
drew her to his heart, and exclaimed:
"'Wife, we cannot give her up. Welcome your daughter.'
"My mother, however, went home; but with the understanding that she
would return in a few weeks--as the wife of their son.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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