The Prize Read Online Free PDF Page A

was correct, Tillie would
have told her of such a terrible and cruel intention on the part of her
guardian. Unless she herself did not know of it....
    Thinking of Tillie
and Sweet Briar always made her homesick. The urge to return home was suddenly
overwhelming. She was eighteen, and many young women her age were affianced or
even married with their own households. Before their deaths her parents hadn't
raised the subject of marriage, for which Virginia had been grateful. She
wasn't quite sure what was wrong with her, but marriage—and young men—had never
occupied her mind. Instead, since the age of five, when Randall Hughes had
mounted her on his horse in front of him, she had worked side by side with her
father every single day. She knew every inch of Sweet Briar, every tree, every
leaf, every flower. (The plantation was a hundred acres, not five thousand, but
Sarah Lewis had needed to be taken down a peg or two.) She knew all about
tobacco, the crop that was Sweet Briar. She knew the best ways to transplant
the seedling crop, the best way to cure the harvested leaves, the best auction
houses. Like her father, she had followed the price per bale with avid
interest—and fervent hope. Every summer she and her father would dismount and
walk through the tobacco fields, fingering the leafy plants in dirty
    hands, inhaling their
succulent aroma, judging the quality of their harvest.
    She had had other
duties and responsibilities as well. No one was kinder than her mother, and no
one knew herbs and healing better. No one cared more about their slaves. Virginia had attended dozens of fevers
and flux, right by her mother's side. She was never afraid to walk into the
slave quarters when someone was ill—in fact, she packed a darn good poultice. Although
Mama had not allowed her to attend any birthings, Virginia could birth foals, too, and had spent many
a night waiting for a pregnant mare to deliver. Why shouldn't she be at home
now, running Sweet Briar with their foreman, James MacGregor? Was there any
point in being at this damnable school? She'd been born to run the plantation.
Sweet Briar was in her blood, her soul.
    Virginia knew she wasn't a lady. She'd
been wearing britches from the moment she had figured out that there were britches,
and she liked them better than skirts. Papa hadn't cared—he'd been proud of her
outspoken ways, her natural horsemanship, her keen eye. He had thought her
beautiful, too—he'd always called her his little wild rose—but every father
thought so of a daughter. Virginia knew that wasn't true. She was
too thin and she had too much hair to ever be considered fair. Not that she
cared. She was far too smart to want to be a lady.
    Mama had been
tolerant of her husband and her daughter. Both of Virginia 's brothers had died at birth, first Todd
and then little Charles when she was six. That was when Mama had first looked
the other way about the britches, the horses, the hunting. She had cried for
weeks, prayed in the family chapel and, somehow, found peace. After that, her
smiles and sunny warmth had returned—but there had been no more pregnancies, as
if she and Papa had made a silent pact.
                                  
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    Virginia couldn't comprehend why any
woman would even want to be a lady. A lady had to follow rules. Most of the
rules were annoying, but some were downright oppressive. Being a lady was like
being a slave who didn't have the fine home of Sweet Briar. Being a lady was no
different from being in shackles.
    Virginia paused
before the headmistress's office, the decision already made. Whether Sarah
Lewis had spoken the truth or not, it no longer mattered. It was time to go
home. In fact, making the decision felt good. For the first time since her parents
had died, she felt strong—and brave. It was a wonderful way to feel. It was the
way she had felt right up until the minister had come to their door to tell
her that her parents were dead.
    She