Columbus, Mississippi

On an ordinary day, her bare feet can be heard throughout the house, banging down the stairs and headed for the freedom of the shady veranda, the silky coolness of the jasmine-scented garden. On an ordinary day, her hair hangs tangled and wild, the color of freshly mown hay on a summer morning. On an ordinary day, she’s wearing denim shorts and pink flip-flops.

This is no ordinary day.

Living in a Southern mansion has its perks, and every lady of the house knows that chief among them is welcoming the guests. Ballerina toes tapping, cornflower eyes ablaze, she stands at the window and waits. The Blue Willow is set, the silver polished, the hydrangeas trimmed and filling every vase. This — this silent window vigil — is the hardest, but most deliciously decadent, part.

At last she’ll hear the familiar tinkle of laughter on the wind, steady herself as she’s been taught, and walk sedately — Head up, back straight, no running! — and when she opens the door, she’ll smile warmly. As if this is just another day. As if she’s just another girl. As if she hasn’t been waiting her entire life for this one moment.

Music: Song of the South by Alabama (lyrics)