Carolina Gold (19 page)

In her room, she set the key to her father’s strongbox on the
table and readied herself for bed. She brushed her hair, listening to the girls’ whispered laughter, and was surprised at how happy she was for their company. Without them, she would be alone with her memories. As it was, thoughts of what she had lost and what yet might be in store kept her awake long after the storm had passed, leaving in its wake a sliver of moon and a froth of silvery stars.

“Halloo! Is anyone home?”

Charlotte rose from her desk in the parlor and peered out the window. The tide was coming in, turning the wide beach into a narrow strip of sand littered with bits of storm-churned driftwood. A flock of brown pelicans glided overhead. A pair of skimmers darted along the shore, inspecting the mustard-colored seaweed. And just outside the door stood Augusta Milton, whose cottage sat farther down the beach and closer to the marshes.

“Augusta. Hello.” Charlotte embraced her old friend. “I wondered whether you’d arrived yet.”

“Hello, my dear.” With a swish of her skirts, Augusta crossed the bare floor and plopped down on the settee. “Got here last Saturday—just me and the milk cow. I saw Mrs. Weston last evening, and she told me she’d seen you arriving yesterday.” Her thick gray brows went up. “With children in tow?”

“My pupils. Marie-Claire and Anne-Louise Betancourt. I haven’t had time to write to you about them. Their father went away on business and has not yet returned. I couldn’t leave them alone.”

“Of course not.” Augusta folded her hands in her lap. “Where is their mother?”

“Deceased. For some years now.”

“Oh, what a shame. But then, you were hardly more than an
infant when your own dear mother passed, and you turned out just fine.”

“I was twelve. Not quite an infant. But still, it wasn’t easy.”

Augusta smiled. “When a person gets to be my age, everyone in the world is an infant. Be that as it may, your dear father did right by you.”

“Yes.” Charlotte paused, remembering happier times and her father’s habitual kindness. Would she ever stop missing the gleam in his eyes, the sound of his laughter? “The girls aren’t awake yet. They’re worn out from our journey yesterday. I was about to make tea. Would you like some?”

“Thank you, but I can’t stay. The Seabrooks arrived last week, and I promised to stop by there this morning to help organize the summer mission drive. A new minister has arrived at the Litchfield chapel. The Reverend Mr. Peabody. He’s quite keen on good works.”

“So I heard.”

“It seems we’re going to make ice cream and sell it to the Northern tourists.” Augusta’s face darkened. “They can well afford it. And the proceeds will buy blankets for foreign orphanages.”

“Does the minister think our little island will actually draw that many visitors?”

“He says they’re coming here for fishing expeditions. And this fall there will be hunting parties on the Waccamaw and the Pee Dee. By the time fever season is over, we should have collected a tidy sum.” Augusta rose. “We can depend upon your help, I trust.”

“I’ll do what I can, but I cannot neglect my teaching duties. I lost half of my first planting to a storm back in the spring. I need the income from teaching to pay the bills while I restore my house and fields.”

Augusta shook her head. “I was saying to Mrs. Weston just the other day that it’s admirable what you’ve taken on, but too daunting a task for anyone.”

“I promised my father.”

“He wouldn’t hold you to it, Charlotte. I knew him all his life, and all he ever wanted was your happiness.”

“But bringing Fairhaven back to life does make me happy. Without it, I have no idea what would become of me.”

“Well, I imagine you’d carry on somehow. People always do.” Augusta rose and patted Charlotte’s arm. “You must come to dinner soon and bring your young charges along. In the meantime, I trust we’ll see you in church on Sunday? Mr. Peabody hopes we islanders will come to services at the chapel for the summer. Reckon I’ll give it a try.”

“Then I will too. I must confess I’m curious about this Mr. Peabody.”

“Oh, he’s full of notions. In fact, he’s already talking about establishing a medical clinic. There’s no telling what he might suggest next. But I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime I must go. Good-bye, my dear.”

Charlotte watched as Augusta hiked her skirts, picked her way along the beach, and disappeared into the dunes. It was true that people could survive more than they imagined was possible. The war had proven that. But if Nicholas Betancourt’s claim to her land turned out to be legitimate, could she bear to forfeit the only thing in her life that really mattered?

Fourteen

C
harlotte sat on the piazza of Pelican Cottage, a book open on her lap and a pitcher of water nearby. The balmy days of early June had given way to a scorching heat that even the ocean breeze could not completely mitigate. Not that Marie-Claire and Anne-Louise seemed to notice. Up at dawn nearly every day, they spent all day playing on the beach or crabbing in the creeks. Their shell collections now spilled from glass jars and seagrass baskets onto tabletops and along the piazza. Every day brought new discoveries—a whelk, a starfish, a flotilla of pelicans fishing for food just offshore. Seeing the island through the girls’ eyes was another pleasure Charlotte hadn’t anticipated when she brought them here.

School was still in session, although she had relaxed the hours since their arrival. Their abbreviated lessons took place late in the day, when the freshening breeze blew though the tall windows, rustling the papers spread on the pine table. Thanks to Augusta she’d obtained back issues of
Robert Merry’s Museum
. Both girls delighted in the stories and poems, and reading aloud after supper
had become a favored part of the daily routine. Less popular were the comportment lessons. She had taught them to make and pour tea, to write a proper thank-you letter, and to remark upon the weather with humor and grace.

On Mondays they walked to the north end of the island, where they purchased milk and vegetables brought from Georgetown. On her first trip to town, she’d returned to the island with a box of books she’d ordered from Boston and a letter from Cousin Alexander. He was engaged to be married at the end of the summer and hoped Charlotte could come for the wedding. If only she could. Here on the island there was little to do apart from attending church, tutoring the girls, and working on the missions committee. But a trip to Atlanta was a luxury she could scarcely afford. So much depended upon the success of her rice crop.

Twice since arriving on the island, she had sent for a boat and left the girls with Augusta while she made a trip to the plantation. Each time Mr. Finch had seemed none too happy to see her, but he’d given her a tour of both fields before riding with her to the upland to check the progress of her gardens. Daniel, seeming taller and even more sun-browned, had come out to show her what he was growing, and on her second visit he’d surprised her with the beginnings of a barn for Cinnamon. “When you come back after the black frost, it’ll be ready,” he’d said, unable to contain his pride.

She made a mental note to order some books for him as a present—as soon as she could afford it. With Nicholas Betancourt still absent, her much-needed teaching income was absent as well.

“Ma’m’selle, look.” Anne-Louise pounded along the sand and onto the piazza. Opening her hand, she spilled half a dozen pieces of sea glass into Charlotte’s lap. “I’ve never found so much of it together before. I bet someone lost their collection.”

“Most likely.” She admired the deep green color that reminded her of Nicholas Betancourt’s eyes. Why hadn’t he written? She
would never admit to his daughters her fear that he had abandoned the three of them. “Leave it on the table and we’ll find a jar for it.”

“Tide’s coming in,” Anne-Louise said. “May we go crabbing this afternoon?”

“Not today. The minister from Litchfield Plantation is coming to visit.”

Anne-Louise wrinkled her nose. “Do we have to wear shoes and serve tea?”

“No, but you’ll need to play quietly in your room while he’s here. Perhaps you can look through our books and choose what to read next.”

“I already did. I want to read
Countess Kate
. I think it would be lovely to be a countess, don’t you, Ma’m’selle?”

Charlotte grinned. “Oh, I don’t know. I expect if one were a countess, one could never go barefoot and spend all day crabbing. A countess might have to wear a dozen stiff petticoats and very tight shoes and dine every night with stuffy old men who smell of camphor and hair tonic.”

Anne-Louise giggled. “I wouldn’t like that. But I still want to read the book.”

“And you shall. But now please find Marie-Claire. It’s time for lunch, and I’ve much to do before Mr. Peabody arrives.”

“All right.” Anne-Louise started down the steps, then turned suddenly and wrapped both arms around Charlotte’s knees. “I wish you were my mother.”

Before Charlotte could reply she raced down to the beach, calling for her sister.

An hour later the girls were fed and in their room. Charlotte took a sponge bath, pinned up her hair, and changed her dress. She had planned to spend this afternoon writing to Lettice Hadley and to Alexander, but after church on Sunday the minister had caught up with her in the yard and requested this visit. According
to Augusta, his plans for the medical clinic were progressing; perhaps he had some new scheme for funding it. The ice cream sales were modest but steady, and there still was plenty of the summer left. Most of the plantation families would remain here until the first killing frosts in November. The Northern tourists arrived each week in a steady stream, taking up residence in the small inn at the northern tip of the island.

After a final check of the mirror, she went out to the kitchen to make tea and arrange shortbreads on a chipped porcelain tray. Through the window she saw the minister arrive on horseback, his black frock coat flapping in the stiff breeze rising off the Atlantic. He tethered the horse to the ancient hitching post in the side yard.

Charlotte met him at the door. “Please come in.”

He removed his hat and stepped inside. “Thank you for seeing me. I’m sure you must stay busy with two such lively girls about.”

His kind brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, and Charlotte found herself smiling back. “It’s a challenge to keep them constructively occupied when the beach is calling to them, but I confess I enjoy teaching more than I expected.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not trained for it, and I’ve always felt inadequate for the task. But I can see real progress in both girls, and I do find that quite gratifying.”

“I imagine so. Not unlike the satisfaction of seeing a sinner restored to the Father as a result of a well-delivered homily.” He smiled again.

She motioned him to a seat on the embroidered settee, poured tea, and offered the shortbread, which he declined with a shake of his head.

She regarded him over the top of her cup. He sipped his tea and gazed out to the sea, seeming in no hurry to state his business. For one anxious moment she imagined he had come to deliver
dire news about Nicholas. But then he set down his cup, his eyes on hers.

“I’m very glad indeed to hear that you enjoy teaching so, for I find that I am in need of a teacher.”

“Oh?”

“I learned just last week that my widowed sister has died, leaving behind four children—two boys and two girls—who must be taken in. Perhaps you knew her. Esther Demere? She lived in Charleston before the war.”

“I don’t believe I ever met her. I’m very sorry to learn of her passing.”

He cleared his throat. “My wife and I of course are willing to take them, but they will need some order to their days, and frankly Ruth is not up to the task.”

“Mrs. Milton told me Mrs. Peabody has a weak heart. I am sorry to hear it.”

He nodded. “She tires easily, and her work for the mission society takes what little strength she possesses. I’m busy with raising money for the Chinese orphanage and the medical clinic, and I fear the children will too often be left to their own devices at a time when what they need most is stability and a sense of purpose.”