Carolina Gold (20 page)
Charlotte remembered the months following her mother’s death, when she stumbled through each day in a grief-induced fog, barely able to think or eat. The routine at Madame Giraud’s, the daily lessons and recitations and essays, and the diversions provided by her schoolmates had kept her from dwelling too much on the awful reality she was powerless to change. Still, she was not prepared to provide such a routine for these children.
“I realize you will be returning to your plantation in the autumn,” the minister continued, “but I hoped you might be willing for these next few months. I am prepared to offer you a small remuneration, of course, if you would—”
“What about the schoolmaster at Litchfield?”
“He won’t be back until October at the earliest.”
“Mr. Peabody, I sympathize with your situation. But even if I were qualified to take on such a task, I have only a few books.” She waved one hand. “I have no chalkboard, nor proper desks and chairs, nor—”
“I’ve thought of that. You could move into the plantation schoolroom. There’s a separate house for the schoolmaster, adequately furnished, and the schoolroom has everything you might require. I’m certain Dr. Tucker will be agreeable.”
Papa’s friend, Dr. Henry Tucker, had inherited Litchfield just before the war. It was said that rice planting was his life’s sole passion and that he cared little for books. If that was so, perhaps he wouldn’t object to her temporarily occupying the plantation schoolroom. Not that the idea held any appeal for her.
“My young charges have lost their mother too,” she said. “Their father left a month ago on a matter of some importance, and we’ve had no word of him. They seem happy here, and I am reluctant to uproot them when their future is so uncertain. Perhaps a female relative, an aunt or a cousin, might come for the summer and take charge of the children. Or someone from the congregation?”
He sighed. “If that were possible, I wouldn’t be here. There is no one else.”
“I’m sorry.”
He stared into his empty cup as if the answer to his dilemma might be hiding there. “What if I moved the school down here?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What if I brought everything here? Your two girls could remain here and you’d have the desks and chairs and other things you need.” He glanced around the parlor to the room beyond. “Your dining room would easily serve the purpose.”
She walked to the window and looked out at the sea, fighting
the fury building inside her. How dare he barge in and commandeer her home for his own purposes? It was too vivid a reminder of what the Northern carpetbaggers had been about for the past three years, raising taxes to astronomical levels and then taking property when the owners couldn’t pay. And promising the Negroes the moon in exchange for loyalty at the polls.
Of course she was sorry that Mr. Peabody’s nieces and nephews had lost their mother. Now, with the plantations in ruins, education for a different kind of life was more important than ever. But her own insecurities haunted her. And she hadn’t spent much time around boys; she wouldn’t know where to begin teaching Mr. Peabody’s nephews. She had so many worries of her own. And now it seemed she was permanently in charge of Nicholas Betancourt’s daughters too.
Tamping down her anger, she turned to the minister and forced a polite smile. “Again, I’m afraid I must decline.”
He rose, a frown creasing his high forehead. “I see. May I ask one favor of you?”
“Of course.”
“The children won’t arrive until next week. In the interim, will you seek divine guidance on this matter?”
She nodded. “As I do in all things.”
“That’s all I ask.” He retrieved his hat and made for the door. “Perhaps we can talk again on Sunday.”
She watched him mount his horse and ride away, the horse’s hooves kicking up sand.
Marie-Claire bounded barefoot into the room, her dark hair flying. “May we go to the beach now? I want to look for more angel wings.”
Charlotte smiled, her irritation at the minister forgotten. Both girls had adapted quickly to island life. Sturdy and browned from endless hours on the beach, they had learned to appreciate
the rhythms of the sea and the beauty and the wonder of her random gifts. They knew the names of the birds stalking the muddy shores of the tidal creeks, the grasses and flowers growing wild in the inlet behind the house.
Charlotte brushed a hand over Marie-Claire’s unruly locks. “I suppose so. Get your hat and your sister and meet me on the piazza.”
Ten minutes later they headed north, the girls chasing the receding waves. Here and there mothers reclined on blankets in the shade of the dunes, chatting or reading while their children splashed in the shallow surf.
“Ma’m’selle.” Anne-Louise held up the remains of a horseshoe crab. “An arthropod.”
“Very good, you remembered.”
The child bobbed her head. “It’s easy to remember things the way you teach them to us. Marie-Claire thinks so too, only she’s too stubborn to say so.”
She fell into step alongside Charlotte. “Marie-Claire thinks Papa is dead. Is he?”
“Of course not.” Charlotte knelt on the wet sand until their eyes were level. “I’m sure he is perfectly fine. Any day now he’ll get my letter and he’ll know just where to find us when he gets back. You mustn’t worry about it.”
She looked up to see Augusta Milton and Emily Weston coming along the beach, each carrying a picnic basket. Augusta waved as they drew near.
“Lovely day,” Augusta sang out.
“It is.” Charlotte got to her feet and sent Anne-Louise to join Marie-Claire. “Hello, Mrs. Weston.”
Mrs. Weston nodded. “Lovely to see you at last. I’ve been looking for you ever since we arrived.” She smiled at Anne-Louise’s retreating form. “I heard you were looking after Mr. Betancourt’s
children.” She glanced toward the two girls who were on their knees, digging in the sand. “I do hope he has not abandoned them. It has happened far too often since the war.”
“Nicholas—Mr. Betancourt would never willingly abandon his daughters. I confess that I am worried, though. I expected his return long before now.”
“And yet you don’t seem too eager to have him back,” Augusta said. “Is anything the matter?”
Charlotte shook her head. Part of her wanted to share the burden of her worries about Fairhaven. But for all their fine qualities, Augusta Milton and Emily Weston were not above gossip, and the last thing she needed was for Mr. Finch and her creditors at the bank to get wind of a possible property dispute. “I’m uneasy about leaving Mr. Finch, the overseer, in charge of everything. I don’t know him very well, and he’s looking after the Hadleys’ fields and the Cliftons’ too. I—”
“Speaking of the Cliftons.” Emily shifted her basket to her other arm. “Just after you left to come here, I saw Josie Clifton and her mother coming out of the postal office in Georgetown. Up from Charleston for a couple of days, though for what purpose she didn’t say. They send their regards.”
Two young boys with a kite raced past, kicking up a shower of damp sand. Charlotte brushed at her skirt and placed a hand on Augusta’s arm. “I’m glad for this chance meeting. I was about to say that I hope you can look after the girls for me on Friday. I want to see how my fields are faring. I’ll leave early and be back before dark.”
“They’re welcome to stay,” Augusta said. “Such bright minds. I’m sure I wasn’t half as clever when I was their age.” She patted Charlotte’s hand. “All due to your unorthodox teaching methods, no doubt.”
Mrs. Weston’s dark brows rose. “Unorthodox?”
“Charlotte doesn’t believe in rote memorization,” Augusta said, “or in a set course of study. She lets the girls study whatever interests them.”
“How intriguing.” Mrs. Weston smiled at Charlotte. “But tell me, then, how is a child to learn arithmetic if she has no interest in it?”
“Marie-Claire already knew the fundamentals when I began teaching her, and Anne-Louise as well, though to a lesser extent, so I can’t be sure my method would work with pupils who have no basic knowledge.” Charlotte shaded her eyes and scanned the beach for her young charges, who had abandoned their sand castle and were now helping the boys with the kite. “My arrangement with their father was for the short term, and there’s a scarcity of books since the war, so I thought it just as well to adopt a more relaxed approach to the curriculum. Once they are sent to boarding school, there will be time enough for drills and exercises and endless memorization of useless information.”
Mrs. Weston laughed. “It seems you have a talent for teaching. I wonder whether you know what a rare gift it is.”
“Thank you, but I’m afraid my methods are the product of too little skill, too few books, and too much worrying over whether I’m doing enough to engage my pupils.”
“Well, your methods certainly seem to agree with them,” Mrs. Weston said. “But I should be getting home. My husband will wonder what has become of me.”
Augusta nodded. “I must go too. But I’m happy to have the girls visit on Friday.”
The two friends went on down the beach, their wide-brimmed hats blowing in the late-afternoon breeze. The air had cooled, but there was still plenty of light, and the girls were absorbed in getting the kite airborne. Charlotte settled herself on the warm sand, her back resting against the dune, and watched the sea, remembering
a late-summer day with her father. She had been waiting for him near the salt works when he arrived late from his inspection of the fields on the Waccamaw. Together they walked back to Pelican Cottage to leave his things before heading to the beach for their customary walk. For weeks she’d waited with growing impatience for a set of books to arrive from Boston. Learning that they had not yet arrived at the postal office in Georgetown had put her in a disagreeable mood. She allowed that perhaps the order had not even been sent.
“Watch the sea, daughter.” He halted her steps with a hand on her shoulder and directed her attention to the incoming tide, each wave folding in upon itself before sliding onto the sand as foam.
“Oh, Papa, it looks precisely the same as it did yesterday and the day before.”
“Exactly. The sea never hurries and never falters. We expect it to be there each morning to usher in a new day and it never disappoints. Patience and faith are what the sea teaches us.” His dark eyes shone with paternal affection. “You could use more of both, Charlotte.”
Patience and faith. Today she felt woefully short of both. Perhaps she shouldn’t have felt so angry toward Mr. Peabody, who only wanted the best for his sister’s orphaned children. But it seemed that life presented her with an ever-lengthening list of things to do. On Friday she would visit her rice fields, settle up with the overseer, and check on Daniel Graves. She smiled, imagining him curled up beneath a tree, one of her books open on his knees.
If there was time, she might visit Willowood to reassure herself that Nicholas had not returned and somehow missed her letter. But if that had happened, wouldn’t he know to ask Mr. Finch for her whereabouts or to look for her on Pawley’s?
High-pitched squeals rose above the sound of the outgoing tide. Charlotte looked up to see that one of the kite boys had filled
a bucket of water and was chasing Anne-Louise down the beach. Charlotte got to her feet just as Marie-Claire tackled him from behind. The two sprawled on the wet sand.
Charlotte hurried across the beach, arriving just as Marie-Claire jumped up, her face the picture of triumph for having saved her sister from a certain drenching.
“All right. Time to go.”
“But I’ve hardly collected any shells,” Marie-Claire said.
“You shouldn’t have spent so much time with those boys and their kite.” Charlotte motioned for Anne-Louise.
Marie-Claire sighed. “I suppose the shells will be here tomorrow.”
Charlotte let the girls go ahead of her up the beach, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists, their dark heads touching, and she felt a rush of affection for them. Was she doing enough to prepare their minds for the rigors of a formal education?
Late-afternoon sunlight glinted on the water. A flock of brown pelicans flapped their way south as the first streaks of pink appeared in the sky. She removed her straw hat and filled her lungs with the warm salt air. This time of day on the ocean never failed to remind her of just how small human beings were when measured against the infinite.
“Will you seek divine guidance in this matter?”
Mr. Peabody’s words seemed to ride the ocean breeze.
“Hurry up, Ma’m’selle. We’re exceedingly hungry.” Hat in hand, Anne-Louise motioned to Charlotte.
She shepherded the girls inside and set about making a meal. They ate on the piazza, watching the first stars appear. Soon Anne-Louise yawned and drifted off, her head falling onto her sister’s shoulder. Charlotte got them inside and into bed.
In her own room, she drew her chair to the open window. The curtains billowed and twisted in the steady sea breeze. Beneath
a full moon, the dunes and the sea seemed soft and ephemeral, turning light and dark with the shifting shadows.
Her thoughts returned to Mr. Peabody’s visit, and her conscience pricked at her. Declaring that it was their duty to turn necessity into virtue, Papa had never refused to help others when asked. But he’d had far more resources than she did now. She wondered whether he was watching over her from heaven and whether he would understand her refusal of the minister’s request.
Summer lightning flashed on the horizon, followed by a rumble of thunder. A gust of wind caught the door and slammed it shut. Normally she enjoyed a storm over the sea, but tonight the brewing weather felt ominous. She closed the windows against the first rush of rain and doused the light.
