Carolina Gold (4 page)

F
rom Georgetown, the
Resolute
steamed northward along the winding path of the Waccamaw, past cypress swamps, brown marshlands, and stands of magnolia, pine, and oak. Standing on the deck, Charlotte watched a flotilla of wood ducks bobbing near the bank and a pair of cooters sunning themselves on a sun-warmed log. Overhead an osprey traced lazy circles in the azure sky. She shaded her eyes and followed the bird’s swooping movements, hoping to spot its nest. But the steamer changed course, following a sharp bend in the river, and she lost sight of the osprey as they approached Calais, the first of several plantations belonging to Papa’s friend William Alston. Next came Strawberry Hill, Friendfield, and Marietta.

Charlotte peered through the stands of cypress, hoping to catch a glimpse of the houses she had often visited as a girl. As the steamer continued past Bellefield and Prospect Hill, she spotted roofs, chimneys, and an occasional outbuilding still standing and felt slightly more hopeful. If her neighbors’ homes had survived the Yankees’ predations, perhaps her own had too.

A young woman wearing a brown cotton frock and a feathered leghorn hat came to stand beside Charlotte at the rail. She couldn’t have been much older than sixteen, but she had a vibrancy about her that seemed to shimmer in the humid air. Certainly she was the kind of girl men noticed. She nodded to Charlotte and waved one dainty hand toward the ruins of a white house visible through the newly leafed trees. “It makes me heartsick to look at it. Remember how beautiful it used to be?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Are you going home?” The young girl fished an apple from her bag and polished it on her sleeve, her eyes bright with curiosity, and took a dainty bite.

“If there’s anything left of it. I haven’t been back since the war ended.”

The girl stopped chewing. “Mercy. Who has been taking care of it all this time?”

“A couple of men who belonged to my father looked after it for a time after the war. But they left sometime last fall, just as my father’s health worsened. He was too ill to travel, and I had no one to look after him, so I couldn’t go.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked so many questions. I’m Josie Clifton. My family owns Oakwood Hall.”

“How do you do? I’m Charlotte Fraser. Fairhaven.”

“Oh, I do hope you find your house in good repair. Ours is barely standing, but my father says we must occupy it to keep it out of the hands of the Negroes and the Yankees. He says the Yankees are looking for any excuse to declare the property abandoned and hand it over to the Negroes. Our friend Mr. Kirk is heading back to his place in the pinelands, and supposedly his niece, Patsy, is coming to keep house for him. At least there will be somebody my age to talk to.” Josie heaved a dramatic sigh. “I swear, if we don’t return to some sort of social life soon, I shall go mad.”

“Many of us are still in mourning.”

Josie nodded. “Our family is too. But honestly, what good does it do? The departed are still departed, no matter how deeply we grieve. And I simply detest not having any entertainments to look forward to.”

In the soft sunlight filtering through the black-laced canopy of trees, the girl’s face seemed devoid of any sign of hardship, as if the war had barely touched her. She reminded Charlotte of so many privileged young women she’d known in Charleston, with little purpose beyond having fun and snaring a suitable match. Josie ate another bite of apple. “Father says the Tuckers have invited a new minister to stay at Litchfield. He’ll hold services at the chapel there and use it as a base for his sundry charitable endeavors.”

“Another sign of life returning to normal.”

“I suppose.” The girl shrugged. “Did you know the Hadleys are back on the Pee Dee at Alder Hill?”

“Yes. Mrs. Hadley is meeting me at the landing.”

“I feel sorry for her. Mr. Hadley is not well.”

“So I hear.”

A few more passengers appeared on deck. Josie moved closer to Charlotte and lowered her voice. “They say he has trouble with strong drink.”

“Poor Lettice. I hope that’s not true.”

Josie shrugged. “They also say one of the Willowood heirs has turned up, intending to start up the rice fields again.” Josie shook her head. “I don’t care what Papa says. Rice growing is a lost cause, if you ask me.”

“I hope you’re wrong about that. I’m planning to restore Fairhaven and plant rice again.”

“But where will you get enough workers? Papa tried to hire a few of our former slaves to help with our cotton and corn crops, but they don’t seem all that interested.”

“Perhaps I can find workers in Georgetown.”

“Maybe.” Josie Clifton regarded Charlotte from beneath the brim of her hat. “I don’t remember seeing you around here.”

“I enrolled at Madame Giraud’s boarding school in Charleston when I was nine.” She smiled at the younger woman. “I’m older than you. It’s unlikely our paths would have crossed then.”

“You are not that much older. I’ll be seventeen in a few weeks. I’ve never been to boarding school. I’m sure I could not have abided being so far away from my parents.”

“My cousin Della was a student at Madame Giraud’s, and I wanted to go with her. After that I was home between terms and at Christmas. We spent summers on Pawley’s Island.”

Instinctively, Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. Pelican Cottage, her own little paradise at the edge of the sea, lay only four miles away as the crow flies. As soon as the rice was planted and growing, she would move to the island for the summer. Pawley’s would do wonders to soothe her spirit.

The steamer slowed and bumped the pier. The passengers gathered their belongings and lined up along the ship’s rail.

“We’re home.” Josie tossed her half-eaten apple into the river. “Perhaps I’ll see you again sometime.”

Charlotte joined Josie and the others waiting to disembark and searched the landing for Lettice Hadley. Soon she spotted her mother’s oldest friend sitting atop a farm wagon, a pink ruffled parasol unfurled to ward off the sun. A uniformed black man held the reins. Not the most fashionable conveyance, but the wagon was needed for ferrying Charlotte’s belongings across the Waccamaw River and up the road to Fairhaven.

She waved and hurried down the slanted gangplank. Lettice’s driver jumped down from the wagon and hurried over, a smile creasing his wrinkled face. “Miss Cha’lotte? Is that really you?”

“My word. Trim?”

“Yes’m. It’s me all right. I’m still on this side o’ the dirt.”

“I never expected to see you again. Peter and Quash sent word to Papa that everyone had gone.”

“Yes’m, that’s about right.”

“How are you, Trim? How are you getting on?”

“Well, I got me a wife now. Name’s Florinda. Got a job in town. And I preach at the Negro church of a Sunday. Me and Florinda got ourselves a house and a team of oxen. But I hires out to Mrs. Hadley now and then, when Mr. Hadley is feeling poorly.” He looked past her shoulder. “Them your things there on the dock?”

“Yes. The two trunks and those boxes of linens and kitchen supplies. And Mother’s writing desk.”

“I ’member that desk—set by the window that looked out on Miss Susan’s garden. Used to see her there writing in her household books, back in them days.”

“That’s right. It’s practically the only thing I have left of hers. Quash told Papa the Yankees destroyed her portrait.” Her stomach clenched at the memory. “Pure meanness, if you ask me.”

“Yes’m, that’s the truth. But it don’t do no good studyin’ over what’s gone. We got to carry on till the good Lawd come to fetch us home.”

Three loud blasts from the ship’s whistle signaled its departure. The
Resolute
belched a cloud of steam and smoke and inched away from the landing. Charlotte thought of the plantations farther upriver—Springfield, Laurel Hill, Wachesaw. Were any of them left standing? Would the heir of Willowood—whoever he was—find that he too was master of a ruin? Charlotte swayed, suddenly dizzy from hunger, worry, and fatigue from her twelve-hour journey.

“Miss Cha’lotte?” Trim motioned to her. “Come on. Let me help you up on the wagon. You just sit and rest a spell while I look after your things.”

He boosted her onto the rickety wagon seat and into Lettice’s
motherly, powder-scented embrace. “Oh, Charlotte. Dear girl, I am so happy you are back.”

Mrs. Hadley held Charlotte at arm’s length, and Charlotte saw the hollows beneath the woman’s pale gray eyes, the wrinkles that had deepened around her generous mouth.

“You have no idea how lonely it has been here,” Mrs. Hadley said. “We ourselves returned only a few months ago, and it feels like years. But Mr. Hadley won’t hear of moving into Charleston or even Georgetown. Though heaven knows that poor town has little to recommend it these days.”

“I’m happy to see you too.” Charlotte’s empty stomach groaned, but she was thinking of something else entirely. “I can’t wait to go riding. I’ve missed it so.”

Mrs. Hadley’s lips tightened. “Unfortunately we had to sell the blooded horses. All I’m left with is this old nag. He isn’t much to look at, but he’s indispensable these days.”

“Oh, I am sorry. I know how you loved your horses.”

Lettice stared out at the river. “The taxes came due in November, and they were much more than we thought. And the house is falling down and needs repairs. Stables too, so I suppose it’s for the best. Charles wasn’t able to look after the horses properly anyway, and most of the servants we counted upon have become completely unreliable, even when good money is offered. I do miss my little bay mare all the same. And I’m sorry to have promised you an outing. I should have told you about the horses before now. I know you were looking forward to a good long ride.”

“I was. But it doesn’t matter. I’m sure I’ll be busy anyway until I get my house repaired and my rice planted.”

Lettice fixed her with a firm gaze. “I’m all for restoring whatever you can, but you mustn’t be too disappointed if things don’t work out the way you hope.”

“Things must work out. There is no other option.” Charlotte
patted the older woman’s hand. “Thank you for going to the trouble of meeting me. Even the shortest trip these days seems a trial. And I am so happy to see you. Trim too. He was one of Papa’s favorites.”

“No trouble at all, my dear.” Lettice sighed and watched Trim struggling to balance Charlotte’s large trunk on his shoulders. “Now that the Negroes are free, I suppose we must do our part to see that they succeed. Trim at least is fairly dependable. I hire him whenever I can, and of course he is glad of the money.”

Trim shoved the trunk and the desk onto the wagon next to the boxes. He climbed up and rattled the reins. They headed west down the dirt road.

“Now, I know you’re anxious to get to Fairhaven,” Lettice said, “but I knew you’d be famished, so I’m taking you to Alder Hill first. Florinda came this morning to prepare a light supper for us.”

“Thank you. I am hungry.”

“As soon as we heard you were coming back, Mr. Hadley sent March and Percy up to Fairhaven. They boarded up the broken windows and replaced the front door and cut down the weeds, but there wasn’t time to do much else.”

“Or money either, I expect. Thank you, Lettice. I will repay you as soon as I can.”

“No hurry. We’re doing all right.”

Charlotte glanced at her mother’s friend. Mrs. Hadley’s threadbare shirtwaist and scuffed shoes told a different story. But perhaps pretending that nothing had changed was Lettice’s way of coping with unimaginable loss.

“Percy says your kitchen is fairly intact, but the rest of the house . . .” Lettice’s voice trailed away. “You mustn’t be too upset when you see the state it’s in.”

“It’s bad, then.”

“Apparently. He reports the house is nearly bare of furnishings. I sent over a bed and a mattress for you and a set of linens.
They’re threadbare but clean. Oh, and a table and some chairs—odds and ends, I’m afraid, but serviceable enough.”

“Thank you. I brought a few things with me, but I hadn’t even thought about where to sit or sleep.”

“You’ve had much too much on your mind of late.”

“Yes.”

“We were sorry to miss your dear father’s funeral. Augusta Milton says it was well attended.”

“It was. And Augusta was a great comfort to me. At least I’ll have her for company on the beach this summer.”

“I’m glad of that. She said his last days were peaceful.”

“For the most part. Near the end he became confused, talking out of his head about secrets.”

“No doubt the effects of the medicines.”

“I suppose.” Charlotte paused. “The evening he breathed his last, he seemed to gather strength.”

“I’ve heard that’s often the case.”

“He suddenly raised himself in the bed and grasped my arm with more strength than I supposed he had. He spoke my name, clear as day, and then he said, ‘The fire . . . the fire.’”

“Poor Francis. No doubt he was remembering the destruction in Charleston, back in sixty-one.”

“I suppose.” Charlotte chewed on her bottom lip. “But at the time I had the eerie feeling that it was more than just a deathbed memory. I felt he was trying to tell me something important.” She shifted on the seat. “Lettice, did he ever mention anything about having papers associated with our land? Any official documents, anything like that?”

Lettice frowned. “Not that I recall. Why? Is something amiss?”

“The lawyer can’t find proof that Papa ever filed for ownership of our barony.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did, Charlotte. If he hadn’t, surely the
situation would have come to light before now. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

As they approached the ferry that would take them to Alder Hill, Trim slowed the wagon and guided it onto the flat, wide boat that once had carried tons of Carolina Gold rice down river. The boat settled on the water. Charlotte’s breath caught as peace washed over her. This was the world she had shared with Papa, who often declared that an attachment to the Lowcountry was a bit like being in love. During her long absence, first at her Aunt Livinia’s during the war and later in the house in Charleston that Papa had been forced to sell, she had suppressed her longing for the marshes and tidal creeks, the salt-scented air, but now she remembered exactly what he meant.