Sweetgrass (25 page)

“But, Press…” She hesitated, struggling with how to say this. “I don’t love you. Not in that way.”

He grimaced, acknowledging this statement with a curt nod of his head.

“I know,” he said, looking at her in a straightforward manner. “But that’s not what’s most important now. We have to think of your situation and what’s best for the baby you’re carrying. It’s my brother’s child. I will love it as my own. And in time, I hope you can learn to love me as I love y—”

She put her fingers against his lips. “Please, don’t say it.”

He took her hands in his. “Mary June, will you do me the honor of being my wife? I’ll be a good husband to you, and I swear I’ll be a good father to your baby.” He smiled then, a boyish, hopeful smile. “Marry me, Mary June. We’ll make a good life for each other and for this baby.”

She thought for a long while before giving him her answer. This was the only course of action open to her; she knew he was right about that. She had to do what was best for the baby. She looked into his eyes, as bright a blue as the sky above, at his wavy curls that refused to be tamped down. Dear Preston…

“Mary June,” he said again, leaning forward and pressing his lips against her forehead. His voice was husky with emotion. “Just say yes.”

She closed her eyes and put her hands upon his chest, falling.

And once again, Preston was there to catch her.

“Yes,” she replied.

While Mary June clung to the swing and rocked gently back
and forth, Preston sat and plucked the long, wild grass that grew in clumps in the sandy soil. He looked out at the sun shining on the surface of their beloved creek. The wind rose off the river, ruffling Mary June’s blond hair from the collar of her dress.

If someone had looked up at that moment, they would have thought the two were sweethearts, stealing time together under the shade of the old live oak by the water. Months later, when the announcement of the marriage was made, guests of the luncheon would, in fact, recall having seen the two of them together that day and comment on how perfect a couple they’d seemed, right from the start.

Mama June slept late. When she awoke, the birds were singing in force and the piercing coastal sun had chased away all the evening’s clouds. The scent of coffee and bacon was tantalizing in the air, and she could hear the rumbling noise of a vacuum cleaner downstairs.

She stretched lazily, fingers to toes, then relaxed again, languid in her bed. Glancing at the crystal clock on her bedside bureau, she smiled guiltily. Goodness, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept so late. She felt boneless against her soft mattress, yet strangely refreshed.

Through her dreams she had revisited defining moments of her past. And now in the light of day she saw them clearly, without the clouds of deception.

Tripp had been a young girl’s crush. As an old woman, she could see and accept with hard-earned wisdom that though he might have been in love with her, he did not truly love her.

Preston, her husband, however,
did
love her. With a deep, abiding kind of love. He always had. He may not have swept her off her feet or filled her mind with grand, airy philosophies. That was not his style. Preston was a man of the earth. He was rich and true and compassionate and steadfast.

And she loved him!

She brought her hands to her cheeks, flushed with amazement. When she began this journey, she’d hoped to help Preston remember who he once was. To help him. She didn’t imagine that
she
would remember him.

Lowering her hands, she held them in the air, looking at them. They were small hands with fine bones, blue veins, oval nails and telltale age spots. To look at them, they were rather ordinary. Yet in the past few months, they had accomplished the extraordinary.

For years, hers had been a stale, tired marriage, one filled with disillusionment and disappointments. Her and Preston’s conversations were perfunctory. They didn’t share interests, nor did they even try any longer. They’d fallen into a routine of isolation. He often preferred to be alone than with her. He went for walks with his dog or spent time in his office with the door closed. This did not distress her, as she felt the same. They didn’t argue; they were resolvedly civil. She and Preston had not been close in any intimate sense for years.

Yet, wonder of wonders, since his stroke she’d helped Preston with his range of movement exercises and given him massages. These hands had touched his body over and over in myriad ways. She’d had more tactile connection with her husband in these few months than she’d had in years. The touching had created a new intimacy between them.

Kristina had been right. Through touch, she’d remembered. She’d remembered all the good times they’d had in their long marriage. She’d remembered the tender moments, the kind gestures and the thoughtful words. And through remembering, she’d fallen in love with him all over again.

She’d endured her share of tragedy in her life, and it was serendipity that through this last tragedy she’d found joy. It was, she thought humbly, God’s sweet mercy.

She rose and walked swiftly to the window, her long cotton gown catching the breeze. Leaning forward against the frame, she smiled. Yes! There was Blakely’s Bluff, its steep pitched roof glinting in the bright sun. She didn’t feel the usual uneasiness at seeing it. Tonight darkness would fall again and she would be ready for it. But right now the sky was cerulean and fresh salt air was blowing in from the ocean. It was going to be a beautiful day!

Preston was sitting up against his electric bed, already bathed, dressed and fed. Even his morning movement exercises were completed. Kristina was maneuvering the wheelchair into position near the bed to take Preston to the porch for his morning outing.

“Good morning,” Mama June called out in a cheery voice as she entered the room. “And isn’t it a lovely morning. You were very kind to let me play hooky.”

“Not at all,” Kristina replied. “It was long overdue. And you must’ve needed it.” Her eyes brightened. “Aren’t you chipper this morning?”

“I feel wonderful.” She turned her head toward Preston. He, too, watched her with a glint of curiosity. “I feel happy.”

“All this from a little extra shut-eye?” asked Kristina. “I’m definitely not getting enough sleep.”

Mama June chuckled and reached out her hand for the gait belt. “It’s your turn for a break. Why don’t you take a few extra minutes for a cup of tea? I’ll bring Press outside.”

Kristina looked doubtful. “Are you sure you can handle his weight? It’s not as easy as it looks. I don’t want to come in here and find both of you in a heap on the floor. Then I’ll have two patients to care for.”

“How many times do I have to practice? I know what to do. And if I forget something, Preston can show me, right, darlin’?”

His eyes lit up and he blinked twice.

Kristina was reluctant, but she gave Mama June the two-inch cotton belt designed to help a stroke patient transfer his weight. “Remember to buckle it in front once you get it around his waist.”

“I know.”

“And be sure to make it tight enough, but not so tight that you can’t get your fingers under it.”

“Go,” Mama June told her, nudging her forward. “I can handle it.”

Kristina studied her for a moment. “He’s all yours,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye.

“Don’t I know it?” Mama June replied in turn.

Once Kristina left, Mama June felt a sudden shyness. This man was her husband of forty-seven years; they were hardly strangers. And yet, they were. For so long they’d been more like roommates than husband and wife. Barely friends, much less lovers.

She looked at the man sitting in the hospital bed, his white hair gleaming, his eyes bright and alert. Once upon a time, this man had come to her rescue. He had stood by her. He was her knight in shining armor.

She went to his side, still smiling. “So, handsome. Are you ready to go for a stroll?”

At the sound of her voice, Blackjack rose up at the window and pawed at the screen. He was impatient for Preston to join him outdoors.

“He’s getting pretty bossy for an old dog, don’t you think?” she asked. She was glad to see a lopsided smile twitching at Preston’s lips.

She reached for the lever, raising the bed’s head and lowering the foot. She hesitated, licking her lips, a little nervous.

He reached out his good hand, resting it on her shoulder.
She looked up. His face was inches away from her own, and in his eyes she saw the gleam of confidence she’d depended on during their marriage. Bolstered, she shifted to sit on the bed beside him.

“Okay, then.” She reached her arms around his waist, looping the woven belt around him. Her cheek pressed against the starchy fabric on his chest.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she teased.

She stood again, taking a breath. Then, putting her hands around her husband, she took firm hold of the belt. It seemed such a feeble thing to help balance his weight. He was too weak to stand alone. She’d worked with Preston on a range of motion exercises, she’d massaged his muscles, she’d combed his hair and tended to countless other personal needs, but this would require both of their efforts. They needed to work together.

“We can do this,” she said, centering her position on the floor. Once balanced, she looked again into his eyes, their best medium of communication.

They shone back with nervous concentration.

With her arms around him and holding tight to the belt, she offered him a seductive smile. “Shall we dance?”

His expression changed as understanding of the nuance slowly dawned. His corded muscles relaxed and he took a deep breath.

They began a waltz of coordination. Preston put his good hand on the nightstand. She bent at the knees. As he strained to push his body up, she pulled with her legs. Push and lift, rocking to a stand in choreographed cooperation. Her arms were around him, her head against his. The scent of sage and eucalyptus on his skin was clean and fresh.

Mama June heard an inner music in her ear as they moved, hip against hip, working together, shuffling across the floor,
pivoting in a half circle, in each other’s arms again, husband and wife, slow dancing.

Preston helped lower himself into the wheelchair. Their breathing came in short puffs of exertion. Once settled, Mama June’s hands lingered at his waist as their strength returned. Her head stayed close to his. The intensity of his gaze drew her nearer. She leaned forward, naturally, closing her eyes as her lips touched his. It was a kiss as pure and sweet as a first one, familiar yet new, filled with longing and a hint of promise.

Mama June drew back, feeling her cheeks color. “Oh, my.”

She thought he smiled as he held her gaze.

Her expression softened and she reached up to cup his chin in her palm. “I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a dance more.”

She remembered again the day he’d confessed his love to her, so many years before. She remembered how she’d refrained from declaring her own love.

“I love you,” she told him.

She felt his hand tighten and his eyes filled with tears.

From the porch, Blackjack’s piteous whine ended with a high-pitched yelp.

Mama June laughed and shook her head, glancing up to see the large black shadow at the screen. She smiled contentedly and bent to kiss Preston once more, lightly. Then she moved behind the chair and wheeled her husband out into the sunshine.

SUMMER BLOOMED ALONG
the coast of Sweetgrass. The grasses flourished between the dunes, grading into maritime shrubs and the brackish salt marsh. A profusion of wildflowers competed for attention along the horizon. Small, perfect yellow primroses ambled beside delicate oxeye daisies, the brilliant pink of swamp roses and the glorious pink, blue and white funnels of morning glories.

Morgan ran a path through the property. The landscape was familiar, but each day he saw something new. Each day he felt more keenly that his stewardship at this point in time could determine the property’s fate for future generations. As he ran along the composted path, he knew that saving this piece of land went far beyond what was best for his father or his mother or even the Blakely family. These acres of wild
open space lay unprotected, helpless against man’s destruction. This land was as endangered as any bison or bald eagle, and as their habitat, even more crucial to save.

It was this realization that had brought him to his plan. He’d made a few investigative phone calls and thought the idea had promise. He looked at his watch. He had several appointments scheduled for today. He’d have to cut his run short if he wanted to be showered and ready on time.

Daniel Davis from The Nature Conservancy and Elizabeth Lowndes from the Coastal Conservation League arrived at Sweetgrass promptly at nine o’clock. Mama June welcomed her children’s old friends at the front door with heartfelt hugs. Nona beamed at seeing folks she’d cared for as children all grown up and looking so prosperous. She’d made a fresh pitcher of sweet tea to serve with the cake and berries that she hoped would sweeten their visit.

Morgan stepped forward to shake the hand of the tall, tanned, broad-shouldered man he’d have recognized anywhere, even with his thinning hair. Dan was older by a good ten years, but he’d been a close pal of Hamlin’s and a constant partner on fishing and hunting expeditions. Morgan often tagged along and had more stories about their antics than a farm dog did fleas. Dan came from an old family that was a strong force for environmental protection in the area. The Davis family had put thousands of their acres in the western section of the state into conservation easements.

Lizzy was as lithe now as she had been as a teenager, but her waist-long blond hair was now shoulder length and she’d traded in jeans and sandals for a stylish brown suit and heels. Yet her freshly scrubbed face beamed when she stepped closer, wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight, same as always. She had a big heart and a generous spirit.
She’d been an on-again off-again girlfriend—someone Mama June had made no secret she’d like as a daughter-in-law—but mostly she was a friend. Lizzy was one of those girls that guys liked to hang out with because she was a good listener, could hold her beer and never said a mean-spirited thing about anybody. She was also a damn good sailor and a world-class fisherman. It didn’t surprise him that she’d ended up with a degree in biology and a mission to protect the environment.

After tea and a visit with Preston and Mama June in the living room, Preston went to his scheduled physical therapy session while Morgan brought his guests to the privacy of the office to discuss the reason for the meeting.

“You know what I’d like to do,” he began when they were seated. “I’m having the devil of a time trying to make ends meet. My father’s been struggling to keep this place intact for years. Lord knows he’s pulled about every rabbit out of his hat, but he can’t change what’s happening along the coast. Frankly, we can’t afford to hang on to this place. I’ve been digging through my father’s business papers and scratching my head looking for I don’t know what. Bobby Pearlman suggested I look into a conservation easement, so I called you both for some advice.”

“Bobby led you straight,” Dan said with a grin. “There’s no doubt that this is a plum property. I’d be lying if I said we weren’t darn pleased when you called. The land along this corridor is disappearing faster than sand through our fingers. Developments are sprawling, and we’re aiming to preserve as much as we can, while we still can.”

“Especially because this is such an important migratory route,” Lizzy added. “But Morgan—” She paused. “While the easement will protect the land’s ecology and open space, you do realize that it also puts restrictions on the property, not just for you but for future generations?”

“That’s part of what I need to better understand,” Morgan replied.

“It’s simple, really,” said Dan. “As a landowner, you’ll agree to sell or donate certain rights to the property, such as the right to develop it or subdivide.” He offered a wry grin. “It would be our job to enforce your promise not to exercise those rights. Or your heirs.”

“Well, actually, those rights no longer exist,” Lizzy amended.

“Right,” Dan agreed. “But the land remains in your ownership. Hey, we’ve all been struggling to keep our family property together. My family’s estate was being eaten alive by taxes. We didn’t want to sell it, though we had plenty of offers. We ended up selling some and putting most of it into easements. It’s a compromise we could live with. Shoot, do you know what your land is worth now, with all that water-front?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Morgan replied.

“Well, then.” Dan continued rubbing his jaw. “My hat’s off to you for considering an easement. A lot of folks are going for the money.”

“My father is intent on keeping what’s left of Sweetgrass intact.”

Dan nodded his understanding. “The first thing to know is that the easement will remove the land’s development potential. That in turn can qualify you for lower tax benefits. When all is said and done, the easement will protect the land for the future while your family can remain living on the land.”

Lizzy nodded. “It’s the most powerful tool you have at your disposal to keep your land, Morgan. At the same time, you’ll be doing the public a service. Not to mention the environment. If we’re thoughtful about it, we can make a difference. I know that matters to you. And to your daddy.”

“Adele will be an obstacle.”

“Of course she will,” Lizzy replied with a smirk. “Your aunt is a voracious developer. She realizes the surging value of your land. Unfortunately, she doesn’t recognize its important ecological value.”

“Come on, Lizzy, his aunt’s no villain,” said Dan. “It’s happening all over the country. To farms, ranches, timberlands, plantations and some choice hunting grounds, too. You know me, Morgan. That stings where it hurts.”

“Easements are among the fastest-growing methods of land preservation today,” added Lizzy. “They’ve protected more than two million acres in our country.”

“The problem is, I still haven’t figured out a way to maintain the land, even if the taxes are lowered,” said Morgan. “We may have to sell in the end, anyway.”

“If you’re strapped for cash, you could sell the easement rights,” Dan said. “We’d have to look into whether your property qualifies as a high-priority site, but I’d wager it would.”

“Morgan,” Lizzy said, “please consider this option seriously. The wetlands are being exploited, especially right here in our own backyard. When these swamps disappear, so do our buffers for flooding, for cleansing water of pollutants and for sheltering fowl and fish. We’re seeing thousands of acres being bulldozed and it’s breaking my heart.”

“Mine, too, Lizzy. I’ll consider all this carefully,” he said, referring to the folders full of information both Dan and Lizzy had brought with them. “I can’t make any promises. Like I said, we still have a lot to figure out, especially with Daddy’s health now. And ultimately, it’s not my decision.” He smiled. “But I like what I hear.”

When they rose to leave, Dan and Lizzy said again how great it was to see him, how happy they were he’d come back
home and both elicited promises from him to call and come by for dinner and meet their kids. When he closed the door behind them, he clapped his hands together. Next he’d meet with Adele for their lunch appointment. He grinned widely. This just might work.

His appointment with Adele was at a restaurant along Shem Creek, a quaint section of Mount Pleasant known historically as a docking port for shrimpers. He used to hang out here with his buddies, grabbing a beer and a bucket of shrimp. Now there were several popular fish restaurants and pubs with a water view, a charming inn and a few office buildings built to scale. Tourists crowded the restaurants, and it took longer than he’d thought to find parking.

He glanced at his watch and hustled up the wood stairs of the restaurant. His aunt was always punctual. He was sweltering even in a cotton polo shirt and sighed with relief at the blast of cold air that welcomed him when he stepped inside the glass doors. The hum of voices and the clang of silverware and glass was a pleasant background as he quickly scanned the darkened room. Vickery’s was a popular restaurant with both locals and tourists alike, but he’d thought it an odd choice for Adele, whom he would have guessed preferred a quieter, more upscale restaurant. Then he remembered that her office was located not far from here, and as usually was the case with his aunt, it made sense.

He spotted his aunt sitting at a choice table in the far corner of the dining room in front of a large plate-glass window. The view of the creek and marsh was spectacular. A few shrimp boats, encircled by gulls, lined the dock, and pelicans flew across the sky in formation.

“Aunt Adele, I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, taking a seat. He did not kiss her.

“I should have warned you about the parking. It gets worse every year. But you’re here now,” she said, turning to signal her waiter.

She sounded absolutely cheery, and he thought that boded well. He relaxed a little, and when the waiter arrived at the table, he ordered a beer. Adele ordered a Bloody Mary.

He thought his aunt looked especially well. She had a glowing tan that made her dark eyes shine. Like coffee and cream, he thought. He ran his hand through his hair, grateful that Kristina had offered to trim it for him.

“How’s your golf game?” he asked her.

“Oh, that,” she said with a light laugh. “I seem to have hit a plateau. I play more for the exercise these days. But Harry! Now, there’s a boy with something special. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was offered a scholarship for golf. He might even go pro, he’s that good.”

Her pride rang in her voice, and Morgan wondered at her devotion to her grandnephews. “Really? I had no idea he was that good.”

“Oh, yes,” she affirmed. “What about you? Do you play?”

He shook his head. “I never got into the game. Fishing’s more my thing.”

She nodded politely, but he knew she wasn’t much interested in his sports preferences.

“How’s your dear father?”

“He gets better every day,” he replied. It was the pat answer, though he was beginning to feel insincere. It seemed to him that his father, too, had hit a plateau.

“Are his therapists still coming in to see him?”

“Yes, ma’am. Like clockwork.”

“Not for much longer, I should imagine.”

“He has a while to go yet,” he answered evasively. This would be a major hurdle to cross when the time came, but he
didn’t want to get into that with Adele now. He needed her support for his new venture. “You should come by and see him,” he said, veering in another direction. “He’d like that.”

“I should. I will.” Adele twisted her face. “But to be honest, I find it very hard to see him the way he is now.”

The waiter arrived to deliver their drinks.

“Do you know what you want to eat?” she asked him. “The oyster salad is very good. And the seared tuna is excellent.”

“I’ll have the tuna,” he told the waiter. Adele ordered the salad.

“So, tell me,” she said with all that out of the way. She folded her hands on the table. “What brings us together today? I’m assuming you got through all of your father’s papers and have reached a decision?”

“Yes, actually I have.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She leaned forward, all ears.

He knew what she was hoping to hear, but he persevered. “I’ve come up with a plan that I think just might give us a chance to hold on to Sweetgrass. I’ve already talked to representatives of The Nature Conservancy and The Coastal Conservation League and they’ve backed me up. I’d like to explore putting Sweetgrass under a conservation easement.”

Adele’s face went very still. “A conservation easement?”

“Yes,” he said, troubled by her shocked expression. “In a nutshell, an easement will allow us to preserve the land and get tax benefits to help us keep it.”

“I know what a conservation easement is!” Adele snapped. “What stuns me is that you’re pursuing one. What do you hope to gain?”

His goodwill drained from his smile. “I don’t hope to gain anything,” he said stiffly. “What I hope to do is save Sweetgrass from being sold.”

She blinked, as though trying to believe what she’d heard.
“If that doesn’t take the cake,” she said, leaning back in her chair. She had a hard smile on her face that was anything but cheery. “Here I thought you’d invited me to lunch so that you could tell me you’d finished going through all your father’s papers and had discovered that the well had run dry and it was time to sell. I came in good cheer prepared to tell you all about the offer I’ve fielded from a very prominent investment firm. They’re prepared to make a very handsome offer for Sweetgrass. Very profitable. You would all stand to make quite a bit of money.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to be stunned. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You have no idea,” she said icily.

They were interrupted by the waiter delivering their food. They both remained silent as the plates were set on the table, their water glasses refreshed and a basket of rolls placed in the center of the table.

“I’d hoped you’d be pleased with the idea,” Morgan told her, picking up his fork and stabbing at his tuna. “We could use your support now.”

“No, Morgan,” she replied, not moving toward her food. “You will not get my support on this. Nor on any plan to delay what ultimately must be done.”

“I won’t sell Sweetgrass,” he ground out, setting his fork down.