The Bracelet: A Novel

by Dorothy Love

  “Come on.” The boy grabbed her hand, and they wove through the crowd to a short wooden pier near the offices on Commerce Row. Instinctively Celia glanced up at the darkened windows of her father’s office overlooking the Port of Savannah. From time to time he allowed her to visit to watch the activity on the wharves, where the noise of men loading cotton and timber onto snows and schooners and the screech of railway cars mingled with the piercing whistles of steamships coming up the river from Boston, New York, and New Orleans.

  “Here we are,” Sutton said above the pop-pop-pop of fireworks still raining red and green sparkles into the water. He jumped into a small skiff tethered to a wooden piling and helped her into the boat. He cast off and began to row toward the landing on the South Carolina side of the river. An autumn breeze ruffled the surface of the water awash in moonlight.

  “You ever been to the landing before?” he asked.

  “Once or twice with my father.” She remembered the narrow corduroy road that led through the swampy Carolina lowlands, the slaves working in vast rice fields separated by a network of dikes and ditches. The smell of pluff mud in the tidal creek. The unrelenting sun.

  “But not at night, I bet.”

  “No.” Now that they were in the middle of the river in the dead of night, she was frightened, sorry she had agreed to such a silly adventure. To quell her nerves she took a chocolate bonbon from her basket and popped it into her mouth.

  Sutton pulled smoothly on the oars. “You got any more chocolate?”

  She proffered the basket and he chose a piece. “Thanks.”

  Celia looked up as a muted roar rose from the wharf. The last of the fireworks shot into the darkness. Now the crowd would disperse. Her friends would wonder what had happened to her. Papa and Mrs. Maguire would expect her home. “Sutton, we have to go back.”

  “Why? Getting scared?”

  “No. It was wrong of me to go running off without getting Papa’s permission. He will be worried if I’m not home on time.”

  “We’re almost there. We’ll wait five minutes, and if we don’t see the haint, we’ll start straight home.”

  Moments later she felt the boat bumping the landing. Sutton tied off the skiff and helped her onto the bank. Moonlight illuminated the deserted road. Insects trilled in the marsh grasses. The air smelled of sulfur and salt.

  “See that tree over there?” Sutton pointed to a spot just off the road where the dark shape of an ancient oak tree loomed, its mossy beard moving in the slight breeze coming off the sea. “That’s where the Screven’s haint lives.”

  “She lives in a tree?”

  “No. She lives in back of it, farther in the woods. But that tree is her special one. It’s the one she’ll kill to protect. We have to get closer to it to coax her out of her hiding place.”

  “I’ve seen enough.”

  “We haven’t seen anything yet. Come on.” He took her hand, and they approached the tree. Celia shivered.

  “Listen,” he whispered. “Someone’s coming.”

  Celia strained her ears. “I don’t hear anything.”

  They waited for what seemed to Celia like hours. She imagined the worried faces of her father and Mrs. Maguire. Papa might punish her, or he might be so happy to find her alive that he would let her off with a stern reprimand. Right now either was more appealing than standing here waiting for something that did not even exist outside this boy’s wild imagination.

  “I know how to make her come out.” Sutton took a penknife from his pocket.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Carving our initials into her special tree.”

  “No! She might—”

  “Oh, so you do admit she’s real.” He began carving a small S into the tree.

  “No. Yes. I don’t know.” She stamped her foot. “Sutton Mackay, I demand that you take me home this instant.”

  He finished the S and began a C.

  She stood by, tapping her foot and swatting at insects that darted through the chilly night air.

  “There.” He gave a quick nod of satisfaction and put his knife away. “Now spit on your hand.”

  “What?”

  “Spit on your hand.”

  “I will not. That’s disgusting.”

  He laughed. “Come on. Just one dainty little spit bubble?”

  She spat into her palm. “There. Satisfied?”

  He followed suit, then pressed his palm against hers. “Yep. Now we’re friends for life.”

  “Fine. May we please go home now? I—”

  She was interrupted by a low growl and the sound of rushing feet. Weak light from a small torch glimmered through the trees. She screamed.

  “Run!” Sutton shoved her onto the path in front of him.

  A dark figure emerged from the undergrowth. Sutton stuck out his booted foot, and the haint went down with such force that Celia heard a bone snap.

  An animal-like howl filled the air. Then the plaintive cry of a human voice. “Help me!”

  Sutton was shaking, breathing so hard Celia could hear every intake of air.

  “This isn’t a haint,” she said.

  “No.” He retrieved the torch and knelt. “It’s a live person. And she’s hurt.”

  Celia knelt on the other side of a thin, elderly woman. “Are you all right?”

  “My arm. It’s broke, I think.” The old woman tried to move but then winced and lay still.

  “If you can make it to the skiff, we’ll take you to the doctor,” Sutton said. “My father is Burke Mackay. He will take care of—”

  “Just leave me alone.” The old woman sat up and cradled her injured arm. “Just git on outta here. I don’t need you. I got my own remedies.”

  “We’re sorry,” Sutton said. “You scared us, coming out of the dark like that.”

  “Wasn’t that what you wanted? To be scared witless on All Hallows’ Eve so’s you could go back and boast to your friends how you saw the Screven’s haint?”

  “It was only a silly dare,” Celia said. “I’m sorry I took it. And I’m sorry you got hurt.”

  “Sorry won’t fix nothin’ now, will it? Help me up.”

  Sutton complied. “At least let us help you get home.”

  “So’s you can tell all them other ruffians where I live? I’d never hear the end of it then, would I?”

  Sutton handed her the sputtering torch, and she disappeared into the trees.

  “Let’s go.” Shame laced Sutton’s voice.

  Celia felt let down too. What had begun as a lark had ended in regret. Wordlessly they entered the boat and started back across the river. When they landed at the dock on East Broad Street, the streets were nearly empty.

  “Are you going to tell anyone what happened?” Sutton asked as they hurried through the velvety darkness toward Madison Square.

  “If Papa asks where I’ve been, I won’t lie.”

  “That’s what I thought.” They reached Bull Street. Sutton paused.

  “What?”

  “I have to take her some money or some food or something. To make up for what I did.”

  When they reached her gate, he handed her the basket. “I’m sorry, Celia. I never should have taken you over there.” He shrugged. “I guess I wanted you to like me.”

  “And you thought the best way to accomplish that was to scare me half to—”

  “Miss Celia?” Mrs. Maguire was standing above her, shaking her shoulder. “Miss Celia, wake up. Mr. Mackay is here.”

  Celia jerked awake. Cups rattled in their saucers as Mrs. Maguire set a tea tray onto the table beside her chair. Sutton stood in the doorway, half hidden behind an enormous bouquet of lateseason roses. He crossed the room, handed her the roses, and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Did we wake you?”

  “I didn’t sleep much last night.” Celia inhaled the faint, sweet scent of the copper-colored roses. “These are beautiful. Thank you.” She caught the housekeeper’s eye. “Mrs. Maguire, could you find a vase for these?”


  “I’ll put them on the table in your room.” The housekeeper swept one hand toward the tea tray. “I brought the cookies and extra milk for the tea.”

  She took the roses and pulled the door closed behind her.

  Celia motioned Sutton to the chair beside hers and picked up the teapot to pour.

  “I’m sorry if our conversation yesterday was the cause of your restless night.” Sutton reached out to take the cup she offered him. “I shouldn’t have brought it up then, but it has been weighing on me ever since I got back, and it came out before I meant it to.”

  Celia wrapped both hands around her own cup, her calm exterior concealing unspeakable anguish. Sutton had changed his mind about something important. About her? About their future? She had loved him half her life. How could she bear it if her tender feelings were no longer returned?

  Maybe Papa was right and two years in Jamaica had changed Sutton’s heart. It was possible she no longer knew him at all.

  Sutton ate a couple of Mrs. Maguire’s cookies, chewing with apparent relish. Celia set down her cup and twisted her fingers into a hard ball. How could he even think of eating at a time like this?

  She shifted in her chair, and her napkin slid to the floor. Sutton retrieved it and brushed a curl from her forehead. “You were sleeping so peacefully when I came in, I hated to wake you.”

  “I was dreaming. About the first time we met.”

  “All Hallows’ Eve?”

  “Yes. I suppose it was on my mind since you mentioned it yesterday.” She managed a smile. “It seems so long ago now.”

  “I still feel terrible about it.”

  “I’ve always thought it was wrong of your father to punish you for trying to protect me from the frightful haint.”

  “He punished me for hurting that poor old woman, for taking the boat without permission. For endangering you.” He shrugged. “In some ways I was much more sure of myself at fourteen than I am now.”

  Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Her mouth went dry. However dire the news, it was best to get it over with. “Perhaps you should tell me why you’ve come.”

  “All right.” He set down his cup and hitched his chair closer to hers until their knees bumped together. “You know that my plan was to spend this year helping Father and then return to expand our operation in Jamaica.”

  “Yes. But I thought . . . that is . . . in your letters you implied I might be accompanying you. You said—”

  “That was the plan.” He clasped both her hands and held them to his chest. “I love you, Celia. I’ve loved you since that first night at Screven’s Landing. From that night on, I intended we’d marry someday.”

  “But?”

  “But things at the company are much worse than I thought. And we just got word that Electra is lost at sea with all her cargo and—”

  “It’s confirmed then. Papa said—”

  “You knew?” He blew out a long breath. “I suppose half of Savannah knows by now.”

  She reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry. I know how much your father was counting on that shipment to turn things around.”

  “It’s a devastating blow. I don’t know how much longer Mackay and Son can survive.”

  “The safe fund—”

  “It would take much more than that to get the company back on its feet.”

  “Then what will you do?”

  “Father is cashing in some railway stock and selling our farm in Cassville. He and Mother will be secure for a while. I’m consigning some of our shipments to Wheaton’s company. If we have a good season, we might break even this year.”

  “Then it makes sense to return to Jamaica next year as planned and try to recoup your losses.”

  “By next summer, we might be close to war.”

  “Surely not.” She pressed a hand to her midsection. “I know there’s been some talk, but—”

  “It’s more than just idle talk. The Negroes have been openly discussing the Scott decision ever since it came down last year, and the men at the club are debating the merits of seceding from the Union. And it isn’t only here in Georgia. Did you see this morning’s paper? Secession is the number-one topic of debate in South Carolina too. If South Carolina leaves the Union, you can be sure that Georgia will follow.”

  “But that’s ridiculous. People don’t solve their differences by running out. Surely there’s room for compromise.”

  “I don’t think so, Celia. An entire way of life is at stake, and that way of life depends upon the continuation of slavery.” Sutton leaned back in his chair. “Our country is rapidly dividing into two camps. And eventually both sides will be forced to fight for their principles.”

  Her stomach dropped. “You’re telling me you’re prepared to fight?”

  “I’m a member of the Chatham Artillery.”

  “Of course. But—”

  “I don’t expect you to understand the feelings men in uniform have for one another. It’s a kind of brotherhood. I can’t let them down.”

  “I see.” Celia blinked back hot tears. “Your loyalties to them are stronger than your feelings for me.”

  “That is neither fair nor true. One has nothing to do with the other.”

  “But we aren’t going to be married this year, are we, Sutton?”

  He got up and paced the room. “I’ve been thinking of going to England.”

  “To England?”

  “When we go to war, the first thing the North will do is blockade our ports. Everything from Virginia to Florida will be bottled up, and our cotton, rice, and lumber will rot on the wharves. What is worse, we won’t be able to import even the barest of necessities—food, medicine, clothing, ammunition. The Northerners won’t have to beat us on the battlefield. They can simply starve us out.”

  Sutton leaned over to pick up the pen and ink that lay atop her writing box. Returning to his chair, he sketched on the back of his calling card. “I’m thinking of going to Liverpool, to the shipbuilders there. If they can build a boat that sits low enough in the water, it might be able to slip past a blockade. Get some of our shipments in and out.”

  “But wouldn’t that be terribly dangerous?”

  “No more dangerous than manning an artillery rifle. And in the long run, it might be more useful to Savannah.” He tapped his drawing. “We can burn anthracite coal, so there won’t be any smoke to give us away.”

  “It seems you’ve thought of everything.”

  “Not by myself. One of my classmates from Harvard wrote to me last week, proposing the same idea. Wilkerson has contacts in Nassau that might take our cotton shipments and provide us with medicines and munitions for the return. Of course, we’ll need financial backing to get the ship built, but I hear the British are eager to invest in American shipping.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you, darling? I hope so. Of course I’m thinking of your welfare, but I’m thinking of our city, too, and of the entire South. I’m not certain secession is the wisest course either, but whatever comes, I must do all I can to help.” He tipped her face up to his. “It’s my duty as a soldier and a Southerner. Please tell me you understand.”

  She sighed. At least his feelings for her hadn’t waned. But what good did it do to love one another if they were destined always to be apart? Wasn’t being together the entire point of loving someone? Being together and building a home and a family?

  “I do understand.” She chose her words carefully. “But I wish you weren’t the one to be—”

  “Oh, I won’t be the only one. Wilkerson says several other men in Virginia and South Carolina are interested in building runners too. But I’m the one with the connections to the shipyard in Liverpool and to the bankers.”

  She fought her rising tears. “When will you leave?”

  “Not until the new year. Father needs my help in settling his affairs, and of course I’ll need to gather enough investors to convince the shipyard to go ahead and build.”

  She rose, willing herself
to be calm. “At least we’ll have Christmas together.”

  “Yes, and many more Christmases, my love, once the coming unpleasantness is behind us.” His arms went around her, and she leaned into his strong, warm embrace. Sutton’s bravery and concern for others were among the many reasons she loved him. He was one of the most unselfish people she knew. And everything he said made sense—but how could she bear to give him up again so soon? She drew back to look up at him. “Why do you have to be so virtuous?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You came back here to face all these problems when you could have stayed in Jamaica playing poker and drinking rum.”

  He arched a brow. “You’ve met my cousin Hugh?”

  Despite her sadness, she laughed. “And now you’re off to England.”

  He smiled into her eyes. “Let’s not talk any more about it right now. Tell me, how are the plans for my party progressing?”

  “I’ve sent out the invitations and ordered the things Mrs. Maguire will need for the centerpieces. And you know I plan to wear Mama’s gold dress.”

  “I can’t wait to see you coming down the stairs in it.”

  The mantel clock chimed the hour.

  “Will you stay for dinner?” Celia asked. “Mrs. Maguire baked soda bread this morning.”

  “I’d love to, but I’m meeting Mr. Stiles at the club. He’s promised to fill me in on last year’s Commercial Congress. And then I must meet with Father’s clerk to go over the shipping manifests for the lost cargo.”

  “Oh.”

  “How about Saturday? If you’re free, we’ll tack up Zeus and Poseidon and give them a good workout.”

  She had planned to call at Mrs. Lawton’s to see the new baby, but a morning with Sutton was a luxury too rare to pass up. “I’d like that.”

  Celia moved to the window to draw the blinds and gave an involuntary gasp. Ivy stood in the shady park across the street, her golden hair glittering like a new coin, chatting with Leo Channing.