The Bracelet: A Novel

by Dorothy Love

  “But not so wonderful for business,” Sutton said. “It’s harder to keep the men on the docks when the weather’s bad.”

  “Oh, I didn’t think of that.” Her voice softened. “Of course I wouldn’t wish for anything that would make things more difficult for you.”

  Celia eyed the half-dozen parcels strewn across the settee. “You bought out the stores.”

  “Not really. I picked up a few Christmas presents.” Ivy grabbed a scone off the tray and made a place for herself on the settee. “I saw a darling little cameo brooch in Loyer’s window and couldn’t resist getting it for Mrs. Maguire.” She laughed. “That one purchase put me in the mood for shopping, and the next thing I knew, I had bought all this.”

  She nibbled the scone and dusted off her fingers. “I got something for you, Sutton.”

  “Well, don’t tell me now.” An amused smile played on his lips. “I like to be surprised on Christmas.”

  “Oh, this isn’t for Christmas. It’s something I ran across that put me in mind of you.” She sifted through the packages and handed him one. “Open it.”

  He shifted in his chair. “You’re very kind, but really, you shouldn’t have. You made that lovely scarf for my homecoming and that was quite enough.”

  “Please. I insist.”

  He tore away the brown wrapping paper and lifted the lid on a small box. “A compass. Very useful indeed. Thank you.”

  “I thought you could use it when you sail to England,” Ivy said, “and it might put you in mind of me. Of all of us, really. All of us who will be waiting here at home for you.”

  Sutton set the compass aside. “Actually there will be one less person waiting for me. Celia and I have just this moment decided to wed in January. She will be going to England with me.”

  Sutton smiled into Celia’s eyes, and his look warmed her heart. How had she been so lucky to have this man fall in love with her?

  Ivy frowned. “You’re getting married in the dead of winter? What will our friends say?”

  Celia laughed. “I hope they will say congratulations.”

  “It’s true that January is not the ideal time for a society wedding, nor for a honeymoon voyage,” Sutton said. “But Celia and I don’t want to be apart any longer.”

  Ivy fell back against the settee. “But, Celia, what about your dress? And—you simply can’t get married so soon!”

  “Of course we can.” Sutton grinned. “All we need is a ring and a minister.”

  Ivy got to her feet. “I think you’re both being very selfish. Uncle David will be terribly disappointed.”

  “Papa will be happy that I’m happy.” Celia clasped Sutton’s hand. “And all I want is to marry Sutton Mackay.”

  Ivy huffed out a noisy breath. “Well, all I can say is that this is surely a surprise.”

  Sutton rose and held out his hand to Celia. “Speaking of surprises, can you take another one today, darling?”

  “That depends. Is it a good one or a bad one?”

  “A good one, I hope.”

  “Then by all means tell me.”

  “Remember the night of our engagement, when I told you I was working on another surprise?”

  She nodded, thinking again of the bracelet. “I thought once I had guessed what it was, but I was mistaken.”

  “Come with me.”

  He crossed the foyer and went through the French doors and into the terrace, Celia and Ivy trailing in his wake. He crossed the garden to the toolshed, ducked inside, and emerged with a golden-haired, roly-poly puppy tucked under his arm.

  Celia gave a little cry of delight and held out her arms. “Is she mine?”

  “She’s a he. But yes, he’s yours.” Sutton handed her the pup, who looked up at Celia with adoring brown eyes and licked her face.

  Sutton laughed. “He loves you already.”

  “Everybody loves Celia.” Ivy reached over to scratch the puppy’s ears.

  Celia cradled the warm little body in her arms. “We should get him out of this cold.”

  They started back along the garden path toward the house.

  “How did you get him here without my knowing?” Celia asked Sutton.

  “I brought the little fellow over this morning, and Joseph agreed to look after him for me.” Sutton smiled down at the pup. “He’s a good boy. Aren’t you?”

  The dog’s tail thumped against Celia’s arm. She nuzzled his face, taking in the warm, milky puppy smell. “He’s beautiful.”

  “I remembered your letter about old Jack dying last year—how heartbroken you were over losing him. So I thought it was time you got a new companion. And I like the idea of your having someone around to protect you when I can’t be here.”

  “I thought I never wanted another dog after Jack. But now I’m so happy to have this little baby.” Celia stroked the puppy, and he snuggled against her and closed his eyes. “I’ll have to think of a name for him.”

  As they continued along the path, her skirt snagged on a low bush. She bent to free it and spotted a palm-size remnant of white fabric beneath the thick leaves. She retrieved it, thinking she had torn her petticoat without realizing it. Or perhaps Mrs. Maguire had. If it belonged to the housekeeper, Mrs. Maguire would insist on patching the tear. She didn’t believe in wasting perfectly serviceable linens any more than she believed in wasting lard and flour. Or words. Celia tucked the bit of cloth in to her pocket, and they returned to the house.

  Ivy gathered her purchases. “I should take these things up to my room. Good-bye, Sutton.”

  “Miss Ivy.” Sutton inclined his head. “Thank you again for the compass. I’m sure Celia and I will find it useful on our trip.”

  Ivy shrugged. “It was nothing. Just a foolish impulse.”

  “It was a most thoughtful impulse, and I appreciate—”

  “Saints in a sock!” Papa had appeared at the top of the stairs and now stood peering over the railing. “Is that a dog?”

  Celia laughed. “Yes, Papa. He’s a present from Sutton. Isn’t he beautiful?”

  The puppy stirred and yipped a greeting.

  Papa came down the stairs, a broad smile on his face. “This house has been too quiet since Jack passed. But I hadn’t the heart to replace the old boy.”

  Sutton shook Papa’s hand by way of greeting. “I saw this pup when he was just a few days old, but I had to wait until he was old enough to leave his mama and his littermates. I’ve been bursting ever since to surprise Celia.”

  “Well, it’s a cracking good surprise. I’m delighted with the little fellow.” Papa stroked the puppy’s white belly. “What will you name him, Celia?”

  “I don’t know yet. But Papa, Sutton and I have something to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  She told him about their wedding plans.

  “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “You get only one chance to have a wedding, you know.”

  “That’s what I told her, but she won’t listen to me,” Ivy said. “Excuse me. I must get these things upstairs.” Ivy whirled away and hurried up the stairs.

  “Christmas is still six weeks away,” Celia told her father. “And the Carolina isn’t scheduled to sail until the end of January. We have enough time.”

  “And you are willing to cross the Atlantic in winter?”

  “To be with Sutton. Yes.”

  “In that case, I’ll stop by the church and speak to Mr. Clark. And see that Mrs. Maguire is informed so she can prepare.”

  “Father suggested the Pulaski Hotel would be a good place for the reception,” Sutton said. “Less work for Mrs. Maguire.”

  Celia exhaled a shaky breath. Suppose the rest of the hotel staff were as inhospitable as the waiter had been? She still burned with humiliation when she remembered the haughty look on his face and the way he had steered her and Mrs. Mackay to the worst table, out of sight of the other diners.

  But she wasn’t about to let that waiter—or anyone else—beat her. No matter wh
at it took, she would find the truth. Only then could she begin her life with Sutton free from the ghosts of her family’s troubled past.

  Celia exited the carriage and pushed through the gate of the Female Asylum. The lacy veil of last night’s frost still lay across the lawn, glittering in the pale sunlight. Smoke spiraled from the building’s twin chimneys, filling the air with the scent of burning oak. She rang the bell and was soon admitted to Mrs. Clayton’s cheerful parlor.

  “Miss Browning.” The older woman rose to greet her. “I’m delighted to see you. It has been a while since you were here.”

  “Yes. I’m glad Ivy was able to come in my stead. From what she tells me, Louisa seems to prefer her company to mine anyway.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. Do come in and warm yourself. I’ve tea if you like.”

  “Yes, please.” Celia took a seat near the fire and removed her gloves.

  Mrs. Clayton poured and passed her a steaming cup. Celia added milk from the blue pitcher and took a sip of the bergamot-infused brew.

  “Caroline Manigault was here yesterday.” Mrs. Clayton stirred sugar into her tea. “She tells me you and Mr. Mackay are to marry early next year.”

  “Yes. We decided it only last Saturday.” Celia smiled. “News travels fast.”

  “In Savannah? It surely does. Especially bad news, I’m sorry to say.”

  “I hope you’ve had none here, Mrs. Clayton.”

  “Unfortunately, we have. And Louisa is a part of it, I’m afraid.”

  “What happened?”

  “Friday night week before last, when news of that riot got out, some of the girls slipped out and went downtown to witness the disturbance for themselves. Louisa among them.”

  “But how did they know? The situation seemed to develop spontaneously.”

  “Far from it. That Irish drayman, Mr. Gleason, was one of the ones behind it. The girls are forbidden to socialize with the deliverymen, but that one has a bit of a silver tongue. I’m not surprised he turned their heads with all his noble-sounding talk.”

  “I’m sure it was disconcerting to find some of your charges missing, but I suppose we can’t really blame them. The same kind of thing happened when I was away at school.” Celia smiled. “For young, impressionable girls who find themselves far away from all that is familiar, such adventures are simply too tempting to resist.”

  “Yes, well. The real difficulty is that one of the girls didn’t come back.”

  “Louisa is gone?”

  “Louisa came back. It’s Sylvie Kelly that’s gone for good. She ran off with that no-good Gleason.” The director shook her head. “Not a brain in her head, that one. And this could not have come at a worse time.”

  Celia raised her brows. “The board of managers?”

  Mrs. Clayton sighed. “Two of the members were here yesterday. And of course they insisted Sylvie’s behavior is further proof that training for anything other than domestic service is a waste of time and money.”

  The clock chimed, and Mrs. Clayton rose. “I must speak to Miss Ransom before the next class commences. You will find Louisa in her room—confined there until the end of this week for breaking house rules.”

  Celia finished her tea and headed up the stairs.

  Louisa lay curled beneath a blue wool blanket, fists tucked beneath her chin, eyes closed. But Celia had a feeling it was all a pose and that Louisa had done her best to eavesdrop on her conversation with Mrs. Clayton.

  “Louisa? Are you awake?”

  The girl stretched and yawned and opened her eyes. “Might as well sleep till Christmas. There is nothing to do here in the Female Jail.”

  Celia hid a smile. “I heard about your adventure. Was it worth it?”

  “It sure was.” Louisa sat up and threw off the blanket. “I saw some things I been wanting to see ever since I got off Captain Stevens’s boat. The Pulaski Hotel for one—fanciest place I ever saw. But I didn’t get to see the inside. You ever been there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it fancy inside too? Gold mirrors and such?”

  “People say it’s the nicest hotel in town.”

  “Saw the train come in, too, right before the riot started. Sylvie said it come clear from Marietta. But I don’t know nothin’ about that place. Ain’t never been there.” The girl shrugged. “Saw the city market—more food than I ever laid eyes on in one place. Then me and Sylvie started out counting the stores, but we stopped after we got to twenty. Savannah’s bigger’n I thought.”

  “Well, I’m happy that you satisfied your curiosity, but if you want to stay on here, you’ll have to follow the rules. And that means no sneaking out at night.”

  Another shrug.

  Celia opened her bag and took out a slender volume. “I brought you something new to read—if you’ve finished with the book I left last time.”

  Louisa slid off the narrow cot and opened the small clothespress in the corner. Standing on tiptoe, she retrieved the book from the top shelf and thrust the copy of Indiana into Celia’s hand.

  “What did you think of it?” Celia asked.

  “Didn’t read it. I guess I’m not very smart when it comes to reading.”

  “I think we simply haven’t found you the right kind of books yet. Miss Lorens tells me you’ve done a fine job with Ravenscliffe.”

  “I guess so. I like Miss Lorens. She’s like me.”

  “Really? In what way?”

  “Her mama died too.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about your mother. You must miss her.”

  “Not really. She died in my baby time.”

  “I see. I was very young when my mother died, but I do have some memories of her.”

  Louisa’s eyes widened. “You and your cousin both got no mama?”

  “That’s right. But we have my papa, who looks after us, and a wonderful housekeeper who makes the best benne seed cookies in all of Georgia. And I’m getting married soon, so I will have my husband’s family too.”

  Louisa chewed a fingernail. “Miss Lorens told me you are . . . betrothed.”

  Celia smiled. “Well, shall we read for a while?”

  “I’m not in the mood. Besides, I have to go to the privy.”

  Celia released an exasperated sigh. “Perhaps we should agree that this arrangement is not working, Louisa. Another tutor might be better for you.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “I’ll speak to Mrs. Clayton on the way out.”

  But Mrs. Clayton was not in the parlor, nor in her office. Celia let herself out and climbed into the carriage. She hated to admit defeat, but there was no use fooling herself. She had not made much progress with the headstrong runaway. Better to concentrate her efforts on fund-raising. There was little else she could do for Louisa.

  15

  IT TOOK NEARLY A WEEK TO DEVISE A PLAN TO VISIT THE JEWELER in Yamacraw. Celia could hardly ask Joseph to take her. The driver was usually the soul of discretion, but in this case Celia couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t tell Papa of her strange request. And Papa, of course, would forbid her to visit the bustling, gritty neighborhood on the northern edge of town.

  The place was notorious for its drinking establishments and brothels frequented by sailors and dock workers, railroad workers, and draymen. Free blacks, poor whites, and slaves who were permitted to live apart from their masters crowded into squalid shanties and wooden tenements along the river. Celia had never seen it for herself, of course, but Mr. Thompson often complained in his newspaper editorials that the entire neighborhood was a blight upon Savannah.

  On Friday morning, after finishing the invitations to her fund-raising reception for the Female Asylum, Celia asked Joseph to drive her to the Ten Broeck Racing Course, where she spent an hour riding Zeus. After their run, when Finn had returned Zeus to his stall and was brushing him down, Celia lingered. She leaned against the half-door and turned up her collar against the cold wind. “Busy day here today?”

  “No, Miss. Not ’spec
ially. I took Poseidon out for a while this morning like Mr. Mackay asked me to. And Miss Waring sent word she don’t intend to ride today.” Finn blew on his hands to warm them. “I reckon it’s a mite too cold for the likes o’ her.”

  “Would you consider driving me to Indian Street? I’m happy to pay you for your time.”

  He picked up a rag and began polishing her saddle, a frown creasing his brow. “Indian Street? Ain’t that up in Yamacraw?”

  “Yes. I have some business there.”

  “But that fancy carriage of yours will be warmer and more comfortable than my ratty old buggy.”

  “Undoubtedly. But the reason for my trip is . . . private. I can’t ask my driver to take me. I’d be so grateful if you could help me out. It won’t take more than an hour. And I’m happy to pay you for your time.”

  “No need for that.” Finn studied her face. “Yamacraw surely ain’t no place for the likes o’ you, Miss. But if you’re bound and determined to go—”

  “I am.”

  “All right.”

  Fifteen minutes later she was bundled up in Finn’s buggy, an old blanket tucked around her knees, her face hidden by her wide-brimmed hat. The buggy bounced along the rutted road, the slate-colored river flashing through the trees, autumn leaves fluttering against the azure sky. As they drew near the Irish neighborhood, the rattle of wagons and the shouts of draymen and sailors assaulted her ears. The air grew thick with smoke and the stench of open sewers and boiling cabbage.

  Celia covered her nose with her handkerchief and breathed through her mouth as she peered around her. The shanties and the dirt streets all looked the same. How would she ever find the jeweler? She had been wrong to come here. She would have to think of another plan.

  Just as Celia decided to ask Finn to turn around, he guided the buggy onto Indian Street. A skinny dog ran into the road, barking furiously. Finn snapped his whip and the dog retreated, running toward the river.

  “Here we are, Miss.”