by Dorothy Love
She smiled down at him. “It’s all right. Your drawings are beautiful.”
The boy’s hand stilled and he looked up. “Pa always said drawing is a waste of time. He said I ought to be learning something useful.”
“Perhaps your father never heard of John James Audubon. His book of bird drawings is considered the best in the world. I think it’s one of the most beautiful books ever.”
The boy brightened and looked around the makeshift schoolroom. “You got a copy?”
“I’m afraid not. Not anymore. But perhaps you’ll find one in a library someday.”
“Oh.” He picked up his pencil and added more shading to his picture.
“Later we’re going to the beach. Maybe you’ll see some real specimens to copy.”
He looked up at her, his expression a mixture of interest and wariness. “I never heard of going to the beach during school time.”
“Well, here at my school, I believe that studying the things we find most interesting helps us learn the things we most need to practice. From now on you will be our official journal keeper. I want you to make drawings of everything we see. Later we’ll look them up in our dictionary, and that will help us with our reading and spelling.”
She continued around the table, assigning each child a specific task before settling them on the piazza for a story from Robert Merry’s Museum. A new magazine subscription was a luxury she could ill afford. But in addition to tales of adventure and articles about nature, it contained thinly veiled lessons on the importance of citizenship, good manners, honesty, and courage. Stories of brave children making sacrifices for the good of others were more likely to impress her charges than any lesson she might deliver.
The children ate their lunches before gathering their things and setting off for the beach, Charlotte in the lead. Marie-Claire, eager to reestablish her position within the group, ran to the front of the line, then turned to face the rest while she walked backward across the hot sand. “Miss Fraser says right here is where the Gray Man walks when there’s going to be a hurricane.” She pointed toward the tall dunes. “He’s a ghost, and he comes to warn people to get off the island. If you don’t, you might get swallowed by an enormous wave.”
Susan slipped her hand into Charlotte’s. “Miss Fraser, are ghosts real?”
“I’ve never seen one,” Charlotte said. “I think ghost tales and such are meant to entertain us rather than to make us afraid.”
“Like ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,’” Lucas reminded his little sister. “Remember when Mama used to read us that—”
“Look,” Anne-Louise interrupted. “A dolphin.”
A hundred yards offshore, one dolphin, then two, arced above the waves.
“John, where is your paper?” Charlotte asked. But the boy was already on his knees in the sand, his hand moving quickly across the page. Susan let go of Charlotte’s hand and ran to the water’s edge, oblivious to the surging waves gathering just a few yards away.
Charlotte shouted to the girl and motioned her toward the shore, but the dolphins claimed the child’s attention and she turned away just as a wave knocked her off her feet. Charlotte ran over and plucked her from the surf. “Are you all right?”
The little girl let out a deep gurgling laugh and wriggled free. “That was the most fun ever.”
“I’m glad you’re having fun, but the first rule of living by the sea is never to turn your back on the water. You can be swept away before you know it. You must obey me right away when we’re down here, or you shan’t be allowed to come with us again. Do you understand?”
Susan nodded.
“Very well. Now let’s see what treasures you can discover on the beach.”
Twenty minutes later Charlotte clapped her hands to get the children’s attention and they went back to the cottage, where they spent the rest of the afternoon at their assigned projects. Marie-Claire retreated behind her poetry book. The two boys finished their arithmetic assignment. Bess quietly finished her own work and helped Susan look up the names of the shells she’d collected, then showed the younger girl how to write each one. Presently the minister arrived with his wagon to take them home. The children helped tidy the room, shouted a good-bye, and raced outside.
“Whew, I’m glad that’s over.” Marie-Claire collapsed onto the hard bench and cradled her chin in her hands. “I liked it much better when it was just the three of us.”
“Me too,” Anne-Louise said. “Those boys are exhausting.”
Charlotte laughed. “At least they aren’t rowdy, like some of the boys in the county school.”
“I guess John and Luke are too sad to misbehave,” Marie-Claire said, her sweet face suddenly clouded. “They miss their parents, like we miss ours.” She looked up at Charlotte. “Tell me the truth. Is Papa dead?”
“I have had no such news, and we must not even think that. New Orleans is a very busy place these days.” She caught the girl’s chin in her hand and spoke the words she prayed were true. “He will be home as soon as he can. You’ll see.”
“That’s what you said last week and the week before that.” Anne-Louise heaved a sigh. “I wish he would hurry up. I’ve mostly forgot what our house looks like.”
“Me too,” her sister said. “But just the same, I like it here at the beach. Don’t you, Ma’m’selle?”
“I’ve always loved this island and Pelican Cottage. But I love Fairhaven too.” She gazed out at the sea and her fingers closed over the brass key in her pocket.
“Yoo-hoo! Hello! Is anyone home?” A woman’s voice drifted across the dunes.
“Somebody’s coming.” Marie-Claire rose from the bench and ran to the door.
“I hope it’s Miss Augusta,” Anne-Louise said. “She promised to help me make a rag doll as soon as she feels better.”
At the door, Marie-Claire curtsied to the visitor and said, “Good afternoon. Welcome to Pelican Cottage. Won’t you please come inside?”
Charlotte nodded her approval of the girl’s perfect manners but couldn’t stop herself from blurting a very unladylike, “Josie Clifton? What are you doing here?”
Josie swished inside and turned in a circle, taking in the makeshift classroom and the sparsely furnished parlor. Without waiting for an invitation, she plopped onto the settee and took out her fan. “What’s going on here?”
Briefly Charlotte explained the situation.
“Well, I suppose you may as well become a schoolmarm now that the storm has nearly wiped all of us off the map. Poor Father is ready to give up. He’s the one who insisted we occupy Oakwood Hall, to keep it out of the Yankees’ hands, but I heard him tell Mr. Hadley he’s thinking of going out west. To Colorado, maybe—or all the way to California.”
Charlotte caught Marie-Claire’s eye. “Perhaps you and your sister would like to play on the beach for a bit. Just don’t go too far.”
“We won’t,” the girls answered in unison. They ran outside, pulling the door closed behind them.
“I’m afraid I haven’t any refreshments ready.” Charlotte settled into the chair next to the window overlooking the salt marsh. “I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I can’t stay long. Mother and I had one of Father’s men row us over because Mother wanted to visit Mrs. Banks, but she isn’t at home. So Mother is paying a call on Mrs. Weston instead, and she is so dreadfully stuffy that I decided to visit you.” Josie smoothed her skirt. “Not that I wasn’t dying to see you too. But everyone else around here is old as Methuselah, and all they want to talk about is how things were in the old days.” She patted her ringlets and sighed. “It’s all so tiresome I could cry.”
“What about your friends the Kirks? I believe you said Mr. Kirk’s niece is about your age.”
“Yes, but all Patsy Kirk wants to talk about is marrying Nathaniel Venable. She never wants to talk about my romantic prospects.”
Charlotte smiled. “How are things in Charleston?”
Josie snapped open h
er fan. “We stayed there for a while, but then Mother insisted we visit our cousins in North Carolina. Now that the storm has ruined the rice, though, we’re closing up the house, and Mother insisted on coming back to supervise things.”
The girls burst through the door, the hems of their skirts damp and covered with sand, their hair tangled and windblown. Anne-Louise carried a clump of seaweed that dripped salt water onto the floor. “Ma’m’selle, we found a poor little skimmer. Look.”
She showed Charlotte the lifeless body of the bird caught in the seaweed, then turned to show it to Josie. “See, his beak is broken. Maybe he couldn’t eat anything, and that’s why he died.”
Josie wrinkled her nose and pushed the child away. “Get that slimy thing away from me. It’s disgusting.”
“No it isn’t. It’s beautiful.” Marie-Claire stroked the bird’s feathers. “And sad. I wish we could have saved the dear little thing.”
“We’re going to give him a proper funeral,” Anne-Louise said, her expression solemn. “On the beach at sunset. You must come, Ma’m’selle.” She turned to Josie. “And you too, miss.”
Charlotte patted the child’s arm. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Now, please excuse me while I visit with Miss Clifton.”
Anne-Louise planted an impulsive kiss on Charlotte’s cheek and the girls returned to the beach.
“My heavens.” Josie frowned. “Those two are like wild Indians. I understood that Mr. Betancourt hired you to turn them into ladies.” She fanned her face and laughed. “Forgive me, Charlotte, but it doesn’t seem you’ve quite succeeded.”
Charlotte tamped down her irritation. “Marie-Claire greeted you perfectly when you arrived. I sent them out to play because I know you aren’t fond of children. It’s hard to walk the beach without getting dirty.”
“Well, if I were in charge, I would have sent them to their rooms.”
“No doubt.” Charlotte watched the sunlight playing across the marsh grasses. “You were saying?”
“That we’re quitting the Waccamaw for greener pastures. Or so Father thinks.”
“Will you be going out west with your parents?”
Josie shook her head. “My father wants me to, of course. He thinks my marriage prospects might be better out there, but I am not about to wed some roughshod rancher. Or, heaven forbid, a grizzled old gold prospector.”
Charlotte hid a smile. Josie was only seven years her junior, but sometimes she seemed more like a child than a young woman of nearly seventeen. “From what I hear, the gold prospecting days are past. I think it might be exciting to see someplace new.”
“I don’t care. I still have my hopes for Mr. Betancourt—if he ever returns from looking for his land grant in New Orleans.”
Charlotte froze. She had never mentioned Nicholas’s trip to the girl. But perhaps he himself had shared his plans with Mr. Clifton.
“How did you know Mr. Betancourt is in New Orleans?”
Josie blushed. Her fan stilled. “Why . . . I suppose you must have mentioned it that day in Georgetown.”
Charlotte waited as her flustered guest continued to fidget, first with her fan and then with the satin ribbons on her hat.
Finally Josie said, “Oh, wait. Now I remember. Mrs. Hadley told me about it at church, shortly after her birthday party.”
“But Mr. Betancourt made his plans much later than that. And Mrs. Hadley left Alder Hill quite early this summer to look after her sister’s family.”
“Oh, all right.” Josie got to her feet, sending her reticule and fan sliding onto the floor. “If you must know, I . . . I took the letter you posted to him from Georgetown.”
Charlotte gaped at her guest. “You stole my letter?”
“I didn’t intend to. I happened to see it lying on the counter when I went to post a letter to my cousins and, well, you refused to press my case with Mr. Betancourt, and besides, I was curious, so I . . .”
She burst into tears.
“Oh, Josie.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Josie said between sobs. “You don’t care one whit about marriage, but I do. And there is no one else as handsome and charming as Mr. Betancourt, even if he is older than I would wish and already a father.”
“You’re wrong about me,” Charlotte said evenly. “I want very much to have a husband and a family.” She retrieved Josie’s reticule, opened it, and extracted a handkerchief. “Here.”
Josie sniffed and wiped her eyes.
“You have done both Mr. Betancourt and me a grave disservice,” Charlotte said. “You’ve purloined my private correspondence and prevented Mr. Betancourt from knowing the whereabouts of his children.”
Josie shrugged and blew her nose. “You can send him another letter.”
“I certainly shall. As soon as possible.”
“You won’t tell him about . . . that I . . .”
“No. I’ll leave that to you.”
The young woman blushed and retrieved her fan. “I must be going. Mother will be waiting.”
Holding her skirts above the incoming tide, Josie hurried along the beach.
Seventeen
In a small depression at the base of the dunes, Marie-Claire dug a hole. Anne-Louise carefully laid the dead skimmer inside.
“Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,” the older child intoned as both girls filled the hole with sand.
Charlotte looked down at her in surprise. “Where did you learn that?”
“Papa told us it’s what the priest said when they buried Maman.” With her bare foot Marie-Claire pushed more sand into the hole. “We always say ‘ashes to ashes’ when we play funeral.”
Anne-Louise nodded, her eyes bright. “We used to play it a lot, but not so much since we have you, Ma’m’selle.”
The little girl smiled and caught Charlotte’s hand. Charlotte smiled back, but misgivings crowded her mind. Both girls seemed happy here—and happy to have someone dependable to look after their needs. Anne-Louise in particular. Charlotte felt a growing closeness with them too. What would happen when Nicholas returned to claim them?
The tide was in. A freshening breeze stirred the sea oats as the light faded into the golden edge of evening. Marie-Claire, her dark hair blowing about her small face, dusted off her hands. “The skimmer is properly buried, and I am about to perish. When can we eat, Ma’m’selle?”
Anne-Louise leaned against Charlotte. “I don’t feel like eating.”
Charlotte placed a hand on the girl’s forehead. “Perhaps you got too much sun today. You’ll feel better when you cool off. Let’s go inside and—”
“Here comes Mr. Peabody.” Marie-Claire pointed to a rider pounding along in the surf. She frowned. “He sure is in an awful hurry.”
The minister reined in and dismounted. “Miss Fraser.” He paused to catch his breath. “Have you seen Susan? She’s gone missing.”
“I haven’t seen her, but surely she would not have come this far on her own.” Charlotte spoke calmly, but her heart stuttered in her chest. A five-year-old girl unaccustomed to the capricious power of the ocean could be swept away in the blink of an eye. She shaded her eyes and looked out at the rolling surf.
“Merciful God,” the minister said. “You don’t think she’s out there?”
“I pray not. The beach is well traveled this time of year, with many people coming and going. I’m sure someone would have seen her had she ventured so far.” She brushed her hair from her eyes. “What happened?”
“She fell asleep in the wagon on the way home. I stopped just for a moment to call on Mrs. Newton, who has been ailing lately. Afterward I drove on back to the parsonage. When we got there, I realized Susan was missing.”
“The other children didn’t see where she went?”
He shook his head. “John and Lucas didn’t want to wait while I called on my parishioner, so they asked whether they could go on ahead on foot. It wasn’t far and I didn’t see why not. Bess was riding up front with me, and I suppose it never oc
curred to her to turn around and check on her sister.” His voice broke. “After everything those children have been through lately, I simply cannot . . .” His Adam’s apple jerked up and down. “We must find her. She doesn’t know anyone on the island except you. I’m guessing if she got lost, she’d try to come here.”
“Of course. The girls and I will walk the beach and call on our neighbors. Maybe someone saw her. Perhaps you could check behind the house, along the marshes and the dock. You’ll see the old salt works at the far end of the marsh. She might have gone into the shed there.”
They separated, calling out for Susan as they went. The Westons’ cottage was dark, but a light glowed in Augusta’s window. Charlotte’s knock was answered by a surprisingly hearty-looking Augusta, who beamed to see them and invited them in, insisting that Charlotte’s soup had worked wonders. But her smile disappeared when she learned the reason for the visit.
“I haven’t seen her—been indoors all day,” Augusta said. “But I’ll look around. Sometimes children play beneath the piazzas. If I find the girl, I’ll bring her to Pelican Cottage straightaway.”
Half an hour later Charlotte and the girls returned to the cottage. No one had seen a small brown-eyed girl in the pink calico dress. Though darkness was approaching, the minister was still out searching.
Charlotte sent the girls to wash up and fed them a cold supper of cheese, bread, and figs. She settled them with their books. “I’m going to see whether Mr. Peabody has found Susan. I won’t be long.”
She left by the back door and crossed the porch that faced the salt marsh, praying that Susan had not become lost somewhere along the tidal creek. In addition to snakes, snapping turtles, and mosquitoes, the creek was home to alligators. June was nesting season, and the females were protective of their eggs. Anyone who happened to stumble upon a nesting female wouldn’t stand a chance.
A faint sound came to her on the evening breeze. A whimper? A whisper? “Susan?”
“I’m up here, miss.”
