Carolina Gold

by Dorothy Love

Charlotte waved to the minister. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  He dropped lightly to the ground. She hurried down the steps to meet him.

  “Miss Fraser. Looks like we’re in for a hot one today.”

  “Yes.” From her pocket she extracted the letter she’d written the day before. “I must ask a favor.”

  “Anything. The missus and I couldn’t manage the children and our work without your help.”

  She pressed the letter into his hand. “Please post this for me right away. It’s important.”

  He glanced at the address. “General Longstreet?”

  “I’m worried about Mr. Betancourt.” Briefly she summarized the article about the yellow-fever outbreak and Nicholas’s friendship with the general. “With the telegraph lines still so unreliable, I can’t think of any other sure way to reach Mr. Betancourt. He should have returned many weeks ago. I fear the worst.”

  “Then we must pray.” He bowed his head. She followed suit but found it hard to feel anything. Until the war came to her door, she had always believed God was watching over all of creation. Now she wasn’t so sure. How could she trust a God who would allow such pain and horror? Such unspeakable suffering and loss?

  “Amen.” The preacher set his hat on his head and tucked her letter into his pocket. “I’ll see that your letter leaves Georgetown at once, even if I have to take it clear down there myself.”

  “Thank you.”

  He climbed onto the wagon. “It’s the least I can do. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for rescuing Susan from your roof. I must say the child gave me quite a turn.”

  “I’m glad she was unharmed.” She glanced toward the cottage, where Bess and Susan stood on the piazza watching a gaggle of shorebirds scurrying along the sand. “The experience seems not to have affected her enthusiasm for learning.”

  “John has certainly taken to his lessons too. He seemed to be in trouble quite a bit at his former school. Nowadays I have to tear him away from his books to do his chores.”

  “I believe he may have a future as an illustrator. He’s nearly worn down his pencils and the charcoal I gave him. If he had some proper pens and ink . . .”

  “I’ll see to it the next time I’m in town.” Mr. Peabody slapped the reins against the horse’s rump. “Good day, Miss Fraser. Please try not to worry. Mr. Betancourt is in God’s hands—as we all are.”

  She returned to the house to find Marie-Claire and Anne-Louise reading together. Bess had taken her place at the table and was helping Lucas read a magazine story. John, predictably, was already bent over his paper, sketching the seascape beyond the window. Susan was in the parlor running her fingers over the embroidered stitches on the settee.

  Charlotte knelt beside her. “Good morning, Susan.”

  “Hello, miss.”

  “I see you’re admiring the flowers.”

  “I like the purple ones.”

  “Those are violets. And these pink ones are primroses.” Charlotte stood and held out her hand. “Now take your chair, please.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Charlotte suppressed an impatient retort. “Sometimes we all must do things we don’t like to do,” she said evenly. “Come along now. We mustn’t keep everyone waiting.”

  Susan let out a long sigh and followed Charlotte across the hall to the dining room. She climbed onto her chair and leaned her head against Charlotte’s waist while Charlotte picked up her chalk and wrote the day’s word list on the chalkboard.

  “Good morning, everyone. Please put away your reading and take out your paper and pencils. As soon as everyone has copied this list, we’re going outside.”

  John’s eyes widened. “Before arithmetic?”

  “Before arithmetic. Later on it will be too hot to be out of doors. Besides, the tide is going out. We should see what we can discover in the tidal pools.”

  Ten minutes later, armed with glass jars for collecting specimens and sticks for digging in the sand, the children raced across the dunes and onto the beach. Lucas and John dropped onto their knees near a shallow pool and began scooping water. The four girls, their skirts carefully hitched up, continued a few yards farther along the beach, stopping now and then to peer into the tidal pools.

  Charlotte fastened her straw hat securely beneath her chin and sat among the dunes, a book open on her lap. In happier times she had spent entire afternoons reading and watching the play of sunlight upon the water. But today her thoughts were too troubled. She closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind.

  “Charlotte?”

  She jerked and looked up to find Augusta peering down at her.

  “Hello, Augusta.” She waved a hand toward her six charges. “We’re studying marine life today.”

  “So I see.” Augusta lowered her tall frame onto the sand and took a jar of tea and two cups from her wicker basket. “I saw the children running around and figured you’d be close by.” She poured tea and handed Charlotte a cup, her faded-blue eyes full of concern. “I suppose you heard about the altercation that took place over at the Bankses’ cottage.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Marie-Claire told me.”

  “Politics is absolutely ruining this summer,” Augusta said. “Even Mrs. Banks has taken up the cause. It’s all she wants to talk about these days.”

  “What cause?”

  “Why, defeating the Yankees who are bound to run for Congress now that we’ve been granted representation again. Not to mention keeping Ulysses Grant from winning the presidency.”

  Charlotte’s gaze swept the beach as she counted heads. Lucas and John were sitting on the sand, poring over their collection of seashells. The two Demere girls were digging in the sand next to the tidal pool, but Marie-Claire and Anne-Louise had abandoned their quest for specimens in favor of building a sand castle. They were completely absorbed in their task, their heads bent over their task, all pretense of learning abandoned. A moment later Marie-Claire got to her feet and disappeared into the dunes with her tin bucket.

  “Surely you’ve heard that Congress is about to vote on amending the Constitution to grant citizenship to the Negroes.”

  “I read it in the paper. But I don’t see the point of getting involved in politics since we women can’t vote anyway.”

  Augusta frowned. “But all the same, it behooves us to influence the men in whatever ways we can.”

  “I’ve been too busy to keep up.” Charlotte sipped her tea. “Besides, even the newspaper editors seem to think it doesn’t matter much what we Southerners want. They say we’re a defeated people with little say in what happens.”

  Susan raced across the beach and dropped to her knees in the sand. “Miss Fraser, look what I found.” She handed Charlotte a cluster of tiny bright-green leaves. “Aren’t they pretty?”

  “Very pretty.”

  “They’re a present. For you.”

  The little girl leaned down and patted Charlotte’s shoulder.

  Anne-Louise hurried over and plopped down on Charlotte’s other side. She tugged on Charlotte’s arm. “Ma’m’selle, guess what? I just saw a pirate.”

  “You did? That’s very interesting. Later you can tell me all about it. Right now I’m talking to Miss Augusta, and it isn’t polite to interrupt when ladies are visiting.”

  “But he almost kidnapped me. I had to fight him off with my enchanted sword. I ran him off, and he swam out to his ship and sailed all the way to New Orleans. I’m probably going to get a medal for saving the whole island.”

  Charlotte frowned. It wasn’t like Anne-Louise to tell such fanciful tales. She glanced at Augusta, who merely smiled and shrugged. “You have quite an imagination today, Anne-Louise. Perhaps we should write down your story and submit it to Mr. Merry’s magazine.”

  Anne-Louise shot to her feet, arms akimbo, her expression dark. “You don’t believe me.”

  “Anne-Louise Betancourt, you know perfectly well you did not confront a pirate on this beach today.”

  The
girl dropped her gaze and kicked at the sand.

  “What on earth has gotten into you? I want you and Susan to join the other children while I visit with Miss Augusta. Later we will talk about the importance of truth telling.”

  “But—”

  “Go. Both of you.” Charlotte brushed sand from her skirts as the girls turned away. “I’m sorry, Augusta. I don’t know what possessed Anne-Louise. She’s not in the habit of lying.”

  Augusta watched as the two girls raced along the sand. “If I had to venture a guess, I’d put it down to pure old jealousy. Perhaps a bit of fear.”

  “Jealousy? Whatever for?”

  “Right now you are all Anne-Louise and her sister have in the world. Perhaps she’s afraid you’ll care more for the Demere children than for them. Her pirate story was simply a way of getting your attention. I wouldn’t make too much of it.”

  “I cannot allow her to become untruthful.”

  “Of course not. Just don’t be too hard on her.” Augusta drained her cup and returned it to her basket. “I must go. I promised to stop by the Bankses’ cottage this afternoon. Mary Banks’s cousin, Mrs. Rutledge, is visiting from Charleston. Mrs. Banks says Mrs. Rutledge wishes to discuss the current political situation and what we might be able to do.”

  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy visiting. But discussing politics is a waste of time.” Charlotte got to her feet and brushed more sand from her skirts. “The newspaper editors are right. We are at the mercy of the Yankees. They will run things the way they want, regardless of our wishes.” She shrugged. “All I want is to be left in peace to restore my plantation.”

  “Why, Charlotte Fraser, I’m surprised at you. I’ve known your family my entire life, and in all that time I have never known a Fraser to succumb to such a defeatist attitude. If your father were alive, he’d certainly be in the thick of things.”

  Charlotte blinked back sudden tears. How different her life would be if only he were still alive.

  “Oh dear,” Augusta said, getting to her feet. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I only meant—”

  “It’s all right.” Charlotte fumbled in her pocket for her handkerchief and blotted her eyes. “It isn’t your fault. I’m so worried I can barely think.”

  “About your rice crop?” Augusta patted Charlotte’s shoulder. “Every planter around here is in the same boat. Nobody on the Waccamaw can afford to plant as much rice anymore. But there’s little to be gained by crying about it.”

  “It isn’t the rice crop that concerns me just now. It’s Mr. Betancourt. He’s in New Orleans and we haven’t heard from him, and I read in last week’s paper about—”

  Augusta pressed her lips into a grim line. “The epidemic. I learned of it myself just this morning from Mrs. Rutledge. She says people are dying by the dozens. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Charlotte took a long breath to compose herself. “I’ve posted a letter to General Longstreet. Mr. Betancourt was to have been visiting him. I can only hope the letter reaches the general and that they have not succumbed to the outbreak. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

  A loud squeal erupted on the beach. Charlotte looked up in time to see the two Demere boys pouring water over their sisters’ heads. “I must go while I have some reasonable hope of restoring order.”

  Augusta patted Charlotte’s shoulder. “You’re a born teacher, you know.”

  Charlotte tucked away her handkerchief. “You’re kind to say so. I’m hoping only to make a little progress before the children go away to a proper school.”

  “Speaking of proper schools, I understand our new state superintendent intends to establish free compulsory education before long.” Augusta settled her basket into the crook of her arm, and they started along the beach to collect the children. “A good thing, if you ask me. Not every family can afford an expensive school. Especially these days.”

  Charlotte waved to catch Bess’s attention and pointed toward the cottage. The girl began rounding up the younger children. Anne-Louise ran over to Augusta and tugged on her skirts. “Miss Augusta, can we fly our kite again?”

  Augusta laughed. “Not today, my love. There’s not enough breeze. Besides, I’m busy visiting and making tea cakes for the Independence Day celebration on Saturday.” She pursed her lips. “Not that we have much to celebrate these days. But it’s a good excuse for a party.”

  “We’re going fishing on Saturday,” Anne-Louise went on. “And we’re having a bonfire on the beach, and we’re staying awake for the fireworks. Ma’m’selle said so.”

  Augusta winked at Charlotte. “Well, if Ma’m’selle said so, then it’s sure to happen.”

  The Demere children ran over, their hair plastered to their foreheads, faces pink from the sun. “We found a horseshoe crab.” Lucas held it up for Charlotte’s inspection. “John drew a picture of it.”

  “That’s fine. Let’s go inside before we all get sunburned.”

  They continued a short way up the beach. When they reached the path leading through the dunes to Augusta’s cottage, Augusta leaned over and patted Charlotte’s cheek. “Remember what I said about Anne-Louise. And try not to worry about Mr. Betancourt.”

  When they reached Pelican Cottage, Charlotte quickly counted heads. “Where’s Marie-Claire?”

  Bess and Susan shook their heads. The boys shrugged.

  “She was here just a minute ago,” Lucas said.

  “Anne-Louise.” Charlotte placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Where’s your sister? And do not tell me a story about pirates.”

  The girl’s eyes went wide. “I don’t know, Ma’m’selle. I saw her by the dunes when you and Miss Augusta were having tea. I waited for her to come back and help me finish our sand castle, but she was gone for the longest time.”

  “I bet she’s on the roof,” Susan said.

  “Maybe she’s still on the beach,” Bess said. “You want me to go look for her, miss?”

  “Let’s check inside first.” Charlotte herded them onto the piazza. “Perhaps she got too warm and came back here ahead of us.”

  “I’m parched,” John said.

  “I’m parched too.” Lucas collapsed onto his chair, his head thrown back, arms and legs outstretched.

  “Bess, would you please fill the water pitcher and get glasses for everyone? I must find Marie-Claire.”

  After a cursory glance into the parlor and the breezeway and a check of the back porch, Charlotte mounted the stairs. Marie-Claire was sitting against the wall in the hallway, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face hidden in her folded arms.

  “Marie-Claire?” Charlotte knelt beside the girl. “Are you all right?”

  A choked sob escaped the child’s lips. “Go away and leave me alone.”

  “What’s the matter? Did you get too much sun? Are you feeling unwell?”

  “I hate you.”

  The venomous words pierced Charlotte’s heart. “What on earth have I done to earn such scorn?”

  Marie-Claire raised her tear-stained face at last. “You liar.”

  “What?”

  “Every time I ask you about Papa, you say he’s fine. But today I heard you tell Miss Augusta you’re afraid he’s dead. Because of the epidemic.”

  Charlotte sighed. “Please listen to me. When you asked about your father, I had no reason to believe he was not perfectly fine. Two days ago, when Daniel Graves came over and brought us the lovely vegetables—remember?—he also brought the newspaper. It was only then that I learned of the yellow-fever outbreak in New Orleans.”

  The girl twisted a damp tendril of hair around her finger and said nothing.

  “This morning I sent a letter to New Orleans, to a very famous general who is your father’s friend. I’ve asked him to find your father and let him know we’re worried and anxious for news. But you must believe that I never lied to you, and I never will.”

  “Sorry,” the girl muttered.

  “Even if the news is dire, I will always tell you
the truth. I promise.”

  “What if the general can’t find Papa?”

  “Then we’ll have to think of something else. Now, go wash your face and brush your hair, then come back downstairs. It’s time for your lessons.”

  Nineteen

  Ma’m’selle?”

  Charlotte rolled over in her bed and opened one eye. At the foot of the bed stood Marie-Claire and Anne-Louise, each clutching a lunch pail and a straw hat.

  “Wake up,” Anne-Louise said. “It’s Independence Day, and we don’t want to miss anything.”

  Charlotte threw back the covers, padded across the floor, and looked out the open window. It was still early. A seam of golden light glimmered along the horizon, silhouetting the dunes and the sea oats that moved in the hot breeze. Gentle waves tumbled onto the sand. “There will be plenty of time after we’ve had breakfast.”

  “We already ate,” Marie-Claire said. “We’ve been up for hours.”

  Her sister nodded. “We want to get going while the fish are still biting.”

  “Then please excuse me while I get ready.” Charlotte poured water into her washbasin and took her towel from its hook beside the window. “Perhaps you could fetch our fishing poles from the back porch.”

  The girls scampered away. Charlotte washed and dressed and pinned up her hair. Nicholas’s children deserved a day of fun, and she would try to see that they got it, but her constant thoughts were of his whereabouts and his safety . . . and her plantation. She trusted Mr. Hadley to look after things as best he could, given his infirmities, and Daniel’s help had proved invaluable. But Papa had taught her there was no substitute for personal oversight. No one, not even a trusted friend, much less a boy she’d known only a few months, could care about a place as much as she did. And she cared desperately for every acre of Fairhaven. The ravaged house and gardens, the green-and-gold marshes, and the crooked tidal creeks pulled on her like the moon on the tides. It had always been her refuge. Soon she must go home to check on things.

  Half an hour later, fortified with a cold biscuit and a cup of coffee and armed with a book, Charlotte led the girls out the back of the house and down to the tidal creek. Egrets stalked the creek banks beneath clouds of insects buzzing in the marsh grasses as the rising sun cast a pink-and-gold glow over the water.