Carolina Gold

by Dorothy Love

  Finding Nicholas was an answer to prayer, but the suffering at his infirmary had been almost unbearable. And then there was Josie Clifton. Despite the fact that the girl was a liar and a thief, Charlotte couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. How terrible it must be to feel so pressured to marry. And where would Josie go, now that her family had gone west and Nicholas had banned her from the infirmary?

  Charlotte poured sherry into a crystal glass and stared out the window, seeing nothing. Most pressing of all, what did Nicholas’s discovery of his land grant mean for her own future?

  Leaving the sherry untouched, she crossed the room and sat at the escritoire to compose a letter to Augusta. Marie-Claire and Anne-Louise would be delirious with happiness to know their father was safe. She finished the letter and addressed it for posting just as a church bell tolled the hour.

  After one last glance into the mirror, she took a deep breath to quell her jangled nerves and went downstairs to meet Nicholas.

  Twenty-Four

  He stood at the foot of the curving staircase watching her descend. He had changed into a pair of fine wool trousers, a white shirt, and a jacket that emphasized the set of his shoulders. His thick dark hair was still damp and curling over his collar. A smile lit his face.

  “Charlotte. You look lovely.” He assumed a playful pose, one foot on the bottom stair, a hand clapped over his heart. An actor in a play. “Fairer than the evening air, clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling into his eyes. “Marlowe, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Yes. One of my favorites.” He steered her toward the door. “I’ve booked a table at Pascal’s. It isn’t very fancy, but the food is good and it’s close by. I hired a carriage, but . . . do you mind walking?”

  “Not at all. A walk will feel wonderful after spending all day in General Beauregard’s buggy.”

  Nicholas instructed the driver to wait for him, and they set off along Prytania. The sun was not yet down, but a slight cooling breeze wafted in from the river, bringing with it the scents of jessamine, burning sugar, and an acrid smell she couldn’t name.

  “They’re burning tar in the squares again tonight,” Nicholas said. “Some people believe it prevents the fever.”

  “Does it?” She lifted her hem as they skirted a couple of small boys playing marbles in an open doorway. Beyond an iron gate a patch of garden, heavy with the scent of magnolias, beckoned.

  “I’m afraid not.” He took her arm as they crossed the street and continued down St. Charles. “The entire South is plagued with it summer after summer. Yet no one has been able to isolate the cause. Or to find an effective treatment.”

  “I understand that’s one reason General Longstreet left the city.”

  He glanced at her, a question in his eyes.

  “I wrote to him, hoping you were still at his house or, failing that, that he would help me find you. But I had no answer, and when I arrived yesterday I learned he has gone north. To keep his family safe from the fever, I was told.”

  “And to keep himself safe from the volatile political situation.” They met another couple on the street, and Nicholas inclined his head to the lady as they passed. “I don’t mind telling you I will be glad to get out of here as well. I miss my children, and I’m weary of this town. Some parts of town have turned into a powder keg this summer.”

  “And yet the hotel manager told me that several generals of the Confederacy are living here now,” Charlotte said. “I suppose they must believe it’s worth the risk to build a new life.”

  A moment later they entered a cobblestoned alley lined with brightly painted buildings, each adorned with wrought-iron balconies and staircases. Nicholas stopped before a heavy mahogany door. “Here we are.”

  He led her into a small restaurant lit with candles and tiny oil lamps. Half a dozen round tables dressed in crisp white linen were scattered about the room.

  A tall, gray-haired man of indeterminate years with a white apron tied about his waist hurried over to greet them. “Ah, my dear Mr. Betancourt, there you are, and with such a beautiful lady.”

  Nicholas grinned. “Good evening, Pascal.”

  “I saved the best table just for you.”

  Pascal led them to a table overlooking a rear courtyard and held Charlotte’s chair. When they were seated he shook out her napkin and, with a flourish, placed it on her lap. “Bon appétit.”

  “What’s on the menu tonight?” Nicholas asked.

  “I have a very fine poached fish, peas with sweet basil, and for the soup course a shrimp stew. And my wife made a hazelnut torte.”

  “We’re famished,” Nicholas told him. “Please bring us everything.”

  The restaurateur hurried away. Nicholas moved the flickering taper to the side of the table and gazed directly at Charlotte. “I’m so very happy to see you.”

  “And I’m happy to know you are still among the living.” She looked around the room, which seemed to glow in the soft flickering light. “This is a lovely place. I hope I’m not taking you away from your patients.”

  He shook his head. “Dr. Werner lives just down the street from the infirmary. He and Sister Beatrice know where to find me. Though there is precious little I can do for the most serious cases.”

  She nodded. “My mother died of the fever when I was twelve. My father said then there was no cure.”

  “There still isn’t. All I can do is try to relieve their suffering. Some recover on their own; others slip away.”

  “I read that some doctors are using tincture of iron and doses of mercury.”

  “Yes, but mercury poisoning is often as fatal as the disease.” He toyed with his spoon. “During the war some doctors experimented with large doses of it and lost entire companies of soldiers. Thankfully, most have given up on it, and on bloodletting too. Salves for the skin, laudanum, and prayer are really all we have to fight the disease.”

  “Perhaps a cure will be found soon.”

  “I hope so. But research and experimentation require a great deal of time and money.”

  The door opened. A man came in and nodded to Nicholas, who returned the greeting before turning back to Charlotte. “There’s so much to talk about, I scarcely know where to begin.” His gaze sought hers. “You said my children are all right.”

  “They’re doing very well, though they were upset when Tamar had to leave them with me.”

  He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  She described Tamar’s plight and the move to Pawley’s Island for the summer. His shock gave way to anguish as she described their fears for his safety. “It wasn’t your fault, of course. If Josie hadn’t stolen our letters . . .”

  “Where are the girls now?”

  She reached over to lay a hand on his sleeve. “All is well. They’re staying with my friend Augusta, whom they adore.”

  She told him about their days on the beach at Pawley’s flying kites and collecting seashells, their studies, her work with the Demeres, and the Fourth of July celebration. Delaying the time when she must hear the news about his land grant. “They are happy, though of course they miss you terribly and worry about you. I’ve already written to Augusta to let them know you are well.”

  “I’ll write to them too, and this time I won’t trust anyone to post it.”

  “Poor Josie.” Charlotte paused while the waiter brought a small basket of bread and served the soup, a fragrant mixture of shrimp, tomatoes, and okra. “Seeing her today gave me quite a start.”

  Nicholas spooned his soup. “She surprised me too, turning up unannounced. Of course her story didn’t ring completely true, but the epidemic had spread, and I was too grateful for another pair of hands to question her motives.” He buttered a piece of bread. “To her credit, she has worked tirelessly alongside Sister Beatrice and the others, with hardly a complaint.”

  “I’m surprised to find you practicing medicine again. The night of Lettice Hadley’s party you seemed set again
st it.”

  “I was, but no physician worth his salt could turn away from such suffering.” He shrugged. “Longstreet once told me that a general chooses his battles, but physicians find that the battles choose them.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “There is simply so much we don’t know about how to prevent and treat illness, and when something new is discovered, we are often too slow to act.” He scooped a fat shrimp from his soup bowl and ate it with apparent relish. “Cholera, for instance. We’ve known for years that it’s transmitted by contaminated water, but so far we’ve done little to eradicate sources of contamination, and people continue to die needlessly. It’s hard to keep going in the face of so little progress.”

  “I suppose many doctors must have felt that way during the war.”

  He set aside his soup bowl. “If only we’d known about the importance of antiseptics back in sixty-five, so many more soldiers’ lives could have been spared. If Dr. Lister had published his findings on the efficacy of carbolic acid just two years sooner—”

  The waiter set another basket of warm bread on the table. Nicholas offered the basket to Charlotte, then took two slices and slathered them with butter. “Ah well. This isn’t exactly an appropriate topic for dinner with a lady. Tell me, have you been back to the Waccamaw this summer?”

  “Yes. Our overseer, Mr. Finch, has quit the Lowcountry and headed back home. Mr. Hadley and Mr. Clifton were looking after my rice fields, but since the Cliftons went west, it’s only Mr. Hadley, a few hired men, and Daniel Graves.”

  “The boy who turned up at your house for tutoring?”

  “Yes. He has been a godsend this summer. His father sent word for him to come north, but Daniel wants to stay and attend the new county school next term. He’s determined to make a success of his life.”

  Pascal arrived with the fish and vegetables and collected their soup bowls.

  “I suppose it’s just as well I didn’t plant rice this spring,” Nicholas said, “since Finch has decamped and there are so few to tend it.” He sampled the fish and nodded his approval. “Nobody makes a better poached fish than Pascal.”

  It smelled delicious, but his mention of their plantations knotted her stomach. She attempted a small bite and then set down her fork. “So you found your papers regarding the barony.”

  “Yes. Or more accurately, they found me. Just after Longstreet left town, Father Sebastian, my wife’s former parish priest, came to see me. He told me his church burned down during the war, leaving nothing standing but the fireplace. When they sorted through the rubble, they discovered the church silver had been buried beneath the bricks in the hearth, most likely to keep it out of the hands of the Federals. My papers were stuffed inside a chalice along with some family letters.”

  She drew as deep a breath as possible given her tight corset, willing away the butterflies dancing in her midsection. “How did they get there?”

  “He claims not to remember.” Nicholas helped himself to another slice of bread. “Gabrielle must have given them to him for safekeeping when she fell ill, not realizing what they were. It isn’t so unusual when you stop to think about it. The Polks of Tennessee hid their silver in one of their porch columns.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Father hid a few of our things at the home of a friend in Charleston.”

  Nicholas nodded. “Anyway, Father Sebastian said he’d been looking for me through my distant cousin, Therese St. Clair. But she died years ago.” Nicholas took another bite of fish. “I was surprised he didn’t know. Her story was fairly well known in her day.”

  Despite her apprehension over what this discovery meant for her, Charlotte couldn’t help being intrigued. “Go on.”

  “From what I understand, Therese was quite a beauty. She claimed kinship with Lafayette through the Marbourgs, but that may be only a rumor.” He drained his glass. “Sometime in the thirties she came over from Paris and married a Carolina planter, but shortly afterward she was lost at sea. Anyway, Father Sebastian had been looking for me ever since the papers turned up. It wasn’t an easy task since we’ve no family left on this side of the Atlantic. Therese was the only one he had to go on.”

  “How did he find you?”

  “One of his parishioners, Mrs. Wimberly, looked after the girls for a time just before my wife died. I suppose Gabrielle told her that my ancestors had once been granted some land on the Waccamaw. Anyway, Father Sebastian was preparing to go to Willowood to look for me when we ran into each other down in the Marigny.”

  She took a ragged breath. The truth could be postponed no longer. “And?”

  “It seems that Willowood and everything south, all the way down to Oak Hill, was part of a barony that John Carteret, one of the lords proprietors, granted to my family. It passed to my grandfather sometime around 1785 and then to my father almost fifty years ago.”

  “I see.” Charlotte went numb. If his land extended that far south, then he owned Fairhaven too.

  “I intend to have the papers properly recorded as soon as possible, for the sake of my daughters,” Nicholas went on. “One day the land will be theirs, though who knows whether it will have any value by then.”

  She sipped water to dissolve the lump in her throat. But what else could she expect? Of course he wanted to protect what was his and secure his children’s future. Any responsible father would do the same. Regardless of the consequences for others.

  “This has come as a shock to you.” Nicholas covered her hand with his.

  “To say the least. If it’s all yours, I don’t understand why no one ever challenged my father’s claim.”

  “According to my lawyer, the original grants weren’t always formally filed. Some of the papers were kept at home and passed from father to son. Sometimes the boundaries were disputed or changed or land was bought and sold and the deeds not officially recorded. It’s possible that’s what happened in your case.” He sipped water from a cut-glass tumbler that caught and splintered the candlelight. “Most of the lords proprietors never even came to Carolina to inspect their property. They simply appointed lawyers to sell it. And during the war, of course, a great many records were destroyed.”

  Charlotte thought of the pile of papers the Federals had left torn and wadded on the floor of her father’s study. “But miraculously, your records survived.”

  She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her voice. She withdrew her hand from his and felt even more alone. This was the end of her dream of restoring her land and claiming her future. The end of her friendship with Nicholas and his daughters. The end of everything.

  Pascal appeared with two slices of torte on thin china plates and a tray set with coffee cups and a silver pot. “Compliments of my Cecile,” he said. “Enjoy.”

  But Charlotte’s appetite had fled. “I’m afraid I can’t eat another bite, Nicholas. And I’m very tired. Please take me home.”

  “Listen to me. I know this is upsetting, but you must know that after everything you have done for Marie-Claire and Anne-Louise, I’m not about to displace you. Besides, a bill of sale or a deed to Fairhaven might still come to light.”

  She thought again of Papa’s strongbox. The Federals must have taken it years ago. Otherwise she would have stumbled across it by now. But what if somehow it had survived and was waiting to be discovered? What if it contained proof of her right to Fairhaven? It was too much to hope for. She pushed her plate away.

  “I’ve been through all my father’s papers, everything that wasn’t destroyed. And I’ve had his lawyer go through all the papers in his possession too. It isn’t there.”

  “Please don’t worry. We’ll come to some accommodation—a yearly rental, a long-term lease. There are several ways to—”

  “Thank you, but I don’t want to live as a tenant on the very land my father worked so hard to improve.” Tears threatened, and she blinked them away. “Especially not in the house where I grew up. It would be too painful. There must be some—”

&
nbsp; The door banged open, and the young German girl from the infirmary burst into the room. Spying Nicholas, she rushed to the table, nearly upsetting Pascal’s dessert tray. “Dr. Betancourt, Sister Beatrice asks that you come at once.”

  “What’s the matter?” Nicholas was already rising from his chair, pulling bills from his pocket.

  “It’s Miss Josie, Doctor. She’s burning up with the fever and asking for you.”

  Nicholas jumped to his feet. “I’ll be there as soon as I see Miss Fraser home.”

  Without waiting for him to hold her chair, Charlotte rose as well. “Josie seemed fine this afternoon. Just a headache from all the excitement. But surely that—”

  “The fever strikes very quickly. I hoped her distress this afternoon was the result of the heat and her emotional state, but I’d better see to her.”

  “I’d like to come with you.”

  He looked into her face, one brow raised. “To the infirmary? You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” Despite what she had just learned, she felt drawn to Nicholas, compelled to share his burden. Perhaps it made no sense to feel this way, but there it was.

  Nicholas caught Pascal’s eye and pointed to the money he’d left on the table. He offered her his arm, and they returned to his carriage. He handed the girl and Charlotte inside and called up to the driver, “Hurry!”

  The driver spoke to the horse in its traces, and the carriage lurched along streets enveloped in a thick cloud of acrid smoke. Here and there fires flickered in deserted squares and on street corners. Long shadows danced against shops and cafés already shuttered for the night. Minutes later they drew up at the stone house across from Washington Square, quiet now in the summer darkness save for the trilling of insects. In the middle of the square a tar fire burned, sending up thick smoke that burned Charlotte’s eyes. A single lantern illuminated the adjacent railway station and a horse-drawn hearse standing near the front door.