by Dorothy Love
He belched and raked his hair from his eyes. “Indeed I am.” With exaggerated care he retrieved his hat from the ditch and set it onto his head. “Good day, Charlotte Fraser. Mistress of Fairhaven.”
He ambled into the thick woods beside the road. Lacking any way to boost herself onto the horse’s back, she led the mare down the sandy road at a brisk clip, anger churning inside her. What a disgraceful man. How had he learned of Nicholas’s claim to the barony? Not that it mattered now.
Too shaken to examine her cane field or the potato patch, she returned home, looked after the mare, and went inside. Judging from the angle of the sun coming through the library windows, she still had several hours before Trim’s return.
In the kitchen she set the teakettle on to boil and returned to the library just as Nicholas rode through the gate. Dismayed at her disheveled appearance, she fussed with her hairpins and shook the sand from her hem before going to the door.
Nicholas tethered the horse and ran lightly up the steps. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon.” Despite her unsettling encounter with the drunken Mr. Hadley and her unresolved differences with Nicholas, she smiled. How good it was to see him. “How did you know I was here?”
“I was at Willowood today, checking on the roof repairs, and I ran into Hadley just down the road. He said you’d woken him from a nap.” Nicholas looked skeptical. “He was in a nasty mood. I wanted to be sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine. Angry with him.” She stood aside and motioned him inside. “The Hadleys were my parents’ friends for years. Lettice was my mother’s closest friend. And Mr. Hadley’s help was invaluable this summer, especially after Mr. Finch left. But the way he spoke of my father just now, disparaging everything Papa accomplished—it was awful. And I was only trying to help him.”
He smiled into her eyes. “My grandmother had a saying: ‘Never catch a falling knife or a falling friend.’ Old Hadley is a ruined man and deserves our sympathy despite his bad behavior.”
“I suppose.”
The teakettle whistled.
“I hope that means tea is forthcoming,” he said. “I’m parched.”
“I won’t be a moment.”
He settled into a chair in the library. She went out to the kitchen for the tea and brought it in on an old wooden tray. He sipped and set down his cup. “Just what I needed.”
“How are the repairs coming?”
“Almost finished. My daughters will be happy to hear it. The Kirks have been fine hosts, but I’m afraid Miss Patsy is the nervous sort and not accustomed to the ways of children.”
“Your girls are very well behaved. I’m sure Miss Kirk can have few complaints.”
“Their good manners are a testament to your teaching. I’m ever in your debt.”
“They were willing pupils, once Marie-Claire adjusted to the routine.”
He smiled and picked up his cup again. “I’m afraid she gets her temper from my wife’s side of the family. Although Gabrielle could be quite charming when she wasn’t in high dudgeon.”
“All children pass through such stages. My mother often despaired of making a lady of me.”
“And yet she succeeded admirably.” He smiled in a way that made her heart stumble. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve missed you, Charlotte.”
“I missed you too. And the girls, of course.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He finished his tea. “Do you have time to talk?”
“About the barony.”
“Yes. Even before I found my papers, I was working on a plan. I’ve been thinking about it ever since your copy turned up, and I realized that if you are willing, nothing has to change.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s clear to both of us that no matter how much we might want to continue growing rice, those days are gone. Even if we have good luck with the weather next year, it’s impossible to hire enough reliable labor to plant, hoe, and harvest all this acreage.”
As much as she wished otherwise, he was right. It had taken six hundred slaves to keep all of Fairhaven under cultivation. Hiring such a large number of workers was an impossibility now. Most every other planter on the Waccamaw had already realized the futility of it and made peace with it in one way or another. How much more was she willing to risk to keep a promise that no longer mattered?
Her entire life she’d revered her father, never doubting his judgment or his affection. His love and approval were all she’d ever wanted. Now she understood that his willingness to let her tag along after him in muddied boots and faded dresses, his sanguine approach to her poor grades in school, had more to do with the fact that he was too busy to attend to her upbringing. His love of the land, his brooding secrets, his obsession with producing the best of the Carolina Gold had rendered him too preoccupied to attend to matters of her future.
Now she was on her own. She couldn’t think any longer of promises.
She studied Nicholas over the rim of her teacup. “I suppose you’re going to suggest growing cotton next year.”
“No. The current price for cotton won’t pay the taxes, let alone workers’ wages and the cost of taking it downriver. I have a better plan.” He proffered his empty cup. “Is there any more tea?”
She filled it and waited, her hands folded in her lap, while he drank half of it in one gulp.
“Your claim predates mine, and there’s no purpose in fighting you in court. What I’m proposing is that we have new papers drawn up, giving us each our separate houses and some acreage for gardens and such. The rest we will own jointly for our lumber business.”
“Lumber?”
“I’ve been reading about the scarcity of pine in the east. New York is importing it from Michigan these days. We have a lot of it around here, and it’s worth much more than we can ever earn growing rice.”
Even though her thoughts were unspooling faster than she could voice them, the sight of Nicholas, so excited about his plan, warmed her heart. His absolute faith in the soundness of his venture was contagious. And she cared too deeply for him and for his daughters to oppose him in court. She would find a fair solution no matter what. “Supposing I agreed. How would we get the lumber to market?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. If you’re willing, we could convert the steam engine in your rice mill into a sawmill.”
“But wouldn’t that be terribly expensive?”
“About five hundred dollars for a fifteen-horsepower model. I can raise that amount without too much trouble. Anyway, I’m thinking we could lay down a timber track and use mules to haul the milled lumber to flatboats at a landing on the Waccamaw and from there to vessels headed north.”
“It sounds complicated.”
“I’m not saying it will be easy. But Henry Buck had a similar sawmill operation near here back in the twenties. I don’t see why we can’t have one too.”
She couldn’t help smiling at his boyish enthusiasm. “I suppose you’ve calculated our potential profit too.”
“Yes, ma’am. Pine is going for up to sixty dollars per thousand feet in New York and Philadelphia. I figure every acre of our land is worth fifty dollars for the lumber alone. What do you say?”
She chewed her bottom lip, astonished at the thoroughness of his plan and weak-kneed with relief that he had kept his promise to recognize her claim to the barony. “It seems like the solution to all our difficulties, but it’s a lot to take in all at once.”
“I know it is. But I’m certain it will work if we act quickly, while the demand is still strong.” He grinned. “All of Georgetown will be amazed at just how much two misfits can accomplish.”
Were they misfits? Huguenot blood was considered an asset in these parts, but his abandoned medical practice and his unfamiliarity with rice cultivation had set him apart. Though welcomed by locals, he was still essentially a stranger in a tightly knit society that prized social and family ties above all else. And Charlotte herself had led an unconventional childh
ood, following her father about. She’d never really fit in with the other girls at school. And she had never enjoyed the usual feminine pastimes that occupied so many hours of a woman’s daily life. She had always been driven by the need to accomplish something lasting. Something important.
She poured more tea into her cup and added sugar. “I never imagined either of us as lumber barons.”
“I have no desire to become a baron. All I need is my home, my children, and enough money to pursue my research.”
She studied the calm light in his eyes, the determination in his handsome features. “You’re going back into medicine, then.”
“Not as a physician.”
“It isn’t any of my business, but I’ve always wondered why you gave it up when clearly you’re so gifted.”
He studied his hands. “I intended to resume a private practice after the war. For a long time I thought the memories might fade enough to allow me to do that one day. But some memories never fade.”
Sensing that he wanted to say more, she folded her hands and waited.
Nicholas stared out the window, his fists resting on his knees, every muscle tensed. “That day at Gettysburg, General Longstreet argued with General Lee about strategy but wound up supervising Pickett’s charge anyway. Against his better instincts. And it was a disaster.”
“My father said that if Gettysburg had gone in our favor, we’d have won the war.”
“Perhaps.” He paused, remembering. “In the aftermath, my job was to sort the wounded. To decide which of the sick and injured should be placed on trains for transport to hospitals and which were too seriously wounded to survive. I stood there in the heat, knee-deep in blood and bloated corpses, watching hope leech out of the faces of the living when they realized they were being left to die. And there was no way to save them.”
She shuddered. “It was war, Nicholas. You did what you had to do.”
“True. But somehow that knowledge doesn’t comfort me much.” He turned back to her. “And then this summer in New Orleans I found myself having to make those same choices again. Who should get most of the nuns’ attentions, the most laudanum. Who might survive the fever, and who was clearly beyond saving. Once again I found myself powerless to help them.”
His pain was palpable. She reached over and took his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“I want to follow up on Dr. Lister’s work,” Nicholas said. “To investigate whether better methods of fighting infections can be found. I want to find out why our Southern cities are plagued each year with malaria and yellow fever and half a dozen other deadly maladies. And I want to build you a school.”
“A—”
“A school equipped with the best of everything. One where you can continue using the methods that have worked so well with my daughters.”
She stilled. What on earth had given him such a notion? “I’m honored. But I’m not obsessed with teaching the way you are with medicine. It has its rewards, but the daily routine is too confining.” She shrugged. “I suppose I spent too many years following my father around in the fields. I’m too restless. I cannot spend the rest of my life in a schoolroom.”
“But think of Daniel Graves. And the Demeres. And the young orphan girl you met in New Orleans.”
“Solange.”
“Yes. She can’t come to South Carolina, of course, but Lord knows there are plenty of children right here whose needs are just as great. And if you don’t want to teach them yourself, we can hire bright young teachers willing to adopt your methods. You could write a book about your approach and travel to other schools to train others and give lectures.”
She watched the sunlight moving across the floor. A lifetime of teaching was not for her. But he was right—the children did need someone to care. Someone to direct their futures and give them hope. She would never be a by-the-book sort of teacher, but perhaps by writing and lecturing she could make a difference. Besides, without her rice fields to look after, how would she fill her days? She had never been one for idleness.
She could feel his eyes on her as she considered this new vision of her future. At last he said, “Marie-Claire and Anne-Louise will be your first pupils.”
“But I thought you planned to send them to Mrs. Allston’s.”
“I made some inquiries when I passed through Charleston. Mrs. Allston is very well respected, but it seems she’s having a hard time keeping the doors open.”
“There are others. Mrs. Mason Smith has a school. And Mrs. John Laurens. She’s related to the Frosts, I think. You met them at Mrs. Hadley’s party last spring.”
“I remember.”
“I’m sure the girls would do well at either of those establishments.”
“No doubt. But since coming home I’ve realized how much I would miss them if they went away to school. I’ve already missed so much of their lives because of the war and its aftermath. They can be loud and messy and altogether exasperating. And yet when the house gets too quiet, I find myself going in search of them.”
His eyes were so full of love for them that her heart turned over. “I did the same at the cottage this summer. They make for very good company. Most of the time.”
He laughed. “I’m glad you agree.”
A light breeze wafted through the window. Bars of golden sunlight lit the distant river. Charlotte shifted in her chair and looked at her watch. “It’s nearly three. Trim will be coming for me soon.”
He rose. “I should go too. With any luck the roof will be finished, and the men will want to be paid.”
At the door, he hesitated for a moment. “You’ll think about the lumber mill?”
When he stood so close, he was impossible to deny. “Yes.”
“And the school?”
“Yes.”
“The girls are clamoring to visit Pelican Cottage. I must attend to some things here, but we could come over on Saturday if that’s agreeable.”
“That would be lovely.”
“We’ll be there on the morning tide.” He tipped her face up to his and her breath caught. “I wish it were Saturday already.”
Thirty-One
Charlotte heard their voices before they crossed the dunes—Marie-Claire’s droll belly laugh, Anne-Louise’s excited chatter, Nicholas’s teasing response. And then they were finally there, three pairs of feet pounding along the piazza to the door, the girls hanging on to Nicholas’s hands, a pair of windblown bookends.
“Ma’m’selle.” Anne-Louise let go of her father and launched herself into Charlotte’s arms. “I thought Saturday would never get here. I stayed awake all night last night.”
“She isn’t teasing.” Nicholas set down his violin case and a large picnic basket. “She was afraid we’d miss the turning of the tide.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” Marie-Claire said. “Because Papa already figured out the tides.”
Charlotte smiled, thinking of how she’d believed in her own father all those years. She hoped the child’s faith in Nicholas would never be misplaced. But perfection was too much to expect of mere mortals.
“We brought a thousand things to eat,” Anne-Louise said. “Are you hungry, Ma’m’selle? I am. It has been hours since breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry just yet.” Charlotte set the little girl on her feet and sniffed the basket. “But something smells heavenly.”
“Papa cooked everything himself.”
Charlotte folded her arms and cocked her head. “I didn’t know you could cook, Dr. Betancourt.”
“My dear Miss Fraser,” he said with a grin, “I possess many talents yet to be revealed.”
“Papa, may we play on the beach?” Marie-Claire asked.
“You may. If you can tell me the golden rule.”
“Never turn your back on the ocean,” the girls recited in unison.
“And don’t go any farther than Miss Augusta’s cottage. I don’t want to spend half an hour looking for you when it’s time to eat.”
Nicholas watched them run pell
-mell though the hall and out onto the sand before turning to Charlotte. “Would you like a walk?”
“I’ll get my hat.”
They crossed the piazza and stepped onto the beach. As they walked, Charlotte turned to watch their footprints disappear beneath the swirl and froth of the incoming tide. Sandpipers and skimmers scurried along in front of them, searching for food among the whelks, moon shells, and sand dollars bleaching in the clear autumn sunlight. October had brought the first real release from the humid weight of summer. Now, in his company, Charlotte felt the weight of the past months lifting too.
They crested a dune that afforded a view of the bright expanse of ocean in one direction, the sweep of the river and the golden marsh in the other, a panorama that never failed to take her breath away. The breeze rippled the marsh grasses, bringing with it the smell of seaweed and salt.
“Look,” Nicholas whispered.
She watched a great blue heron rise from the marsh to circle the tidal creek and thought of everything she had lost, of the thousand small griefs that pricked at her. Of the way dreams could get chipped away a little every day until it was impossible to remember them at all. She shaded her eyes, following the heron’s unhurried flight. Perhaps the key to life was to accept as destiny the desire for what is forever denied. To make peace with the longing until it turns to joy and the two become indistinguishable one from the other.
The heron’s dark shadow moved across the dunes. She thought again of days on this beach with Papa, of the lessons he’d tried to teach her. That life gives us loss and pain, and deep disappointments that often return as blessings. Maybe that was what it really meant to be restored. To move somehow from desperation to delight, from fear to faith.
“Have you come to a decision about the lumber mill?” Nicholas reached for her hand as they continued along the beach, their feet sinking into the soft sand.
“I’ve thought of little else. It’s a sensible plan. And a generous one. You found your claim to the barony first. You could have made it difficult for me but you didn’t.”
“I had an ulterior motive.”
