The Indigo Girl

by Natasha Boyd

  Charles Pinckney was grinning with amusement at me, and no doubt at my outspoken opinions. He leaned down to give his wife a brief touch to her cheek with his and then stood and held out a hand for me, his head bowed. Again I was struck by how much their public affection for each other affected me.

  I dropped into a curtsy before allowing my friend’s husband to lead me to the dancing area. My eyes must have looked like the rabbits I surprised sometimes in the early morning, catching them in Togo’s vegetable garden.

  We paused as the small accompaniment struck up a minuet.

  “I see you are fully recovered from your fall off Chickasaw?” I posed the statement as a question.

  Mr. Pinckney nodded gravely but with a twinkle in his eye. “Indeed, it was my pride that was most bruised. Blasted horse.” He stepped forward and the dance began.

  “Please tell me about the private banks,” I asked, unable to wait a moment longer. “And how this will affect us.”

  Charles Pinckney raised his eyebrows.

  “Mrs. Pinckney and Mrs. Cleland,” I explained.

  He chuckled. “I should have known. I did mean to discuss it with you before you heard the news and panicked. Are you all right?”

  I bit my lip as I realized it would tremble in my attempt to speak. Swallowing, I shook my head slightly, blinking and pasting a smile on my face as we turned by the edge of the floor and near to watchful eyes.

  “I—” I swallowed my words.

  “How is your indigo scheme coming along?” Mr. Pinckney asked as he stepped forward again, purposely diverting my mind.

  “We just completed the harvest.” I tried to keep up with the intricate steps as I spoke, grateful to speak of indigo while I composed myself. “We transferred the plants to the vats before I left with Mama.”

  “Will they wait to continue until you return?”

  “Unfortunately not. I’m afraid the process apparently requires expediency and vigilance.” I grimaced at my disappointment.

  “Oh,” he sympathized. “After waiting so long to learn the process, I’m sure you were loath to miss out by attending the ball.”

  “Well.” I smiled at him as we crossed paths. “Yours and Mrs. Pinckney’s company more than made up for it.”

  “Somehow, I think that is not entirely true. But I shall wallow in your flattery.”

  My worries of our earlier conversation must have still been painted on my face, for his smile turned thoughtful as he appraised me. “I’m afraid there will be a devaluation in our currency,” he confirmed. “Though I hope it’s temporary.”

  “The rice values have gone down somewhat too,” I said. “I’m sorry to unburden myself so. But I … we,” I corrected, “are quite precariously balanced at the moment, and I’m not sure we can sustain a devaluation in currency as well as our exports.” I blinked again rapidly as my chest tightened and my eyes stung.

  Glancing up at Mr. Pinckney, I saw his eyes fixed heavily on mine.

  “I would that I could comfort you,” he said quietly as we passed each other again.

  My heart squeezed painfully. Me too.

  “We all need someone to share our burdens,” he said. “To verbalize them, at the very least. I’m painfully aware that you have no one at home to whom you can turn.”

  I nodded. At any moment I could be in over my head and drowning. I needed Father to tell me everything would be all right. I needed someone’s embrace. I’d never felt the need so strongly. It quite took my breath away.

  “Or tell you all will be well.”

  My eyes pricked under the weight of worry. For the millionth time, I thanked God our indigo harvest was underway. “Me too.”

  “How precarious is it? Your situation? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  I shook my head. “Both Wappoo and Waccamaw are heavily mortgaged. And Starrat refuses to send more tradable goods regularly. I believe the Garden Hill estate up on the Combahee is the only one unencumbered at present. And Murry has been most excellent. Thank heavens for him. His boat came daily in the summer months. And we expect the last rice harvest of the year from him in the coming weeks, and I do hope the income from that, despite the lowered price, will see us through until one of these other ventures bears fruit.”

  “I hope so too,” Charles Pinckney said gently.

  The dance came to its conclusion, and a quick look saw that my companions must have retired to the ladies’ resting area to join up with my mother.

  “I’ll walk you to them,” Mr. Pinckney answered my unspoken question. He offered his elbow and I slipped my gloved hand into the crook of his arm.

  His warmth seeped through to my chilled fingers. Fear had taken hold of me again in the wake of admitting the state of our affairs.

  “I do have people who comfort me,” I said softly. “Though it may not seem proper. And perhaps they are unaware they do it.”

  “Your slaves,” he guessed, his kind eyes burning down to mine.

  I breathed out. “Yes. Is it strange I consider them friends of a sort? I trust them more than I trust almost anyone else. You excepted, of course.”

  “I hope you know you can always trust me, Eliza.”

  “I do.”

  “Let me know how the indigo endeavor goes. I have a man in town who may be able to test the quality. Or I could send some to England to my contact on the stock exchange.”

  Some of the tension eased from around my chest. “You would do that? I would be most grateful.”

  “I imagine we could get you an evaluation and perhaps a promise of an order quite quickly. Do you think that might help with the instability you are currently experiencing?”

  Relief danced a pirouette through my head, making me dizzy. “Yes,” I exclaimed, glancing up at his handsome side profile. “Yes, it would. Thank you so much.” The promise of an order would allow Papa to invest in more seed, and after we learned from this harvest, we would be well prepared for next year.

  My fingers reflexively squeezed Mr. Pinckney’s arm as I said another thank you to God.

  He patted my hand. “I said I would help you, Eliza.”

  Warmth spread through me at his affection. “And you have helped. So much. I’m forever grateful.”

  I had a plan now. Despite my father’s expensive ambition, Starrat’s stubbornness, Cromwell’s resistance, and a volatile financial world around me, I had a plan.

  Ben was on my side, making indigo in spite of Cromwell’s stalling.

  Charles Pinckney was on my side, giving me an avenue of opportunity upon the success of this indigo venture.

  I would put my family back on stable and hopefully lucrative footing. I would see to the success of this indigo crop, wait for our final rice export of the year to pay off and simply hang on. Perhaps, after next year’s crop, we could even release the mortgages. George would come to South Carolina still, of course, but it would be I who ran the day-to-day business. He was young, after all. Even if he married and another woman became mistress of Wappoo, he would still leave me in charge of business. I was sure of it.

  “You know,” Mr. Pinckney said. “There are quite a few of us who are rooting for your success with indigo. Not just for you, but for what it might do for our colony.”

  I swung my face up to look at him.

  “Several of you?”

  “Some planter families.” He pursed his lips. “Some you know, some you don’t. The thing is, Eliza, this currency issue, among other things, serves to remind us that our King does not always have South Carolina’s best interests at heart. At some point or another, as our fledgling colony flourishes, we may find their governance a hindrance to our progress.”

  I sucked in a breath. What sedition at the King’s own Birthday Ball! The feeling of being out of my depth took over me again. And this time, the water seemed so much deeper. “What are you sayin
g?” I whispered, again pasting a smile upon my face as we moved toward the stairs up to the resting areas. Never in my plans for trying to save our family fortunes and stabilize my own future had I need to worry over affairs of state.

  “Just that we will all have to diversify in order to survive as a colony … as you know rice will continue to devalue … and to build wealth, we will have need of other crops. Silk perhaps …” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Or indigo,” I murmured.

  “Or indigo,” Charles agreed.

  I couldn’t wait to return and see the fruits of our labor. So very much depended on it.

  We didn’t have to wait long to return to Wappoo from Charles Town. Upon waking the next morning, Mama believed she was feeling one of her episodes coming on. The sky looked ominous too, so we decided to get ahead of the weather and take the boat home.

  The talk on the docks was of a wild storm out at sea that could be heading this way. The water was choppy and gray to match the slate sky. We were bundled tightly in wool and fur against the wind.

  Mama gripped my hand the six miles by boat, and I fought to keep the contents of my stomach settled by staring out as far as my eyes could see. But nothing could dim my excitement. I’d even worn a small piece of yellow ribbon Father had sent me in my hair as an outward expression of my joy. It was incongruous against the wild gray day, I was sure.

  This morning I had awoken with a sense of purpose unlike anything I’d ever experienced. My success would be for far more than just the Lucas family.

  What had Plutarch said? Empire may be gained by gold, not gold by empire.

  Indigo was my gold and my silver. The empire was more than the Lucas family. It could be South Carolina.

  If Cromwell was correct in his estimation, I could have indigo dye cakes awaiting me upon my return. Though we were coming home earlier than expected, I still hoped that was the case. Although if the sun didn’t shine for many days, I supposed the dye cakes wouldn’t fully dry for a while.

  As soon as they were ready, and as soon as the storm had passed through, I would immediately send Togo with some of them back to Charles Town. I’d also send some to Father! The excitement brewed to a bubbling mess in my belly.

  I had managed it in the nick of time too. The heavens must have been smiling upon me to bring me Ben and this harvest at a time when things had gotten so precarious in the economy around us. I sent a grateful prayer up while I thought of it.

  “What has gotten into you?” Mama snapped, and I realized I was smiling into the wind. Thoughts of family fortunes restored and my father’s proud approval couldn’t be contained, they had manifested into a physical giddiness. Not to mention how my success would help the colony. And Mr. Pinckney would be so impressed when he saw I had succeeded.

  “Well?” Mama continued. “I’d think after your utter lack of effort in attracting a suitor last night, you’d be a little more shamefaced today.”

  “No one is interested in me, Mama,” I offered, exhausted by this recurring topic.

  “If that insipid Mary Chardon could find herself a husband, even if he did up and die, surely you could have at least tried.”

  “Mama,” I exclaimed, shocked. “How can you visit with her and her mama every Tuesday, taking of their hospitality, and speak of her so poorly? And she’s my friend!”

  “I’m not saying anything untrue. And to look at her or converse … well, she’s as dull as dishwater. Honestly, Eliza. It’s like a slap in the face to me and your father for you to behave thus.”

  “Behave like what?”

  “The way you carry on consorting with the slaves. Treating them as equals. There are rumors, you know. I heard them more than once last night. People whispering and whatnot. What should have been a glorious affair was utterly ruined by your past conduct.”

  My eyes and nose burned in muted frustration.

  “Why can’t you be proud of me and what I am trying to accomplish? I don’t know how to be any other way. I wouldn’t be doing a true service to myself to pretend to be some stultified society miss. I’d never pull it off, anyway.” My voice wobbled. “Can’t you just love me for the girl I am, Mother?”

  No matter how much I disagreed with what she thought best for me, I couldn’t help but feel the rejection of a child by her own mother. “Father manages just fine,” I added.

  Mama sighed heavily. “It’s got nothing to do with love, Eliza.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that my gift for botany and my determination to help this family succeed is a curse. Or that being a decent human being is bad conduct. I’ll not change for you or anyone. Besides, once we get home and see the first indigo crop, you’ll understand. Papa will be so proud of me. I’ll have no immediate need of a husband.”

  “Eliza, darling. You are a smart girl. Too intelligent for your own good, I’d say. You are living in a dream world. Do your best for your father, of course. Do your best for our family. But if you do not have a husband”—she paused and leveled me with her gaze—“you will have nothing.”

  “That’s not true, I—”

  “It is true. What did you honestly think? That you would run your father’s holdings so well that he would simply turn them over to you?” She barked out a shrill laugh. “Besides, they are mortgaged to the hilt.”

  My head felt light. I hated quarreling with Mother. And the longer it went on the smaller and more insignificant I felt. “It won’t matter,” I got out breathily. “Next year, with the indigo we’ll be able to unencumber the properties—”

  “That damned indigo will not save us!” Mama shrieked, spittle flying from her mouth.

  I started, my heart lurching.

  “And you are not allowed to own land, Eliza. You are a woman.”

  Overcome by her outburst, I couldn’t respond.

  She fixed her eyes upon me. The color so like my own, the whites, though, slightly yellowing. “You will never be allowed to own land. Ever.”

  I swallowed. “I know, Mama. But I—”

  “Do you? Do you really know, Eliza? If you want land you will need to marry someone who has some. This ridiculousness will stop. Immediately.”

  Why was she being so obtuse? “Papa believes in me, he even sent a consultant! Why would he do that if he didn’t believe in what we are doing?”

  “He’s humoring you. And he feels guilty for leading you to believe you can be more than you are.”

  I shook my head. There was no way Papa would do something so underhanded. He was honest to a fault. He would tell me if he wanted me to stop.

  She smiled sadly. “It’s true, I’m afraid.”

  “You are lying. Father will always let me work upon his land. He needs me. George will need my expertise. Especially after this crop. And if I am successful perhaps I will be able to choose my own husband,” I added to appease her tired quest to marry me off.

  Mama cackled and shook her head. “There will be no land for you to work upon long before you finally realize you need a husband. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. We’re heading back to the islands.”

  “We’re not. Where did you get such a notion? Besides, it’s dangerous to return there now with the Spanish aggression.”

  “More dangerous than here with the threat of slave uprisings hanging over us? And the Spanish are just as much of a threat here as they are there. At least in Antigua we’ll be with your father.”

  “He’ll never agree.” I swallowed heavily and took a fortifying breath of cold, wet wind.

  “He will when you don’t succeed and the property at Garden Hill has to be mortgaged too. Then what?” She smiled in satisfaction as if she had won the argument.

  I said nothing. I would succeed. Had already succeeded. And Garden Hill wasn’t in danger yet. The last rice export was still expected and that would see the plantation through until next year.

  When
we approached the landing at Wappoo, however, I saw Quash waiting and Togo pacing agitatedly back and forth. Lil’ Gulla must have been posted as sentry to look out for us. My bilious stomach fraught with seasickness, emotional upset, and nerves seemed to crunch in upon itself like a tight ball of twine at seeing the men agitated and not joyful.

  The boat bumped our small plantation dock and dark hands deftly moved to moor it. The wind had strengthened, and the normally calm creek was whipped into a frothy soup. If we’d waited even mere moments longer to leave Charles Town after the ball, we never would have made it.

  I took Quash’s outstretched hand, bracing against the deck from the lurching craft, and then turned to help Mama. We were damp and bedraggled from the mist-soaked wind, our cheeks ruddy with cold. My ears stung.

  “Essie, please go on with Mama,” I said hurriedly before turning to the grim-faced men who’d been awaiting my return. “Well, what is it?” I gritted my teeth. “The indigo? Quick, let’s go up to the warmth of the house,” I added before I could read confirmation on Quash’s face.

  Our world got darker as the storm rolled closer.

  Quash’s brow was furrowed then he shook his head against going up to the house. “Go on, Togo. You tell the mistress.”

  Togo looked to me and then at Mama.

  Mama, after a brief hesitation and a nervous glance at the weather, turned and hurried away, dragging her soaked voluminous skirts through the wet grass.

  “Cromwell and Ben, they was fighting,” Togo said, raising his voice, clutching the “nail bone” he wore from the leather at his neck he used to weave tight threads of sweetgrass.

  Quash nodded. “He think it be about the indigo.”

  “Where’s Cromwell?” I frowned.