Swamps and Soirees: A Summerbrook Novel

by Vicki Wilkerson

  When she arrived at a clearing, she took a footpath to the right. About a hundred yards down the path was her place. The old log looked like marble and was nearly as solid. It had hardened for over a hundred years under the black swamp waters after having been felled sometime in the 1800’s during the rape of the virgin forests of the South. Around ten percent of those old cypress and heart pine logs remained hidden in rivers and swamps around the Lowcountry. And Hanna liked it that way. They were aging, and their hearts were becoming unique works of art. Beauty could be found everywhere in the swamp—away from man.

  She sat on her favorite ancient tree and dangled her feet in the water. It was shallow at the edge, and in the spring, the cool nights chilled the water and was refreshing to her toes. She baited her line with one of the night crawlers from the container she’d taken out of the backyard shed.

  The people in downtown Charleston would probably think she was crazy. Furman Laurens would think she was crazy. Sitting alone by her favorite hole in Four Hole Swamp where there were alligators and snakes and all sorts of wild Lowcountry beasts. But she wasn’t crazy. Or afraid. She was constantly aware of their presence and their danger. What was crazy was dealing with those downtown society people. They were more intelligent than the gators and would bite and rip her heart out without provocation. Yep. The gators didn’t judge her or have the desire to harm her. They were way safer.

  A large fish rolled and splashed the surface of the water at the other shore, making ripples that would eventually reach her through the subdued light and shadows. Sinker lifted his head from his resting spot behind her.

  “It’s okay, boy.”

  She was alone at the creek—except for Sinker—but not lonely. That was how she felt she’d lived her life. Her uncle, aunt, cousins and best friend were always around if she needed someone, but she always felt alone—like a spectator in life. It was comfortable that way because it was the only life she’d ever known.

  Watching Callie move toward her dream of expanding her catering business was wonderful this morning, but it only served to remind Hanna about her own—the one that she had placed on the back burner and never seemed to get around to stirring.

  Furman Laurens’s questions also prompted her that it was time to make some plans. He was perfect, and his life seemed perfect—perfectly unattainable. His helping his mother appeared to be a mere brief parenthesis in his life. He was probably living his own dream, as well. But Hanna had willingly abandoned the promise her degree had offered her—and her gift with numbers. She’d done the right thing at the time, helping her uncle with the butcher shop when Aunt Della was so ill and had needed her help. And she’d grown contented there. But was contented enough for her? When she didn’t think about it, it was. But now, those old ideas were percolating in the forefront of her head. Aunt Della was better, and Uncle Marion didn’t need her help as much any longer.

  This morning she realized that there were many things in life she’d never possess—a classy house, a proper family name…and a man like Furman Laurens. But if she could muster even a portion of the courage her cousin exhibited this morning, maybe there was still a chance that she could have a respectable profession in the financial world—if she would only draw the confidence to get off her old stump in the middle of Four Hole Swamp.

  Chapter Two

  Reasons and Roses

  All of a sudden Hanna’s cork disappeared beneath the black water. She pulled hard on the pole and a small catfish hung on the end of the line.

  She couldn’t have anything on the list she’d recounted earlier, but she could have a catfish. Fresh fried catfish was nothing to write off, but neither was that crystal rose she’d seen earlier at the Laurens mansion. The juxtaposition of those two things were like the contrast of her actual life with the life and career she wanted.

  Today, though, her life involved catfish. She’d figure out what to do about pursuing her career away from Four Hole at another time. Presently pursuing catfish was much less complicated—after the morning she’d had in downtown Charleston.

  Before she knew it, she’d caught three more fish. Cubi-Jack had to have been praying, bless his heart.

  Sinker lay on the wet ground, protecting the fish and getting all wet and smelly. She nudged him aside, put her catch in her basket and headed down the cool path toward home. With every step, she felt the spongy soil beneath her toes, and each of those chilled steps told her that the season for going barefoot was still a few weeks away—even in the Lowcountry where the sun always warmed the ground early.

  When she eventually got to the clearing, she knew her cell would work again. The signal was spotty in the swamp. She had to call her best friend. After placing the fish on the rustic table Uncle Marion had constructed behind the butcher shop, she called Charlene. “Hey, girl. I’ve decided. I’m gonna do it.”

  “Do what?” Charlene asked.

  “I’m finally going to take that accounting course at the university to get that certification I’ve wanted.”

  “Well, it’s about time. You’re always encouraging me to go for my builder’s license, and I’ve always thought you were a kind of hypocrite for not pursuing your own dreams, like you make me,” Charlene said.

  “Ugh! I was calling for support, not your sarcasm, girl,” Hanna said.

  Charlene laughed. “You know I’m here for you…like you are for me. We’re gonna rock Summerbrook to its core—one business deal at a time.”

  Charlene was another businesswoman, like Callie, and Hanna wanted to follow their examples—in her own way. “So, you want to come for dinner tonight?”

  “Na, I’ve got to stop by my grandmother’s. Then I have class,” Charlene said.

  “Okay. Another time,” Hanna said and swiped her phone off. She put it in her back pocket and felt a satisfaction that a decision had been made. When she spoke something, she’d have to do it, right? She was going to have to tell her aunt and uncle—when she got the nerve. All she had the nerve for right now was to clean some fish. One step at a time.

  She pulled a knife from under the sink and slit the area around the fish’s head and pulled with a pair of pliers until the black skin was off and the fish was white.

  If people could shed their skins and features, they’d all be the same underneath, as well. Like that could ever happen. Nope. People judged by appearances, blood lines and how ancient the old family name was in the South. That simply was the way it was.

  When she had finished with the cleaning, she wiped some of the fishy water off her arms and hands with an old towel and took three catfish to her uncle. “For you,” she said.

  He took them and placed them in the sink. “Thank you, darlin’. I’m gonna guess Aunt Della will fry these up for supper. You want to eat with us?”

  “No. I kept one for myself. I thought I’d stay in and watch a little TV tonight. I need to catch up on the financial news I missed today.”

  She walked upstairs and put her catch in some water and into the refrigerator and turned on CNBC, the news channel with the running stock market streamers at the bottom. She’d take a shower after frying up her supper. It wouldn’t do her any good to wash up before she cooked because she’d just have to bathe again to get the fish scent off her.

  As soon as she pulled out her cast iron skillet, her phone rang.

  “Hanna!” Callie sounded panicked. “I need your help right now.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That Laurens woman. She’s a, a, a…tough customer. The menu we agreed upon with her son wasn’t to her liking. She wants oyster bisque instead of okra soup. I should have spoken up when I was there. She changed some other things, as well.”

  Hanna felt a pang in her stomach. She should have kept her stupid mouth shut this morning.

  “So she called and I had to do some reorganizing.” Callie let out a disgusted sigh.

  “You want me to rework the numbers?”

  “Yes! And take it to her. I have a job tonight,
and I’m knee deep in shrimp dip and benne seeds. I need you to go over the figures again and run the contract out to Mr. Laurens this evening.”

  Oh, no. The numbers were one thing, but encountering Furman Laurens was quite another. Hanna had already stuck her swampy foot in her gator-sized mouth this morning with Callie there. What on Earth would she do without her? Stand on his front porch looking like a mute fish with her mouth gaping for air? “Callie, I wouldn’t mind running the numbers…but—”

  “Cousin, I know this is a lot to ask, but I’d be forever grateful.” Callie’s voice was as sweet as the honey at Bee City. And as pleading as the foxes’ cries at the edge of the swamp.

  Hanna didn’t know which was going to kill her first—her introversion or her inability to say no to people. They were definitely at odds with one another. Callie was family, and she’d been taught to help when family called. What was Hanna going to do?

  Callie pressed again. “Maybe you can get your friend Charlene to ride to the Laurens mansion with you.”

  No way was that going to happen. Charlene had her grandmother, her class and that builder’s exam to study for, and Hanna wasn’t about to disturb her.

  “Please say yes. Can you run by my house to pick up the contract? Please.”

  Say no. Say no. Say no. Heaven would forgive Hanna for saying no and not assisting someone in need.

  She inhaled. “I guess so.” Hanna was an idiot. A mixed up, yellow-bellied idiot. But didn’t God want her to help Callie like she’d helped her aunt and uncle? It was the right thing to do. And Hanna seemed to be given to doing the right thing. Even when it pained her.

  “Great. See you in five.”

  “Callie, I have to take a shower first. I was down at the creek and I—”

  “There’s no time for that. Mrs. Laurens wants the new menu and figures within the hour. And you still have to crunch the numbers for me. If I make a mistake with this like I did this morning, I’ll lose my crab cakes.”

  Hanna lowered her head and shook it. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Though she didn’t have time for a proper shower, she’d at least have time for a quick one. She hopped in and hopped out almost as quickly. The Laurens house had been so fancy that she didn’t want to show up again with her butcher shop clothes, so she looked in her closet for something a little nicer. She quickly pushed past her collection of church dresses. Didn’t want Furman thinking she was trying to impress him. She probably couldn’t even if she tried.

  Finally, she came to a pair of white cotton slacks. She slipped them on. They were nicer than her cheap khakis. They should work. It was spring in the Lowcountry. Next she grabbed a sleeveless white linen shirt and tucked it into the pants.

  After looking into the mirror on the back of her bedroom door, she wanted to cry. Her image reminded her of a size four engine that was trying to pull a size eight caboose. Nothing ever fit her right. Her wrists and waist were tiny, but she made up for it in the rear view mirror. Why on Earth did she tell Callie that she’d go to the Laurens alone?

  A baby blue El Camino was parked behind the meat market. Unfortunately, it was hers. Present from Uncle Marion. It, too, was at home in the swamp, but it would look perfectly ridiculous in downtown Charleston. And she had no other choice but to drive it. As soon as she opened the door, Sinker jumped out, brushing beside her.

  “Sinker! Yuck! You smell like swamp!” She brushed at her trousers.” You’re getting a bath this week, whether you like it or not.” He must have bounded in through the open window in the back again.

  She hopped into Cameo—the name Aunt Della had mistakenly given her car—and drove to Callie’s house in downtown Summerbrook.

  Callie pushed a list in front of Hanna. “Here’s the new menu and prices per item. She even increased the number of guests. Look.” Callie walked over to stir the pot she had on the stove. “You need a calculator?”

  Hanna tilted her head slightly, raised her eyebrows and grinned.

  “Sorry, I should have known, Albert Einstein.” Callie wiped her hands on the apron she had tied around her waist.

  Hanna ran the numbers in her head and wrote them down on a piece of scratch paper. “Okay, this is what we’re looking at.” She pushed the sheet of figures toward Callie.

  “Wow. I’m going to be rich.” Callie smiled.

  “If you watch your expenses, you’re going to make some good money.” The only thing Hanna was going to make was minimum wage and sausage—if she didn’t begin making her move.

  “Here’s the contract with the menu and service descriptions. Fill in the numbers when you get there. You need to head out. Now.”

  Hanna hit the road in Cameo, her white pants, and with someone else’s dreams. She reprimanded herself all the way into the city—and prayed. Please give me the words to say—the courage to help my cousin. Surely, her efforts to help Callie would be blessed.

  But if there was ever a person who didn’t belong in a place, it was Hanna Rudder on Wentworth Street in Charleston. In her baby blue El Camino.

  A block before she arrived at the Laurens mansion, she found a parking spot and stopped. At least Furman Laurens wouldn’t be able to see her unfashionable car. He’d probably never even seen an El Camino before and wouldn’t know what to make of it. It was the mullet of the automobile world—a sedan in the front and a truck in the back. The used car had been her high school graduation gift from Uncle Marion. It wasn’t too bad back then. But now it was, and she had never earned enough money to replace it, even though her expenses were practically nil living above the butcher shop.

  No amount of deep breaths was going to give her the confidence to do what she needed to do, so she’d just have to do it scared to death. She grabbed the contracts and her numbers and realized she didn’t even have a pen. The Laurens probably had plenty—silver and gold ones most likely.

  As she walked up the steps, she noticed the evening light had completely changed the appearance of the porch. Now it looked like an outdoor room. Blue and gold cushions and pillows decorated the wicker chairs and sofas. The tables held lamps with gold lampshades and tassels. Decorative brass crabs sat poised to pinch one another on the tables. A calm evening shade had settled over the boards that had gleamed like silver earlier this morning.

  The same handsome woman answered the door when Hanna rang the bell. It was after seven. She wondered if the woman lived there, too.

  “Come in. I’ll let Mr. Laurens know you’re here,” the woman said.

  The cool in the wide hall felt good to Hanna. The air-conditioning in Cameo had been fickle lately. Sometimes it bestowed her with some air, and sometimes it didn’t. All the way to the city it clicked on and off at will, and all the way to the city she sweated and shivered. Probably from the air—or maybe it was nerves.

  The large sideboard in the hall held two huge red vases with gold leaf decorations. She had a sideboard, too. Sort of. Even though it looked nothing like this grand one. Aunt Della hadn’t actually formally given her the family heirloom her grandfather had made out of the sunken heart of pine he’d found in the swamp. But Hanna longed for the day that she’d have her own home and family so that she’d have reason to talk to her aunt and reclaim it.

  Two upholstered antique chairs flanked either side of the massive piece of furniture. What would she look like sitting in one of them? Like a pig playing polo probably. Ridiculous.

  Then there was that huge oil painting behind the sideboard. She bent toward it to see if she recognized a name. At least she had taken an art class in college.

  “Well, hello,” a deep voice called out.

  Caught again—admiring the valuables. Good thing they didn’t know about her mother’s sticky fingers…and sticky situation. She smiled through her nervousness.

  “Would you mind if we sat outside? It’s a lovely evening, and the sun isn’t burning the boards on the verandah any longer,” Mr. Laurens said.

  What she really wanted to say was no. Let’
s get this over with. Now. Instead, she said, “Sure.”

  “Good. I already asked Bessie to bring out some iced tea.” He opened the door to the wide front porch.

  Her plan was to get out of there as quickly as possible, so she didn’t see the need for any tea. Or even for sitting. In some preposterous way, though, she liked being near this man.

  He extended his hand to a lovely white rocker. After she sat, he took its twin. “Look,” he said and pointed at two squirrels in a magnolia tree in the middle of a large flowerbed. “Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are having another argument.” He laughed. “You’ll have to forgive me for the names. Because Mother didn’t have a daughter to harass, she dragged me to some of her Jane Austen Society meetings when I was a kid.”

  Hanna knew that he was making a literary allusion. She’d read a few Jane Austen novels herself. “They’re smaller than the squirrels we have where I live.”

  He watched the squirrels a moment longer then turned to her. “I’m so sorry you had to come back so soon, but Mother is such a stickler, and she’s nervous that the Jasmine Society function is in my very incapable hands this year. She should be here soon.”

  There was no getting around it. She was going to have to carry on a conversation with this man. Dear Lord, please help her. “I thought you chose a good menu.”

  “Well, good with my mother is inadequate. But she is my mother and she is going through a difficult time with Father right now. She’s just not herself, so I’m humoring her.”

  Hanna lowered her head and smiled. If only she had her own mother to humor. Aunt Della was a good substitute, even though she was a couple of generations older. One day, Hanna hoped to be a mother, too.