When she opened them, she saw her mother began picking up small limbs around the perimeter of the tabby fence.
“Momma.”
Her mother startled. “Oh, Jenna, baby. Come sit on your brother’s bench and let’s talk.” She pointed to the wood and iron seat at the foot of her brother’s grave.
Jenna plopped down.
Her mother patted Jenna on the knee when she made it to her side. She glanced around the walled-in cemetery. “I’m so glad the DeBordieus chose to set aside this land for all our families. It nearly was different. Did you know?”
“No, Momma, I didn’t. How?
She nodded. “At the beginning, when the Huguenot planters along the rivers went to The Church of the Tides, our family nearly bought plots there.”
“Church of the Tides?”
She nodded. “Our family’s church. The Huguenot Church of Charleston,” her mother stated in her exquisite Southern accent.
“I didn’t know it was called by any other name. Why?”
“Ah, yes. It was too far for the planters to go by buggy, so they went by boat. And service times were held according to the tides so that the members could ride their boats in on the outgoing tide and home on the incoming.”
“I’d never heard that before.” She knew why. It was to be Anson who would be the keeper of the family lore. He had been the one who was told—the one being groomed. And she had been deported to France, the ancient land of their ancestors, where she didn’t have to walk by her brother’s grave to get to the camellia garden, where she didn’t have to see the dock where he’d last breathed in sweet, wet Lowcountry air, where her parents didn’t have to see her try to fill her brother’s shoes. Or boots.
“Grandfather Henri had a lot of wisdom and foresight for this family. For this land.” Her mother took her hand off Jenna’s knee.
“It seems more than we’ll ever completely know,” Jenna said and pondered the words. “Momma, what if it were true. What if there was another will. More money.”
“Honey, that’s all…gossip and wishful thinking. Don’t trouble yourself with those old tales.” She turned to Jenna. “Funny thing. Your brother used to be enamored with that old story.”
“He believed it, too?”
“Oh, yes. Obsessed. Your grandfather told him parts of it, and Jasper told him other parts of it.” She chuckled. “When he was younger, he used to carry a small shovel around and would dig all over this plantation.”
Jenna looked beyond the walls of the graveyard. “That would have been some monumental task—with the size of this place.”
“Oh, he had direction. From Amberlee’s mother. Before she died. I believe she was one-hundred eight years old. Bermuda. She had fourteen children. Half of whom are here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Silly, they’re buried all about us. Some as young as a few days old. It’s one of the reasons I was saying what I said about Grandfather Henri.”
“No. Not that part. What was the information he got from Bermuda? Amberlee’s mother.”
“She always told him to look for something gold and wet. It was what her grandfather had told her. I heard it too, from my mother, but she said, ‘cold and wet.’ Just lore. I’m sure of it. Funny how a thing gets embellished…or changed…or lost.” She stared at her son’s grave.
Gray clouds gathered together like the leaves against the cemetery wall, making piles of dark masses. The sun shone through the lower ones, turning the darkness on the horizon an amber color.
“Well, I guess those ambiguous words could mean anything,” Jenna said.
“Yes, sweetheart. Folklore.” She entwined her arm with Jenna’s. “Our time is nearly up here. And we’ve had a good run of it.”
“What’s going to happen to this graveyard?” To Anson’s grave?”
“I hope…nothing…or rather, I hope your cousin continues to take care of it as we have. I hope he continues to allow all the families who have kin here to continue to use it—if they wish.”
“Will we be able to visit?” Oh, that sounded so…detached…from their home. Anger rose up in her. This was their land. Her brother’s land. And all the families’ land. She shook her head. What would happen if she lets everyone down? If possible, she could even disappoint her brother’s memory.
“Enough of all this talk. I came here to do a job.” Her mother stood up. Isabelle Bellingham DeBordieu—yes, she’d actually taken her husband’s name as a middle name to fulfill the terms of the trust. She was a slight woman, like Jenna. Her khaki pants fit loosely, and her chambray shirt sleeves were rolled up. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out her work gloves. “Wanna help?”
“Sure.” Jenna stood up. “What are we doing?”
“Remember last year after that tropical storm and all the limbs and debris were everywhere. A limb had actually knocked over Jasper’s great grandfather’s tombstone.”
“I remember. I let the granite company through the gates to fix it.”
“Well, this afternoon’s rainstorm reminded me. I’m going to do a little spring cleaning before we get any hurricanes. I hear this season is predicted to be pretty bad.” She picked up a limb in front of her. “If we move what we can, get Jasper to help us with his saw pole, we can see what we have left and hire a company to cut anything dead or dangerous down before a hurricane takes out half the headstones here.”
“That’s a good idea, Momma.”
With that, she and her mother, the last two direct descendants of the DeBordieu line, began to pick up the sacred property. That made Jenna feel…responsible.
“Put the debris out beside the lane, sweetie.”
“Okay,” she said. As she picked up around the headstones, the tombs and crypts, she thought of all the times she’d cared for the grounds with her grandparents. With her own parents. With her brother. This could be the last time she might do this with her mother.
Her heart ached and sank. Her mother’s heart—at least the part of it that was not in her brother’s grave—must be heavy, as well.
Moss and lichen covered many of the old stones—so much so that some could barely be read. She heaved a larger limb from a set of graves in the corner, near the back wall. Amberpeace Border and Lily Amber Border. Humph. She pulled the branch through the gates and placed it beside the others. When she returned with a rake, she pulled last fall’s leaves away from against the headstones in a little rock-encircled plot. She began to read the names on some of the tombstones. Tamber Manigault, Jackamber Manigault, and Amberwood Manigault. She looked around at some of the others’ headstones with legible names. Again and again, the name Amber appeared within the names or as a second name and, in a few instances, as a last.
“Momma, have you ever noticed how many of these headstones are inscribed with the name Amber in them?”
“Well, of course, I have.” She brushed her soft beige curls out of her eyes with the back of her forearm. “Haven’t you?”
She thought for a moment. “Well, I guess I’ve seen them, but it didn’t really register how many there actually were.” She looked behind her. “Mary Amber?” She shook her head. “Look at all of them.” She slowly turned around. After her complete circle, she stopped, stared at her mother. Uh, oh. She could tell by her mother’s stance that she was about to get a little lecture.
“Now, Jenna,” her mother said with her head cocked to one side and her hand on her right hip. “You do live in the South, now don’t you? We are nothing if not our family’s names. Am I right?” Her mother looked so cute lecturing her in her sweet, Southern voice. It reminded her of her elegant grandmother who used to try to teach Jenna everything she knew about polite society—in hopes that Jenna would…prosper socially.
“Well, yes.” Heck, her own family had so many examples, she could hardly count. What? Six named Isabelle, eight named Henri…and after her family had married into the Manigaults…or rather, the Manigaults had married into theirs, she couldn’t count the number
of times her ancestors had named their little boys Manigault and called them Mani. Recycling family names was the way of the South. Take the mother’s maiden name and pass it off as a first name. Or take a tried and true name like Elizabeth and tack it on as a second name to…thirty little girls in the family…like her own.
“But, Momma, the Amber name…and the way they’ve used it is…well, it just seems odd to me.”
“Jenna Elizabeth DeBordieu Bellingham, that’s simply because you’ve never paid attention to what’s in front of your eyes.”
That hit her squarely in the gut. She immediately thought of the night she was bedazzled by fireflies. The night Anson jumped into the Ashley River, for the last time. “I know, Mother.”
Her mother dropped her rake and jogged to her. She put her arms around Jenna and folded her inside. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean—”
She pulled back. “I know.” Jenna sniffed, trying not to let her mother see the impact her words had. It would hurt her, and Jenna was in the process of devastating her family enough already.
“Say, let’s wrap this up and head to the house. We’re having crab cakes with grits and tomato pie for dinner. Ester is probably in the process of making them now. If we hurry, we’ll be able to have a long soak in our tubs before we dress for cocktails and dinner.
Once again, Jenna was going to be required to put on one of her fancy frocks from Enjoliver and a pair of her bone-crushing, six-inch, red-soled shoes. The only one who cared was her mother. Her father’s family had once been well-off, but didn’t partake in some of the delicacies of Southern aristocratic life—the life that was about to end for her family very soon. Lately, he’d been escaping that fact during the day by continuing to run his insurance company, and at night, he escaped during his and Isabelle’s cocktail hour. An income in insurance could never rise to the occasion of the grandeur they’d all enjoyed on the plantation, and he was apparently as sorry to allow the loss as Jenna.
“Let’s leave these rakes by the gate. I’m coming back in the morning,” her mother said.
When they arrived at the main house, her mother kissed her cheek, brushed her hair from her eyes and said, “See you in a couple of hours, sweetie.”
“Yes, Momma.” She watched as her mother ascended the back stairs. There were still questions in her mind about the gravestones she’d connected earlier. Maybe Jasper or Amberlee would have some answers. She walked past the carriage house and on to the little cabin down the lane.
When she arrived, she knocked at the door. “Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Jasper said as he opened the screen. “Come on in.”
“Did you come back for another piece of pie?” Amberlee asked.
“No, she didn’t,” said Jasper. “She still has dinner to eat first. And I know she’s going to want to eat what I saw Ester was making in the big house.” He sat beside Amberlee. “Now tell us what’s on your mind.”
“Our graveyard,” she said.
“I know. Your momma done asked me to help her,” Jasper said.
“No. Not that exactly.” She settled down in the worn out chair across from the two old people. “I wanted to ask you about some of the names. My people, your people, people that had been connected to this plantation long, long ago.”
The two nodded across from her. Jasper leaned forward.
“Again and again, I saw the root of your name embedded inside the names of others—Amber. Does it have some kind of significance?”
Amberlee laughed. “Most has forgotten about why we all used that name. Mostly they ended up using it ‘cause it’s been used for they mommas and granmommas and granddaddies. Started out—from what they said long ago—that Amber is gonna save this plantation one day, and it’s gonna make them very rich one day. Well, you can see why everyone wanted to name their churen by that name.” She chuckled again. “Trouble was, it ain’t never come to pass, like they said.”
Jenna was confused. “Do you know when…or who started the…tradition…or the saying?”
“Oh, it ain’t really no tradition—‘cept the naming part. The sayin’ started by your Grandpappy Henri. Always told my greatest granpappy that somethin’ like Amber was goin’ to save this ol’ place. It spread from there.”
What a dead end. Naming a person something could not save a place or anything else for that matter. Even if her name had been Amber, she was not about to be able to save this plantation. “And that’s the beginning of it?”
“And the end, looks like,” Jasper said. “I always thought it was silliness.”
Jenna nodded. “I agree, Jasper. I thought I’d ask anyway—after Momma didn’t have any additional information to add.” She felt like she was grabbing at straws.
“Wish there was more we could tell you—more we could help you with, sweetie,” Amberlee said.
Jasper sat on the couch with a serious look on his face. “Wonder if all them names is connected to the Amberjack, too?”
“Oh, my goodness. The Amberjack. Momma recently told me how it had gone down with my Grandfather Henri so long ago.”
“Yep. Into the Charleston Harbor the day of that terrible storm—the day of the hurricane.”
“That’s just too much of a coincidence. I bet they’re connected.”
“I told your brother that story, along with the part about the gold and the water. It was like a mystery he wanted to solve. We spent many a day looking for clues. Mostly, it was a game, I thought. But some days, I thought Anson was as serious about it as a preacher on Good Friday. Never seemed to grow tired of looking or trying to figure it all out.”
“Well,” said Amberlee. “We’ll jus have to place it all in the Lawd’s hands now. I’m a praying for you and this here plantation every day now.”
“I appreciate that, Amberlee.” Jenna closed her eyes and prayed a quick little prayer for them all.
She said her goodbyes and kissed the two old people on the cheeks.
As she strolled toward the carriage house to dress for dinner, she tried to put it all together to no avail. If only Anson had thought to tell her some of what he’d learned, but he had been older and evidently didn’t see the need to tell his little sister about any of the plantation lore because he was going to save them. Fix everything. She remembered him with his bucket and shovel and youthful enthusiasm, heading out for the day with Jasper. Anytime she asked him about it or asked to let her tag along, he’d simply reply, ‘Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.’ Now that was all she did…worry about the plantation and what was about to happen to the people she loved.
Anson hadn’t spared her a thing.
⸙
Jenna woke up minutes before her alarm went off. Like she always did. Some kind of internal thing she didn’t understand. She heard Jasper, already at work outside, singing “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright,” the song by Bob Marley that she’d heard him sing almost every day. She loved to hear him sing it, and today it even seemed appropriate.
She checked the weather and then went through her closet. It was going to be a Lilly Pulitizer day. She pulled out a short, fitted dress with pink and green flowers covering its entirety. After she grabbed a pink Lilly sweater—because it could still get kind of chilly on some April evenings—she picked up her novel and put her reading glasses in their case and into the correct section in her purse. Before she stepped out the door, she checked her bag. Twice. Then she locked the door to the carriage house. And checked that twice. That’s how she knew she was doing better. When her anxiety was up, she was checking behind herself seven times or more and still doubting everything she did.
No doubting today, though. She was going to branch out a little. Hopefully, meet some new people. Hopefully, come up with something concrete to put into that “Letter of Intention” that her family’s lawyer so insistently demanded.
She parked her car—on the concrete portion of the parking lot at the Oaks Country Club. There were a lot of cars there.
She looked around. No
snakes this time.
It was the perfect spring day in the South, bright green new leaves growing on the magnolias, crape myrtles heavy with deep pink blooms, azaleas littering the ground. The air was temperate and filled with the myriad scents of Southern floral perfection.
April greeted her at the door of the building that reminded her of Tara, perhaps a neighbor’s house straight out of Gone With the Wind.
The two hugged with a fierce, solid embrace. Forever friends.
“Thanks so much, sweetie.” April leaned to look into her bag. The novel was peeping out the top. “Good. You brought your book. We’ll be on the back portico. You’ll have lots of down time to read there.”
Jenna eyed her friend for a moment. She looked…different. Well…and happy. “Soooo…”
April giggled. “Come on in. We’ve got lots to do. We’ll talk later.”
They had better. Jenna didn’t like there to be any secrets between them. They’d been too close all these years—shared too much. And in Jenna’s world, secrets could be as awful as outright deceit. “I’m counting on it.”
She grabbed April’s arm and strolled up the magnificent staircase, into the grand ballroom, and onto the portico out back.
Jenna breathed in the spring air that blew in from the golf course. It had faint scents of dogwood and gardenias alternately drifting through it. The azaleas were in full bloom, afire under the old magnolias and oaks. Several ponds lazily wound themselves around the huge trees and fuchsia flowers.
She was glad she had come. Hope seemed…palpable in the air. Who knows? Maybe she’d encounter a businessman who could point her in the right direction to resolve the financial issues at the plantation. Maybe she and April would meet someone…special today. She’d still not abandoned the idea of her and her best friend, married, their husbands as friends, and she and April working together at the Summerbrook Ladies League. On worthwhile projects—like Ben’s.
Fireflies and Lies (A Summerbrook Novel Book 4) Page 9
