“Gracie,” Regina puffed out her middle daughter’s name before any conversation had begun, “do see if you can hurry Clover along with the tea. Ever since that creature became pregnant, she’s next to useless.” She hastened her daughter out of the room with a hand motion.
Abby began to stand, reluctant to remain in this lion’s den with its silent pervading stares. “I could go and help,” she began.
“Nonsense,” Regina shushed her. “Sit down and let us unwrap you. Gracie will handle it.”
Unwrap! Abby had to bite her tongue to refrain from spitting back at Regina that she was not an object to be unfolded for anyone’s greedy pleasure. Not anymore. She felt the familiar urge to strike at something. She fisted her hands against the velvet of the settee and reminded herself of the importance of staying composed, of impressing the Cunninghams to lay a foundation for her future.
And so she swallowed her violence, her bile, and tried to distract herself by evaluating the drawing room as she waited for Gracie to return. She hadn’t noticed when she arrived the sheer quantity of fittings in the room. There were several other sofas, bookcases, wing-backed chairs, console tables, and even multiple upright clocks, items plugging nearly every free space. It was like Da’s old furniture shop, only without the justification.
Abby looked back toward the red-haired women opposite her, forcing herself to meet their gazes, to show strength, when Regina finally, at last, began conversing.
“I do hope I haven’t offended you, Abigail,” Regina began, and Abby realized she had been too transparent. She wanted to dig her fingernail across her forearm for her stupidity, but she would not make another mistake, not here.
“Of course not,” Abby responded. “I am delighted by your gracious invitation. But please, call me Abby.” To her relief, her voice held steady.
Regina seemed intent on explaining herself further.
“You must understand, dear, we were all so intertwined with Douglas and Sarah before the atrocious conflagration, our families were like braided bread,” she made a quick plaiting motion with her hands. “And then he cut himself off from us so completely, well from everybody. But from us!” Regina looked as surprised as if she had just that minute learned of Douglas’s behavior. “Oh good, the tea,” Regina stated when a slave woman appeared at the door. “Just set it right there and leave it be, Clover. If I wait for you to pour, I’ll miss church on Sunday. Let’s hope that our guest here can forgive the barbarity of her hostess doing the serving.” As Regina swiped a plate of pastries from the tray and held it out toward Abby, she continued. “My apologies for our abominable help.”
“Enough, Mama,” Cora Rae scolded, a loaded impatience creeping into her tone. Abby stole a glance at Clover, whose eyes were trained on the floor as she exited the room.
Abby felt herself swirling with resentment at the glaring effortlessness of the woman’s existence, that she should feel put out to have to lift her hand to pour tea. Gracie finally reappeared in the drawing room entryway and made her way back to her seat.
“What was I saying?” Regina looked at Wini for help, but then remembered. “Oh yes, my mama was half-sister to Sarah’s uncle. It was the wrong half, so we didn’t share blood, but it always felt as though we did. I still remember the spring Sunday when she was born. I was nearly twelve years old, and I thought her parents had created her as a present, specially for me.” Regina assumed a faraway look in her eye, a crease deepening between her eyebrows, and Abby realized that Sarah’s passing might have been a difficult experience for Regina, too. The woman let out a breath of resignation and continued, “Anyway, it’s no leap to Holy Mary that I considered Douglas like my very own brother-in-law. They were so much younger, full of optimism, it always made me feel responsible for them, for their well-being.” She exhaled pointedly. “Now we can hardly get Douglas to acknowledge us. We do worry about him in that house all by his lonesome. Not that you aren’t there, so I suppose he’s not actually all alone, but you understand.”
Abby nodded as Regina finally reached for the teapot and began pouring. A pleasing scent of lavender wafted toward her. She accepted the cup and saucer from Regina, hoping that her hostess would soon cease this meandering and reveal her purpose.
“I’m not sure if Gracie told you, Mrs. Cunningham,” Abby began.
“Oh please, darling, you must call me Regina. Otherwise I feel about ninety-seven years old.”
“All right, Regina.” Abby tried to smile in response, but was sure she’d offered the woman a grimace, at best. “I told Gracie when we met that I hardly see Mr. Elling. I’m uncertain what I can tell you that you wouldn’t already know.” Abby looked to Gracie, who was focused on spooning a cube of sugar.
“Oh, no dear.” Regina shook her head. “We aren’t trying to collect information from you about Douglas. No,” she put a hand to her chest in horrification and looked pointedly at Cora Rae. “I was simply hoping to enlist your help.”
“My help?” Abby asked, surprised.
“Why, yes!” Regina exclaimed, excited anew. “I was thinking,” she paused to sip her tea, wrinkled her nose at it, and replaced her cup in its saucer. “It really would be best if Douglas started getting out more, socializing, just mingling with civilized folk. The only people he speaks to on a daily basis are Negroes and sailors. That simply can’t sustain a person. I’m not quite sure what we need to do, but we’ll come up with something, won’t we girls?”
Regina looked briefly at her daughters, who chanted a chorus of “Yes, Mama.”
“And you, Abby, dear,” Regina smiled sweetly, “are in the best position to help us. So what do you say?” Regina asked expectantly. “Are you onboard?”
Abby tried her tea and burned her tongue. Regina, Cora Rae, and Wini were watching her intently. Abby was trying to build her reputation, lay groundwork for her future. Disappointing Regina Cunningham would clearly be ill-advised. Yet, she couldn’t jeopardize her position in Mr. Elling’s home by colluding with these people, if that was what they were after. Well done, she thought to herself. After only one bout of socializing, she’d managed to get herself into an impossible situation. As she set her cup on the table, she resolved that she better agree. She could play the weasel later if necessary, back out or fail in her responsibilities.
“You just let me know when there is something I can do,” Abby nodded.
“Wonderful, darling!” Regina exclaimed. She then easily redirected the conversation to the menu at her upcoming luncheon, sparking a brief debate over cherry varieties between Wini and Cora Rae. After only a few moments of banal chatter, Regina directed Cora Rae and Wini, “Come girls. Let’s give Gracie the private teatime with Abby she intended.”
“Wait, no,” Cora Rae protested. “You may not want to extract information from Abby about Douglas, but I do! I want every last detail she can tell us.”
“Now, Rae,” Regina began, as she stood.
“It’s Cora!” Cora Rae snapped.
“Cora.” Regina acquiesced. “I won’t have you busy-bodying with Abby. It’s one thing to scheme when the overall goal is charity. I’ve told you girls dozens of times that charity is a lady’s best way of giving thanks to God for her good luck. But nosiness, Rae—I mean Cora,” Regina looked down at her daughter, “that’s just bad breeding. Come.” Regina motioned again for the girls to stand and then ushered them from the room, leaving Gracie to entertain her guest.
As the footsteps receded, Gracie finally looked at Abby. “I’m so sorry about, well about . . . that.” She spoke quietly, contritely. “When those three get an idea between them, there’s just no stopping them. Oh goodness, Abby. I’m mortified by the way they bombarded you. You must be fuming.”
“I am not cross with you,” Abby replied gently, “just confused, to tell truth, about what that was.” She had, at the start of tea, been angry, brilliantly angry, with Gracie, for subjecting her to that examination by her family. When she had been greeted by Gracie’s mother and her sister
s, she had determined Gracie’s overtures of friendship a trick of some sort to lure her to this meeting. But as she watched Gracie retreat further into herself in the presence of her sisters and mother, like a fading shadow, she realized that Gracie too had been ambushed.
“It’s just, well,” Gracie stole a glance at the empty doorway and leaned closer to Abby. “They are plotting and scheming, regardless of what Mama says. Mama might only be involved for Rae’s sake, so I suppose her intentions are benevolent, but they’re catching you up in the middle of something that is not your dilemma. Especially when your welfare is dependent on staying in Douglas’s good graces. They’re my family, and I reckon I love them, but Heaven knows, I don’t share a common trait with any of those three, not even the red hair.” Gracie’s breath caught at something, and suddenly her eyes began to pool.
“Gracie, what is it?”
Gracie shook her head as she tried to compose herself. Abby wondered again if the girl was sincere, or if she was putting on theatrics, kicking up a fuss for Abby’s benefit, but instinct told her Gracie’s distress was genuine.
Gracie looked again at the door and then began to explain. “It’s Rae,” she wiped a hand under her eye. “It’s always Rae, refusing to let me have anything of my own. She gets everyone into trouble and always manages to extricate herself from blame. And this time, well,” after one more glance at the door, she explained, “all this mess is because she’s still in love with Douglas.”
“In love with Mr. Elling!” Abby blurted, incredulous. She remembered Gracie mentioning Cora Rae’s affection for Mr. Elling at the ball, but Abby hadn’t imagined it was anything as serious as this. “But she’s so beautiful. And young. And he’s, well he’s, well,” Abby stammered, flabbergasted as she pictured the man she knew, the fellow she had seen brooding and growling around the estate. “He’s Douglas Elling.” Abby looked at Gracie in disbelief.
“Abby, please, keep your voice down.” Abby nodded and Gracie continued, “Yes, she is very much in love with Douglas. Has been for years, for as long as I can remember. He wasn’t always such a lout. And he isn’t even that old, only twenty-six, despite the way he behaves. I suppose all the youth went out of him after the accident.”
Gracie lifted her teacup and looked at Abby, “After Sarah died, Rae decided it was her chance to finally become Mrs. Elling. As you can tell, it’s hardly panned out. She has refused proposals from four other men, and Daddy’s near apoplectic. I suppose Mama is trying to help Rae catch Douglas because she simply won’t accept any other gentleman in his stead.”
“So what good am I?” Abby asked, still unclear as to why they had toadied over her so.
“Oh, who knows what they’ve cooked up.” Gracie’s shoulders slumped. “But you mustn’t do it, Abby. Douglas simply wouldn’t stand for this scheming. Not the Douglas I knew. Especially not by someone living under his roof. I couldn’t bear it if he sent you back home on account of my family’s nonsense.”
“Don’t trouble yourself over this, Gracie,” Abby told her calmly, as she tried her tea again and found it finally cool enough. “I’ve battled forces much worse than a lovesick girl and her mother. It will be fine. For all of us, I’m sure.”
Abby was genuinely growing less perturbed. Rather, she felt relieved that their odd behavior had nothing to do with her inauspicious upbringing and current status as a charity ward. Abby was sure she’d be able to appease the Cunningham brood without having to do much at all. There wasn’t much that one could do to infatuate a man like Douglas Elling.
“If you say so,” Gracie conceded tentatively. “But ughh! I just find them so infuriating! It’s like I don’t matter at all, and they just do as they please regardless of what I say.”
“Well, how is it if we focus on something cheerier?” Abby waved her hand dismissively. “Why don’t you tell me more about you, instead of your sisters?”
Gracie dabbed at her eyes with a napkin and nodded. The young women passed another hour, enjoying their tea and biscuits, and getting better acquainted. Abby told Gracie snippets about her family, small easy details about her siblings, how she missed them, even Joseph and Christopher. Gracie asked questions about her studies with Larissa and then abruptly shifted the topic again, declaring that she was so relieved to have met Abby, as she was bursting to confide a secret in someone, a secret her other friends would certainly reveal if they knew. She proceeded to confess that she was smitten with a young man named Harrison Blount, a longtime acquaintance, whose parents owned the plantation neighboring her own family’s Cherry Lane Plantation on the outskirts of Charleston.
“He hasn’t any notion I exist,” Gracie complained. “I can’t compete with Rae’s dazzling appearance. But he’s dashing like you couldn’t imagine. I just want to talk about him all the time, everything about him, even his hair, you should see his hair,” she smiled thinking about it, “like spun gold. I hadn’t seen him while he was studying in France. He was gone a year, maybe two, I don’t even know. And then he visited a few days before the ball to see my Daddy. I was done for.” She laughed happily at her fate but then quickly sobered. “Though I’m sure he’s besotted with Rae, like everyone else.” She put her small fist to her mouth and almost whimpered.
“Come now,” Abby chided, “give yourself more due. Why, you’re beautiful, and sweet. You have those big dark eyes, lashes enough for three women. And kindness is the most important, isn’t it? Any gentleman who’d choose your sister over you would be a fool.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” Gracie responded skeptically, “but I still appreciate your saying it.” Her shoulders dipped again as she regarded Abby. “You’re very sweet. I’m so glad we’ve met.”
Abby stood, realizing now that Demett had likely been outside for some time, waiting to carry her back to the Elling estate. She looked at the tea and fixings strewn about the low table and fought her urge to help tidy up.
“I’m glad we had this chance to talk,” she told Gracie, and realized only after she said it that she meant every word.
“Thank you for coming and putting up with my foolish family. Oh, Daddy would be just mortified if he knew what they were up to!”
9
CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA
1845
“Ah, there you are.” Regina Cunningham appeared at the entrance to the drawing room, where Gracie had been sitting with a book of poetry since Abby’s departure. Gracie had hardly looked at the sonnets, ruminating instead on Harrison, on her sisters, on the kinship she felt with Abby.
When they met at the ball, Gracie had taken a swift liking to Abby, perhaps because she imagined Abby so similar to herself, an empathetic soul stifled by her surroundings. Gracie wasn’t certain what had given her that impression, perhaps the invisible armor Abby seemed to wear at the ball, her cautiousness, the distance she appeared to crave from Cora Rae. And then today, when they were alone, Abby had quickly put Gracie at ease, forgiving her mother’s conspiring, focusing on Gracie instead. Abby seemed uninterested in the trivialities that consumed Gracie’s other friends, less likely to discount a friend for failing to measure up. What a relief it had been to finally breathe normally in the presence of another young lady. She hadn’t worried whether Abby would judge her manners, her hair, her waistline. Even with her stays pulled taught, she could always hear her mother’s voice reminding her to “suck it in, Gracie, pull in that navel.” She never could maintain a figure like her sisters’, and it was tiresome trying.
“I was wondering where you’d got to.” Her mother smiled at her, not unkindly. Regina glanced to the other side of the drawing room and noticed the tea service that still sat in disarray on the table. “Would you believe that after all this time, Clover has not yet returned to collect the trays?” Regina shook her head. “It’s like that girl is asking for it, dropping ashes on her duties. She should count her lucky voodoo feathers, or whatever they’re into these days, that we don’t operate like that. How am I to run a household with this
shirking?” Regina glanced at a tall wood-encased clock in the corner of the room and added, “It’s near time to dress for supper. Why don’t you collect yourself and come change now anyway?”
“I’ll find Clover, Mama. You go ahead and change your own dress.” Gracie hated to think of Regina laying into meek Clover, especially while the woman was so large with child. Regina had been particularly hard on the young slave since her pregnancy began to show. “I promise I will be strict as a wasp with her,” she lied.
Regina regarded her daughter dubiously, but she then ran an exploratory hand over the twist at the back of her head, where strands were slipping loose from a white silk ribbon.
“I suppose I could use the time to have Ebony fix this. But don’t go easy on Clover. Pretend you are Cora Rae, let her know her place.”
“Yes, Mama.” Gracie stood and tried discreetly to pull her crinoline underskirt away from where it had begun to cling to her perspiring legs.
As she walked toward the kitchen in search of Clover, Gracie considered the latter parts of her afternoon with Abby, and now this small success of convincing her Mama to let her take charge, even with something so small. When she neared the kitchen, she called for Clover. Receiving no response other than the continued tapping of her own feet against the marble floor, Gracie poked her head tentatively through the swinging door.
“Clover?” She called again, this time more gently. Regina was adamant that her children not mingle too closely with the slaves, that it would only lead to vexation. Even their favorite house slaves would seize the first opportunity to take advantage, Regina warned. Plus, it just didn’t look nice. And Regina simply would not have it, she had declared repeatedly, not in her house. The slaves seemed reluctant to spend much time in the proximity of the master and his family anyway. She looked about the large kitchen now and became concerned. Not only was Clover absent, but Cook was missing, as well.
Trouble the Water_A Novel Page 8
