Trouble the Water_A Novel

by Jacqueline Friedland

  And the thought of America was somewhat exciting. America! How cosmopolitan she could be after traveling across the Atlantic Ocean. She began to let her imagination carry her away. She envisioned riding horses through beautiful American pastures, practicing needlework beside delicate stained-glass lamps. She surprised herself by growing eager as she pictured fresh, clean gowns, lavish meals, and other fineries she had heard of existing in America.

  Maybe if Uncle Matthew knew it was not her decision to leave Wigan, he wouldn’t withdraw his support from the family. She would have to explain it to him. As much as she abhorred being in his presence, she would have to speak with him to justify everything.

  And then she had gone over there, one last time, the following Sunday after church. She remembered that to her own great surprise, she had served each course of the midday meal to her aunt and uncle’s guests without a single flaw. No dropped platters or spilled soups, her tendency to clumsiness generally exacerbated in Matthew’s presence, but not that day. Aware that this was the last time she would be forced to endure Matthew’s leering gaze and her aunt Bianca’s haughty remarks, Abby thought she had discovered a newfound strength. She would serve them their meal, but when Matthew tried to take her out back for his usual fondling, she would tell him she was leaving.

  She washed dishes in the kitchen following the meal, awaiting his approach.

  “Abigail, my dear.”

  Her insides curdled at the sound of Matthew’s call. She turned to see his bovine frame closing in on her, his fingers already twitching in apparent anticipation.

  “Come,” he said, motioning to the back door. “Let’s brave a walk outside.”

  Abby set down the dish she had been drying and followed Matthew around the back of the house.

  Thinking back on that moment now, Abby shook her head to force her mind away from the rest. She wouldn’t relive any more of it, not now, when she was resting so comfortably on a velvet settee in Charleston, South Carolina, thousands of miles away from that monstrous man. All of it thanks to Douglas Elling. How wrong she had been to think that Douglas might be anything like her horrid uncle. Douglas was complicated, but he had integrity, a certain kind of grace. She rested her head on the arm of the settee with weariness. Closing her heavy eyelids, she let sleep envelop her.

  DOUGLAS WAS THERE, SHAKING HER GENTLY AND URGING her awake. Abby opened her eyes, noticing first that she was still on the settee in the drawing room and then that the skies outside had turned to the lavender of evening. Douglas was studying her with apparent caution, and she blinked in confusion.

  “You were dreaming,” he told her, his voice weightless, barely above a whisper. “You seemed distressed, like it was a nightmare. I hope I did the right thing waking you.”

  She sat up sharply, lowering her legs to the floor and hastily attempting to smooth her hair and her skirts. Her skin felt damp with sweat, her camisole clinging beneath her dress. In her grogginess, she couldn’t recall the substance of her dreams, but she did have a sense of relief, as though by waking, she’d been granted a reprieve.

  “No, no.” She looked again toward the shadowy sky beyond the window and then back at Douglas. In her disorientation, she was struck afresh by Douglas’s altered appearance, his startlingly sculpted face. She noticed that his lips, which had previously been obscured by overgrown beard, were shiny and full. The bottom one especially. She took a steadying breath, unintentionally inhaling Douglas’s scent from where he crouched next to her. There was a mixture of spice and salt, a lingering scent of soap.

  “I must have been sleeping for hours. You’ve done me a service. As it is, I’m sure I’ll be awake all night after sleeping the day away.”

  She ran her hand over her hair again, forcing a few stray tendrils behind her ear. Watching her, Douglas rose abruptly and stepped backwards, as though only just realizing that he might be overcrowding her.

  “Larissa’s already taken an early supper on the assumption that you would perhaps sleep through until morning,” he told her. “She mightn’t be pleased that I’ve interrupted you, but it sounds to me like you’ve had plenty of time for convalescing today.”

  “Oh, right, yes.” Abby nodded, unsure what to do with herself under Douglas’s watchful eye. “I suppose I’ll retire to my quarters. I can get ahead on my reading.” She reached to the floor where Robinson Crusoe had fallen and held it up to Douglas. “I was a slouch with my studies today, and it wouldn’t hurt to make up for it. Larissa’s all a dither, convinced I’m still too weak to handle much activity.” She rose from her seat as Douglas took another step backwards, away from her, clearing her path from the room.

  Although Douglas facilitated her exit, Abby found herself reluctant to cut short her time with him. She remembered her resolution to make herself more available to him, but when she was actually confronted with his presence like this, she just couldn’t manage to interact properly.

  “Well then. Thank you for the rescue.”

  He raised his eyebrows in response.

  “From whatever chased me in my dreams,” she clarified.

  He smiled, revealing a playful dimple in his left cheek that she’d never seen before. She surprised herself by admiring its effect, the way the small divot softened his veneer of perfection.

  “Ah. Well consider it the first installment in my recompense.”

  “Recompense? What for?”

  Douglas placed his hand in his pockets and shrugged good-naturedly. “Haven’t you heard? I’ve about won the award for being Charleston’s most hideous host, or the prize for most grim manners to a houseguest. They’re still debating the official title of the award down at Society Hall.”

  When Abby didn’t respond to his jest, Douglas’s continued in a soberer tone.

  “Since the beginning of your stay, my actions have been deplorable, culminating in the debacle where I essentially pushed you into that stall with a barbarous horse. If not with my own hands, at least with my unforgivable behavior. What was it you called the event, attempted murder?” Abby opened her mouth to protest, now sorry for her earlier remark, but he held up his hand to silence her.

  “In all seriousness, I do consider the blame for the accident mine, and I’m disheartened to see you are still suffering the repercussions, unable to complete your daily schedule as you had before.”

  “Oh no, that’s not, that’s just because I didn’t sleep last night, that’s . . .” she trailed off, unable to explain to him what had kept her awake during the night. “Never mind. You don’t owe me anything. I mean, look at all you have given me already. A home, an education, even the clothes I wear while we converse here. I am the one in debt to you. Though you should know I plan to repay it, all of it, down to the last halfpence.”

  Douglas blinked in surprise. “You plan to repay me? Nothing in this arrangement has been intended as a loan. It’s all given outright, with no expectations.”

  “Right, but that doesn’t mean I am comfortable leeching off your charity.” Abby answered, adding quickly, “As much as I appreciate it, mind. Still, I will pay it all back.”

  “Abby, it is my supreme pleasure to be of service to you. If I’m honest, it’s a relief to put my assets to good use. I do applaud your sense of independence, but maybe there is another way. Perhaps instead of returning to me that which I assuredly do not need, you spread the good fortune. Focus on something you have in excess and share that with others.”

  Abby tried to think what she might possibly possess in excess. Disquiet, mistrust, disappointment, nothing that others would wish to share. Douglas seemed aware of her skepticism and clarified.

  “Find a way to help people is what I’m saying. It turns out, it’s surprisingly gratifying. If you use your newfound good fortune to assist another person in need, then any of my alleged generosity toward you will have more far-flung effects. It would be the best repayment you could give me. There are people everywhere who could use help in one way or another. You have simply to look
about, and you will be overcome with possibility.”

  Abby’s thoughts immediately flew to slavery. Is that what Douglas was nudging at? Perhaps he was trying to gauge her attitude, determine how she felt about the captivity and forced labor pervading this city. She wanted to tell him that she overheard his conversation with Demett, that she was awestruck by his actions. When she thought of people who could use help, as he said, it seemed the thousands of souls enslaved in the American South ought to be first in line. Or, equally likely, he didn’t mean that at all. He mightn’t be pleased to learn of her eavesdropping, her nosing in his business. Abby chided herself that Douglas could just as easily be suggesting that she help an elderly woman retrieve a fallen handkerchief.

  “I would like nothing better than to help others, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to begin. I barely even know anyone in this city, save for Gracie Cunningham, who certainly doesn’t need help from me.” She paused for a moment to collect her words. “Maybe there are others in the city, people who you know, who are trapped in an unfortunate situation. . . .” She was unsure how to say more without giving herself away.

  Douglas leaned against the wall beside him, chewing on his lip as he appeared to consider something.

  “Larissa did mention that you’re interested in teaching. Perhaps that is the ticket, and then you needn’t do anything immediate. For the present, just concentrate on your lessons and gain the requisite knowledge to pass on to others. Perhaps at some point, you will have the opportunity to teach someone who is less fortunate than you, some of the children who work in the factories back home and haven’t time for proper schooling, even.”

  No, no, this wasn’t what she meant at all. First off, it didn’t seem the time to mention that she would never be returning to England. More importantly, he seemed to have missed her point entirely. She would have to think of a way to show him that she could help with his abolitionist activities. Conversing about it in code wasn’t working at all.

  “By the by,” Abby thought to change the subject, provide herself time to ruminate on a better course with Douglas, “Larissa and I were thinking of an outing later in the week, perhaps visiting the wharf. We thought to call at your office and bring your midday meal if that suits.”

  Douglas cocked his head at her.

  “I’ve always liked that Larissa,” he smiled teasingly and pushed off the wall. “Meantime, I best leave you to your reading. If you aim for Larissa to allow this excursion to the harbor, you’ll have to prove that her dithering is all for naught.” He nodded and took his leave.

  Abby looked down at the book in her hand. Yes, after her display of feebleness today, she would have to demonstrate a countenance twice as strong if she hoped Larissa would still condone the visit to Douglas’s office. She thought again of the day she first arrived in Charleston and discovered Douglas in the cellar. If only she could have seen more clearly in that dim space. Her dusky memory of Douglas hitting a man repeatedly was now so obviously the product of her own preconceptions, rather than reality. More likely, he had been stuffing the man’s coveralls with hay or some such to change the person’s physical shape, create a disguise.

  If she could view that space in the cellar again, if she had more specific information, perhaps the next time they broached the topic of helping people, she would know how to speak the proper words, the phrases that might persuade him to open up. With each passing moment, her blood itched more; she felt increasingly desperate to help with abolition. She couldn’t explain exactly why it was so important to her, except that suddenly it was everything. She couldn’t continue sitting idle in the face of egregious wrongs. In fact, if she did nothing, maybe then it was she who was guilty of egregious wrongs.

  20

  CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

  1846

  “No!” Cora Rae gasped in shocked delight.

  “It’s true,” Gracie declared, nodding for emphasis as the sisters whispered to each other in the upstairs parlor. Huddled together on the love seat, tittering as they were, any passerby would have mistaken them for the dearest of friends. Their porcelain teacups sat untouched upon a silver tray as Gracie reported all she had recently seen at the Elling estate. As much as Gracie always complained about gossips, she found that possessing information of this nature was actually intoxicating.

  “I’d swear on my hope chest,” Gracie grinned, “I saw him with my very own eyes. He was shaved, and handsome, and civilized as he ever was. I would go so far as to say that he was charming again. Truly charming.” Gracie swallowed, remembering that he had directed the aggregate of that rediscovered charm toward Abby. She tried again to convince herself she’d imagined Douglas’s mooning. Certainly, it would do no one a service to mention that small detail to Cora Rae.

  “I knew Douglas would come back to himself.” Cora Rae slapped her gloved hand against her knee in a gesture of triumph and then wiggled her hips in her seat, unable to contain her excitement. “You’ve made me so glad, I could almost hug you. What happened do you think? What caused his former self to reemerge?”

  Gracie only shook her head. “I surely couldn’t say, but I thought you would be pleased to hear of it, regardless.”

  “I knew he wouldn’t grieve forever. He’s too much a man to stay idle forever. He must be in a sore kind of need after keeping so long to himself, and I will be there waiting when he’s ready for that certain type of soothing.”

  “Rae!” Gracie gasped, scandalized.

  “You know you think the same. You’re just too much of a prissy Mae to say it.” Cora Rae opened a painted fan and began waving it at herself. “This fire is too high for so early in the day. I should call for Abel,” she complained. “Or maybe it’s just thinking about Douglas, getting me all warm and agitated.” She ran a hand seductively down her own side, smirking at her sister. Abruptly, all the tenderness that Gracie had been feeling for her sister just moments before dissolved.

  “Rae, you stop taunting me.” Gracie snapped. “If you want me to keep coming with ladles full of news, then I suggest you treat me kindly.”

  “Don’t mouth off to me, girl,” Cora Rae snarled. “Don’t you forget that I hold your own precious beau at my mercy. I can make Harrison Blount my beau, not yours, with nothing more than a toss of my hair. But come now, we were having such a cheerful time. Let’s get thinking about our next move, shall we?”

  Gracie knew her sister was more determined than ever to catch Douglas’s heart, especially before another Charleston belle snatched him out from under her. Rae would never consider Abby part of that competition, so, Gracie concluded, maybe she needn’t dwell on the thought either.

  “The Montrose Ball!” Cora Rae exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry?” Gracie asked, perplexed.

  “It’s perfect, don’t you see? It’s not even three weeks away. I’m sure Douglas was invited. He’s invited to everything, not that he ever goes. If I can get Papa to persuade him to attend . . . But what excuse could we conjure for Papa to proposition him?” Cora Rae puckered her lips into a perfect pink tulip as she thought. Gracie waited in dismay for whatever wicked scheme her sister was devising.

  “I’ve got it,” Cora Rae declared as she stood. “Papa will have to invent a reason that he cannot attend the ball. He can implore Douglas to take me in his absence, as my escort.”

  “He’ll never agree to that,” Gracie sighed in exasperation, realizing it was unclear whether she had been speaking about Douglas or her father. Under either circumstance, the statement would hold true.

  “He will, if I do things right.” Cora Rae smiled cunningly. She walked toward the French doors, glancing outside and then back toward the hallway, as if someone might be listening in on their conversation. “If I promise Papa that I’ll quit thinking of Douglas should this last attempt at catching him fail, I think he’d be willing, just to get me married off to someone else before I get crinkled and saggy all over. As for Douglas,” Cora Rae paused for effect, “if I know one thing
about him, he’s not likely to turn away a friend in need. Papa will come up with something. Some reason Douglas simply must escort me. Anyway,” she dropped back onto the sofa with a bit of resignation, “I really do care for Douglas. So what if I’m scheming a bit, if it lands up making the man happier in the end?”

  The mettle that had risen in Gracie at Cora Rae’s saucy jibes began untangling again as she considered that Cora Rae might truly be acting from genuine affection. She thought of Harrison and the trials she’d willingly endure to preserve their nascent relationship. By participating in Cora Rae’s craftiness, she really wasn’t so different from her sister. For each of them, it came down to just one thing, securing that certain fellow.

  “Matter of fact,” Cora Rae perked up, “I’m going to speak to Pa about it this instant.” Just as quickly as she’d dropped her guard a moment before, she was back on target. With a flurry of her skirts, Cora Rae disappeared from the parlor, leaving Gracie to the warm fire and the winter afternoon.

  If Abby were to find out that she was constantly reporting the happenings at the Elling estate, sleuthing and gossiping, their friendship would surely be over, shattered like a crystal orb, irreparable. Even so, Gracie could not bring herself to risk Rae filching Harrison from her. He was the only gentleman she’d ever coveted, and amazingly, he returned her favor.

  Before five minutes had passed, Cora Rae returned to the parlor in an obvious mood.

  “What is it?” Gracie asked with trepidation.

  “I spoke to Papa about the ball.” Cora Rae pouted dramatically.

  “And?” Gracie asked. “Is Papa going to convince him to take you?”