The Cast Net

by Mille West

  A magnificent baby grand piano graced the living room and Mills noticed the intricate carving on the legs of the instrument. “Don’t forget . . . you said you’d play the piano for me.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  She ran her fingers across the back of a mahogany chair. “Where did your furniture come from?”

  “Years ago, my parents purchased most of it from an estate in Barbados. When the elderly owner passed away, the heirs weren’t interested in retaining the furniture.”

  Before going outside, he showed her one last room, which he called his hunting room. “This is my favorite room.”

  On the walls were numerous hunting trophies, family photographs, ocean charts, and what looked to be aviation charts.

  “What type of map is this?”

  “That chart is done by Jeppesen. They print aviation charts for pilots.”

  “Do you still fly? Harry told me you were an Air Force fighter pilot.”

  “Yes, I own an airplane that I keep at the John’s Island Airport. I don’t fly it as much as I’d like.”

  Mills looked around the room. She glanced inside a glass gun cabinet, which held several shotguns and rifles; on the wall beside the gun cabinet, a photograph caught her attention. “Is this you, and who is this with you? He favors you a great deal.”

  Cooper looked at the photo. “That’s a picture of me with my brother, Beau. He passed away some years ago.”

  “Mr. Heath, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up—”

  “It’s all right. It was a long time ago. Did Marian put your coat in the closet?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  Cooper returned with her coat and they exited the house into a rear courtyard. A large yellow Labrador sunbathed on the brick patio. He rose to his feet as soon as he saw Cooper.

  Petting the dog on the head, Cooper said, “This is my dog, Sam. He’s quite the bird hunter.”

  Mills gave the dog a pat. An outdoor fireplace was located at the back of the courtyard and near it was a large red-colored handle on what appeared to be a water pump. “What type of handle is that?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Taking the handle in his right hand, he pushed it back and forth several times, and water began to flow out of a nozzle. “It’s a manual well pump; it comes in handy when the electricity is off.”

  Azalea bushes lined a sandy lane from the courtyard and, beyond the pathway, numerous live oaks and palmetto trees turned the terrain lush and wild. “I’m going to show you the river,” Cooper said as they continued to walk. The Edisto River came into view, prompting Mills to ask, “Why is the house such a distance from the river?”

  “The builder of the home must have been knowledgeable of hurricanes and flooding. The storm surge that comes ashore with a hurricane can rise twenty feet high or more. It’s doubtful that we could get anything that catastrophic, but it could rise several feet in severe conditions. When my parents renovated our house, the construction workers found that the fireplaces are built many feet into the ground to anchor the home in high wind and flooding situations.”

  “That’s very interesting,” Mills responded.

  When they reached the waterfront, she gazed at the river and the marshlands before saying, “It’s beautiful here—so peaceful.”

  “I think so too. Come this way—I’d like to show you the boathouse,” Cooper said, motioning for her to follow him to a small building at the edge of the waterway. He opened the door, showing her inside. The front of the boathouse had a den area with a table and chairs in the center; mounted on the walls were numerous pieces of fishing equipment. Two kayaks rested in one corner of the building.

  He pointed to the kayaks. “You’re welcome to use the kayaks any time you want.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Heath.”

  “Come—I’ll show you the dock.” They left the boathouse and walked toward the river.

  Two fishing boats were on boatlifts. Cooper explained that the smaller of the two was a flats boat used for fishing and hunting in the marsh. The larger craft was a Boston Whaler, named the Miss Elise, and underneath the name was Charleston, SC.

  “What makes the river so dark?” Mills asked.

  “The color is caused by the tannic acid in the leaves of cypress trees and other waterfront trees that line the river. As the leaves break down, they dye the water a dark, amber brown.”

  They walked back toward Cooper’s home, and he led her through a row of mature camellia bushes to a privately situated swimming pool.

  “This is beautiful; did you put the pool in?”

  “Yes, my wife and I did.”

  They continued their walk. About fifty feet down a pathway from the swimming pool, a small cottage presented itself. Like the larger house on the property, it had a raised foundation with a lengthy set of steps that led to a porch.

  “If you want, you can live here.”

  “Oh, it’s beautiful.” I love it. She climbed the stairs and opened the screen door to the porch. Her eyes focused on a set of French doors. She crossed the porch and opened the double doors. Stepping inside, Mills glanced up at exposed beams that spanned either side of a cathedral ceiling. Upholstered furniture was casually arranged around the fireplace. At the rear of the cottage was a door that opened to the bedroom, and inside was a four poster wooden bed with mosquito netting over the top of a canopy.

  When she went back into the living area, Cooper was waiting beside the French doors. “What did you use the cottage for?”

  “My mother lived here before she became too ill. Later, my wife used it for entertaining her friends. It hasn’t been used lately.”

  “I think this cottage is wonderful. I’ll be able to do most of my work right here in the living area.”

  “So it’s no to the townhouse in Charleston? You haven’t seen it yet,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

  “I think I’ll be happy here.”

  “Okay, I’m glad you like it. Can I help you move anything inside?”

  “Yes. I gave my furniture to my roommates in New York, so I just have my clothes, personal items, and some of my artwork. I’ll move my car!”

  Cooper waited for her outside the cottage while she drove her Beetle from the main house. Together, they unloaded her possessions, which included an extensive shoe collection. When they finished, Cooper told her that a friend of his would be joining him for dinner that evening, and he invited her to join them. “You were on the road most of the day. Please join us at seven.”

  “Thank you, I’ll see you then, Mr. Heath.”

  “Oh, and Mills, I’d like for you to call me Cooper.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said with a smile.

  When she entered his house for dinner, there was a recording of Billie Holiday’s poignant rendition of “Solitude” playing in the kitchen. Mills thought, does his choice of music reflect his frame of mind?

  Three people in the kitchen waited to greet her, and Cooper turned off the music. “Mills, I’d like for you to meet Charles Sullivan, and his wife, Elizabeth.” As she shook their hands, an attr
active, dark-haired man, standing at the rear of the kitchen, stepped forward to meet her. “Mills, this is my friend, Britton Smith.” Britton smiled and extended his right hand to her.

  Cooper continued, “Charles manages my farm and Elizabeth also wanted to meet you.”

  Cooper watched as they exchanged greetings. Charles is taller and more muscular than Cooper and has a serious scar on his forehead. Taking her hand for a hand shake, Charles said, “Miss Mills, I look forward to working with you.” Elizabeth then shook her hand smiling broadly as she did. “We need to be heading on. See you tomorrow,” Charles said as he put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. Nice couple—probably in their mid-fifties. Then he and Elizabeth said good night and left through the kitchen door.

  As she spoke with Britton, Mills noticed a collection of sweetgrass baskets displayed on bookshelves along the wall. A door leading to a pantry was open, an abundant collection of homemade canned items crowding its shelves. The pantry was orderly, though, with sections set aside for tomatoes, jams, and other canned goods. In fact, she had never seen such detailed organization in a pantry.

  Cooper motioned to them. “Please sit down; we’ll be ready to eat in a few minutes.”

  He placed a salad and a baked potato on each of the plates before opening the kitchen door. “I’m going to take the steaks off the grill. Have some wine if you’d like.” When he returned, he put fillets on their plates and joined them at the table.

  “Mills, Britton is a harbor pilot in Charleston.”

  “What does a harbor pilot do?” she asked.

  “I assist in the navigation of commercial ships traveling in and out of the Port of Charleston.”

  “Do you assist ships for Heath Brothers?”

  “Yes, ma’am, occasionally.”

  She noticed that Britton seemed shy around her and that he said very little unless he was asked a question.

  “Mills—tomorrow morning, Britton and I are going duck hunting.”

  “What time do you start?”

  “We’ll rise at four to get out on the river,” Cooper said.

  During the meal, they discussed the oyster roast and Cooper’s foundation. When they finished dinner, Mills told him how much she had enjoyed the steak.

  “I’m glad you liked it. I shot that deer just a few months ago.”

  “That was venison?”

  “Yes—I’ll play the piano for you if you’d still like to hear a few songs.”

  “I’d like to, very much,” she responded as they rose from the table and walked into the living room. Britton sat on the sofa across the room while Mills sat in a chair beside the piano to watch Cooper. She noticed that he had attractive hands; Cooper wore a gold wedding band on his left ring finger, and he wore an unassuming wristwatch, a Timex.

  He introduced the first song as the “Love Theme” from the movie Spartacus, and his rendition was hauntingly beautiful. I feel like I’m listening to a reading of fine prose. He’s so passionate in his playing.

  His voice regained her attention. “Okay, this play is currently running on Broadway.”

  He began the song and she recognized it immediately: “Memory” from Cats. The next composition was from The Phantom of the Opera, and she easily identified “The Music of the Night.”

  “Mills, I’m sorry, but since we’re rising early, this is the last song. This composition is by an artist who composed the music for a play written by DuBose Heyward, who was a Charleston resident.”

  He had to only play a few bars and she exclaimed, “‘Summertime,’ by George Gershwin, from Porgy and Bess.”

  “That’s right. When DuBose Heyward and George Gershwin worked on the musical in the 1930s, they drove around the Sea Islands to listen to the singing in black churches.”

  “You remembered that I like Broadway musicals.”

  Cooper smiled at her and said, “I did. Thank you for joining us for dinner.”

  “I had a nice time—Britton, I enjoyed meeting you.”

  “You as well.”

  Cooper rose to his feet and shook her hand. His smile was gentle and his warm hands held hers, but only for a moment.

  “I’m going to walk Mills to her cottage,” he said to Britton.

  After Cooper retrieved her coat from the closet, they left by the front door. The nighttime air was frigid and their breaths formed clouds of vapor as they walked to her cottage. When they reached the steps of her new home, he said, “When you’re trying to promote the scholarship program, it is possible that you could meet with some resistance because of my personal situation. Please don’t trouble yourself if that happens.”

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said softly.

  He paused. “If you like to ride horses, I’ll show you the ruins of an old plantation house that’s on this property. I could meet you at the stables at three o’clock Sunday afternoon.”

  “I’d like to, but I don’t have any experience riding horses.”

  “You can ride Ginger. She’s a docile animal; you just have to point her toward the trail.”

  “Yes—I’d like to try.”

  “I’ll see you Sunday then.”

  “Goodnight,” she said as she climbed the stairs to her cottage and then waved from the top step. She watched him until he disappeared from view beyond the camellias.

  Her last thoughts before falling asleep were that she would design the invitations to the oyster roast herself; she wanted to surprise Cooper.

  CHAPTER 2

  Old Acquaintances

  S aturday morning, frost lay on the pathway as Mills made her way to the riverfront with her sketchbook in hand. She wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck and sat down in an Adirondack chair to watch seagulls dive into the water after baitfish. The air was filled with the smell of the marsh and pluff mud, and she inhaled deeply, holding her breath before releasing it.

  As she began to sketch a palmetto tree situated along the shore, she noticed two boys fishing from a dented johnboat and floating in her direction with the current. They methodically cast their fly rod lines back and forth into clock positions, from ten o’clock to two o’clock. Their fishing lines sailed through the air with a metronome-like rhythm, until one of them snagged a medium-sized fish not far from where she sat. The younger of the two boys suddenly noticed her, tipped his hat to her, and said, “Good morning, ma’am.”

  She acknowledged them and included them in her sketch. The boys’ boat continued to move with the current, and they were around a bend in the river within a few moments. Mills included the fly-fishing duo in her sketch and finished the drawing before returning to her cottage.

  That afternoon, she drove into Charleston and spent a number of hours exploring the downtown streets and sketching churches, sweetgrass basket weavers at the market, and the bandstand at White Point Gardens. She was not far from the corner of Queen and King Streets when she noticed a wrought iron gate leading to a pathway for the Unitarian Church. She went down the lane and entered one of the most fascinating churchyards she’d ever seen. Many of the graves were covered with paper whites, making some of the markers unreadable. The firs
t grave marker she could make out was from the nineteenth century.

  A man wearing a charming tweed blazer and beret came past her on the pathway. She thought he might have been a college professor from his sophisticated attire. He looked at her, and Mills met his gaze with a smile.

  “What a nice smile,” he commented.

  “Thank you,” she responded.

  As she departed the churchyard, she noticed that he had turned and glanced at her, as though he suddenly recognized her.

  When she left Charleston in the direction of Edisto, she decided to explore several nearby islands and ended up at a quaint village named Rockville, at the end of a roadway on Wadmalaw Island.

  She parked her Volkswagen at a small church named Grace Chapel and was captivated by the fascinating community of waterfront homes. At the end of a sandy lane was an attractive white-boarded building, the Sea Island Yacht Club. As she stood in the sandy lot near the club, a man who was about to launch a powerboat noticed her presence and called out, “Young lady, can I help you?”

  “I was exploring. I’ve just moved to Charleston.”

  “I’m Joshua White. Welcome.”

  He offered her a Coke from his cooler, which she gladly accepted. Joshua appeared to be a man of about forty-five with dark, tanned skin and graying temples.

  “Would you like to see the interior of the yacht club?”

  She nodded, and he politely showed her the building, which was classically designed with hardwood floors and fireplaces on either side of the expansive meeting room. Ceiling beams spanned the width of the building.

  “I apologize to you, but I have a guest waiting for me.” He took a business card from his wallet and gave it to her. “Call me—I’ll take you to lunch.”

  She thanked him for his kindness and watched as he joined a young woman with blond hair and lovely features. Joshua waved to her as the boat traveled into what Mills thought was a river. Looking at his business card, she read that he was an attorney in Charleston. As she began walking back to Grace Chapel, she encountered several well-behaved Labrador retrievers and decided that the Lab must be the pedigree of choice for Rockville’s residents.