by Gwen Bristow
Her beautiful party had turned ugly and threatening and sad. The British were on their way to attack Charleston, to kill her friends—she felt a clutch of terror. By next New Year’s Eve, some of the men in this room would be dead.
Celia prayed silently, “Please, Lord, don’t let me think about that! I can’t bear it.”
She heard determined footsteps coming her way. Above the confusion these steps had a sound of purpose. Turning her head she saw Luke striding toward the door. By the hearth he had not seen her, but now he did, and he stopped short.
“Why—Sassyface!” he exclaimed. His blue eyes looked her up and down—her fashionable coiffure, the emerald necklace, the dress of dark red velvet with the close bodice and flaring skirt. On his bewhiskered face appeared a grin of admiration. “Wow!” Luke said earnestly.
Celia smiled at him. He made her feel so much better. Luke continued,
“How enchanting you are. I haven’t seen anything like you since—since the last time I saw you.”
She wondered how many girls he had said that to, since the last time he saw her. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that he had swept away her rising panic and made her feel again like a girl at a party. “Where are you going?” she asked him. “Not back outdoors in all this rain!”
“Why yes. I’ve got to take care of Jerry.”
“Jerry?”
“My horse. I’ve put him under a shed, but I want to get him to the stable so he can have a rubdown and some corn. Though after seeing you,” he added, “I think I’ll let Jerry wait a few minutes longer.” His eyes flashed over her again. “Is your figure really that good,” he asked, “or do you do it with stuffing and whalebones?”
Celia began to laugh. “Do you think it’s any of your business?”
“I’m afraid not,” he answered sadly. “I wish it was. Maybe I’ve got no business right now but Jerry.”
Jerry, she thought, Jeremiah the prophet. That was Luke for you, flirting like a heathen and choosing a Bible name for his horse. “And you, all the time quoting the Bible,” she reproached him, “and even naming your horse out of it.”
Luke replied mirthfully. “I’m glad you noticed his name. Because—” he spoke with a slow teasing drawl—“because an ordinary person, now, might think Jerry was short for Jeremiah. But of course, an intelligent young woman like you has already recognized that Jerry is short for Jeroboam-the-son-of-Nebat-who-caused-Israel-to-sin, as recorded in the Books of the Kings.”
“I never heard of him in my life,” Celia retorted, and before they could say anything else another voice exclaimed, “There you are!” Jimmy came hurrying toward them. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said to Celia.
She smiled happily, and Jimmy said to Luke,
“Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”
“Gladly,” said Luke, “if you’ll tell me what for.”
“Didn’t anybody tell you that this ball is to celebrate our engagement?”
“No!” Luke exclaimed, and his grin was like a burst of light. He could hardly have looked more pleased if Jimmy had brought him a pot of gold. “I do congratulate you, Jimmy,” he said heartily. “And as for you, Celia, I wish you all the happiness there is.”
Celia smiled and thanked him. But she felt a little bit puzzled and a little bit chagrined. It was not quite a compliment for a man to be so very glad to hear of a girl’s engagement to somebody else.
Luke had put his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be around,” he said joyfully, “to drink champagne on your golden wedding.”
He went out to see to his horse. Jimmy asked Celia if she didn’t want some supper—the tables, he said, were not completely demolished. They started toward the dining room. But without meaning to do so, Celia glanced back over her shoulder to the door where Luke had just gone out.
What an exasperating person. First he had spoilt her party and now he had given a slap to her self-esteem. Her radiant evening was tarnished, and it was even more Luke’s fault than the fault of George the Third.
CHAPTER 9
IN THE NEXT FEW days the guests scattered from Sea Garden like ashes from an explosion. Jimmy and Luke, with most of the other young men, set out for Charleston.
When she had waved Jimmy good-by Celia put on her cloak and went for a walk under the trees. She felt dazed, as if she had had a bump on the head. Though the war had been going on for nearly five years, always it had been something that was happening to other people. It was a shock to find that it could happen to her too.
“But I’m not going to let it muddle up my life!” she told herself, tramping hard on the wet leaves. “I’m going to marry Jimmy in April and be part of that wonderful family, just as I planned.”
Putting her determination into words made her feel better. She went into the house and asked Vivian if there wasn’t some work she could do. Always glad to put other people to work, Vivian gave her a bolt of homespun to make shirts for the men who would be pouring into Charleston for the British attack. She told Celia to take her sewing up to Darren’s room and keep him pacified. Darren was in a fury of impatience. He had missed the glory of Fort Moultrie because he had been in Orangeburg on business for Godfrey, and now he was afraid that again the British would attack and be beaten off before he could get there.
For the next five weeks Celia made shirts and entertained Darren, while Vivian sent him up large meals, mostly slabs of meat. Darren had lost a lot of blood and Vivian said meat made blood. Her remedy proved a good one, for by the time Jimmy and Luke rode in again, early in February, Darren was able to come downstairs.
They all gathered in the sitting room, and while Herbert made hot rum toddies Jimmy and Luke described what was going on.
They told Darren his fears were groundless. The British could not attack for some time yet. Sir Henry Clinton had reached Savannah, a hundred miles south of Charleston, but his ships and his men were alike in bad shape. They had had a hard voyage, and now the men had to rest and mend the ships. Meanwhile the rebels in Charleston were preparing for defense.
Luke and Jimmy looked jaunty in their rebel blue uniforms. Luke had not worn a uniform until now, though Jimmy told Celia he had volunteered for duty on the wagon track early in the war, during a recruiting tour of his father’s old commander, Francis Marion. “I bet Vivian doesn’t like that fellow,” Celia said to herself as she watched Luke standing by the mantelpiece. Still, it was probably not Marion’s fault that either Luke or Luke’s father had gone to war. The sort of men they were, they would have had no need of Marion’s beguiling words. For the truth was—she had suspected it, and now as she watched him she was sure of it—Luke was enjoying every bit of this. He was telling them about the wall of hornwork they were building to protect Charleston, from river to river across the peninsula. His voice was rich with enthusiasm, his whole personality had the fire of a man doing what he was born for.
Jimmy was different. Leaner and more sinewy than ever, Jimmy was sprawled in an armchair with his drink, as usual looking as if he had nothing on earth to do. When he talked of the Charleston defenses he spoke with knowledge and efficiency. But Jimmy made her think of a man who had a job to do and was doing it well, not because he enjoyed it but because it had to be done.
When they had a chance to be alone, Jimmy said he wanted to talk about their plans for getting married. They sat on the sofa before the library fire, and with an intent grimness unlike his customary casual manner, Jimmy said he wanted to keep the April date. “Will you, Celia?”
“Of course!” she returned. “That’s exactly what I’d planned myself.”
He took her hands in his hard bony grip. “Bless you!” Then, still serious, he went on. “I asked Mr. Moreau if he would marry us right now—this is war, I said, who cares about proprieties?” As he paused Jimmy gave her a wry smile. “Mr. Moreau said he cared. He said he would not marry a girl under age without the written consent of her guardian. I thought of getting in touch with Roy, but then I thought it m
ight not be a good idea just now, considering his principles—”
“Roy hasn’t got any more principles than a fried egg” said Celia. “He was glad to have me making a good match, but now if he thinks the king’s men are going to come out on top he’s likely to say he doesn’t want me to marry a rebel. You’re right not to bother with Roy. In April, I’ll be of age and can do as I please.”
Jimmy said he and Mr. Moreau had talked it over. Mr. Moreau would read the banns ahead of time, and then any day they chose after Celia’s birthday he would perform the ceremony.
Jimmy went on to tell her that Herbert and Vivian would be going down to Charleston soon, to pack the silver and other valuables in the town house and bring them to Sea Garden for safekeeping. Celia could go with them. When the Lacys returned to Sea Garden, she could continue to live in their house on Meeting Street for the brief time remaining before her marriage. She would be the guest of Burton Dale and Elise, who had moved into Vivian’s house because their own home in the Ansonborough suburb was so close to the defense lines. Some people were running out of Charleston like scared chickens, but Burton had declared that he was going to stay. He did not believe the British would get in and he had a lot of property to take care of.
When times were right again, Jimmy said, he and Celia would have a house of their own. At first they would live in the house on Church Street. His mother was at Bellwood with Audrey, who had no mother of her own, but they would have the colored housekeeper and several women servants. The menservants were busy on the defense works.
Miles would be there part of the time, for he was in Charleston working on the defenses. And they might have to give quarters to one or two other soldiers, friends of theirs. The military barracks, at the northwestern edge of town behind the hornwork, was so crowded that as many men as possible were living in private homes.
“It won’t be the way I’d meant it to be,” Jimmy said smiling.
“I don’t care,” said Celia, “as long as you’re there.”
He kissed her happily.
Jimmy and Luke could stay at Sea Garden only overnight. The mission for which they had been sent from Charleston was to gather laborers from the country and arrange to have them come to town for work on the defenses. Luke chose the men he wanted from Sea Garden, and Herbert said he would bring them down on the schooner.
Vivian made no protest when Jimmy told her the plan for Celia to stay in Charleston. She gave the two of them an understanding smile.
“All right, dear,” she said to Celia. “Stay where your heart is. I would too.”
Jimmy and Luke rode off the next morning. Several days later the schooner followed. Darren went along on the boat, well enough now for military service.
As the weather had grown milder the four of them sat on deck: Herbert reading, Celia finishing another shirt, and Vivian doing nothing in her own graceful fashion, while Darren told Celia how they were going to flatten the redcoats. Celia sewed diligently, for the shirt was nearly done and she wanted to get it off her hands. Jimmy had given her the legacy from Uncle William, and she intended to buy some fine lawn in town and make him a cravat, as a wedding present.
After lunch Vivian gave Darren a novel and told him to quit jabbering, for she and Herbert were going to stretch out in their deck-chairs for naps. Amiable as always, Darren turned his chair away from the sun and opened the book. Celia went on sewing until finally, with a sigh of pleasurable virtue, she snipped the last thread. Stuffing the shirt into her workbag she stood up for a stretch.
Herbert and Vivian were asleep, with scarfs over their faces to shut out the light. Darren’s book could not have been very exciting, for he too had drifted into a nap. The sun was slanting westward, close to the tops of the palmetto trees on the islands, and the long shadows of the palmettos were pointing out to sea.
When she had taken several turns around the deck Celia sat down again, drawing her blanket over her knees. The air smelt salty and clean. She could hear the swish of the sea, and the creaking ropes, and the voices of the boatmen; the sounds all blended into harmony.
Not used to daytime naps, she had not expected to fall asleep, but as she lay back in her chair she slipped into a pleasant doze. She did not know how long it lasted; however, after a while, through the rhythm of the sea-sounds the wind brought her a strain of music.
The bells of St. Michael’s were chiming the hour. Celia opened her eyes. The schooner was coming into harbor, and Charleston was saying, “Welcome home.”
Everybody else was awake. Darren was helping Herbert direct the men as they brought up the trunks. Marietta held a looking-glass in front of Vivian, who was tying a blue veil about her hair.
Celia stood up and looked around. The harbor was crowded with ships—men-of-war flying the rebel flag, private boats from the plantations, supply ships of all sorts, rowboats full of soldiers. Celia felt a thrill skip over her nerves, shocking and at the same time invigorating, as she saw all this preparation for war. She looked across to the town, pink and gold in the sunset as she had seen it so often, and seeing it again she smiled. But even as she did so the smile froze on her face.
Standing there in the middle of town was something she had never seen before. It looked like a great black finger pointing upward among the roofs. Much taller than any of the buildings around, the black thing stood stark against the bright sky.
Celia stared. Then all of a sudden she heard a gasp in her own throat as she recognized the things for what it was. This was the Steeple of St. Michael’s, painted black.
Now that she saw it she could understand why they had done it. St. Michael’s was the tallest structure in town. That dazzling white spire could be seen for miles. It would have made a perfect target for the king’s guns, guiding them to the corner of Broad and Meeting Streets, the most important corner in town. And of course, these nights they would not light the beacon that used to shine so far over the water. This was war, and St. Michael’s was dark.
Celia turned her head to look at the others. They were all on deck now—Vivian and Herbert and Darren, Vivian’s maids, the boatmen and the laborers who had come to work on the defense lines; they were staring at the steeple, and on all their faces was the same shock that she had felt herself. And now for the first time since she had heard of the British plan to wreck Charleston, Celia felt a cold creeping fear. The soldiers and men-of-war had not scared her. But that black steeple made her think of a buzzard, waiting.
That evening Miles and Jimmy called, and before he was past the front door Miles was shouting that he had a son.
He said Beatrice had sent the news, and since Bellwood was only twenty miles from Charleston he had received permission to go up and see the baby. He had come back to town yesterday. Audrey was recovering well, and the boy was fine and kicking. “The fourth Miles Rand of Bellwood!” he said, and Celia felt a little glow of shared pride. His words had such a sound of strength and permanence. They made her more than ever glad that she was going to be one of the Rands.
Miles had taken Jimmy’s dog Rosco to Bellwood and left him there. Jimmy had sent him reluctantly, but Rosco’s appetite for meat was great, too great to be met in a town where provisions had to be stored for thousands of men. Celia liked hearing about Jimmy’s affection for his dog; it reminded her that Rosco too was part of the family block, all strong and safe together.
The next morning Luke banged in, full of reckless well-being. Celia and several maids, directed by Vivian, were in the dining room packing silver into crates. Elise was there too, but she was no help. Used to plenty of servants, Elise rarely did anything for herself, and now after Vivian had sent her on one errand upstairs Elise was worn out for the rest of the day.
Luke was fairly booming with news about the war. The defenses were going up fast, he told them—the wall and earthworks across the peninsula, the gun emplacements around the three sides that faced the water, and much more that he could not discuss. He said Colonel Francis Marion, who had been drilli
ng recruits near Dorchester, had been summoned back to town and would probably be put in command of Fort Moultrie.
Luke and Vivian walked off for a chat, leaving Celia wrapping a silver tea-service. After a while Luke poked his head around the dining-room door. He had to leave in a few minutes, he said, but first he wanted to go out to the stable and see Jeroboam-the-son-of-Nebat. Wouldn’t Celia walk out with him, and catch a breath of air?
Celia joined him, and they walked along the brick path that led past the vegetable garden to the stable, where the horse was standing with his head out of the open half-door. He was a handsome creature, of a reddish chestnut color. Luke said, “Hi, Jerry!” Stroking the horse between the ears he spoke to Celia. “You’re going to stay in town and get married, come what may?”
“Why yes!” she exclaimed, with surprise and a touch of defiance. “You didn’t bring me out here to tell me you think I ought to go back to Sea Garden!”
“Certainly not,” Luke returned, laughing shortly. “I think Elise will drive you daft, but that’s none of my business. What I did want to say—”
“Yes?” she asked, smiling contritely.
“If things should get tough,” said Luke, “you can always go to Bellwood and wait for Jimmy there. Bellwood is on the Cooper River, and that river is going to stay open.”
“I won’t go to Bellwood,” Celia said firmly.
With a grin and a sigh, Luke reminded her that in wartime it was never wise to be sure. You had better make up your mind to do whatever you had to do.
He went on to explain about the Cooper River. Nearly all the men and supplies from the interior had to come down this river to Charleston. The army had based a strong cavalry guard at Moncks Corner, the town on the river at the head of navigation. This was the most dangerous post in the state. The British would do all they could to capture such a vital waterway, but these men were a picked group. They would be commanded by Colonel William Washington, a young cousin of the general and one of the most brilliant cavalry leaders in the army.
