Promise Me Forever

by Janelle Taylor

  Rachel knew she must not skip anything and she entered the formal parlor, noting its beauty and charm as always, and searched the room. She paid close attention to the fireplace where a slate-blue mantel with carved sides and top encased the brickwork. The large painting over the mantel was heavy, but she worked until she could inspect behind it. She sighed in frustration: not one clue found!

  Rachel returned to the combination office/sitting room to search the desk once more. Nothing! She closed and locked it, then slammed her palm against the wood, which repaid her blow of frustration with a stinging hand. She winced and rubbed it until the discomfort ceased.

  “Where did you hide that money?” she questioned her dead husband in frustration. “You said if I didn’t find it, I would be as dead as you are. If the money and that arms deal are so important and dangerous, why didn’t you give me better clues to this damn mystery? Why didn’t you confide in me about your trouble? Tomorrow I’ll search everywhere else. If I don’t find anything, I’ll search your office Sunday while Milton is in church. If I don’t find anything there, either, I hope to heaven I learn something from George or Harry about what’s going on. Someone must hold the key to this mystery! Oh, Phillip, why did you leave me in such a terrible mess?”

  Rachel took the lamp and went to her room upstairs. She doused the flame and climbed into bed. She was restless and tense, but soon, her exhausted body and troubled mind let her sleep.

  Dan saw the light go out in her room. She had gone to bed, a second time. He knew for sure that there was more to this situation than what he’d witnessed. Now he understood her reaction to his mentions of money and an arms deal.

  Unable to sleep himself, he had watched the house after Rachel had left the upstairs porch. She had not remained in bed more than an hour before starting a search of the downstairs. The house had several windows in each room to provide plenty of light and fresh air, so he had gone from one to another as he observed her curious behavior. At last, thanks to the two-inch opening of the bottom sash, her angered words had told him what she was searching for and why she was so upset.

  Dan tried to reason out the clues to this painful riddle, but he didn’t have enough of them to form a clear picture. He grasped why her trip out of town was so urgent. But why had Phillip warned her about danger before his death?

  “Why don’t you rests today whilst I gits the warshing done?”

  “That sounds good to me, Lula Mae,” Rachel replied, as it offered her the seclusion she needed to continue her search. She watched the housekeeper lift the clothes basket and go to the shed near the well. The arrangement was perfect for doing the laundry, even during the winter, because coastal Georgia had such short and mild ones. Although there was a water closet upstairs, bathing was also easier to do in the shed.

  Rachel went upstairs. She looked through everything in the bedroom, including a thorough examination of the fireplace. She searched the guest room where Phillip had spent his last night alive. The water closet and sewing room were next, but still the truth eluded her grasp.

  Rachel sat down in a rocker in the room where she and Lula Mae did their sewing. It was supposed to be a nursery, when and if that time had come, which it hadn’t. She didn’t know if she had failed to become pregnant with Phillip’s child because they hadn’t made love but a few times or if it was the result of her difficult pregnancy with Craig’s child and the subsequent miscarriage. The doctor who attended her had said she might either have trouble getting pregnant or might never be able to again. Phillip had known that possibility; it had dismayed him, but he had accepted it. Rachel did not think she could ever accept never having a baby. One day she wanted to have safety, happiness, true love, a real marriage, and that would include children.

  She decided to go to the attic, before Lula Mae finished outside, but that use of time and energy were as fruitless as the rest of her search.

  Lula Mae came inside to tell her mistress she would be in the kitchen working, as she needed the wood stove to heat the irons. Two were needed, one would get hot while the other was cooling during use, and they were exchanged as necessary. Her first loads had dried quickly in the fresh air and sunshine, and she wanted to finish the laundry today.

  “I’m going for a walk to clear my head and to loosen my body,” Rachel said. “I’ll return soon and help you put everything away.” She left by the back door, went down the steps to the left, and followed the cobblestone walkway toward the carriage house.

  At the back gate, she glanced toward the vegetable garden where Burke and his two helpers were working. They should be busy for hours, so she wouldn’t be disturbed during her task.

  Rachel entered the structure that was painted and trimmed to match the house. A comfortable carriage, built by a local craftsman in town, sat cleaned and polished and ready for use, as Burke always took pride in and care with his chores. She glanced at the harnesses on the wall pegs, an extra wheel leaning against one side, and the repair tools on a workbench under which a stool rested. She looked through the chest where blankets were kept to cover legs during chilly or cold weather. Nothing!

  Rachel strolled to the barn. Earlier, Burke had turned the horses and milk cow into the pasture to graze, drink, and exercise. She checked the stable and hay loft. Another futile search. After careful study, she decided nothing could be concealed in the small privy or wash shed and smokehouse where she and Lula Mae visited frequently. That left nothing else to examine, except the shipping office in town tomorrow.

  Rachel was a skilled horsewoman, so she didn’t use the carriage or have Burke drive her into Savannah Sunday morning. Whatever happened to her, she didn’t want Burke or Lula Mae involved, and she told the housekeeper and manager of the plantation she was going for a long ride for relaxation. Moss Haven was about fifteen miles southwest of town, but the route was an easy one to travel. For protection she carried a derringer in her drawstring purse. Being in the weapons business, Phillip had given it to her and taught her how to use it.

  Savannah… Rachel entered the edge of town and thought how much she enjoyed the loveliness of this city. As she walked her mount up Broad Street toward the waterfront, she looked at her surroundings. She smiled as she recalled how Savannah was often compared to an exquisite woman—one conceived, born, and reared in beauty and charm. Thanks to Sherman’s kind heart, her face and body remained unscarred by the vicious war years ago, unlike many other Georgia towns that had not fared as well beneath his crushing boots.

  Savannah was desired by South and North, and long ago by British and Colonists. She was graceful, elegant. Built upon a forty-foot bluff and surrounded by marshland, she was situated fifteen miles from the Atlantic Ocean. The waters at her feet carried her name and provided a natural harbor for ships. She was a prosperous and generous creature who shared herself with planters, merchants, factors, bankers, shippers, and numerous other businessmen. She provided them with such goods as tobacco, rice, cotton, lumber, and indigo. Her limbs were adorned with spacious and pretty squares. Around those grids marked out by Oglethorpe in 1733 were beautiful homes whose various architectures—Georgian, Colonial, Greek Revival, Gothic, Regency, Federal, and Italianate—nestled up to one another and were trimmed with lacy ironwork as if a blend of expensive cosmetics adorned her appearance. The sizes and styles of the homes displayed the varying tastes and wealth of their owners. Around them were walled gardens, massive live oaks with lacy drapes of moss, and abundant spring flowers in all colors. Rachel could hardly wait for gardenias, her favorites, to show their lovely white faces this summer.

  She preferred the plainer route she was taking over a more picturesque one which would take her past the homes she had shared for such short times with William Barlow and Craig Newman on two of the twenty-four town squares. She passed Central Station where she would catch the train the next morning and guided her horse to Congress Street, past the eighty-foot water tower and the town market near Franklin Square to reach Ellis Square. She rode up Barnard
to Bay Street and turned left. She heard the striking of her mount’s hooves against the ballast stones used to pave most of Savannah’s streets, stones that were brought over on ships to give them weight until they were dumped in port to take on cargo.

  Rachel dismounted and secured her reins to a hitching post. She sighted very few people, and none she knew. She glanced down the two blocks separating McCandless & Baldwin Shipping Firm from the custom house that cleared their imports and exports. She looked across the wide street at Factor’s Row. She had been there many times with her three husbands. On the river’s level, numerous adjoining buildings rose above Yamacraw Bluff. They were connected to the higher ground by iron bridges from the upper floors and by cobbled alleys or circular stairsteps. A retainer wall to hold the sandy bluff intact was made of those same ballast stones, as were the stairways and winding alleys.

  Factor’s Row was the heart of the cotton industry in this area and to those nearby. The lowest floors of the buildings held cargo to be shipped elsewhere, mainly cotton and other valuable southern crops and items. The upper floors provided offices for cotton brokers and other businessmen. One of the tall buildings on the far end, between Drayton and Abercorn streets, belonged to her husband’s company. Since her husband was dead, it was partly hers now. It was used as a warehouse to store incoming and outgoing cargoes on ships owned by McCandless & Baldwin and by other firms. The warehouse that had been vandalized was on this end of Factor’s Row.

  Rachel glanced down Bay Street. She noticed the telegraph poles and gas lamps that lined it. Many people who lived in town now had gas lamps in their homes. Huge live oaks with their ever-present moss trim were abundant and she heard birds singing, as spring was in bloom and they loved this time of year. In three days, it would be April.

  “Stop looking at the sights, Rachel, and get on with what you came to do,” she said aloud, warning herself against further dillydallying.

  Upon her return from her trip, she must go to see their lawyer, banker, and insurance broker to settle Phillip’s will and holdings. But first she would have to visit the location down the street where Police Chief Robert Anderson worked…

  Despite the warmth of the late March day, shivers raced over her body and chilled her heart. She wouldn’t think about that problem now.

  Rachel used Phillip’s keys to unlock the office door. She was glad church was in progress and that most Savannahians attended, whether it did them any good or not. Rachel scolded herself for that wicked thought, as not everyone in town disliked and ostracized her. Yet the ones who didn’t seem to feel that way did not give her support when trouble befell her. But everyone had their own little worlds to tend and protect, she supposed. They couldn’t be expected to defend another’s, a stranger’s.

  Rachel’s gaze traveled the papers in Phillip’s desk, the books atop it, and the letters in a drawer: all shipping business, nothing about an arms deal with either the Athens or Augusta companies. There was no mention of “Cuba,” and she didn’t know anyone there. She wondered why Phillip had mumbled, “Go see him…. He’ll help…. He’ll stop them…. Only hope….” She pondered the “he” in bewilderment. She, too, was sorry Phillip “got you into this mess.”

  Nor did Rachel find any notations about Captain Daniel Slade, which concerned her. She checked Milton Baldwin’s desk, but all his drawers were locked with his own keys. She rummaged through the small corner desk she had used, but it was empty, as her position had not been filled since she quit work to marry her boss.

  Rachel still suspected that Phillip had created the position just for her and had paid her salary out of his own pocket. The work she did—running errands, filling out reports, doing correspondence neatly, keeping the office clean, making appointments when the owners were gone, and notifying captains of their schedules—Phillip and Milton could have handled themselves. In fact, Phillip had never liked to send her on errands, especially to the warehouses or to clients, where someone might be rude or pushy. He had always been protective, and perhaps a little possessive, of her.

  Rachel pulled the combination to the safe from its hiding place and went to kneel before the four-foothigh black box. Her nervous fingers twirled the dial, going from one number and direction to the next. She opened the heavy door, relieved the combination had not been changed. She sat down on the floor and reached inside to grasp a stack of papers to examine them. Beneath them was a packet of money, bound with a red ribbon.

  Rachel lifted it in quivering hands, stared at the bills, then counted them. Some people, she concluded in disappointment, might consider five thousand dollars a lot of money, but she knew this wasn’t the large amount Phillip had mumbled about during his dazed state.

  A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts and startled her. She barely suppressed a scream as her head jerked in that direction and she dropped everything. Discovered! Exposed! More trouble and accusations!

  Her heart raced, her mouth went dry, and her breathing altered to fast and shallow gasps. Milton wouldn’t knock at his own office door. It could be a dangerous enemy spying on her. What if Chief Anderson or one of his many officers had seen her enter and concluded she was up to no good? What if the law insisted on speaking with Phillip about her curious behavior?

  Rachel turned to the gaping box to hurriedly conceal her action and herself, but it was too late. She heard the door open and then after someone came inside the room, heard it shut. She knew she would be sighted immediately and froze in panic, knowing how this would appear to Milton Baldwin or the authorities. Even if it were an enemy or thief, her purse with the derringer was out of reach. She gave a heavy sigh, put aside the money and papers, and stood to defend herself, if she could.

  Rachel’s eyes widened, then closed a moment as she sighed again, this time with relief. “Captain Slade, what are you doing here? You startled me. How did you get inside? I thought I locked that door.”

  She had, but the handy Captain Daniel Slade McCandless alleged, “Obviously you didn’t, and that was careless of you, Rachel. Being here alone could be dangerous, especially with the safe open and money inside.” He nodded in the direction of it, as she had walked forward to meet him. No doubt she hoped he hadn’t noticed that fact, as she looked as if she had been caught committing a crime and was relieved he had found her here instead of someone else. There was no denying she was afraid of something and someone. “If you’re finished working, I’ll escort you home. I brought a light meal we can share here or have a picnic along the way.”

  Rachel glanced at the basket he was holding before her wary gaze settled on his merry one. He looked as tempting as his unexpected offer, but she wanted to get out of there fast. She came up with what she considered a good excuse, “Neither would be wise, Captain Slade. We might be seen together and inspire wicked rumors. Besides, I have packing to do for my trip. I came to fetch some papers I’ll need to carry out Phillip’s business requests. I just finished and was about to tidy up and leave.”

  Dan sent her a broad smile and a coaxing expression. “A beautiful woman shouldn’t be on the road alone, Rachel. We can meet outside town and I can escort you home.”

  “There’s no need. I’ll be fine. We don’t have many criminals around Savannah, and I have a derringer in my purse for protection if I should run into one. But thank you for your concern and offer. I don’t know how long my business will require, so I plan to pack for a few weeks away. If that’s a problem for you, Dan, you can return any time you wish.”

  Dan shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not a problem. I can’t sail until my order is ready for shipment. One doesn’t find many wives so involved in their husbands’ businesses. Phillip must have great faith in your capabilities.”

  “Before we married, I worked here for Phillip,” she reminded him, “so I am acquainted with all of his dealings and holdings. That’s why I’m baffled by not knowing about your contract and friendship with him, and furthermore I found no mention of you or your order in his files.”

>   Dan grinned and murmured, “So, that’s how you two met. I’m surprised to hear about a genteel lady working; that’s most uncommon.”

  Rachel couldn’t tell him they had met through her second husband, as Phillip had been Craig’s main shipper. Nor could she tell Dan that Phillip had befriended Craig, whom he didn’t like or trust, just to be near her as often as possible. Yet, she used part of the truth, which he might already know, “I needed to support myself, and Phillip offered me a job here. I accepted immediately because many men are hard to work for.”

  “No doubt because of jealous wives and sweethearts.”

  “Perhaps a few, but that wasn’t my meaning.”

  “What was?” he probed, looking quizzical.

  “Candidly, many men take advantage of a woman alone.”

  “I’m sure that would be a problem for a beauty like you.”

  Rachel felt uncomfortable about the topic she shouldn’t have broached. “Looks have little to do with some men’s wicked behavior. Some think you owe them more than a well-done job to earn a decent salary.”

  “Sounds as if you’ve had a rough time with men.”

  She noticed that his playful smile had been replaced by a serious look. “Not with all of them, thank goodness. But often it’s hard to tell the bad ones from the good ones until you get to know them.”

  Her response sounded to Dan as if she didn’t bear hatred and mistrust for the entire male sex, as a killer of them surely must; but he assumed she was only bantering skillfully with him. “You don’t have to tell me Phillip was different, one of the good ones. I know he would never misuse an innocent young woman. As to finding no mentions of me and my cargo here, that doesn’t seem odd to me. This is a shipping firm, and I have no need of one. I have my own clipper, remember? I would imagine my order would be listed in the books of his other companies, as my business is with them.” Dan quickly protected himself against what she would, or rather wouldn’t, find in those books. “Unless this was a private deal between old friends. Maybe Phillip didn’t record our contract; he was having the order sent to him to keep me from paying a higher profit mark-up if I went through his partners. It isn’t uncommon for a friend to do another friend a big favor. Phillip was like that, a good man bone deep.”