Southern Legacy: Completed Version

by Jerri Hines

  “He wanted to go into the Navy worse than either one of us,” Wade said thoughtfully. “He wanted adventure. Instead, he stayed here to pacify Grandfather. Ironic, isn’t it? That he should have died and we lived.”

  “Life is full of ironies.”

  “I suppose.” Wade sighed heavily; then chuckled to himself. “When Clarissa professed her undying love to me, I found myself wondering if she had said the same to Percival. Then I came to the conclusion, it was only my being heir to Magnolia Bluff that she loved.”

  “It is not Magnolia Bluff she fancies herself in love with…it is you. You know she loves you. I don’t believe her feelings are in question.”

  Wade made no concession to Cullen’s statement. Instead, he said, “She will be a perfect mistress here at Magnolia Bluff. She has already had Grandfather give her a tour of the duties he wants her to perform…much to the chagrin of Mother. Mother told me later she would be returning to White Oaks after the wedding.”

  “It is that way with most families. No different than how most women feel. Moreover, I have found Clarissa to be no different than most belles in Charleston, except she is the most lovely.”

  “Grandfather tells me I am indeed fortunate. I could not ask for more.”

  “A beautiful wife who loves you. A large estate. Many envy you.”

  “I know…I know,” Wade conceded. “I am not one to wallow in self-pity. I needed only a moment here…it is where I find peace when I think of Percival.”

  “Then it is a good thing. He should not be forgotten.”

  Wade rose. Taking the rock in his hand, he threw it far into the river. Both men heard it splash into the river’s waters. Wade turned to his cousin.

  “Grandfather will never forgive me. He holds it against me that Percival died…he wishes if it had to be one of us, it should have been me. Percival would never have disappointed him.”

  “That’s not true, Wade…” Cullen protested.

  Wade laughed a harsh snicker. “It is, Cullen, but know, I won’t disappoint either Grandfather or Percival on the morrow. I will leave my melancholy here along the river bank and face my fate in the morning light.”

  “Wait.” Cullen halted Wade. A devilish grin emerged on his face. “Does the rope still hang on the wide elm over the river’s bend?”

  Wade shook his head. “You’re not thinking of…”

  Cullen didn’t wait for Wade to finish. He took off down along the river’s edge. Wade was only a step behind his cousin. A sight to behold: two grown men running…laughing…playing as children would have done…one last time.

  * * * *

  In a small chapel on the grounds of Magnolia Bluff, the handsome and gallant Mr. Wade Montgomery exchanged vows with the ever lovely Miss Clarissa Wragg. A match ordained by the heavens above. Money and an old respected name united as one.

  The sun climbed over the treetops in the east when bride and groom emerged from the church as husband and wife. Cullen’s eyes followed the couple as they basked in the glory of their moment.

  Wade kept his word and left the night’s disillusionments behind him. Cullen stood up for Wade during the ceremony and watched his cousin proclaim his love for the woman by his side. His cousin had not faltered.

  Later, outside of the church, Wade accepted congratulations with a smile and all his Southern charm. Clarissa looked radiant. Cullen was certain she had never looked more beautiful. Her happiness irradiated from her being.

  She wore an exquisite ivory-colored silk with a wide gathered skirt that had been brought in from Paris for the occasion. The lace veil was edged with a floral motif. Her hair had been uplifted in the most fashionable of styles. Around her lovely neck, a cascading pearl necklace hung…a gift from her groom.

  A buggy brought the happy couple up to the main house. After he stepped down, Wade turned and offered his arm to his bride. She looked up at him lovingly as she hung on his arm in a newly acquired confidence that came from being his wife.

  Fine carriages and saddle horses filled the side of the front lawn by the time the church party returned from the ceremony. The house itself had been swarmed with a crowd of people. Guests waved to each other and called greetings. Children, white and black, played on the lawn. Pavilions had been placed near the magnolias and the giant oak.

  Overhead, the sun shone down brightly on the gathering. When the reception line formed, Cullen stood close to the end and studied the proceedings. Wade placed one of his arms around Clarissa’s waist, a loving gesture that was not lost upon his bride.

  Cullen wondered at the complicity of the guests who seemed content to accept the happy couple. The whispers of Wade’s misadventures were forgotten. Wade played his part; he would play his. If all continued as planned, soon the tongues of Charleston would be stilled.

  Smoked pork and beef barbeque welcomed the wedding guests in the afternoon. The celebration ball would commence later in the evening with an elaborate dinner of turkey, ham with molasses, breads of all sorts, jams, jellies, fruits and gelatin. Clarissa had herself decorated the massive white wedding cake. Randolph Wragg had even arranged for ice to be delivered for homemade ice cream.

  Cullen noticed that the Buchanan family had arrived, except for Grace Ann and…Josephine. Her arrival had been arranged for later tonight. A brief moment in the celebration, but one that held significance for both families involved.

  He soon fell out of the reception line. He had heard the utterance Yankee one time too many after the guest stepped away from him. Shrugging it off, he found refreshment and took refuge under the giant oak.

  “There he is.”

  Cullen turned. His grandfather strolled up with Thurman Bowdre, a representative of the South Carolina state assembly. Cullen recognized the man readily enough, one of the many outspoken orators of this state.

  Bowdre held a reputation of being a younger version of the state’s revered late senator, John Calhoun. Cullen had heard Bowdre held to Calhoun’s beliefs in a state’s rights to secede from the Union. Bowdre promised to follow in Calhoun’s footsteps. He had already challenged the rights of the Federal government, much as Calhoun had done early in his career.

  The balding Bowdre was a rather portly gentleman, whose stride carried with it an arrogance and conceit Cullen had seen many times with politicians. Neither was Cullen surprised to find that Bowdre greeted him with one of those false smiles that seemed to be plastered upon one’s face.

  “It is a pleasure,” Cullen said after introductions, acutely aware that the man observed him.

  “Your grandfather said that you are visiting Charleston before returning up North. I’m sure your family is glad you are here for the happy occasion.” Bowdre positioned himself to gain all of Cullen’s attention. “You are in the Navy?”

  “Only until I return to Washington. My service is complete. Shortly, I am to follow my father into his shipping business in Philadelphia.”

  Bowdre nodded. “It is what I understand. I have been searching for one such as yourself—someone with Southerner roots…that has an understanding of our ways. Your father has influence in Washington?”

  Immediately, Cullen was put on his guard. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen my father while I have been at sea. Our letters we have corresponded have not ventured toward politics.”

  “Ah, Cullen, Mr. Bowdre wants only a small favor.”

  Cullen eyed his grandfather with reservation. Although he was confident of Bowdre’s motives, he was unsure of his grandfather’s. His grandfather knew well that his stepmother, Monica Ross, came from a long line of politicians. Her great-uncle had served an ambassador to Spain under John Quincy Adams’s administration; her father, George Ross, had served as an advisor to Pennsylvania’s governor, James Pollock.

  “I am unsure if I’m in a position to dole out favors.”

  “Did I not tell you, Thurman, that you will know where you stand with my grandson? He has within him the Montgomery integrity.”

  “It is a quality
to be admired,” Bowdre said in an exaggerated manner. “I ask only if I might impose upon you an introduction to your father, Jonathan T. Smythe, on my trip to Philadelphia next month. Nothing more. Your grandfather informs me that your father is expanding his shipping business and has invested in the railroads.”

  “I have not gone into details with my father about his intentions, Mr. Bowdre,” Cullen said tersely.

  The audacity of the man irritated him. Again the puppet strings that tied him to the South pulled upon him…and Bowdre wanted him to be that puppet. Cullen was no fool. He suspected Bowdre wanted to influence the eastern terminus of the transcontinental railroad to be a Southern city…Charleston would be Cullen’s guess. The logistics of such a move made no sense.

  There had been enough trouble with the railroad concerning the turmoil surrounding expanding slavery out West. The South felt threatened by the expansion…that they would lose the power they wielded.

  For years, Cullen heard the rumblings. South Carolina delegates had been quite outspoken in their never-ending contestation over states’ rights. Moreover, their incessant proclamation of succession was heard upon every slight the Southern state felt came their way.

  He supposed it made little difference this day whether he gave Bowdre an introduction. He had no worries his father would be easily influenced.

  “You are returning soon?”

  “Soon enough.” Cullen felt it best to maintain a politeness. “Send a note over on your arrival.”

  Bowdre smiled broadly, content with his mission. “God bless you. I had been afraid that you would have turned into one of those red Republicans. I’m glad your Southern blood runs strong in your veins.”

  “Meaning if I had not agreed with you, I would not have a Southern connection?”

  Bowdre’s lips twisted. An odd expression altered his face. “Lieutenant Smythe, I only expressed my gratitude for your kindness. It is not often that kindness has been extended to us Southerners. I am so tired of hearing self-righteous Yankees criticizing our way of life.”

  “I consider myself a Southerner.” Cullen’s words rang clear.

  “But of course. Being Clayton Montgomery’s grandson, there is no question. But living up North, how frustrating it must be. Secession is in the air. The time will come when all men will have to choose a side. It will not dissipate until the Northerners stop their insufferable interference. I can well imagine those damn Yankees must put you on your defenses with their smug condemnations of the South.”

  Cullen kept his eyes on the man. “I would not condemn the South, Mr. Bowdre, but I would hope that we would find our way around this escalating conflict. It is time to address our own issues instead of letting others point out our faults.”

  “Come, Lieutenant, do not skirt the issue you have addressed. Am I to understand you side with the Yankees concerning the provocation of the South concerning slavery? The North should keep to their own problems, of which they have many. They shouldn’t stick their noses into our affairs. It is an insult to the South, trying to prohibit what they do not understand.”

  Cullen realized it would have been wise to say nothing in return, but the man had not relented upon him. He snapped, “Do you not believe that view is short-sighted?”

  “Look around you, Lieutenant. The economy would falter…there would be an uprising and thousands of whites would die. Then who would look after the Negros? They can’t look after themselves,” Bowdre declared.

  “I feel you are pushing me into a debate, Mr. Bowdre.” Cullen glared coldly at the man. “Debating is for politicians, not I. I know only what I feel and let my conscience dictate my actions.”

  “It is divine. Did not Abraham own slaves? Does not the Ten Commandments say ‘Thou shalt not covet they neighbor’s house, nor his manservant, nor maidservant’? Never once did Jesus speak out against slavery, even though it was widespread within the Roman Empire. It has been ordained by God.”

  Cullen didn’t flinch. “Whose God?”

  “Cullen!” Clayton Montgomery interrupted. “I believe it is best to leave this discussion for another day.”

  It was a notice that Cullen wouldn’t ignore. He suspected that his reaction had nothing to do with his frustration about the growing tension in the country. He had long learned to keep his feelings to himself. It did no good arguing…not here at the wedding.

  Cullen glanced over at his grandfather, who walked away with the good Thurman Bowdre. He was under no delusions about his grandfather’s stance.

  He had always considered his grandfather an intelligent man, but he suddenly discovered his grandfather was no different than any other Carolinians he had met. As the others around him, Clayton Montgomery followed blindly, led by tradition and loyalty. Cullen found it was a flaw within the Southern code—not to question those who led them.

  If some leader did not emerge who was willing to compromise, Cullen feared conflict was inevitable.

  “It is good to see you haven’t changed.”

  Cullen turned to find Wade leaning against the wide berth of the giant oak’s trunk. Cullen walked toward him as Wade pulled a couple of cigars out of his waistcoat pocket. He handed one to Cullen. With one quick strike against the bottom of his boot, he lit it up with a burning match.

  Wade took a puff and nodded to Cullen to join him. “I promised Clarissa I would only be a moment.”

  Cullen walked over beside his cousin and accepted. They stood there side by side and observed the guests.

  “I should have warned you what Grandfather had planned. He does so only because he wants you to be thought of as one of us.”

  “It matters only that my family believes I’m one of them.”

  For a moment, there was a silence. This growing conflict had been an unspoken barrier between them. With all that had surrounded both during his time here in Charleston, Cullen hadn’t broached the subject with Wade.

  The Navy Lieutenant Wade had been would never have considered South Carolina seceding from the Union would be an answer to the escalating conflict. But this was not the Navy man he had once been. He was a man prepared to protect what he considered his birthright.

  Wade exhaled and left a trail of smoke. “You are and will always be my brother.”

  Cullen understood. Nothing would come between the bond they shared. The two stood silently for a time. Cullen finished his smoke and dropped it to the ground. His foot stomped on it.

  “You seemed content this day, Wade. Only one look tells Clarissa seems greatly enamored of her husband.”

  “It has been a good day.” Wade smiled and looked over in the direction of his bride. She glanced up at him and returned it. He turned to Cullen. “I’m glad you were here. Thank you for standing up for me.”

  “As you said before, we are brothers. It is what we do.”

  Wade nodded and walked back over to his bride.

  Chapter Seven

  The jangle of the harness seemed to resound within the carriage. For well over an hour, Josephine heard it each time the horses stamped on the ground. It had begun to wear on her frayed nerves.

  The sun set low in the sky. Soon it would be dark, but she would reach her destination well before darkness. Magnolia Bluff was around the next bend. She had visited the plantation several times in the past, but never had she been so nervous. She sat back against the cushions.

  “Oh, for Heaven’s sakes! Jo, your hair!”

  Jo glanced over at Grace Ann, who gave her a disapproving look. She turned to Gillie.

  “Don’t look at me,” Gillie said. “I spent the whole of the afternoon preparing you for this night.”

  Jo sighed. Never had she taken so much attention to her appearance. She wore Grace Ann’s emerald-green taffeta with its layered ruffles and puffed sleeves. Her breasts were pushed high in her stay, but Grace Ann said it gave the desired effect, flattering her curves and fullness of her bosom.

  A new set of long white gloves had been acquired, along with a lace fan attach
ed to her wrist by a matching ribbon. Small yellow rosebuds graced her raven hair caught up in fancy combs. Around her neck she wore a family heirloom that once had belonged to her great-grandmother, a glittering emerald necklace: cascading emerald drops surrounded by clusters of diamonds. Aunt Sybil had insisted.

  Jo wanted nothing more than to be a wallflower this night, but it was far from Grace Ann’s intention.

  Grace Ann’s mouth grew firm. “Remember what I’ve said. If you believe we will let these Wraggs tarnish our good name, you would be quite mistaken. You need to show these leeches that you are a Buchanan.”

  “Grace Ann, I don’t think I can do this…see Wade…at his wedding…” Jo’s voice faded. “It was supposed to be my wedding...”

  “This won’t ever do!” Grace Ann declared. “Where is the Jo I know? I have never seen you back down from a challenge.”

  “I’ve had my heart ripped out.”

  “Oh…no, you don’t, Josephine Buchanan Wright. I am not going to let you wallow in self-pity…not for this Wade Montgomery. You are going to be swallowed alive by those vultures if you arrive holding your head down.”

  “I can’t help…”

  “Do you want to be humiliated? Embarrassed? Be subjected to a wall of contemptuous glances? It is all his fault…Wade’s. He led you on to believe something that could never be. Do not let him see what he has done to you.”

  Jo straightened herself up and stared at Grace Ann. Her cousin had struck a nerve…realization suffused through Jo. Wade had lied to her…made promises that he had no intention of keeping…then her reputation had been torn to shreds while he himself was not touched by scandal…making her miserable while he celebrated.

  Jo’s shoulders squared and her jaw locked indignantly. If she had nothing else, she had her pride.

  “Hold that chin up,” Grace Ann encouraged. “Wade Montgomery will rue the day he messed with a Buchanan.”

  “I will try,” Jo said. “It will help to know that I have only a few hours of this torture.”