Secret Tides Page 13

  Stella turned to Ruby. “You ain’t told nobody else about this, have you?”

  “I know my place. What good would it do me to get the overseer all mad?”

  “No good at all.”

  “That’s right.”

  Stella glanced at Camellia, then back to Ruby. “I reckon we got to get you some directions now, ain’t that it?”

  “That’s the bargain.”

  “Okay,” said Stella, “we’ll do what we can. Give us a few weeks.”

  Ruby nodded. With what they would tell her, maybe she could take her leave of this place by the summer. She stood and took out some bowls for the apples. All of a sudden the world looked like a much happier place, much happier for sure.

  Chapter Ten

  A wet March rain fell, bringing a chill to the stately room where Trenton Tessier stood before his family. His back to a white marble fireplace, Trenton felt all eyes watching him. The last few minutes had been most unpleasant, and he needed a few seconds to compose his thoughts. He held his hands behind him, palms open toward the fire, and weighed what to say. His mother sat across from him in a tall rocking chair, her hands wrapped around a cup of hot tea. His two sisters, Martha and Miranda, sat on a leather sofa beside her, their eyes—an identical gray—almost pleading with him to listen to reason. Oil lanterns flickered on each wall, giving a soft glow to the room against the light fading outside. Calvin stood by the window to Trenton’s right, his hands in his pockets, his eyes down. Trenton wanted to jerk him up and make him take his side, but he knew Calvin didn’t have the strength yet to stand up to his mother and sisters.

  Trenton tried to stay calm and find a reasonable way out of the corner he felt backed into. Although his desires stood at odds with everybody else’s in the family, he didn’t want to make matters worse. He quickly recalled the events that had brought him to this moment.

  After spending most of February tending to matters on The Oak, his mother had insisted she return to Charleston as soon as March began.

  “Mr. York runs the plantation quite well,” she had written to Trenton. “No reason for me to stay here even one more day. The spring parties will soon begin in Charleston, and I simply refuse to miss them. Besides, I want to see Martha and Miranda, you and Calvin. I’ll be there in a few days.”

  She had arrived by carriage, her feet warmed by wool blankets, her mind numbed by an extra dose of laudanum to get her through the trip. Four servants hurried out to carry in her baggage, and Trenton followed them to greet his mother. Martha, Miranda, and Calvin trailed him. Driven by the rain, they had all rushed back inside, Mrs. Tessier leading the way.

  As she always did after a trip, his mother headed straight to her bedroom to rest for a spell before attempting any further social endeavors. Once there she removed her shawl and settled into the mammoth walnut poster bed with a quilted cover at least three inches thick. A servant brought hot tea, took off Mrs. Tessier’s shoes, and placed the covers over her feet. Trenton put another log in the fireplace. Mrs. Tessier drank from her tea, then waved everyone off.

  “Leave me to rest awhile,” she said. “Then we shall visit.”

  And visit they had—close to thirty minutes already. The conversation had quickly moved in the direction his mother wanted. She’d made her desires plain and seemed bent on fighting anybody who stood against her. Trenton now hung his head, wishing he could avoid the conflict, but knowing he couldn’t back down. What self-respecting man allowed his mother to forge his future the way his mother wanted to direct his? The fire behind him crackled, but Trenton felt no warmth from it.

  “I’m not sure I can abide by your counsel,” he said, staring hard at his mother.

  “We’ve dealt with this already,” she replied, her eyes clear of the laudanum since her rest. “You must not rebel in this.”

  “But I’m a man now,” he argued, his temper beginning to flare. “I cannot take orders from a woman, even my mother.”

  “You are a man,” said his mother. “And I’m proud of that. But you’re a Southern gentleman. One who knows it’s right to do best by his family.”

  Trenton looked at his sisters. Both of them were dainty women in colorful dresses with hoop skirts and tightly wound corsets. They wore their brown hair in ringlets much of the time and kept multiple servants nearby to wait on them hand and foot. They loved the Charleston social life and attended all the best balls and knew just the right people. Both their husbands came from Charleston banking families with established names. They had plenty of money, but that didn’t seem to matter; they wanted more and expected Trenton to make sure they got it. As a result, both of them had taken their mother’s side in this latest round of discussion with him over the matter of a proper wife.

  Trenton glanced at Calvin and started to leave him out of it but didn’t have the grace to do it. “You’re with me, aren’t you.?” he asked.

  Calvin faced him, his freckled young face in anguish. “I’m not with anyone. I don’t want to take a side.”

  Trenton studied his brother. Almost a copy of his father—blocky legs, wide hands and feet, thick jowls, thin of hair. A powerful, if not especially handsome, man. He wondered if Calvin would take after his father in other ways too, the hard edge of his manner, the rough talk and almost fierce pride.

  “But you have to take a side,” his mother said to Calvin. “This is family business, important to all of us.”

  “It’s my business,” Trenton fired back. “And I’m not pleased that all of you have taken such harsh positions against me.”

  His mother stood and walked over to him. “We’re not against you,” she said, more gently. “I really believe this is best. That York girl isn’t right for you. We all know that. So do you, deep down.” She reached for his hand, but he jerked it away.

  “You can’t take up with that white-trash girl,” said Miranda. “Not fitting for you … or for her either, for that matter.”

  “Yes,” agreed Martha. “Consider her in this. How’s she going to feel if you marry her? She won’t fit in any circle anymore. Not her own because she’ll be too rich married to you, but still not yours because she’s got no education, no quality. You’re doing her a bad turn if you go ahead with this silly notion.”

  “Have you even asked her?” asked Miranda. “Maybe she won’t have you.”

  Trenton remembered his last visit with Camellia. She’d seemed distant, especially when he said they needed to talk when he returned home in the spring. What did her silence mean? Did she still have feelings for him? A lot of time had passed since they were children. Perhaps what she’d said when they were young had changed. Maybe she didn’t love him anymore.

  He considered Martha’s words. Was it wrong to marry Camellia? Would he be putting her in a situation where she could never find a friend? But who cared? He’d be her friend; she wouldn’t need any others. He liked that notion; why should she need anybody else but him? Having a husband gave a woman all the companionship she required.

  “It was a bad year on The Oak,” said his mother. “You already know that. Yield down by close to ten percent.”

  “Are those figures from Mr. York?” asked Trenton.

  “Yes,” she said. “I met with him every morning while on The Oak.”

  Trenton’s eye widened with genuine appreciation. When it came down to it, his mother could become very practical and firm-minded. Although she still took her laudanum on a regular basis, she didn’t take it when she needed a clear head. She seemed to know exactly when those times arrived. Best not underestimate her, he decided. She tended to do whatever was necessary to accomplish what she wanted.

  “You need a woman of means,” said Martha, interrupting his thoughts. “We need you to find such a wife—for all of our sakes.”

  Trenton scrutinized Calvin again, hoping his brother would find some courage and offer his aid. But Calvin merely focused his gaze out the window.

  “Why am I responsible for all of you?” Trenton asked in an aggra
vated tone. Then, pointing to Martha and Miranda, he continued, “You two are married; your husbands ought to provide for you.”

  “They do,” said Martha. “But we also have an interest in our family’s affairs. You can’t cut us out just because we’ve got our own men. A quarter of what Father left belongs to us.”

  Trenton’s skin crawled. His sisters were bloodsucking leeches. “What if I just handed it all to you?” he spouted. “Just said I didn’t want any of it and married Camellia and left you all behind?”

  His mother arched an eyebrow. “A noble notion. But what would you do? Where would you go? I’d feel compelled to relieve Camellia’s father of his job as overseer, and also Camellia of hers, in the cookhouse.”

  “I’d bring her to Charleston,” Trenton threw in. “I can get work. I’m an educated man.”

  “You’re not serious?” gasped Miranda. “What a scandal! What—”

  Her mother raised a hand to shush her. “I’m certain you could survive. But you have to admit that’s rather rash talk.”

  “Maybe,” pouted Trenton. “But it’s something I’ve considered lately. I’m not like all of you. I can live without all this.” He waved a hand over his family, over all the furniture in the well-appointed room, all the rugs and mirrors, chandeliers and paintings.

  “Then why don’t you try it?” his mother suggested.

  “What?” asked Trenton.

  “You have the choice,” she said. “Leave school now, unless you can pay for it, of course. Find work. See how you do on your own, without any of the advantages your name brings, with none of the privileges our money provides. See how you like it for a while.”

  “But why should I?” he asked, suddenly scared and mad at the same time. “I can marry Camellia if I choose without giving up anything.”

  His mother shook her head. “No,” she said firmly, “you cannot. If you marry her, I’ll let go of any claim of you.”

  Martha and Miranda gasped in unison; Trenton straightened his back; Calvin held his breath.

  “It won’t matter,” Trenton finally said. “A fourth of The Oak belongs to me.”

  His mother raised an eyebrow again. “Not yet. So long as I’m alive it’s my property. Check the will if you’d like. That’s the way your father left it.”

  Trenton’s fists balled. He was trapped and didn’t like it. “Are you telling me you absolutely forbid me to marry Camellia?” he growled, not sure he could believe what his mother had just said. “That if I do you’ll disown me?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” his mother said as simply as if announcing that dinner was served.

  For a few seconds Trenton tried to imagine how poverty would feel, how he would adjust to it. Not having a house, not even a small one. No fine clothes or good food either. No servants at his beck and call. No carriage to carry him to high-spirited parties; no well-groomed horse and livery.

  He lowered his head. Not only would he no longer have family, but his friends would desert him too. He’d end up with no one but Camellia. Would her companionship provide all he needed? Could he live without all the others? And what about her? She’d end up with nothing also. He pondered that. Would Camellia want him if he went to her empty-handed? She would if she truly loved him. But was it fair to ask her to marry him if he had nothing in his pockets?

  Confused by his own questions, Trenton took a long breath and faced his mother again. “It’s a risky game you’re playing.”

  “I can assure you it’s no game,” she said sternly. “The Oak is in distress. We need you to marry well for that reason. But that’s not all of it. Marriages of the sort you’re considering never turn out happy. Can’t hook a mule to a thoroughbred. Everyone knows it doesn’t work.”

  “And what do you know about a happy marriage?” Trenton spoke without thinking.

  His mother smiled patiently. “I’ve told you before. Your father and I understood each other. We made it work.”

  “Yes, I saw the way it worked … and I want something better,” he fired back.

  “You can have that,” said Martha. “You can have it all. No reason somebody else can’t make you happy. A marriage is what two people make it.”

  Trenton suddenly felt tired, worn out by the constant pressure his mother had put on him since his father’s death; worn out by his sisters; worn out by the awareness that his family really did need him. Overwhelmed by all the responsibility, he wanted to sit down and rest his head on his knees.

  “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Give it hard thought,” said his mother. “No reason to decide today. The parties won’t start for a few weeks. That’s when we need to get busy, set you up with some proper girls; make the connections we need to make.”

  “You can at least consider other possibilities,” said Calvin, stepping in for the first time.

  “A good notion,” added his mother. “I’ve done some discreet inquiring. A number of families with proper daughters in Charleston, a couple in Columbia, even a few in Philadelphia are open to your attentions. You do have other prospects … some women you haven’t met.”

  “I know every eligible woman in Charleston,” said Trenton.

  “Then let’s go beyond Charleston,” said Martha. “Stay open to the possibilities.”

  “Will you do that?” asked Calvin.

  “It can’t hurt,” said Martha.

  Trenton sighed. “Remaining open will do no harm, I suppose. But even if I do call on other ladies, that doesn’t mean I’ve made up my mind to forsake Camellia.”

  “Oh no,” said his mother. “We quite understand your position on that.”

  Yes, he’d call on some other ladies, Trenton finally agreed. But he loved Camellia, and nothing would change that, no matter how intense the pressure his family put on him.

  Chapter Eleven

  A hard chill stayed around as March unfolded, frigid air that put frost on the ground several mornings in a row. The wind whistled through the little house where Ruby lived with Stella and caused her to shiver, no matter how much cover she laid over herself at night. Ruby and everybody else stayed inside as much as they could, their bodies close by the fireplaces, with coats and shawls, bonnets and hats on.

  “I’ll sure be glad when spring turns here for good,” Ruby said to Stella about halfway through the month as they sat by the fireplace one night after finishing their labor for the day. “This wet cold makes me shiver like nothin’ in the North, not even the snow. Makes everybody all glum too. Not much happiness around here it seems.”

  “Too many rough things happened ‘round here for folks to feel much in the way of happiness,” said Stella as she picked a blanket off the floor and laid it on her lap. “Mrs. Cain be still down in her head, rice prices don’t rise any last year, and Mr. Tessier be gettin’ colder by the minute in his grave.”

  Ruby picked up a piece of wood and dropped it on the fire. The glow from it warmed her some but not enough. “What you hear about Mrs. Cain? I teach Miss Camellia some readin’ most every day and know she goes by to help Mr. Cain and his children, but she don’t tell me nothin’.”

  “You don’t have to talk sloppy around me,” Stella said.

  “I know,” answered Ruby. “But I’ve been doin’ it all the time lately so I don’t forget—slip up in front of white folks.”

  “Nobody here will hurt you for knowin’ how to read,” said Stella. “We got good people running The Oak.”

  “I know,” agreed Ruby. “Mr. Cain’s one of them. That’s why I asked about his missus.”

  “Camellia says Mrs. Cain just stays in bed all day and stares at the ceiling. Can’t hardly talk.”

  “Something go wrong in her head?”

  “Reckon so. Mr. York brought in a doctor from Beaufort, then one from Charleston. They took blood from the back of her neck a couple of times, but none of that did no good.”

  “I hear she won’t take food.”

  Ste
lla nodded. “She likely be not long for this world.”

  “That’s too bad for Mr. Cain. I expect he loves her strong.”

  “I know that for a fact.”

  Ruby worked her cloth. Stella took a snuff dip from a can in her apron pocket. The fire crackled.

  “I wonder about my boy back home,” said Ruby.

  Stella rocked but didn’t speak.

  “Theo’s turned six now, living with his mammy.”

  “Good she there for him,” said Stella, spitting in a cup on the floor by her rocker.

  “He’s a special boy,” Ruby whispered. “Gets the visions. Said he saw me and him together again. I plan on seeing to it that his vision comes true.”

  “That’s a high goal, yep it is. Hard to live out, though.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” Ruby picked up a needle and thread and folded her cloth in half. “I’ll have to run someday to do it.”

  “I told you that be dangerous work for man or woman. White men have ways to find their runaways—dogs, rewards, fast horses. Even other Negroes help, sometimes for the promise of a few days off their labors, sometimes out of fear of getting caught helpin’.”

  “I wouldn’t ever turn in one of my people. Would you?”

  Stella stopped rocking. “Hard to say until it happens,” she admitted. “If the price be high enough and I don’t know the runner, I might. No reason to lie about that.”

  Ruby bit into her thread and tore it. “I guess you lived all your life right here. Never sold.”

  “Nope, never sold. Grew up with Mr. Tessier’s mammy. She was a sweet woman … took good care of me all the time. I was sorry to see her go when she passed, yep I was.”

  Ruby’s hands stilled. “I’ve just been sold the one time. But that’s enough for me to know I’m against the white folks. Until then I had thought everything was all right, the way of the world, you know. Didn’t make trouble, did my labor, and kept my quiet. But then, when they made me leave my baby, I saw for the first time how bad it was, how wrong for one person to have the right to sell another, push a body here or there, split up families. Can’t be right, can it? The way this world is run?”