To Have and To Hold

by Tracie Peterson

  Even if she could find work in Biscayne, she’d need to work out an arrangement with the men who shuttled back and forth from the various nearby islands. Convincing them to let her ride might not be easy, either. The men took turns using their launches. They shared the burden of wear and tear on their boats and the cost of fuel to power them. To let her ride without using her father’s launch would likely set a precedent the men wouldn’t want, and using Old Bessie was out of the question—not that Audrey could man a launch.

  “If them Yankees hadn’t ravaged the soil when they come tromping through Georgia, things would be jest fine. I tell you, we’re never gonna recover from what those uncivilized men did to us.”

  Audrey stepped back to the table and patted the old woman’s shoulder. There was no reconciling Aunt Thora to the fact that not everything in life could be blamed on the War between the States.

  “There were never any soldiers on Bridal Veil Island, but even if there had been, you need to remember that Father isn’t a farmer. Good soil wouldn’t be any more helpful than—” She stopped short. If she went ahead and said that good soil wouldn’t be any more helpful than a jam cake, there’d be no end to Aunt Thora’s ranting.

  “I don’t want my daughter going over and living in Biscayne. I want you here with me. That was our plan from the start.”

  That much was certainly true. But those plans had been made when they thought they had amassed enough money to meet their needs. They’d sold their home in Pittsburgh and paid off the remaining balance on the bank loan, and her father said that with wise investing and a careful budget they could survive. But even with a frugal budget and her father’s occasional work, there would never be enough to pay the back taxes.

  Audrey returned to the chair opposite her father and sat down. She laced her fingers together and rested her hands in her lap. Finding a way to keep Bridal Fair wouldn’t be easy. Though the Georgia coast was a mere two miles from their dock, it might as well have been two hundred miles. They were secluded from the rush and turmoil of life in a city, but their peace and quiet came at a very high price. A price Audrey feared they could no longer afford.

  Chapter 2

  Cup in hand, Boyd stared out the kitchen window at the beauty of his childhood home. He’d loved this island with its diverse terrain for all of his life. Whether he walked the beaches packed solid by the lapping waters of the Atlantic Ocean, the heavily thicketed woods filled with wildlife, the soft rolling hills along the eastern side of the island, or the marshes bordered by the Argosy River, he could feel the beauty of God’s creation. Though visitors sometimes turned up their noses at the marshlands along the river side of the island, Boyd thought they possessed a special beauty all their own. He found pleasure standing on the dock as the lowering sun glistened on the sodden grasses that appeared during low tide.

  When he was a boy, his parents had given him the freedom to explore all fifteen long miles of his homeland. While on foot or on horseback, he’d discovered the perils of encountering alligators or snakes, so he decided that he’d not be so accommodating with his daughter. During Audrey’s youth, he’d been at her side during any ventures beyond the acreage surrounding their mansion. Though they had a good view of the river from the upper floor of Bridal Fair, the ocean remained hidden by an expanse of live oaks, as well as intermittent cypress, pine, and palmettos that struggled to inch their way toward sunlight from beneath the canopy of live oaks. At age six Audrey had begged to walk the mile-long width of the island to the ocean by herself, but Boyd had refused her plea. He’d been certain she possessed the ability, but he’d been unable to muster enough courage to grant her permission.

  He smiled at the memory as he now watched his daughter stroll across the grassy expanse that surrounded their home. No doubt Audrey was slipping off to her favorite retreat beneath the wide-spreading branches of a live oak a short distance from the house. Audrey loved the ancient trees as much as he and their ancestors had before them. The draping moss that hung from the branches resembled gossamer veils and had been the inspiration for naming their island Bridal Veil. Boyd thought the name continued to suit the island.

  When he’d been a boy of five or six, his mother told him their four thousand acre island contained more live oaks than any other island along the Georgia coast. He wasn’t certain that was true. No one ever took a count of live oaks on any of the islands. There were a few who had protested the claim, saying Bridal Veil was larger than the other islands and would naturally have more trees, but his ancestors had disagreed and insisted Bridal Veil had more trees per acre than any other island. Since no one had been able to prove otherwise, the story endured to this day.

  His gaze locked on a red-throated wild turkey strutting in the distance. Holding its bluish head high, the bird spread a beautiful fan of iridescent plumage. The large turkey looked toward the window as if extending an invitation to enjoy the glories of early autumn, and Boyd could not resist. He downed the remains of his coffee, set the cup in the sink, and strode outside. A deer meandered from the thicket and lowered its head to forage in the undergrowth. Boyd wasn’t certain what drew him more: the wooded landscape, the abundant wildlife that inhabited the island, or the ocean waves and river tides that sealed the island’s tranquillity. In his youth, he’d pretended nothing could touch his family so long as they remained secluded on the island. As an adult, he learned that not even an island could provide complete seclusion. And since his return he’d learned that nothing remained the same.

  In fact, most everything had changed a short time before his mother died. Now he couldn’t imagine returning to Pittsburgh. Even more, he couldn’t imagine how he had survived for all those years without Jesus. Plodding down the porch steps, Boyd decided he must clear the air with his daughter. His movement startled the deer, and with a graceful stride, the animal loped into the thicket out of sight.

  Keeping to the path, he soon approached Audrey near one of the giant oaks. “I always loved these trees,” he told her as he fell into step beside her. “When I was a little boy, I used to climb them to sit up high in the branches and pretend I was on the deck of a pirate ship looking out to sea.”

  She gave him a halfhearted smile.

  “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”

  Her unruly locks tangled in the light breeze. “I think I’m more confused than angry. I can deal with Aunt Thora’s comments. She doesn’t understand that times have changed and many women earn a living these days.”

  He chuckled. “Just one more thing she’d blame on the war.”

  Audrey nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

  His shoulders ached almost as much as his heart. His daughter was willing to sacrifice and work on the mainland so that he could fulfill his dream of living on this island. Well, he wouldn’t have it. Audrey had sacrificed far too much throughout her life—and all because of the choices he’d made. They reached Audrey’s favorite tree and Boyd took hold of her hand.

  “Let’s sit for a bit.” He helped her to the ground and then took a seat beside her. Easing back, Boyd rested against the thick, mossy trunk of the live oak.

  “Before I’ll let you spend your days working as a servant over in Biscayne, I’ll sell this piece of land, and I’ll hear no more of it.”

  When Audrey flinched at his comment, he realized his tone had been harsher than he’d intended. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but he did want to make certain she understood his decision was final. Audrey had become accustomed to taking charge over the past years, and he wanted it clear that he’d made up his mind.

  He reached for her hand. “You’ve already given up enough for me. I won’t permit you to make any further sacrifices.”

  The mossy veil of the weathered oak lifted in the breeze, and Audrey squeezed his hand. “I thought we’d put the past behind us. You’re a changed man. There’s no need for this continued sorrow over the past.”

  “I know. I know. But when I think of all the time and money I wasted in
taverns and the sorrow I caused you and your mother . . .” He looked into the distance, unable to complete his thought or push the memory from his mind. Clearing his throat, he straightened his shoulders. “You’ve been happier here than in Pittsburgh, haven’t you? At least more content than you thought you might be?”

  “I’ve been content. I continue to miss some of my friends, and I do miss the Morleys.” She hesitated. “I’d grown to love their children very much.”

  Boyd tipped his head to one side. “I hope that one day you’ll have a child of your own to enjoy.” He grinned. “Maybe two or three?”

  She tapped his arm. “Now you sound like Aunt Thora. If the Lord wants me to marry, He’ll see that I meet the proper man. I’m not willing to settle for just anyone.”

  “And I don’t want you to, either. The last thing I want is for you to end up with some useless fellow who will give you no better life than I gave your mother.” Regret mingled with sorrow as he spoke. His years of drinking had created no end of pain for his wife and daughter, and he didn’t want Audrey to bear any more heartache.

  “I know you were trying to drown your sorrows after Mother died, but God was faithful and answered my prayers.” A glint shone in her brown eyes when she looked up at him.

  “I’m a fortunate man that you and your mother put up with me for all those years.”

  Both of the women in his life had done everything they could to put a stop to his drinking habit, but to no avail. Even when Catherine, his dear wife, had fallen ill, he’d refused her pleas to give up the bottle. In truth, during her illness and after her death six years ago, his dependence had only deepened. Each night he would soak his sadness in the muddled haze produced by alcohol.

  He shook his head. “I created far too much heartache for both of you. Things might have been different if we’d have remained in the South. Maybe your mother would still be alive and you would have enjoyed getting to know your grandmother Cunningham.”

  “Please, Father. We can’t live on what might have been. Things may have been much worse if we’d remained here. You had no choice but to move north. You needed to provide for us. It was a decision made for Mother and me—to give us a better life.”

  It was true he’d gone north to support his wife and child after the war, for the end of slavery meant the end of raising cotton and their comfortable life on Bridal Veil Island. He had hoped to earn enough money to save their land, but his wages hadn’t proved sufficient to meet the demands. From the start, Catherine had been opposed to the move, fearful of how they’d be accepted in the North. He hadn’t given her wishes or fears as much consideration as he had his own desire to save Bridal Veil. In fact, he’d not given her fears much thought at all. His hope of saving the island had superseded any other concerns. Well, that wouldn’t happen again. His self-centered decisions had caused heartache and grief enough for two lifetimes. He’d see Bridal Fair sold to the highest bidder before he’d let his selfishness rule again.

  “Neither your pleas nor your mother’s pleas for me to stop drinking got my attention. It took the death of a friend in a barroom brawl.” He shook his head, disquieted by the images the event brought to mind. “I’ll never forget that awful day.”

  Audrey picked up one of the small egg-shaped leaves that lay scattered beneath the tree and rolled it between her fingers. She didn’t want to think about her father’s drinking days—not now. “Remember that first big snow after we moved north? I couldn’t believe my eyes. And the snowman we rolled out in the front yard? Mama was so cold she couldn’t stay outside for more than a few minutes.” A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “Mama never did get used to the cold. She said she thought I must have some Northern blood in me the way I took to playing in the snow.”

  Boyd smiled. “You’re right. Your mama didn’t like the cold weather. But she enjoyed watching us build that snowman from inside the front window.” Boyd didn’t remember taking part in much snowman building after that. The rest of the snowmen had been rolled by Audrey and her friends while he’d been at work—or sitting in a tavern.

  And he’d been just as lax with his wife. He’d shown little compassion for Catherine when she’d complained about the cold. What he had wanted was most important, and he had wanted to be in Pittsburgh, where he thought he could earn enough money to save Bridal Veil. Now that Catherine was dead, he knew better. He hadn’t been able to send enough money to save the island, yet he wouldn’t admit defeat. How selfish he’d been. How he wished he could change those decisions he’d made before coming to know the Lord. But things were different now. Now he had his priorities in order. First God. Then Audrey. Everything else followed.

  “Somehow this will all work out for the best.” Boyd could only hope his smile was enough reassurance to convince his daughter.

  Audrey nodded. “In the past, God provided for us. We need to pray and trust that He’ll provide again.” She peeked up at him, the golden twinkle returning to her eyes. “Unless you’d like to believe that God is going to locate a job for me in Biscayne.”

  “Now, Audrey . . .”

  “I know. You don’t want to believe that would be His way of doing things, but you can’t be certain. You should at least be open to the idea. Agree with me to pray about a position in Biscayne and see if God changes your heart on the matter.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “You are one persistent young woman. Heaven help the man you marry.”

  “Then you agree? You’ll truly seek God’s answer and not your own wishes?”

  The muscles along his shoulders tightened into knots. He wanted to tell her that was exactly what he’d been doing—pushing aside his own desires—attempting to right the wrongs of the past. For now, he held his tongue and gave his agreement.

  She leaned toward him and placed a kiss on his cheek. “In my heart, I believe you’re going to discover that my going to work will be the answer.”

  “I think I need your agreement that you are going to earnestly seek God’s answer right along with me. I don’t want you praying with the preconceived notion that He’s already shown you what is best. We’re going into this on a level playing ground. Otherwise, we need to discuss this agreement a little further.”

  Audrey brushed a loose curl behind her ear and sighed when it immediately sprung free. “I promise that I’ll—” She glanced toward the house, fear glistening in her eyes. “What was that?”

  Boyd jumped to his feet. “Sounded like a shotgun blast.” Another report sounded, and he reached for Audrey’s hand. “It is a shotgun! It sounded like the shots were coming from the direction of the house.”

  “I heard a boat a short time ago,” Audrey hissed as they picked their way through the overgrowth. “You think it’s the tax collector?”

  Boyd continued to clutch her hand while he took the lead. “I don’t think the tax collector would be armed.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Then again, maybe he would. I imagine there are some folks who would take up a weapon to defend their land if a tax collector came calling.”

  They halted near one of the spreading live oaks not far from the rear of the house just as another gunshot blast erupted. “Sounds like it’s around front. You stay here.”

  “I will not! You might need me.”

  “We’ll be more easily spotted if there are two of us. Now, do as I—” Another blast erupted, and Boyd rushed toward the house with Audrey close on his heels. He waved her back, but she ignored the gesture.

  His stomach tightened and, in spite of the breeze, perspiration dotted his forehead. There was a time when he’d possessed the physical ability to stave off anyone who might threaten his family, but not now. He didn’t know what he’d do if his home and family required more protection than he could offer.

  At the side of the house, Boyd stopped and took a deep breath. “Be our protector, almighty God. You know I don’t have the strength to do this on my own.” Once he’d uttered the prayer, he took another step forward and peered around the corner.
He reared back and slapped his palm against his forehead.

  Audrey grasped his arm. “What is it?”

  “You’re not going to believe your eyes.” He pointed his thumb toward the front porch. “Take a look for yourself.”

  Chapter 3

  Audrey stepped past her father and peered around the corner of the house. Aunt Thora was sitting in the rocking chair, reloading Grandfather Cunningham’s shotgun. Before Audrey could speak, Aunt Thora slammed the gun shut and arched forward to study the surrounding landscape.

  Lifting the shotgun from her lap, she rested it on the porch rail. “Come on out of there, you conniving Yankee, or you’re gonna meet your Maker afore I stop shooting!”

  “Aunt Thora! Put that—”

  Another blast sounded and leaves on a nearby tree rustled and quivered as a shower of pellets scattered among the branches. Aunt Thora reared back in her chair from the impact. The old woman looked at Audrey with her mouth agape. “Mercy, child! You about scared the living daylights out of me.”

  When Thora waved the gun in Audrey’s direction, both she and her father ducked.

  “Put that gun down before you kill someone, Thora.” Audrey’s father raised his head a few inches. “At least turn it in some other direction, would you?”

  Aunt Thora glowered and pointed the gun heavenward. Audrey hoped the old woman wouldn’t blow a hole in the upper balcony. They didn’t need the cost of additional repairs right now.

  “You see here, Boyd Cunningham, don’t you be telling me I shouldn’t protect this land. There’s a Yankee out there, and every time he sticks his head out from behind one of those trees, I try to get ’im.” She dropped the barrel of the gun a few inches and pointed it toward the live oaks that dotted the front of the property. “He keeps moving on me, and I keep missing ’im.”