Southern Treasures

by Coleman, Lynn A.

  Copyright

  ISBN 1-58660-386-8

  © 2001 by Lynn A. Coleman. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Heartsong Presents, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All Scripture quotations, unless noted, are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Nancy White

  One

  Key West, 1868

  “Ship’s a-comin’!”

  Peg heard the bustle of folks outside her storefront window. When a ship came to port, everyone tended to notice. She slid the needle into the white linen cloth and placed it on the counter. Holly leaves and red berries gave the napkin the Christmas flavor she missed. Stretching her back, she stepped up to the bay window overlooking Key West harbor. She loved her little shop and the view.

  A two-masted schooner with a black hull and white trim pulled up to the long dock. It still amazed her how shallow the waters were around the island, so unlike the waters around Savannah. Out of habit, she looked toward the stern of the boat to see the name of the vessel and its point of origin. Even after all these years, she still feared running into people she had known back home.

  The Patriot, out of Boston, Massachusetts. A smile creased her face. She watched as the men secured the lines, then helped the passengers off the ship. Peg giggled, watching them regain their legs as they waddled down the pier.

  Nathaniel Farris bounced down the gangplank from the boat. Peg waved. Nathaniel turned in the direction of Peg’s store and also waved. She knew he couldn’t see her, but she also knew he was well aware of her practice of watching the ships unload.

  Ellis Southard marched up the pier, shook hands with Nathaniel, and proceeded to make his way onboard the ship. Peg stepped back from the window. Ellis always made a point to get to know the captains of the various ships. His business depended upon reliable export of his sponges.

  “Anyone interesting?”

  Peg jumped and turned around to meet her customer, Vivian Matlin. “Good morning, Vivian. How are you today?”

  “Fine, fine. Tell me—did anyone interesting arrive? I can’t see as far as I used to.” The gray haired woman came up close to the counter.

  Peg glanced back out the window. A stately man, with dark hair and silver sideburns, braced himself against the piling, allowing his body the time it needed to adjust to solid ground.

  “Well, Nathaniel Farris returned from his latest trip.”

  “He’s such a fine jeweler. Can’t believe he escorts some of his jewelry to New York, though. You’d think he’d trust someone else to do that.”

  “Ah, but that’s because of a sweet little woman who also lives in New York,” Peg confided.

  “You don’t say,” Vivian grinned. “Tell me more.”

  Peg smiled. She knew more details than the rest of the island residents. Nathaniel had proposed marriage to Julie this trip. He’d made her the most beautiful engagement ring Peg had ever seen. And by the smile on his face Peg could tell that Julie had accepted. “You’ll have to ask Nate.”

  “Oh, it’s Nate now. Come on, Peg. First you tell me there’s a special woman in New York, now you’re calling Nathaniel Farris by a nickname. You’re trying to confuse an old woman, aren’t you?”

  Peg chuckled. “Possibly.”

  “Oh, phooey. You used to be the best source of island gossip. What’s come over you?” Vivian pushed.

  “Conviction, I guess. It finally occurred to me that if I didn’t want my secrets talked about on the streets, I shouldn’t be talking about others.”

  “Oh, well, that’s a low blow.” Vivian smiled. “But you’re right. It’s hard when it’s the island’s favorite pastime.”

  “Yes, I know.” Peg went to the counter and pulled a package out from underneath. “Here you go, Vivian.”

  “I’m so excited. May I open it and see?”

  “Of course.”

  “You do such marvelous work. My granddaughter will be so surprised to get this for Christmas.” Vivian delicately lifted the fancy box covered with a printed fabric and lined with lace. The box alone was quite a gift. But Vivian had insisted that, for her first Christmas as a wife, her granddaughter needed to have something very special.

  “Oh my, Peg. This is wonderful.” Vivian’s voice caught in her throat. “Even in my younger days, when my eyes were good and my fingers nimble, I couldn’t have done something as lovely as this.”

  “Trisha deserves it.” Peg beamed. She loved when people were genuinely pleased with her work. The store carried crafts from a variety of island residents, but the thrill of a special sale like this—or the linen napkins she had been embroidering earlier for Bea Southard—made her feel useful.

  Vivian’s blue-veined hands pulled out the lady’s blouse Peg had transformed. A fine lace border lined the collar and cuffs. Delicate tea roses traced the tips of the collar, and a small bouquet draped high over the left breast. A ring of tiny tea roses encircled each buttonhole and cufflink. It wasn’t Peg’s normal fare, which amounted primarily to making napkins and linen tablecloths, but Vivian was a good customer, and she had purchased the blouse. Peg praised the Lord she had been able to fulfill Vivian’s desire.

  Vivian gently placed the garment back in the box. Her hands shook with emotion. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I enjoyed it.” And she truly had. The money she would make from the sale wouldn’t come close to compensating her for the hours she’d spent on it, but that didn’t matter, not really. “Charity begins at home,” she recalled her grandmother saying on more than one occasion.

  Vivian fished through her drawstring purse. “I can’t believe this is only costing me a dollar. You’re sure that’s enough?”

  No, but that’s not the point, she reminded herself. “Yes.” After all, hadn’t Vivian helped her get this business off the ground during the war? Hadn’t she been the one to help drum up the local residents to come into the store? Vivian Matlin, advertiser extraordinaire. She was the best advertising Peg’s store, Southern Treasures, ever had.

  Nathaniel Farris walked in. His broad grin spoke volumes. “Looks like it went well, Nathaniel.”

  His grin slipped. “In one way, yes, in another, no.”

  “Oh?”

  ❧

  Matt scanned the tropical island while regaining his land legs. The captain had warned him to expect a certain amount of unsteadiness. The trip from Savannah seemed short enough, but he’d watched the folks struggle down the dock. Pride dictated some decorum. If he were going to establish a business office in Key West, he didn’t want the locals’ first impression to be that of an unstable man.

  Thankfully, he’d convinced Micah to join him during his Christmas break from school. Micah was the real reason he’d come to Key West. Granted, the business would prosper in this strategic location, but Micah’s future—and his past—quite possibly rested upon this small remote island.

  Matt eased out a pent up breath.

  Today is not the day to be dwelling on that, Lord. Lead me to the right location and the right individuals for this business, Matt silently prayed. He lifted his brown derby, wiped the headband with his handkerchief, and placed it back upon his head.

  “May I help ya, Sir?” a gangly Negro boy asked with a smile as bright as the sunshine.

  “I’ve rented a room from a Mr. Isaac Salinger. Are you familiar with this m
an?”

  “I know where he lives. Would you like me to show the way?”

  The boy was probably trying to earn a coin or two, what with Christmas coming on. Matt was confident he could find the place with the help of the instructions on the letter in his pocket, but he had to smile at the lad’s entrepreneurial spirit. “That would be most agreeable. Shall we wait for my luggage?”

  “Momma won’t worry none if I’m a few minutes late. I can wait.”

  “What’s your name, Lad?”

  “Ben. Benjamin Hunte.”

  “Well, Ben, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  The boy nodded and leaned toward him. In a hushed voiced he added, “If you don’t mind me saying so, Sir, you need to get in the shade. Dem dark clothes in this heat isn’t wise. Unless, of course, you’re used to it.”

  Considering the trickle of sweat running down the back of his neck, he figured the boy made sense. Savannah was hot in the summer, although it cooled down some in the winter. “You might be right.” Matt scanned the shoreline. There were a few palm trees, but not much shade. “Where do you suggest I wait?”

  “That cluster of palm trees might help some, but iffin you have a light shirt on under your overcoat, take the coat off.”

  The lad had a thin cotton shirt with short sleeves and a pair of light cotton trousers hanging loosely on him, with the cuffs rolled up to just below the knees. A pair of sandals adorned his feet. Matt’s long jacket, vest, and wool pants contrasted like night and day. Matt removed his jacket and draped it over his arm. “Is this better?”

  The boy tossed his head from side to side. “Not much, but you’ll get used to it, iffin you’re going to be here for awhile.”

  “I’m hoping to.” At least as long as it took to explore the possibility of setting up his business here.

  “Hey, Ben. What are you doing down here?” A full-bearded gentlemen in his thirties approached from the ship. Matt had seen him board the ship shortly after it docked.

  “Mr. Ellis, I’m helping him—” The boy pointed in his direction. “He needs to find Mr. Salinger’s place.”

  “I see. And does your Momma know you’re down here?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “What about Mo?”

  “I saw Dad a few minutes ago. He knows.” The boy puffed out his chest.

  The stranger extended his hand. “Name’s Ellis Southard. Ben, here, is the oldest son of my foreman.”

  That explains the man’s familiarity with the child but—“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Southard.” Matt extended his hand and exchanged a short courteous handshake with Ellis Southard. He always believed you could tell a lot about a person by his or her handshake. This one was firm and straight to business. “My name is Matthew Bower. I’m looking into using Key West as a possible location for my export business.”

  “It’s a busy port. What do you export?”

  “Cotton. I’m based in Savannah, but the war was hard on my industry.”

  “On a lot of men’s, I’m afraid. I’m not sure how a cotton export would work for you here, but if I can help, just let me know. I deal in sponges. It’s a natural product for the area, and the demand for them is growing.”

  “Interesting. I export from Georgia, as well as the Louisiana and Alabama areas, so it seemed logical to see if Key West would give me an advantage over waiting for the cotton to sail up to Savannah.”

  “Makes sense.” Ellis Southard nodded slightly. “I hate to run, but I’m on a tight schedule. Ben here will show you where to go. See that dock over there?” He pointed to a dock to the left of where they stood. It was long, and loaded with brown and yellow balls, obviously sponges. “That’s my dock. Come on over after you’re settled in. I can give you a general idea of the time schedule of the ships.”

  “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

  “Just being neighborly.” Ellis Southard waved and headed down the dock toward shore.

  “Friendly.”

  “Most folks know everyone here,” Ben offered.

  Matt hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. “Appears so. Your father works for Mr. Southard?”

  “Mo is my second dad. My father, he died in the war.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Son.” And he truly was. He lost a brother to that war. And he’d been fighting his personal politics on the subject ever since.

  Finally, his trunk was lowered and brought off the ship by some seamen. “Can you bring it to the end of the dock?” he asked them.

  “For two bits.” One sailor cocked a grin.

  “One.”

  The two grumbled and carried the trunk to the end of the dock. He’d need to rent a wagon or something to bring his trunk to Isaac Salinger’s.

  The boy tugged on his shirtsleeve. “I can get a wheelbarrow.”

  “Thanks. I think that would be a good idea.”

  Ben ran off like lightening was licking at his feet. Matt ambled down the dock. The two crewmen walked up to him and held out their palms. He tossed them a silver dollar and figured they could work out splitting it between them. He sat down on his trunk and visually examined the local businesses. The harbor seemed lined with boats and warehouses. Tucked in among them, he noticed a store.

  A store? Sure enough, in the heart of a trading port was some sort of ladies’ store. He could barely make out the sign. S O U T H, Southern, T R E A S, Treasures, Southern Treasures? What kind of a business was that?

  Matt heard the sound of iron hitting rock and turned to see Ben pushing a wheelbarrow just about as big as himself down the street. Matt rushed over to relieve the boy. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Mr. Ellis.”

  Either Ellis Southard was quite important to Key West, or he was just a very friendly man. On the other hand, Ben’s stepfather was the foreman of Ellis Southard’s business. “Tell Mr. Ellis I said thank you when you return it for me.”

  Ben nodded and stood back while Matt lifted his trunk onto the wheelbarrow. “What’s that store over there?” he asked the boy.

  “Southern Treasures.”

  “What kind of a store is it?”

  “Mostly ladies things. My dad bought my mom some fancy napkins and a tablecloth from there for her as a wedding present.”

  “Oh. Are there other stores in town?”

  “Sure. But Miss Martin, she owns Southern Treasures. She likes being on the water.”

  “Martin?”

  “Yes, Peg Martin.”

  Peg Martin! Margaret Martin—Lord, it can’t be that easy to find this woman, can it?

  Two

  Peg slipped the hard-earned dollar into the cash drawer. In reality it was a tenth, a tithe, of what she should have charged. But a gentle breeze of pleasure calmed her. It was right to do unto others as she would like them to do for her.

  When Vivian exited the building, Peg returned her gaze to Nathaniel. “What happened?”

  “She turned me down.”

  “Is that woman out of her mind?” Peg placed her hands on her hips. “Did you show her the ring?”

  “Never got a chance.” Nathaniel’s shoulders slumped.

  “Well, you best set yourself right down and tell me what happened. Start from the beginning.” Peg settled on a stool behind the counter as Nathaniel sat on a stool opposite her in front of the counter.

  “Not much to tell,” he said, folding and unfolding his hands. “I came calling, and she seemed distant. Not like any time prior. It was all so strange.”

  “Did you ask her to marry you?”

  “No, not really. I asked her to go out to dinner with me, and she said she was busy.”

  “That doesn’t seem like the woman you described before.”

  “That’s my point. She was different. She avoided my touch. It was all rather bizarre.” Nathaniel looked up and caught her eyes. “She wouldn’t even look at me.”

  “Did you speak with her father, mother, anyone?”

  “No one was talking. Her father suggested I ret
urn home. Nothing for me in New York.”

  “Ouch.” Peg reached over and placed her hand on top of his. “Nate, something isn’t adding up. Pray about it, and write her some letters. See if she starts warming up.”

  “I don’t know, Peg. It seemed so final.”

  Peg cared for Nate, not in a romantic way, but he was a good and honest man. She wanted to storm up to New York and demand to know what happened. On the other hand, she thought of two possible answers right off. One, the woman had fallen in love with another. Two, she had been violated. Her own past made her sensitive to these kinds of reactions—the family’s shame, the woman not wanting to touch or even look at Nathaniel. But she could be all wrong, and she didn’t want to pollute Nathaniel’s mind with such horrific facts of life. It was probably none of her business, but she would be penning a letter off to Julie Adams as soon as Nathaniel left the store.

  “Do you love her, Nate?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then fight for her. Write to her. Keep writing until you feel nothing for her. Or until the Lord tells you it’s hopeless.”

  “Do you think she’ll even read my letters?”

  “Maybe not at first, but give her time. Something must have happened.” Peg clamped her jaw shut. She wasn’t going to say another word.

  Nathaniel pulled out the ring. “I was thinking of giving this to my best friend.”

  Peg stared at the small jewel case.

  “On the trip home. I did a lot of thinking.” He rolled the box between his long, slender fingers. “You and I get along so well, I was—”

  “No,” Peg said with a bit too much force. Nate jumped and blinked. “Sorry. I like you Nate but not as a woman should love a man she marries.”

  “Yes, I feel the same way about you. You’re more like my older sister.”

  “Older, huh? Thanks.”

  Nate chuckled. “Sorry.”

  It was true, though: She was getting on in years. At thirty-eight, she was an old maid, but she wanted it that way. It was her destined lot, her payment for her past mistakes. “Now you know it’s not polite to tease a woman about her age.”

  “I was going to say, before you interrupted me,” he winked, “that, unlike Mo and Lizzy, I don’t see us getting married as friends. I was just feeling low.”