by Dorothy Love
“So have I. We haven’t had as much time to visit lately as I would like.” Cornelia motioned them to the settee facing the fireplace. “Of course, it won’t be as elaborate as your masquerade ball. Everyone is still talking about that centerpiece. How did you ever think of it?”
“A classmate of mine told me her Aunt Ella in Augusta made something similar for a party back in the forties. I thought it might be nice to try something different. But all the credit for the actual execution belongs to Mrs. Maguire and Mrs. Hemphill.”
“Well, it certainly was clever. Don’t you think so, Ivy?”
Ivy fussed with her gloves. “Yes, very clever.”
The bell rang, signaling the guests’ arrival. Within half an hour, the Mackays’ parlor brimmed with Savannah’s elite, eager for a glimpse of Celia’s ring and for the details of the proposal. A small fire warmed their faces as Mrs. Johns moved among the guests with trays of sandwiches, small iced cakes, and glasses of cider.
Mrs. Lawton praised a story she was reading in a magazine and reported on the health of her baby son. “Alexander thinks the baby is smiling at him already.” Her blue eyes shone with merriment. “Of course any mother knows better, but why spoil my husband’s happiness?”
Mrs. Stiles had something weightier on her mind. “My cousin Martha says the abolitionists are still on St. Simons, inciting the Negroes to revolt, and are no longer making any pretense of their purpose.”
“Well, I can’t imagine any of our servants rising up against us,” Mrs. Dickson said. “My husband is just back from Wayland Hall, and he says everything is business as usual.”
“Of course. They wouldn’t dare give him any hint that they are thinking of rebelling.” Mrs. Stiles dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “William says secession is certain should Mr. Lincoln be elected. And then we shall all be called upon to support it.”
“But secession is so impractical,” Nellie Gordon said from her chair near the fire. “Would I need a pass of some kind to visit my family in Chicago? Would we be permitted to travel to Saratoga or Ohio or New England for the summers, or would the Northerners force us to remain here and face the possibility of death by yellow fever?”
“But if we don’t support it, everything we have achieved, everything we hope for our children’s futures will be lost.” Mrs. Lawton’s cup rattled in its saucer. “Personally I wish every last slave in Georgia had gone back to Liberia two years ago when they had the chance.”
“But, Sarah,” Mrs. Dickson said. “How would my plantation operate without them?”
“Perhaps you could hire them,” Mrs. Stiles said. “Sooner or later they all will be free, and that will be the only course of action available to us.”
“Sutton says the system of hiring free blacks works in Jamaica,” Ivy said. “Growing bananas and coffee is not the same as cultivating rice or cotton, but still—”
“You’re quite right, Ivy,” Mrs. Mackay said. “But this is not the time to worry about such things. We’re here to celebrate with my future daughter, and I for one am ready to discuss less serious subjects.”
Celia nibbled on a cucumber sandwich, relieved that politics had been set aside. Even better, her failed masquerade ball and Mr. Channing’s stories seemed forgotten. If any of the ladies felt uncomfortable in her presence, they hid it well. Perhaps Ivy was right and none of them dared offending their hostess.
Near the end of the afternoon, an old woman appeared in the doorway. Celia’s heart leapt at the sight of Sutton’s grandmother. Caroline Manigault was nearly eighty, but her dark eyes were still bright with curiosity, her white hair still thick and glossy and gathered in a low bun at the nape of her neck. Today she wore a russet silk dress with a white lace collar and a rope of pearls that hung nearly to her waist. Leaning on her ebony cane, she made her way across the room. Celia moved closer to Ivy to make room for her on the settee.
“Mrs. Manigault.” Celia kissed the woman’s withered cheek. “I have no words to express how pleased I am to have your ring. It’s generous of you, and I promise to take care of it.”
“Let me see how it looks on your finger, child.”
Celia held out her left hand, and Mrs. Manigault nodded. “Looks better on you than it did on me. My fingers are too stubby for such a big ring, though I won’t deny it brought me much pleasure through the years.” She patted Celia’s hand. “But it’s time to pass it on now. I’d like to think that when you are my age, you’ll hand it down to your eldest grandson as well.”
Celia’s heart brimmed with love for this sweet and generous woman. “Of course I will. And I’ll be sure to tell him the story of how his Grandpa Sutton was dressed like a pirate the night he proposed.”
Mrs. Manigault laughed. “Sutton came to my room to say good night before he left for your party, and I must say that for a moment he gave me quite a turn.”
“He has been fascinated with pirates and the sea since he was a boy,” Mrs. Mackay said. “He’s always been happiest on the water.”
“Tell us, Celia, will you marry in the spring?” Mrs. Gordon set down her cup. “I’ve always thought May is the loveliest time for a wedding in Savannah.”
“We . . . aren’t certain yet. But we will fix the date very soon, I hope.”
“Good,” Mrs. Manigault said. “Because I need something to think about besides the unpleasantness the abolitionists are stirring up. I don’t like the atmosphere it’s creating here in Savannah. It makes everybody feel uncertain. People are afraid to plan anything for fear of what might happen next month. Or next year.”
“Speaking of plans,” Mrs. Lawton said to Mrs. Stiles, “Have you heard from that daughter of yours? I wonder whether she and Andrew intend to return home in time for the holidays.”
“I had a letter from England last week,” Mrs. Stiles said. “Mary writes that Andrew is eager to return to his business interests here, but they haven’t any firm plans yet.” She sighed. “I do miss them terribly.”
After another round of cider and sandwiches, the ladies gathered their things and said their good-byes. Ivy stepped outside to wait for Joseph to bring the carriage around. Celia joined Mrs. Mackay and Mrs. Manigault at the door and thanked each of the ladies for coming.
When the door closed behind the last guest, Mrs. Mackay nodded with satisfaction. “There. All that ridiculousness from your ball is dead and buried.”
Celia chewed her bottom lip. “I hope you’re right. But . . . Mrs. Mackay? Did Mr. Mackay attend a meeting with the mayor at the gentlemen’s club last week?”
“I think he mentioned it in passing, but I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention. It seems our menfolk are always running from one critical event to the next these days. Why do you ask?”
“Papa wasn’t invited. He only heard about it later, from Mr. Lawton. I can’t help but think he was excluded on purpose because of the gossip that newspaperman is stirring up.”
“I’m sure it was just an oversight. I’ll ask my husband about it. He will see that it doesn’t happen again.”
“I’m grateful.” Celia let out a long sigh. “I’m glad everyone came to tea today, and not only for my sake. I have the girls at the asylum and their various needs to consider. I must have a good turnout for my reception if we’re to raise the necessary funds.”
“Don’t you fret about that, my dear,” Sutton’s grandmother said. “I’m not above twisting a few arms if I have to. But you’ll see. This unpleasantness will be old news soon enough.”
“I hope so.”
“Now,” Mrs. Mackay continued, “I thought we might go shopping next week to choose a few things for your house.”
“I’d love that, but we have no idea whether we’ll be living here or . . . elsewhere.”
Mrs. Mackay waved one hand. “Oh, that Liverpool business. Sutton will get it sorted out quickly. He won’t stay away too long.”
“Quite right, Cornelia.” Mrs. Manigault leaned in toward Celia. “And I think it wise to choose your things now
, my dear, in case the situation worsens sooner than we think. With everything so topsy-turvy these days, who knows how much longer we’ll be able to buy good china and linens? Make hay while the sun shines, my girl. That’s my advice.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Would next Wednesday be agreeable, Mrs. Mackay?”
“Perfect.” Mrs. Mackay walked out onto the porch with Celia. “We’ll start early and have lunch at the Pulaski Hotel. Their onion soup is heavenly. Ah, here’s your carriage.”
With a final wave, Celia descended the front steps and joined her cousin in the carriage.
“Well,” Ivy said as Joseph flicked the reins and turned for home, “that went very well.”
“Yes. Thanks to Mrs. Mackay, I feel much better. I’m lucky to be marrying into such a wonderful family.” Celia straightened her hat and settled into the seat. “Mrs. Mackay and I are going shopping next Wednesday. She and Grandmother Manigault think I ought to start collecting things for my home. She’s taking me to lunch at the Pulaski.”
“Nothing but the best for our golden girl.”
“Why don’t you come with us? It’ll be fun. We can visit that new millinery shop that just opened. I overheard Mrs. Stiles telling Mrs. Lawton that the prices are very reasonable. And you and I both need new hats for winter.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about choosing a trousseau,” Ivy said. “I’d only be in the way. Besides, I want to look for some of my old books for Louisa, the ones I loved as a child. I haven’t seen them in years.”
“Louisa!” Celia clapped a hand to her chest. “I completely forgot. It’s my turn to read with her next Wednesday. I shall have to postpone my trip with Mrs. Mackay.”
“I can go in your place,” Ivy said. “I don’t mind.”
“Oh, Ivy, would you? I do think it’s important to keep our lessons going. Last week Louisa seemed a little more interested in reading, so perhaps we are making some progress. What do you think?”
Ivy shrugged. “She’s compliant enough. But the last time I was there, she told me she hadn’t come to Savannah to learn to read.”
Celia frowned. “Did she say why she’s here?”
“No but I believe she is hoping to live in Savannah permanently. She complains all the time about plantation life.”
Another few minutes brought them home, where an unfamiliar horse and buggy stood near the gate.
“Were you expecting anyone?” Celia gathered her bag and shawl.
Ivy shook her head. “The rig must belong to one of Uncle David’s associates.”
The door flew open as they mounted the steps. Mrs. Maguire stood there, pale-faced and trembling. “Miss Celia, thank goodness you’re home. Your papa has taken a bad turn. Dr. Dearing is with him now.”
9
CELIA SLOWED ZEUS TO A WALK AND GLANCED OVER HER shoulder. Behind her, Sutton reined in on Poseidon and drew up beside her on the narrow path through the woods. After church this morning they had driven to the racetrack in Sutton’s rig to exercise the horses. Now their mounts were tired and cooling down on the return to their stalls.
Sutton leaned over to stroke Poseidon’s sleek neck. The horse blew out and nodded his head. Sutton laughed. “That’s my boy.”
Celia watched man and horse and felt a surge of love for both. She was lucky that she and Sutton shared a common interest in horses. His letters from Jamaica had been filled with descriptions of the blooded horses being bred there, and she had looked forward to seeing them. But now their future was clouded by the prospect of war and another long separation, not to mention the uncertainty regarding Papa’s health.
Celia let Zeus set his own pace as they neared the oval racetrack and tried to focus on the more pleasant aspects of the past few days. After four days in bed, Papa was feeling much better and eager to return to business on Commerce Row. Speaking to her in the parlor after his examination of her father, Dr. Dearing had cautioned Celia to refrain from discussions that might upset her father. In the meantime, plenty of rest, Mrs. Maguire’s Irish stew, and some fresh air would do her father a world of good.
Celia also had her upcoming shopping trip with Mrs. Mackay to anticipate. She caught Sutton’s eye. “Your mother and I are shopping for our china this week. If you have a preference as to the color of the cup that holds your morning coffee, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
He laughed. “It makes no difference to me. Choose whatever appeals to you.”
They entered the track and walked their mounts to the stables. Sutton was lifting Celia from the saddle when Finn O’Grady came out and took Zeus’s reins. “Bet he didn’t throw a shoe today, did he, Miss?”
“Thankfully, no.”
“That’s ’cause I checked him out extra careful when I tacked him up.” Finn nodded to Sutton. “Did the same for Poseidon, Mr. Mackay.”
Sutton fished an apple from his pocket and fed it to his horse. “We appreciate that, Finn.”
“Yes, sir.” The groom took the reins of both horses and led them toward the stalls. “I’ll take good care of ’em. Don’t you worry.”
Celia linked her arm through Sutton’s. “We should be getting home. Mrs. Maguire gets cross if I’m later than she thinks I ought to be.” He helped her into the buggy, and they set off on the three-mile trip to Madison Square.
“Can you stay for tea this afternoon?” Celia asked. “I know Papa would love it.”
“Oh, so the invitation is for his sake, is it?” Sutton teased. He guided the horse around a deep rut in the road.
“Perhaps I would enjoy your company too.” She sent him a sideways glance. “To some degree.”
He laughed. “I’d love to come, but I ought to head home. My Uncle Arthur arrived from Charleston last night and Mother will expect me for an early supper.” He caught her eye. “I’m going back with him on Tuesday.”
“To Charleston?”
“Only for a few days. He’s offered to introduce me to a friend of his. Griffin Rutledge.”
A carriage bearing three ladies in their Sunday finery approached. The driver tipped his hat as they passed on the sun-dappled road.
“Mr. Rutledge is interested in building a boat too,” Sutton said.
“To thwart the blockade.”
“If it becomes necessary. Uncle Arthur believes South Carolina will secede, maybe as soon as next year.”
“Yes, that’s what everyone says.”
Sutton reached over to squeeze her hand. “I know it’s worrisome, but it’s better to be prepared for the worst.”
They reached the city, and Sutton turned onto Bull Street. “At any rate, I won’t be gone long. I should be back from Charleston by Friday, and you can show me everything you and Mother have bought for our home.”
She smiled ruefully. “If only we knew where that home will be.”
Sutton drew up at the house. “I don’t care where we live as long as we’re together.” He glanced at the Sunday crowd milling about in the verdant little park opposite the house and sighed. “I want to kiss you, but with all these people about, I suppose I’d better not.”
He handed her down from the buggy and walked her through the gate and up to the veranda. “Don’t worry. Whatever comes, I’ll take care of you.”
“I know you will.” Standing on tiptoe, Celia planted a swift kiss on his cheek. “I love you, Sutton Mackay.”
“That’s what all the girls say.”
She gaped at him in mock horror. He grinned and headed for his rig before she could think of a retort.
She waited until he turned the corner before going inside. She crossed the entry hall and peeked into the library.
Papa looked up from his book, one finger marking his place. “How was your ride with Sutton? How is your mighty steed these days?”
“The ride was lovely, thank you. And Zeus is in fine form. It’s hard to say who enjoyed it more, Sutton and me or the horses.” Celia removed her hat. Despite her refreshing outing with Sutton, she felt weary, burdened by secrets.
She wanted to tell Papa about the anonymous message she’d discovered in the foyer the night of the masquerade and about Sutton’s plans for his ship, but Papa didn’t need more worries. “What are you reading?”
“Mr. Emerson’s essays.” Papa rolled his eyes. “The writing is fine, but overall the book lacks dramatic tension.”
She grinned, relieved that he could still joke with her.
“Dr. Dearing says I am to avoid reading anything that might cause me distress and tax my old heart.”
She bent to kiss his cheek. “Then no newspapers for you, Papa.”
He frowned. “Where is Ivy?”
“Off with Lucy Chase. Lucy invited her to a picnic after church this morning.” Celia settled onto the chair and arranged her skirt.
“Humph. “He set his book on the table, facedown. “How was church?”
“Fine. Though Alicia Thayer nearly fainted during the general confession.”
“Miss Thayer isn’t ill, I hope.”
“No, I think her corset was laced too tightly.”
Papa laughed. “I wish I’d felt well enough to attend.”
“Perhaps next week. Mrs. Lawton brought her new baby, who was very much admired. And she reminded me of my promise to collect the Christmas donations for the hospital.” Celia sighed. “I suppose I should see to that next week since November is practically here. Mrs. Lawton does not believe in leaving things until the last minute. And I still have to plan the fund-raiser for the Female Asylum.”
The door opened, and Ivy stuck her head into the room. “I’m home.”
Papa motioned her into the library. “Celia tells me you had an outing with Miss Chase.”
Ivy removed her hat, unwound herself from her shawl, and checked her reflection in the mirror.
“I’m happy to know the Chases are back in Savannah,” Papa continued. “I understood they were away until the Christmas holidays. When did they return?”
“Oh, did I say it was Lucy Chase?” Ivy turned from the mirror, two red spots staining her cheeks. “I misspoke. Mary Quarterman invited me. We were discussing the Chases after services this morning, and I guess Lucy was on my mind. A silly slip of the tongue.” She smiled at Papa. “I do hope I haven’t missed tea.”