Ledger stared distantly at the book she had just given him, wondering if he would ever be able to summon the courage to do what had to be done.
Chapter 12
Throughout the hot, humid days of summer, O’Neal’s Emporium enjoyed a thriving business. More and more often Ambrosia was called on to wait on customers, a task at which she became adept and began to tolerate with less distaste. Much to her surprise, several of the younger soldiers and not a few older ones intentionally sought her help with their purchases rather than Maggie’s, sometimes complaining of the older woman’s loose tongue or her overly bold sales techniques. Ambrosia did nothing to encourage such complaints, but neither did she say anything in Maggie’s defense. To her they were all Yankees, one the same as the next. She merely did her job and remained indifferent to their feelings, polite but totally aloof and clearly disinterested in cultivating a friendship.
It was late one afternoon when Ambrosia collected her pay for the last two weeks of August. She counted out the money, setting aside the six dollars that would pay in full her debt to Major Rambert. He was a regular at the emporium these days, though Ambrosia had never once waited on him. The moment he set foot in the place, Maggie flitted about him like an oversized moth about a flame, smiling and posing and acting as silly as a schoolgirl at her first social. Ambrosia was actually embarrassed to witness such tactics, particularly since Major Rambert ignored them. But she was glad that Maggie’s infatuation kept her from having to deal with the major at all in the store, since he was difficult enough to handle every other Friday, when he met her after work to collect on the debt. He was always waiting for her when she left the shop, and always insisted on escorting her home in spite of her protests, in spite of Sheba’s initial frowning disapproval. Ambrosia could not begin to understand him. He was certainly not like the homesick young soldiers who came to the emporium to stare at her with large puppy-dog eyes, hoping for a quick pat on the head. She doubted if Drayton Rambert had ever been that young or that naive. He said very little to her and seemed as comfortable with the silence as she. Still, he made her feel tense, as if she were flirting with something volatile, something dangerous. There were times when he would rest his hand lightly on her elbow, or briefly touch her back as he guided her along Meeting Street, and Ambrosia would find herself remembering the feel of that hand, warm, caressing against her cheek. The slightest touch and she would blush and be forced to lower her head so that he would not notice, feeling every bit as foolish as Maggie, and every bit as obvious. It was not a feeling she enjoyed. But this day would mark the end of it. The six dollars would pay her debt in full and she was anxious to have the thing over and done with. She said a brief good night to Maggie and left the store in high spirits, even managing a polite nod to the major when he joined her. Her good mood vanished when Sheba bid him a hearty “Ev’nin, Majah!”, reminding Ambrosia that the old black woman had come to like him for some reason and to insist that he was a gentleman, even if he was a Yankee. Irritated now, Ambrosia hurried along the street until she was almost running, weaving in and out of the crowds of people, not caring if the major or Sheba were close behind or not. Let them enjoy each other’s company, she thought as she approached the house. She woµld wait for them, pay her debt, and be free of him for good. She reached the Bowman house, whirling about, expecting to see Major Rambert and Sheba still some distance up the street. She drew a sharp breath when she discovered him right at her heels, while Sheba was nowhere in sight.
“Were you trying to lose someone in the crowd?”
Ambrosia colored and lifted her chin, feigning concern as she craned her neck to look for Sheba. It was just like him to know exactly what she was thinking.
Drayton leaned his back against the tall stone wall and crossed his arms comfortably across his broad chest. “She ought to know the way home by now, shouldn’t she?”
Ambrosia felt her cheeks growing hot and pink but she said nothing. Instead she opened her worn reticule and thrust the money at him with a triumphant gleam in her eye. He straightened and took the money, his eyes never leaving Ambrosia’s. She grew uneasy beneath his gaze, though she didn’t know why, except that he had always been able to make her feel uncomfortable, just by looking at her. “I-It’s all there,” she said hastily. “The debt is paid in full.”
He said nothing. Ambrosia’s mouth went dry as he continued to search her face. She swallowed hard and faced away, pretending to look for Sheba again, hoping that he would leave. He did not. She lifted her hand to unlatch the gate. His low, vibrant voice stopped her.
“I want very much to see you again, Ambrosia.”
She whirled to face him squarely, her eyes fixing to his face in astonishment. For an instant she thought she would faint from the shock. She could not believe what she had just heard.
He raised a mildly curious brow and the curve to his chiseled mouth softened, hinting a smile. “Does it come as such a shock to you? That I should desire your company?”
For a long moment, Ambrosia stared at him in speechless amazement. “If I am shocked, Major,” she began in a thin voice which grew stronger and more brittle with every word as the indignation exploded inside her, “it is due to your incredible gall! You desire my company? After what your men did to my home? After what you helped to destroy?” Her eyes flashed with hatred and bitterness. “After what your people did to my father? And Ledger-” Her voice caught as she spoke the name, and her eyes brightened with moisture. She blinked away her tears and drew a short breath, oblivious to the regret so apparent in his blue eyes.
When she spoke again, her voice was low, each word emphatic. “I want nothing further from you, Major. Nothing. Not your charity, and certainly not your company.”
As if to punctuate the finality of her statements, Ambrosia threw open the gate and closed it soundly behind her again without ever looking back.
In a bedroom on the second floor, Melissa stood near the window, watching, listening to all that occurred. The handsome Yankee had made a polite request to call on her sister, and her sister had scornfully turned him away. What a little fool she was, Melissa was thinking, to allow such a prospect to slip through her fingers. She sighed wistfully and fingered the curtain as she watched him walk away. She thought of the men who had once come to court her, boys most of them, with foolish boys’ dreams that had been crushed by the reality of a long, terrible war. Something told her that this Major Rambert was nothing at all like the boys she had known. There was a strength to him, a self-sufficiency, a cynicism that would surely laugh at the foolish dreams of youth.
A jealousy rose within her, distorting her perfect; angelic features as she heard the sounds of Ambrosia’s footsteps on the stairs. It was unfair! It was all so unfair! There was nothing left in Melissa’s life beyond duty and loyalty to a husband who was nothing but a helpless cripple, a millstone hung about her neck. She could not bear the thought of existing like this much longer. She gave an angry tug on the threadbare curtain and turned away. It would not be this way forever, she vowed silently. Somehow she would find a way out of this trap. Somehow she would find a whole man with money who would take her away from this and give her the life she deserved.
Chapter 13
The days grew shorter, the breezes sharper, the nights cooler. Autumn had come to Charleston. A summer of relatively peaceful occupation had passed. President Andrew Johnson, acting in accordance with Lincoln’s original plan for “Reconstruction” of the Union, did his best to restore home rule to states where a fair percentage of whites had taken an oath of loyalty to the Union, then to allow these newly organized state governments, once they had passed resolutions disavowing both slavery and secession, readmission to the Union.
Moving with all possible speed, Johnson appointed B.F. Perry provisional governor of South Carolina in June; and Perry, in turn, called for an election and a constitutional convention to be held in September. The ratification of the Th
irteenth Amendment and the framing of the new state constitution that same month lead many to believe that South Carolina would return to legislative normalcy by the end of 1865. But there were also rumors of trouble to come, rumors that the Republican Congress scheduled to meet in Washington in December would demand much more than the president before allowing any Southern Democrats readmission to Congress. Allegations were made concerning Johnson’s Southern sympathies, and editorials in Northern newspapers rang with bitter demands for vengeance. Most Yankees believed that the South must pay for the loyal lives lost in four long years of war.
Ambrosia sighed thoughtfully as she arranged a dozen delicate glass bottles of perfume on the counter. The change of season reminded her of home. It would be cooler there, the harvest she had planned last spring would be over now. Trees would be ablaze with color, the dry com stalks would rustle pleasantly in the wind as she walked by, drawing on the clean, morning air. Autumn had been a special time at Heritage, a time of reward for the long, hot days of hard work, a time to rejoice in the generous yield of the dark, fertile earth. A taste of winter would edge the nights, but the days would be yet pleasantly warm, the skies a deep, cloudless blue. How her soul longed for the sights and the smells of home, for the peace she had known in belonging to the land! And as autumn touched her golden finger to the green riches of summer, Ambrosia could not help but remember what had been at Heritage, and what would never be again.
She had gone to a lawyer just yesterday, only to be told what she had known for some time. The land at Heritage had been confiscated as abandoned land and would be held until December or until payment of back taxes were made, whichever came first. In a few short weeks, those taxes would come due, and Ambrosia could not begin to pay them. She was not alone. She could almost feel the despair of the people she passed as she walked along Meeting Street, the heartache of losing the small bit of pride the war had left to them, of losing home. She shook her head quickly to dispel the memories as a thin old woman dressed in a threadbare black gown entered the shop. Maggie had gone to the bank a few minutes before, and Ambrosia was responsible for waiting on customers while she was gone.
Instinctively Ambrosia’s brow drew into a frown of sympathy. The woman was obviously destitute. Ambrosia was sure that she had nothing to spend. She turned her attention to the small glass bottles, tossing a sidelong glance at the old woman who hungrily eyed the thick bolts of colored cloth as she passed them. Ambrosia was surprised that she did not pause to touch them. They usually did. The woman approached the counter and shook her head with a sigh. “Ambrosia Lanford.”
Ambrosia stared at the small dark brown eyes, the furrowed brow, the thick silver hair. There was something strangely familiar about the face, but it took a long moment for recognition to dawn. “Elisabeth Woodard!” she whispered in awe. “My heavens! Is it really you?” Ambrosia tried to hide her-shock at how much Elisabeth had aged in four short years.
Elisabeth gave a small smile and nodded. “It certainly is. And you-you’ve changed a bit yourself, Ambrosia,’’ she added pertly, sounding very much like herself, “though it seems your changes are for the better.”
“What brings you .to Charleston? Is Mr. Woodard here?” Ambrosia was sorry the moment she asked the question. It was apparent that Elisabeth had to struggle with her grief.
“Daniel passed on several months ago,” she said quietly. ‘’And I came to Charleston to be with friends...’’ She toyed nervously with the mended lace fringe on her faded glove. ‘’I suppose you heard what happened in Columbia. I was almost grateful that Daniel wasn’t there to see it.” Her tone was bitter. “Drunken heathens! The devil take them all!”
Ambrosia was silent. Columbia had been burned, to tally destroyed, just as Heritage had been destroyed. She knew exactly what Elisabeth must be feeling.
The older woman drew a long breath and straightened, abandoning the luxury of indulging in bittersweet memories. “I have a small house here,” she told Ambrosia matter-of-factly. “It’s all I have left, and I intend to keep it... “
Ambrosia met her determined brown eyes and waited, hoping that Elisabeth would spare herself the embarrassment of begging for a loan to pay her taxes. Ambrosia had already turned every dime of her savings over to Madeline Bowman in the hopes of saving the Meeting Street house, admitting by her actions that Heritage was lost. She felt a part of herself dying every time she thought of it. But she was not alone. The Bowmans’ plantation on the Ashley was to be confiscated for back taxes as well, barring a miracle. And so many, many others were in danger of losing the very roof over their heads.
Elisabeth removed a small bundle from her purse, her fingers clinging to it for a long moment before she opened it and allowed the contents to spill on the counter. Bright colors flashed from the rings, earbobs, and necklaces as the polished stones and precious metals caught and reflected the sunlight. Before Ambrosia said anything, Elisabeth peeled off her gloves and gazed wistfully at the large sapphire ring that glinted as she stretched her long white fingers. It was her wedding ring, Ambrosia knew, but the older woman abruptly twisted it and withdrew it from her finger. Her thin mouth tightened as she laid it with the other jewelry on the counter.
“I need to sell all of this, quickly, and at a fair price. I know the lot’s worth at least a thousand dollars; I’m willing to part with it for half that much if I have to. But it’s all I have left, and I’ll need every penny it can bring.”
Ambrosia’s eyes fixed on the jewelry, not daring to touch it. Elisabeth was not the first to come here, desperate for money, trying to sell family treasures. But she was the first who had come to Ambrosia directly. Her green eyes lifted with regret. “I’m sorry, Elisabeth. But Mrs. O’Neal will never give you a fair price. “
“I’m fully aware of that, Ambrosia. And neither will anyone else I’ve spoken with.’ ‘
Ambrosia frowned her confusion.
“I’m asking you to sell it for me…” Elisabeth told her bluntly. “I know you can get more than two hundred dollars, and that’s all I’ve been offered for the lot. I’d rather starve to death than sell for that!’’ she retorted, cocking her chin arrogantly.
“But, Elisabeth, I don’t think I could-”
“I’m asking a favor of you, Ambrosia. You are in a position to help me. And while I certainly don’t approve of what you are doing here, I’m not above asking you for help. To be perfectly honest, I have nowhere else to turn.”
Ambrosia’s eyes settled on the jewelry again for a long moment before she slowly shook her head. ‘’Please try to understand, Elisabeth-”
‘’You might at least make an attempt before you refuse me. You owe me that much, Ambrosia.’’
Ambrosia bit her lip hard, but her eyes were unable to meet Elisabeth’s. After a time she closed her eyes and lifted a hand to knead her troubled brow. Elisabeth waited in silence.
‘’Ah-h-hem...’’
Both women started at the sound of an intruder loudly clearing his throat. Ambrosia’s eyes flashed with annoyance as they found Major Rambert standing but a few steps away. Elisabeth dismissed him with a single glance, then promptly made to finish her business. “My house is on Charlotte Street-Josiah knows where. I shall come back here in two weeks’ time if I haven’t heard from you.”
Without another word Elisabeth made her exit, leaving her jewelry on the counter and Ambrosia staring helplessly after her.
“An old friend of yours?” Drayton moved toward the counter and took the place Elisabeth had occupied a few minutes earlier.
She eyed him warily. “I don’t see where it’s any of your business.’’
He forced a tight smile. “It’s not.”
“How long were you eavesdropping, Major?”
He gave a shrug and eyed the jewelry. ‘’Long enough.’’
Ambrosia made to snatch up the small pile, but Drayton was quicker. His fingers close
d over it a split second before hers. She restrained his hand, her eyes doing battle with his for a long moment before she relented, allowing him to lift Elisabeth’s wedding ring up to the light and examine it with a knowing eye. Ambrosia ground her teeth and waited impatiently fur him to finish.
“Very nice.”
She flashed him a haughty glare and opened an expectant palm, which he chose to ignore.
“I might be able to help you with this.”
She narrowed green, catlike eyes. “I told you before, I don’t want your help.”
‘’Then what are you going to do with this jewelry?’’ he returned calmly, a single brow raised in challenge. “Would you allow the poor woman to lose her home? Would you see her starve to death, carrying these gems with her to the grave? Or perhaps...’’ he continued thoughtfully, again pretending to study the stone, ‘’you have another purchaser in mind.’’ His gaze lifted in time to see her mouth twist in anguish. She had no other outlet for the jewelry.
‘’A friend of mine is coming to Charleston on business next week. I think I could talk him into buying all of this for a fair price.” He seemed almost amused by the resistance that flamed in her eyes. “Unless, of course, you don’t trust me with it.’’
Ambrosia felt the color rushing to her cheeks and turned her back to him in confusion. The very thought of being indebted to him again, of accepting a favor from him, was enough to make her stomach chum. But it had not even occurred to her that he might betray her trust if she allowed him to take the jewelry. It had not even entered her mind! She scowled as she ran her finger timidly across the smooth edge of a wooden shelf. She was trapped. She had no choice.
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