Swamps and Soirees: A Summerbrook Novel

by Vicki Wilkerson

  “My advice is to go. Have a great time, and try to network. Who knows? You might meet some people who may need your services one day—if you ever get hopping on that plan of yours,” Charlene said.

  “You’ll be proud of me. I set up my trading account this morning. I’m finally doing it,” Hanna said.

  “I am proud of you! Okay, let’s meet for lunch next week at the town hall and talk. And bring some of your uncle’s cold cut sandwiches. They’re my fave.” They hugged goodbye. “And I want to hear all the details of this ball thing you’re going to.”

  Hanna nodded and shut the door behind her best friend. Well, that didn’t really help at all. She continued to move around her little studio, polishing her beloved cypress furniture, dusting every furry, feathery frozen creature, cleaning every crack and corner and checking her phone.

  To keep herself busy, she got online and signed up for that refresher course she’d wanted to take to get her back into the world of finance that she’d studied in school. Then she paced some more.

  At around three o’clock Friday afternoon, she couldn’t wait any longer and called Aunt Della.

  “Aunt Della? Are you crying?” Hanna asked.

  “Sheena and Derrick just broke up, and she lost the baby.” She sobbed out loud on the phone.

  Hanna didn’t know Sheena nor Derrick. Were they new to their church? Should she ask and risk upsetting the old woman further?

  What she’d really called about was that dress her aunt was making her for the gala. But she couldn’t ask about that now. Not after Sheena and Derrick had just lost their baby. That would be selfish of her. Wouldn’t it?

  Through the sobs, her aunt said, “I’m not going to be able to finish that dress for you until tomorrow.”

  “That’s okay, Aunt Della. I understand. Do we need to take Sheena a meal while she’s recovering? I can fix a chicken casserole.”

  Aunt Della’s tears seemed to dry up. “No, honey. Sheena and Derrick are on The Young and the Rentless. We can’t take them no meal.”

  If Hanna had been a different kind of person, she’d have given her aunt a piece of her mind. How could she have sat in front of that TV and watched her stories when Hanna’s life was at stake? Well, not quite, but it felt like it.

  “Okay, Aunt Della. I’ve been thinking, though. Shouldn’t I come over to look at patterns or something?

  “Oh, honey, it’s too late for that. Done cut out and all. If I could’a seen the pieces through all these tears, I’d a had it half sewn up by now.”

  Hanna shook her head. “Just please call me the second you get it done. You know how hard I am to fit these days with my seventh-grader top and J-Lo bottom.”

  “What?”

  She didn’t expect her aunt to get it. “Okay, so you’re going to work on it first thing in the morning?”

  “Oh, no. If I waited till the morning, I’d be up a tree without a saddle.”

  Hanna let the phone drop from her ear then put it back.

  “I’m gonna stay up late to get part of it done. Don’t worry, child, you’ll get your dress. I’d never let you down and embarrass you like that.”

  Somehow, Aunt Della didn’t make her feel any better.

  During the night, she tossed and turned. When she woke, she would reach up to touch the beautiful cypress headboard. It was a kind of comfort—a touchstone since she had been a little girl. But tonight, nothing consoled or comforted her. She got up on five different occasions and wandered her small apartment. Luminous crimson eyes watched her as she walked. More than red glass eyes would be inspecting her at the ball. There would be eyes all right—connected to brains and mouths. No telling what they would think or say about Hanna. Was there anything she could say now to get herself out of going at this point? Not that she’d tried very hard in the first place. She climbed back in the bed. She had to get some sleep, or there’d be dark circles to match her dark eyes and dark hair. This whole thing was disastrous.

  ⸙

  The next day at three o’clock her aunt called. “The dress is done. You can come pick it up. I even got it pressed already.”

  Hanna hopped into Cameo and quickly drove the half-mile to her aunt’s house.

  She ran inside, like her car was on fire. She threw open the door, like she had when she was a child and it was her birthday.

  A little gasp escaped her throat. It was red. The dress was red! It was beautiful. But it was red! She tried it on and it fell in all the right places. Even the hem was perfect. For a cocktail dress. Just above the knees. But it was red! The strapless bodice not only hugged the smallest part of her frame, it accentuated her Hollywood arms. Lifting Boston butts had actually served her well. But it was red!

  What should she say?

  “Thank you, Aunt Della. It’s beautiful, but didn’t Miss Hazel have any black or white fabric? Like I asked.”

  “You always look so much better in red, sweetie pie.” Aunt Della tugged at a few places on the dress. “Too bad you don’t have more junk in your trunk back there, honey.”

  “I thought I had too much. And, anyway, where did you hear that term?”

  “Kim. On that night time soap opera. I hear stuff on there that a make a snake blush. They ain’t got no shame. I jus watch it to see what they do next. And to look at their clothes. They wear stuff like this to all their fancy Hollywood parties.”

  So that’s why Hanna got a short red dress. But Charleston was not Hollywood. Charleston was historic…and proper…and—for lack of a better term—stuffy. She admired the dress in the mirror on the back of the door.

  Aunt Della touched the scalloped hem of the red dress. “That show is where I learned to do this, too.”

  “Well, thank you, Aunt Della. The dress is…amazing.” There was absolutely nothing she could do about it now. None of her church dresses would work, and it was too late to run to Jenna’s little dress shop to find something new. Her only hope was that other women may have had some black or white fiasco happen to them, as well, so that they had to wear what was in their closets. Then she wouldn’t be the only person there in Technicolor.

  Hanna may not have the most expensive dress at the gala, but she’d definitely have the most eye-catching and best-made frock. She kissed her aunt and left.

  In her apartment, Hanna showered and did her hair. There wasn’t much she could do with the long, dark ringlets that dangled over and past her bare shoulders, but maybe she could affect a different look for her make up. When she finished putting on a light coat of foundation, she added some powder to set it. And, of course, a touch of red lipstick to finish off the look. She’d never used much make-up, but knew how to maximize the effect of the little she did use.

  At six-forty-five, she kept glancing out the window. She wanted to make sure that she was walking down the steps when he drove up. The last thing he needed to see was Wilber and Bambi on her walls.

  Her insides sloshed like a wooden churn in the process of making butter. Why was she even doing this? Let’s see. Callie, Uncle Marion, some man who was virtually a stranger and way out of her universe of possibilities. They were all at fault. But if she were truthful, she’d have to admit that she was attracted to Furman—in a way she’d never been attracted to anyone.

  Someone rapped on her door. Great. She was too late to hide her swamp décor.

  She cracked the door. “Let me get my purse.”

  He gently urged it open and asked, “May I come in?”

  She wanted to say no, but how could she?

  “Wow. You look…stunning.” He paused and his gaze examined her form. “Have you ever been to one of these things before—I mean, a black and while ball?”

  “I know. I know. My aunt insisted that she make it for me, and it was too late to find anything else after I saw it. I have lots of casual dresses. Should I change?”

  “Oh, no. No. It’s just this…provision they’ve come up with at these black and white Jasmine Galas. But I can handle it. In fact, I was probab
ly going to—” He paused. “It’s not important.”

  Going to what? Not wear a red dress, of course. What kind of…provision? She was totally confused.

  He searched her up and down. “You look amazing. The dress is…hot.” He looked as if it made him…uncomfortable.

  “Seriously, if it isn’t appropriate, I’d rather not go.” She brushed at the flat silk panel in front of her cocktail dress then looked up and caught his gaze.

  “I’m afraid that you’re so striking that you’ll make all the other women jealous.”

  She smiled. Never before had she experienced flattery like that. Usually, silver-tongued men didn’t hang out in Four Hole Swamp. No wonder some women fell for men like him.

  He looked around the room and smiled. “Look at this furniture. I love it.” He gazed at her. “So, you are more familiar with sinker cypress than you told me.” He walked over to the small table that her father had built and ran his fingers over the tight—almost glass-like—rings. “This is incredible.” He looked around the apartment. “Who made all this?”

  “My father—before he died.” She glanced around at the handsome pieces that she never grew tired of admiring. “There’s a limited supply of that stuff in the swamp, and one day soon, it’ll all be gone.” She breathed in deep. “If that had happened before my father and grandfather had made these pieces, I wouldn’t have all this in my life. Now, it’s the only way I can touch my father’s memory.”

  “I understand. It’s kind of hard to release something that can’t be replaced. I get it. But I want some of the sinker logs for the same kind of thing—to make something beautiful with it—something that cannot ever be replaced. I like the idea of that.” He turned and touched the mirror behind him. “But we can talk about all that later. Tonight, we are just going to have fun.” His voice grew…fun. “You ready?”

  “Not really.”

  He chuckled, and they headed out the door.

  In minutes they were on the interstate, palms, magnolias and old loblolly pines disappearing in rapid succession as they raced toward Charleston. She tried to watch them to keep herself from staring at Furman.

  “How’s your father?” she asked.

  He glanced at her. “A little better today. The confusion comes and goes.” His attention turned back to the road. “He’s been in the hospital so long, many of his friends don’t even ask about him any longer. You’re very kind to inquire.”

  As they drove, a million more questions ran through her mind. Half of them she couldn’t ask.

  “What exactly is this party for?” She wondered if it was one of the early kick-off parties for Spoleto. But it couldn’t be. The Spoleto Festival didn’t even begin until May.

  He cleared his throat. “This party is designed to raise money for the Dock Street Theater. The ball is one of many fundraisers. And one of the biggest.”

  “Oh.” She wanted to know how much it was costing him to take her, but that would be garish. Her knowledge of social situations was inadequate, but she did know talk of money was off limits to most people. See, she had some class. Maybe if she stuck to the few rules she did know, she wouldn’t stand out so much.

  “Mother’s Jasmine Society gathering will organize some additional fundraisers for the theater, as well. They are big on supporting the arts.”

  She nodded. His mother. That would be her next question if she could ask it. Was his mother going to be there tonight? She knew it was wrong for her to hope that Mrs. Laurens needed to stay at the hospital with her husband. But Hanna was only human. And the last thing she wanted to do was to face the woman after mutilating her fancy roses.

  They drove in silence for a while, dread inching up in her. “What time will it all be over?” she asked.

  He laughed. Little crinkled lines formed at the corners of his eyes. “You act like this is a tooth extraction or something. I want you to enjoy yourself. People pay quite a few bills to attend this thing. If they’re fortunate enough to be invited.”

  Or cursed and hassled enough to be forced to go. She could have been sitting on her stump by the swamp, watching the evening shadows turn the still water even darker if she hadn’t had to get all perfumed up for a party she really shouldn’t attend in the first place.

  He turned onto Meeting Street in downtown Charleston and pulled in front of an impressive looking building. It was made from granite or marble or some kind of stone. Huge columns guarded the façade, like impervious centurions, from who knows what. Maybe from people like her.

  She bent down inside his car to try to see the top of the building but couldn’t. “What is this?”

  “It’s the South Carolina Society Hall building.”

  Well, that sounded foreboding. She’d heard of the place before—when she was in college. She looked up at the portico, which was even more foreboding. They stopped at the curb.

  “Just a minute.” He got out, came around to her door and opened it. He reached for her hand. “Let’s go have some fun,” he said as he handed the valet the keys.

  They ascended the stairs, and as they did, she brushed her hand along the antique wrought iron railing, touching over two hundred years of history. She didn’t belong here. She barely knew of the history of her own life, much less those of her ancestors.

  Inside the front door was a wide hall. Men in tuxedos were everywhere. Black and white as she’d expected. He placed her hand upon his arm and started into the room. Men were staring at them, Furman nodding to some and speaking to others.

  So this was how the Charleston class lived-with their rich, Southern accents and black and white balls. The closest thing they had around Summerbrook was camp meetings and revivals at her church’s campgrounds. Dirt floors required and overalls optional. No electricity or plumbing and fried chicken for lunch every day.

  “This is huge, but where are all the women?” she asked.

  “Upstairs. This is where the overflow dining will be. And where some of the men come to get some really old Scotch…and a breather,” he said and smiled, showing her those cute little crinkled lines again.

  Glancing around the edge of the room, she saw that the tables were all draped in white linens. White flowers were centerpieces on each table. The plates were rimmed in black and silver and the napkins had black ribbons tied around them. She noticed that even the floors were black and white marble.

  They started up the second staircase. A beautiful young woman holding up her white beaded evening gown so that she didn’t trip was descending. She stopped.

  “Hi, Furman. Your moth-ah said you’d be he-ah this evening, but she didn’t say you’d be bringing someone.” Her words lilted and hung in the air, like lacy Spanish moss. They reeked of Charleston money and breeding.

  He acted disinterested and kept walking Hanna up the stairs. “Yeah, I didn’t really think to tell her.”

  When they reached the top, he pushed at the door. Hanna was sure her mouth hung open. Hordes of women filled the room in every manner of black and white evening gown there ever was. Black lace. White chiffon. Black and white stripes. Black and white flowers. White bodice and a black skirt. Black and white dots. All long. She should have expected this. Heck, she did, in a way. But the look of it still shocked her.

  Her hand flew in front of her mouth. Her heart pounded like it was about to break itself out of her chest. They all turned to look. At Hanna. Mrs. Laurens was at the forefront and headed straight for her.

  No. Make that straight for Furman.

  When she reached them, his mother spoke in a disgusted, hushed tone, like she was trying to keep a dirty family secret between them. “Furman, she’s wearing a short dress.” She looked around the room. “And it’s red!”

  Hanna felt her face flush red, too. She wanted to die.

  Chapter Four

  Fancy and Faux

  What should she do? Run out of the building and down the flights of front steps like Cinderella leaving the ball at midnight? And then what? Call her uncle or Char
lene or her cousin to come rescue her? And insult her aunt for taking her time to make the dress? It was already embarrassing enough. And now everyone in the room had seen her knee-length red dress.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Furman said as he led his mother a few paces away.

  Hanna stood alone in the center of a black and white gilded room with a red dress while nearly the whole of the party whispered and gazed.

  There had been good reasons for her to stay secluded away in Four Hole Swamp where things like this just didn’t happen. Heck, nothing like this ever even happened in Summerbrook, and she thought they were too cultured for her tastes. No. Her apartment, the butcher shop, and the church’s meeting grounds were all safe places to be. Charleston society was not. And all Charlene’s ambitious lectures, all the do-gooder preachers and Christian self-esteem books couldn’t change that. Maybe everybody was equal in heaven, but in Charleston, people with old Lowcountry surnames, inherited traditions, and antique chests full of old family money were all that counted to these people.

  Furman came back, and his mother glided off in another direction. “I’m so sorry. What passes for social correctness to my mother is sometimes just plain rude.” He looked around the room. “Would you like some punch?”

  She nodded. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He escorted her to the big crystal bowl on the table between some columns at the end of the room. White flowers and greenery decorated the display. “Evelynn is under a lot of pressure because of Father being in the hospital—not that I’m excusing her, mind you.” He held up two fingers to the young woman behind the extravagant beverage presentation, and she dipped ladles of punch into a couple of crystal cups and smiled at him.

  It was no wonder. He probably got flirted with by girls like her all the time. One of them would probably have been glad to have been his date. Hanna still didn’t quite buy his whole explanation about forgetting to arrange an escort for the event and being grateful for her last minute acceptance.

  She watched his mother out the corner of her eye. The stately woman was wearing a simple long black gown with a single strand of pearls. Real ones. Like her friend April Church. Hanna was sure of it. Mrs. Laurens was talking to a beautiful woman who was about Hanna’s age. She had the shiniest platinum blond hair that Hanna had ever seen. Both of the women gazed at Hanna as they talked.