Her reaction to his world was refreshing, but it also saddened him. She seemed to see his world with wide, admiring eyes. He was sure she took nothing for granted. The other women he knew would be doing their best to embellish their social resumes and heritages. But not Hanna. She painted herself honestly and humbly. That was it. He’d never encountered such humility in a date. And it was more than appealing to him.
But what angered him was the way his mother and his friends treated Hanna and tried to make her feel less than they. He’d never really noticed their treatment of outsiders before. But then again, he’d never had that much contact with people beyond his closed social circle before.
He paid for the waters and led her out of the stuffy little room.
“Let’s take these to the lobby.”
“May we?” she asked in a soft voice, eyebrows arched. Both her hands were locked around the plastic cup.
Everything about her was tentative. Unsure. Was she this way just around him? Or had life made her feel so—cautious?
“Of course we can. We just need to ditch the cups before curtain time.”
She smiled and headed for the steps. Her long locks dangled down her back and bounced as she made her way down the staircase. She was absolutely lovely. And he loved the ties he had to her at the moment—even if they were tenuous.
Every sip she took was enchanting to him. He tried hard not to stare too much. But he couldn’t help it. He had seldom encountered such a naturally beautiful woman—no bleach on her hair, no unnatural colors on her face and no startlingly white stripes painted across the tips of her fingernails. Just simply beautiful.
She was intelligent and lovely and had her whole life before her. And he had…baggage. Family and personal baggage that he really didn’t want her to have to deal with—ever.
The lights blinked. She’d never been to the theater before, but she instinctively started looking for a receptacle for her cup. He took it from her and dropped it in the nearest one, and they headed for the heavy curtain in the rear of the lobby.
He started to take out his tickets, but the person gathering them waved him by.
“How often do you attend the plays here?” she asked.
“Not often enough lately. I used to go quite often. Many times with Mother and Father.” He placed his hand on the small of her back to usher her to their aisle seats—the same area his family had reserved for years.
He waited for her comments about the chairs. Everyone had one when they first sat down. The seats in the Dock Street Theater were renowned for their rigidity and discomfort.
She moved in hers for a moment, tucked her feet under, tilted her legs away from him and smiled. Then she proceeded to devour the program.
“What? No comment about the chairs?” He was almost disappointed. He was looking forward to hearing her complain about something.
“These are better than the ones at church and camp meeting.”
He really needed to find out more about this camp meeting thing.
She smiled, her dimples making deep, darkened areas on her cheeks. “I’ve sat in more comfortable chairs. But I’ve also have a lot of experience sitting on a hard stump out by the creek behind our shop. It’s actually my favorite place in the world to just watch and think.”
“And what do you see there?”
She paused a moment. “Peace.”
“Peace?”
“Yeah. Still, secret waters. Turtles plopping off logs. Mosquitoes bigger than hummingbirds and lighter than air. Spots of sunlight playing on the ground during small gusts of wind that moved the tree branches though which the light filtered.”
Had he ever seen anything like that before? Or rather, noticed anything like that?
One thing was for sure. He’d never seen anything like Hanna before.
⸙
Hanna wanted to say God instead of peace. Because it was the Lord who brought her peace there. But Furman might not understand anything like that. She could tell by the way he seemed to pull away earlier today in his father’s hospital room when she had prayed for the old man.
And Furman would never understand anything about the creek—the dark waters and the timid turtles she felt tied to. He understood fancy homes, boring parties and stuffy plays. She was used to loud church music and kids running around screaming at camp meeting. She hoped she could stay attentive during the play. It was the least she could do to attend with him since he’d been so instrumental in helping her get her new job.
Before Furman, she could never have imagined herself employed at one of those fancy downtown investment firms. And now she had her foot in the door with Mr. Sterling. With her salary, she was going to be able to save for her real dream of owning her own investment and accounting company one day—maybe.
The curtain opened on a set with a run-down living room and dining room. The sofa had patches on its back and arms. The table had been cleaned so many times, some of the stain had been scrubbed off the edges. An old blue ceramic vase held three wilted sunflowers.
Hanna was unprepared for what was to happen next.
A voice from off stage recited a poem. The voice asked, “What happens to a dream deferred?”
Hanna knew the answer to that now.
All the talk about horses and all the fancy surroundings hadn’t made her so nearly uncomfortable as those words about a dream.
During the next two hours, she saw an old African-American woman give her son all her deceased husband’s insurance money. She saw him lose that money, and she saw the old woman still have faith in her son’s dreams for the family.
It was the most touching story she had ever witnessed. Unconditional love had placed faith and trust in someone who had shown himself to be unworthy of those qualities. Was God blessing her with His unconditional love, as well? She turned her head and wiped her face.
⸙
The heavy curtain closed. Furman had sat in his seat in the old theater at least a hundred times. But this was the first time—ever—that he had witnessed someone so moved to tears. Maybe he’d just not been sitting with the right people. Maybe Hanna was different. No maybe about it. She was.
But he didn’t know what to say or do. Emotions in his home were…non-existent.
Hanna wiped her face again. He touched her arm gently and then stood to shield her from potential onlookers.
Then he saw Proctor making his way against the exiting crowd toward them. That was the last thing Furman wanted.
“Did you have a good nap?” Proctor asked. “These things are getting more tedious as the years go by.” He bent his body around Furman to see Hanna. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Proctor, you wouldn’t understand if I tried to tell you. I’ll see you later.”
“What?”
“I said I’ll see you later.” Furman placed his arm around Hanna and turned his back to Proctor. Furman wanted to become a shield or a safeguard for Hanna—to protect her from the harsh world around her.
Furman waited for a couple of minutes until the theater emptied and said, “Let’s go, little turtle.” No one would bother them on the way out.
He guided her from their seats and led her up the steps. They walked through the lobby and onto the street. The cool, breezy evening was lightly dampened with Lowcountry humidity coming from the nearby Atlantic. He placed his arm around her shoulder and walked toward his car. Her light, fresh scent drifted in the air around her. It was just another layer of her innocence. She didn’t know about black and white balls. She didn’t know how to choose those heavy, expensive perfumes that all the Charleston ladies wore. She didn’t know any better than to cry at a play when it moved her. She just didn’t know her way around in his stuffy, highly-regulated world of antiquated customs.
The sensation he had experienced earlier strengthened in him. He felt like he needed to be her defender, her buffer, her harbor. And for all who breached his imaginary sanctuary, he would be their attacker, their assaulter, their assailant.<
br />
But what about his mother? How could he assail her? With his father so ill? All she truly wanted was to protect and preserve his family. But she was going about it in the wrong way because she didn’t have all the information she needed to preserve the family. Unfortunately, he was withholding information that would change the future of his family forever. And he didn’t know how to break the news to his mother. It would crush her. And she was already so stressed out about his father. He loved his mother and knew a side to her that others had never seen.
In the parking lot, he turned Hanna against his Volvo by her slender shoulders. Her navy dress blended into his black car in the dim moonlight. She was a good eight inches shorter than he, so he bent down and whispered, “Are you okay now?”
“I’m so embarrassed.” She turned her head.
“You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I stand out like…beer and barbecue at a champagne and brie party around your friends.”
He smiled. Her colloquialisms amused him.
He wanted to tell her he liked beer and barbecue better, but he didn’t want to say the wrong thing because he didn’t want to scare Hanna off. For some reason, he was drawn to her like water to its own level.
⸙
Hanna wasn’t sure, but she thought Furman might have misinterpreted her tears. Did he think she identified with the poor family in the play? Did he think she was moved by the acting? How could he know that she was moved by the message of the transformation from unworthiness to hope?
She took her eyes off the ground and gazed up to see the palm trees rustling in the light breezes overhead. When she brought her gaze down, she found Furman staring at her. His eyes explored her face.
With all her might she stared back, resisting her yellow streak and the urge to look down again.
His face was like a piece of fine artwork, like in the images she’d seen in the gallery beside the theater. Straight sandy blond strands of hair hung and moved with the light wind just out of Furman’s line of vision. His eyes—even though blue—were tranquil and still, like the waters of the creek. They made her feel safe.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever…” He paused.
Ever what? Been embarrassed of. Helped out. What else? She had seen all the women at that black and white gala. Maybe his words were just the words of a player. He had to be one. And she had heard about his kind before. Saying anything and everything he needed to have her swoon over him. Which would be so easy to do. That was the only explanation.
He bent down again. He was going to try to kiss her! What should she do?
She turned her head slightly, but he took one finger and moved it straight again. She felt his breath on her lips as he moved closer and closer to her mouth. She closed her eyes. Then his lips touched hers. Moved over hers. Melted over hers. And not just her lips. Her life had just been touched…moved…melted.
⸙
“It’s getting late.” He didn’t want to, but he backed away and walked around to Hanna’s side of the car, held the door open, and watched every detail of her body slipping into the seat. If his upbringing had taught him anything, it was how to be a gentleman, but he didn’t trust himself right now.
He got in on his side and cranked the car. He needed to get Hanna home. Immediately.
On the drive he fast forwarded his relationship with her in his head. None of what his mother had said mattered now. Yes, they were from two completely different societies. Yes, he did have responsibilities to his own family. The weight of so many family obligations pressed down upon him.
At the same time he was falling for Hanna. He glanced at the beautiful, dark-haired beauty sitting beside him in his car. But didn’t he have obligations to himself? He needed to try to make sense of his new feelings for her with the news he’d received at the hospital.
⸙
“Thanks for the evening. I had a nice time.” She grabbed her purse, ready to open the door to make a dash for the stairs to her apartment when the car stopped. If he’d felt like she did after that kiss, she wasn’t sure what to expect from him when they arrived. She didn’t want him to suppose that it was okay for him to invite himself up to continue the feelings they’d begun in the parking lot on Church Street. They both needed time to sort things out.
He pulled into the small parking lot and put the car into park.
He turned to her and put his hand on her arm. “Hanna, you know things changed for us tonight, don’t you?”
She nodded. “I know.”
He inhaled the weight of water on the sea. “I have a lot I need to figure out, but I’m going to make this work.”
She cracked the door and placed one of her heels on the ground. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“My family and my obligations. And you. I have to be fair to you.” He stared into her eyes.
“I still don’t understand.”
He turned, looked straight ahead and nodded. “I know.” He paused. “I’m not going to kiss you goodnight because I don’t think I could stop.”
So he did like the kiss as much as she.
He turned to her again. “I’ll watch until you get in.”
She got out and walked briskly up the stairs. Inside, she went to the window. He was still there, being all gentlemanly, so she turned on the lamp next to her couch and checked again. He pulled away.
Her heart swelled with bliss. Not only had her career been put back on the tracks, but now her personal life was skyrocketing beyond anything she’d ever dreamed. She was finally breaking away from her small, simple life on the edge of the swamp, on the edge of Summerbrook, on the edge of the low side of life.
She walked into her bedroom and looked at the answering machine. Twenty-three calls. She felt her heart blip and hit the play button.
“Hanna, this is Callie. Give me a call.” Hanna hit the delete button. Beep.
“Hanna, this is important. Call me.” Beep.
“It’s about the Laurens dinner tomorrow night. You’ve got to help me.” Beep.
“I’m going to lose my reputation…and maybe the job if you don’t help out. Call me.” Beep.
“Mrs. Laurens insists that everyone involved from the beginning must be at her dinner tomorrow night to serve. I can’t get you out of it.” Beep.
“Hanna, where are you? Mrs. Laurens said I’d never get another job in downtown Charleston. She threw in some ‘or elses’ and insinuations about my character.” Beep.
“Please call me. All my hopes will be ruined if you don’t.” Beep. Callie sounded sad.
At first, Hanna thought about not calling Callie. It was past eleven. But then she didn’t want to be the reason Callie stayed up all night. And Hanna could say no now, right? She had a good job now. She had kissed Mrs. Laurens’s son, so that made her in a relationship with him—sort of, right? Right.
She dialed Callie’s number with confidence. Callie cried. Callie begged. Callie grew silent. And Hanna said yes.
As soon as she hung up she knew she’d made another mistake. What would it look like if she were kissing on the Laurens heir on Friday night and serving him cucumber sandwiches on Saturday night? And wasn’t she trying to move into the financial world of these people? People didn’t set up a 401K on Monday morning with the same person they had taken a canapé from a few nights before.
She heard a scratching at her door. It was Sinker. He usually stayed outside, but Hanna let him in anyway. The apartment-sized dog found a spot on an old rug by her couch. She reclined on the sofa and rubbed his head.
No one at this gathering, however, was going to know her. Only the women from the Jasmine Society were going to be there—and Furman. Servants were nearly invisible to the people they served. Even if one of the ladies ever showed up in her office to start a retirement account, she wouldn’t remember Hanna. The only two people there who would notice Hanna’s presence would be Mrs. Laurens and her handsome son. That was enough, though.
Sinke
r rolled over and Hanna petted his belly. What could she do about it all now? The little family she had was very important to her.
She closed her eyes and felt the dread in her form a stone in her gut.
Chapter Seven
Servants and Silver
Early the next morning, the phone rang on Hanna’s bedside table.
“Hi, Aunt Della.”
“Sweetie, can you give me a ride to Callie’s this afternoon? Your Uncle Marion is taking the truck, and my car’s up on blocks again.”
Hanna swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Why?”
“It’s my carbonara again.”
“Carbonara?” Hanna was confused.
“Yeah. You know that thing on cars that regurgitates the gas.”
Yeah. Hanna knew what her aunt was trying to say, but it had nothing to do with Italian food and regurgitation. Aunt Della’s carburetor was not properly regulating gas. “Aunt Della, I wasn’t asking about your car. Why do you need to go to Callie’s?”
“Why, silly, the catering dinner. Callie needs me to help out.”
Please don’t let this be so. Going to the Laurens dinner party herself was one thing—as awful as it was going to be—and on the heels of her date with Furman. Taking Aunt Della was quite another. No telling what she’d say there.
“Aunt Della, I’m sure we can handle the event without your help. Why don’t you stay here and assist Uncle Marion?”
“That old man can handle things right now. Anyway, he’s got Cubi-Jack coming in to start learning the rotes.”
At least that word was only a near miss. “Aunt Della, let me call you right back. I’ll find out about everything from Callie.”
She called Callie. “Is it true?”
“What?” Callie sounded winded, and it was only seven in the morning.
“You hired Aunt Della to staff the Laurens’s dinner party?”
Swamps and Soirees: A Summerbrook Novel Page 12